I feel like a mean person. Part of it is that I feel like people don’t understand. Maybe they don’t, but I am feeling really claustrophobic in my life.
The other day, I asked Barry if he planned to look at the lump on his neck and he said no. I basically went off on him. I explained that I do not have the option of not noticing things. And that if he chooses to not even so much as look at it, I will see him simply as a child that I have to take care of and not as an adult. If he gets to live in la-la land while I handle everything by myself, I will consider myself to be the only grown-up in this relationship.
Part of the anxiety is knowing that if he lives indefinitely, I will have to put him into a nursing home and I am not looking forward to that. I do not want to deal with the insurance company that has already denied one very valid claim. (The insurance industry is evil. Definition of evil: putting profits before people’s needs.)
The feeling is that I can’t move in any direction.
A bit of possible good news: two different friends told me Monday that they intuitively believe my house will sell by June. That would be awesome.
Also good: the snow is mostly gone. Shoveling last week wore me out. It is physically and emotionally oppressive to shovel snow in a state I hate (Michigan). It is very symbolic of the burdens of my life.
I am so sorry. I have never been very good at socializing and all I want to do now is crawl under the covers until Barry is six feet under.
I am sorry, Ninasusan, if I am overly curt. I’m even worse in person.
I hope I’m not like this forever. I meditate and am trying to act like a normal human in vey abnormal circumstances. By the time I get good at it, my time might be up.