A glass or two of Cava makes the medicine go down

I woke up feeling dreadful this morning and it got no better – super grumpy. Kids bickering really doesn’t help with that super grumpiness as it turns out and I got very miserable thinking about another five weeks of school hols.

Then I felt guilty that I wasn’t enjoying spending time with my lovely, sweet children. In  my defence, they were being far from sweet and lovely. DS1 seems to struggle with a lack of routine (few of us around), DD is clearly bored, and DS2 bears the brunt of their winding up.

But we were out this afternoon and I cannot tell you how much better I felt once in the company of good friends and a bottle of Cava. I didn’t drink the whole bottle myself obviously, that would be very irresponsible…

However, a glass and a half of the stuff and chatting to some very lovely friends really made the difference to my mood.

I didn’t intend this next bit to be the point of this post, but it’s worked out this way:

Now I know it was the company of friends that actually made the difference, and the Cava was just a nice bonus, but I can see how easy it would be to think that the Cava made the difference.

Perhaps DH has forgotten that although he was drinking a lot, maybe it was being around friends that actually made him feel better. Being out isn’t a bad thing.


Because it isn’t all about me…

I discovered this blog today, linked from a website and it really caught my eye. I can’t say this is how DH feels but it seemed to get the essence. I’ve tried to repost to this blog but have no idea if it’s worked!

Summer Bummer

The Belle Jar

I was ready to have a good summer. Or at least, I was as ready as I ever am to feel anything good which is to say: not very, but still cautiously optimistic.

It had been a rough winter, preceded by a rough fall and a rough summer and, if I’m being completely honest, another rough winter. Most of our 2014 had been eaten up by bedbugs who, it turns out, consume not just blood but also time, energy, money and sanity. As our home life turned into a lumpy stack of pesticide-laced garbage bags containing what now seemed like an utterly foolish amount of possessions, the rest of our lives crumbled too. Work suffered – I missed deadlines and bailed on projects. Relationships became strained; some of them buckled under the pressure and collapsed. Our bank account slowly emptied. We got used to the sweet, burning smell of the poison…

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Deja vu

Another big talk last night, post-argument.

Things I will do:
Ask him what he’s feeling, even though it doesn’t actually help me tremendously, it might help him
Not defend myself by ignoring him – this is somewhat childish, even if it makes me cope better
Tell him what I’m feeling
Remind him that I’m supposed to tell him what I’m feeling when he gets all pissy
Be honest with him and myself, even if that’s not what we want to hear
Get him to accept that there will be financial implications of his therapy, and that this is a sacrifice we need to make
Not set a time-limit on him

(Although I do have to have time limit. This situation is untenable and if in six months NOTHING AT ALL has improved, then I have to accept that we probably cannot live together until he’s got a better handle on what’s happening to him and how he can learn to live with it.)

Two posts in one day! Lucky people.

I wonder when I read back through these, if I ever do, how many of these emotional crises there will have been.

Today’s was unexpected. DH not too happy, I said that I didn’t really want to spend the day with him in that mood, as I’m very tired (sad face). He did well, took kids out and so on. When he got back this evening it transpired that there’s been a mess up at work with his holiday dates, and instead of finishing this coming Friday, it’s the one after.

The straw that broke the camel’s back – I reacted badly, for varying reasons (did I mention I’m tired?). Our son is supposed to be doing a speech therapy course first week of Aug, DH was going to take him, now he can’t etc etc. So I have to find childcare, assuming I can drive by this point.

Also planned to go away camping with the kids and some friends (no husbands) and now this falls in to DH’s second week of holiday. Not a deal break I suppose but the point was going away while he was at work.

The upshot is I got very angry and upset, he over-reacted, went in to the hot, dark utility room muttering ‘I’ll just leave then shall I?”. Kids upset, we’re upset, and so we end up having a discussion with me in the kitchen, him hovering between utility room and garage.

He blamed me for being annoyed about the holiday dates, as there is nothing he can do. Fair enough. But I’m so fed up with not expression opinions that I just though, ‘Fuck it’. Can open, worms everywhere. I do tend to do that – put emotions to the side and then one day they burst out.

I’m just so tired (emotionally too I mean) and I really have had enough now. I think the insomnia is caused by me just trying to work stuff out. So, this is it now though. I really can’t go on like this. DH plainly is lacking in empathy, but maybe something rattled him this time.

The plan of action is thus: he has called a therapist and left a message. She is private, she will cost us money but hey ho. We will go to couple’s therapy.

Because that’s enough of me being miserable. He makes me miserable. I love my kids, my family and my incredible friends, but being with him when he’s down is just plain shit.

Now I’m all ‘post crying tired’. Moderately more hopeful. But mainly tired (did I mention that yet?).

Only the insane take themselves quite seriously

This is a quote from Max Beerbohm, essayist and caricaturist (among other things), and I saw it today in a newspaper. It got me thinking, mainly ‘Ah, so I’m not the only one to have noticed’.

I should add that I don’t think my husband is actually completely insane and he would assert that he is in fact perfectly sane. My view is somewhere in between (well I am a Libran, we do like to present the balanced view). But there is something very earnest and serious about him. Bordering on humourless. I know, I know, he sounds like a riot.

And it occurred to me a few nights ago that I almost miss his loud, chopsy, personality. I was forever telling him to ‘Shush’ and ‘Babe!’ as he opened his mouth and something mildly embarrassing would come out, and he would laugh, or tell me to behave. He was the loud, outgoing child and I was the prim parent.

The seriousness is partly down to the fact he isn’t drinking gallons of booze, but it’s partly that the frivolous, and downright bloody annoying, part of his personality has disappeared. I guess it’s the Lithium and the illness working together to produce something that is new and not entirely welcome. I no longer have to be the calm, mindful yin to his carefree, unfettered yang.

Trying convalesce here people (not a song title obviously)

Well, it seems unlikely to be a song title.

So I’m trying hard to convalesce but it’s quite hard when kids are off school and husband is at work. I shouldn’t be too surprised of course. But rubbish sleep hasn’t helped matters and I’m feeling quite…..tetchy.

DH is still not great. Not eating dinner tonight. Miserable. Hard to talk to. That sort of stuff. I’m still miffed that I can’t just languish around and enjoy my ‘I’ve had an operation’ state.

It’s group therapy tomorrow for DH. Really not sure it’s got any positive influence. Naturally he dislikes two of the other patients. I just need to convince him that paying out for private therapy is the right move. I know what will happen though, he won’t find someone he likes. Ever.

When will it end? No need to answer. No, really, don’t. In fact I’m covering my ears and can’t hear you.