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I wrote this yesterday while I was in the truck on our way to PA.


Sitting in the truck on our way North to deal with the situation with J.  My heart is aching for so many reasons.  My husband is worried sick about his child.  I am worried sick about my step-son.  I am desperately sad that J has indicated that there is an issue with me that is serious enough to have to be dealt with in the family counseling session; yet severe enough to have him state that he doesn’t want me to participate.

Problems seemed to be the order of the day today.  When hubby came home from work last night he found that the dog, Earl, had vomited everywhere.  Seriously, it was everywhere.  There was even a trail of it as he vomited and was walking at the same time.  I spent a lot of time overnight lying on the floor next to a dog that was completely lethargic.   In the morning, when MIL woke up, he wouldn’t even get up for his glucosamine treat.  And he loves that treat.  He’s usually up her ass the second she comes out of her room.  But, not today.  He barely raised his head to look at her.

So, off to the vet we went and $300 later we still don’t know what’s wrong, but he seems to already be feeling better, so that’s a hopeful sign.  The X-rays that were taken show something a little weird, and the vet thinks it’s just fat, but we paid the $60 to have them sent to a specialist just to be completely sure.

Yesterday I spent several hours researching transitional sober houses and printing out little booklets.  I’ll have hubby take these to the counseling session.  J. is indicating that he may want to leave rehab on Saturday after visiting hours.  I don’t know why he would wait until then, except that hubby and I can’t visit because we were unable to attend the orientation.  He could be waiting to leave with his mother and try to get his way back into her house.

I feel like this situation is like analyzing the lottery.  There are so many different permutations and no real way to predict which was things are going to go.  And we are tried to be prepared for every single possible outcome.  And, as is the way of things, what actually happens will probably be something we haven’t even considered.

Hubby said something the other day that really bothered me.  He said that he doesn’t think that I’m happy.  He said that I never smile anymore.  This morning, once we finally got on the road, I was as honest as I could be with him.  I told him that underneath everything, I’m very happy.  I love him with all my heart.  I love my step-children as if they were my own.  I love that little grandbaby to the moon and back.  But, the bi-polar doesn’t let it show.  The bi-polar insists on being in the foreground all the time.   I said that what he sees on a daily basis is not me.  It is the disease.  I told him that I spend probably 70% of my therapy sessions railing against the injustice of these stupid symptoms that do not allow me to be lighthearted, easygoing and fun, which is who I am underneath all this bullshit.  Unfortunately, baseline for me is anxiety.  When all is well with the world and the home and the people, my fallback position is anxiety.  Not because I want to, but because the disease insists.  Because no one has found a way to allow my medication resistant self to set that disease aside for a minute and just be the person that I am.  I can, and do, ignore the pain from my Intersticial Cystitis to try to be a part of whatever may be going on, but I can’t do that with my Bi-polar.  It’s like a small child who follows me around and begs for attention 24/7.

It’s Friday morning and I’m up, sitting at the kitchen table with my Dad while we both do stuff on our computer and watch the news.  I have an ambien hangover because I didn’t sleep at all last night.  I’m frustrated and exhausted and anxious and I can’ wait for this day to be over.  

Today I find out what it was that I did that was so bad to make J so angry.  My anxiety over what this could be is sky high.