Love Me A Little Louder

Love me a little louder

Some days are better than others.  That is God’s honest truth, whether you have bipolar disorder or are perfectly mentally healthy.  When I was in therapy with Goddess of Mindfulness (and sometimes QoB does this), it gets said that not all of the struggle in life is because of mental illness.  Some rough stuff is just life.  Life for me, you, the gal down the street, everyone.  Having bipolar disorder doesn’t mean that I hold the monopoly on psychic pain.  Psychic pain is a HUMAN thing.

I feel very fortunate in my life that I have a fairly large support system.  Of course, I have LarBear, but I also have my mom and her significant other, my dad and his significant other, my sister, and the Big Dawg.  Add to that, a smattering of specialists, doctors, therapists, the members of my DBT group, and other interested parties, and there is generally someone that I can turn to at some point in my day, if things are going astray.

My first choice, and this is increasingly true as time goes on, is to seek out LarBear.  He is the person who is always there, always has time (or makes time), and I count on for the majority of matters dealing with me being any sort of upset or sad or depressed or crying or anxious.  The main reason I do that, is because he is most available — we live together, and he knows my comings and goings and the details of our life better than anyone.

The next reason I do that, is because I feel like he really, really *gets* it.  We work hard on our relationship, and none of it is taken for granted.  We both come from pasts where we have been screwed around quite a bit, and we spend a great deal of time working on the relationship that we do have.  Things aren’t perfect, but we learn together and grow together and I can honestly say that every day, things get stronger and better between us…and that is only because we keep talking to each other and working to make things better.

Although I have been feeling better overall for the past while, I still have my ups and downs.  The lack of sunshine and the time change have really messed with my sleep, and the last few days of rain and gloom have not helped matters.  I have found myself feeling somewhat down, or at least until I can motivate to get up and do something and get out.

When I noticed this slight struggle within myself about a week ago, I immediately talked to LarBear about it.  Yes, I talked to some other people too, but more about technical things like whether or not to break out my sun lamp (ya, probably should!) and that sort of thing.  With LarBear, it was simple, and that is part of the beauty of LarBear, is that he does simple like no one else can.

He doesn’t lecture me and he doesn’t use the words shouldn’t and should.  At times he reminds me of a bright-eyed child, so trusting and open and unspoilt.  So when I tell LarBear that I’m having a hard time, he says to me that he will give me more hugs and kisses and any kind of help I need.  He said, we will get through this, we always do.  He says, we’re a team, we help each other.  He gives all of himself to me, and I have never, ever had that.

And then, he follows through on what he had said (which is all too uncommon in my world, it seems), and he does hug me and kiss me more, and check on me more, and go far out of his way to do sweet things for me (just because he can, I guess), and most importantly, he reminds me that I’m going to be ok, just being who I am.

We have been together slightly less than a year, but in many ways, I do get the feeling that I could spend the rest of my life with LarBear and be perfectly happy.  I think he gets that feeling, too.  We don’t dwell on it and we operate day by day, but when I’ve had a hard day, when things are rough, he does love me a little louder, without me even having to ask.  I don’t think there is anything better in the world, than that.

Long Time, No Type-Type, Friends

I was afraid to look back at my blog and see the last time I posted, but I knew it had been awhile.  No particular excuse, other than living life and trying to get through the mess of the holidays and the mess and aftermath of parental divorce and enjoying the awesomeness of meeting someone new.

I have missed reading blogs for a few weeks now, but am going to start setting aside time to do that again, so you should see me popping up on your page every now and then again.  I miss the interaction on this blog, in the comments, between blogs, what have you.  I miss my blogging friends!

Seems that something of an Internet break was much-needed.  I think it is too easy to get wrapped up in writing and commenting and following and liking and more reading, writing, commenting.  Between WP and FB, I was spending far too many hours staring at a computer screen and here lately have started to remember what life is really all about.

It’s about love and family and friends.  Dogs and movies and conversation.  The little things, the big things — life doesn’t happen solely online, although you can live a mostly online life if you would like.  I started to recall the last few years of my life the other day and realized I had spent quite a a bit of it online.

I don’t regret any of that — the reading, the writing, the friendships.  For me, however, I have to have more and I wasn’t really allowing that to happen.  Over just the past few weeks, I feel like I have come alive.  Granted, there was some mania in there, but lately I feel like I have made some really good decisions and I feel good.  That’s right.  I feel happy and content and (mostly) free from anxiety.

Prior to my Internet departure, I was taking Klopin PRNs daily, but since, I have only taken one or two.  I have re-learned how to soothe myself and have remembered how to look out for numero uno.  I have reintroduced openness, love, and hope into the equation.  I am seeing someone very dear to me and am having the best of times with it.

Who knew I could ever do these things or feel these feelings again?  Nearing the end of 2013, I made a resolution that I was done with men.  They were all jerks.  So, I stopped looking and stopped caring, and lo and behold, the loveliest relationship is now blossoming.  It seems that the old wise words are true — when you stop looking, it will happen.  When you least expect it.  Indeed.

 

Because That Phrase Doesn’t Work

buck up

Although I have heard this one often, sometimes in jest, some other more PC versions include “Can’t You Just Get it Together?” OR “Just Pull Yourself Back into the Saddle” OR “Get Your Shit Straight!”

For everyone’s information, Rosa is working very hard at getting her shit straight, at “bucking up,” if you will.  The problem, when you are also dealing with a mental illness, in addition to serious life stress — it may just not be so simple.

When Rosa stays at home all day, relaxing, chatting with friends on the Internet, reading blogs, reading on the Kindle, playing with the Kizzer dog, this is how she recharges.  Because people.  Well, people.  What can I say, being around people, it just drains the life right out of me.

The most current issue of the “just buck up” phrase comes from the fact that Rosa and her bipolarity have driven away oh-so-many people, and she finds herself with only a very few close friends and family members that she can rely on.  This means that, out of four people, there might not be someone to call at midnight, or five in the morning, or what have you.  With more resources, it might be easier.  I’d like to think it would be.

I have a stepsister and a best friend from grade school.  Both live close, both have kids and husbands.  In the past, they would always make time for me, but I guess I have worn them out.  The ups and downs of bipolar disorder, the cancelling meetings, the crying on the phone, my insistent attempts to get them to talk to me, perhaps me just seeming too desperate.  It is clear they have given up on me.  No, it’s really not in my head.  Other people see it too.

And there’s the question of my stepmom, who should love and care for me, at least in some small way, for the simple fact that she loves my dad.  Well, this is not the case.  She let it slip a couple weeks ago that she is “completely  unsympathetic to the mentally ill.”  What the FUCK would give you an idea to say that to me of all people.  She complained about people getting hospitalized, of which I actually  have twice and have thought about even more.  She had nothing good to say about a person with a mental illness — not even me.

And it occured to me — this woman does not love me, she does not respect me, and in fact she sees me as a burden on my father’s time.  She has actually said those words — burden on my father’s time.  No doubt that she can go up once a week to see my sister and spend 12 hours up there, or spend money and time on her daughter.  I am that red-headed step-child that no one wants around.  Save for Dad.

So after much introspection, I am left mainly with anger.  Anger for these people abandoning me in my life, when I could have used them most.  My dad came by last night and I cursed and yelled and cried and, while I think it was overwhelming for him, I think he needed to hear it.

He cried, because, well, this shit is sad.  The people I thought I could depend on are not there, and the list of people that I CAN depend on shrinks by the moment.  On my part, there will be no more contacting these people.  They have my number, my email, my web address, my home address.  They can figure out how to find me.

So here I am, at the end of the day, and I am done.done.done. with a large group of people.  I am not going to subject myself to heartache anymore, just as I suppose they wouldn’t themselves.

Remember this?

 

It’s As if You’d Died

I just tried calling DSB, on the last number I have for him.  It went straight to voicemail.  I don’t know what I would have said, had he answered.  I probably would have just continued crying, as I have been for the past hour.  I know I haven’t been great about responding to comments in a timely fashion, but everyone keeps talking about grieving and grief.  I guess it is now sinking in that this is what I am left with — grief.  And I have to find my way through it.

I feel like, for the moment, I am over being angry and celebratory over our break-up.  Now I just feel sad.  The way it feels now, its as if DSB had died and I am left with the emotional and physical wreckage, and I can’t see or talk to him anymore.  Those are all true things, about the wreckage, about not being able to see or talk to him.  But he didn’t die; at least not in a physical sense.

Which is strange, because I have been preparing for him to die for the last six months.  He has just been so sickly and has had some close calls and I spent many nights waking up to check if he was still breathing.  I spent the last six months thinking I could lose him in a split second to another blood clot or from not being able to breathe due to the pneumonia or a septic infection in  his wound vac.  I have been preparing myself, anticipating his physical death.

So why isn’t it easier on me?  If I had been so sure that he was going to pass away from physical reasons, and be gone, then why is it so hard that he is alive and gone?  I made him go.  So that should make it easier.  For some reason, it doesn’t.

I find myself lacking closure.  Everywhere I look, there is a piece of him.  A necklace he gave me, our matching recliners, the entire office in general, TV shows we watched together, sitting at the dining room table having coffee.  It’s just too much.  There is too  much of him in this house and it makes me feel terrible.  It gets worse when I sit outside and think of all the times we hung out in the backyard with the dogs, when we very first got together, and grilled every night and sat back and bullshitted until past the time the sun went down.

I also find myself avoiding any meals or foods that he generally liked or wanted to have around.  This is the longest I’ve gone in two years without eating biscuits and gravy.  Or breakfast, really, of any kind.  In the early parts, he always cooked up a big breakfast on the weekend, sometimes on the weekday if we had the stuff to do it.  He loved making breakfast, but he always made such a damn mess.

I miss the sweet things that he did for me back in the start of our relationship.  The thoughtful birthday and Christmas presents, the sweet emails or putting stuff to make me smile on my FB timeline.  I don’t know what I did to make him stop loving me the way he did in the beginning.  It’s as if, over time, I started to emanate some sort of negative energy and he just couldn’t stand to be close.

I don’t know if there was something I could have done to make him love me like he did in the beginning.  I guess I just wore him out.  He wore me out, t0o.  I think we both decided to end it at the same time.  It’s probably good we’re over, but it feels like my entire world is falling apart and I have to scurry around and pick up the broken pieces.

Heart Pains

My foolish heart thought that any fond memory of DSB and I together had been decimated by the worst, most awful last six months of our relationship.  I was wrong.  I found “Coffee Mornings” today when I was inexplicably browsing through the “random post” feature.  I guess I just wanted to torture myself a little.

I can step back from my anger and resentment and all the negative feelings now, and realize, that sometimes we really  had something, or at least thought we did.  We had our moments in time that were truly special and beautiful.  At some point, we loved each other like crazy.  There were times when the world was right and the air was cool and we couldn’t get enough of each other.

I’ve denied all that the past several days since we have broken up, but it’s true.  Sometimes there was pure magic.  Of course it wasn’t perfect, but in the first year and a half, we had some truly amazing and loving times.  It’s a lot easier to break up and condemn a relationship as being totally bad.  Nothing is ever totally bad, there is always some good.

Which is why now this  is so hard.  Which is why I am trying to allow my heart to grieve for what could-have-been.  I have been going on and on about how relieved I am, and don’t get me wrong, I really am, but now there is this heavy sense of loss.  The loss of a person that never let me know him well.  The loss of a person that swore he loved me, no matter what.  Just because it wasn’t like that at the end, doesn’t mean it wasn’t EVER like that.

I think it’s easy to focus on the negatives, because then you don’t have to deal with the truly painful shit.  Dealing with the good memories and reconciling them with the fact that there will be no more good memories, or any memories, is devastating.  It really wasn’t all bad.  No matter how much I have made it out to be, there were many good times.

There was a time when I believed him when he would oh-so-occasionally tell me he loved me.  There was a time when he would go out of his way to make me believe it.  There was a time (long ago) that he would hug me or kiss me or tell me “I love you” spontaneously.  There was a time when he would share himself with me, share himself with the people I care about most, show that he did care.  It didn’t happen often, and not recently, but it did happen, way back at the beginning.

I’ve only cried three times (counting today) about DSB and I breaking up.  The first night he was gone, when I was writing a blog post about our breakup, and now.  I don’t think that’s probably enough tears, but I have a feeling there will be more to come.

What I would really like is for this blog post to stand alone as a brief nod of the head toward DSB, my acknowledgement that there were good times, and my permission to myself to just completely let go of all of it.

Six Days Post-Breakup

itsnotmeitsyou

 

I have been working hard at banishing the thought from my head that this breakup and the most-negative contents of the relationship were my fault.  I have been writing lists, indicating things I can do now that I wasn’t “allowed” to before.  They’re written everywhere.  On my computer, on junk mail, in my  planner, on scraps of paper, on the back of Kizz’s heartworm med box.  Whenever I have a thought, about something I can do now that I couldn’t do then, I write it down.  In my mind, this will free me from the bad feelings I have about this relationship.

More importantly, I hope it will free me from the thinking that the mistreatment of me and my pup during the relationship were not my fault.  I guess I could just start a mantra, “This was not my fault, this was not my fault, this was not my fault,” but I don’t think that would work.  I need concrete examples.

My memory of the past two years is a bit hazy.  When I was severely ill, a lot of those memories didn’t get locked down tight.  And, I’m just guessing, that a lot of the traumatic moments between us didn’t get remembered either, simply because of their nature.  But the thing is, the last six months of the relationship are crystal clear.

And guess what?  This was not my fault.  I try to tell myself this.  But I can’t help but wondering why I stayed so long, why I put up with the things I did, why I went along with the things he wanted me to do, why I let him put me in a little, tiny box and throw away the key to the outside world.

I am like a woman, half-drowned, getting her first gasps of air.  I am socializing now, even if it’s only immediate family (and Rock, of course).  I am staying up later and finding no ill effects.  I am doing what I want to do during the day, when I am not at work, and it is such a freeing feeling.

In the m0nths before we broke up, I was always trying to stay at work late or come in early, because I didn’t want to be at  home.  I signed up for every mission, every bank run, every errand.  I just did not want to go home.  And, at the time, that wasn’t a big red flag to me.

I saw my dad today, and he helped me take a ton of DSB’s medical supplies to the hospital to donate.  I know I should probably hang onto some of the other stuff he left, just in case, but those medical supplies were expensive and I know that is what he wanted done with them.  It is so nice to have all of those cardboard boxes out of my living room.  I mean, the living room has been packed with them since January and now, nothing but furniture and a TV.  I’m loving that, and so is Kizzie, because she gets to hang out on Momma’s lap while we watch mindless TV.

It is going to take me and mom a lot of time, but we’re going to get the house totally cleared up.  Rugs professionally cleaned, furniture steam cleaned, the works.  She’s also going to do some patching on a few holes in the plaster that have been gone through with a chair.  She says, and I believe her, that we will have this place so clean that I won’t believe it, and it will be very easy to keep it that way.  She even dangled the carrot that it would be possible that, if it were cleaned up and kept clean, that my sister might want to visit with my nephew.  I could die, if that happened.

It would be great period, if I could start having people over again and not be ashamed of what my house looks like.  My stepsister and her two kids will hopefully come this summer, if I can get the pool operational.  My dad, although he doesn’t like Kizzie (afraid of dogs), might even come in and we can sit outside in my backyard and shoot the shit.  My mom kept coming over through it all, but she did tell me how much more comfortable she is coming over now that he is not here.  I guess I’m so oblivious, that I didn’t realize she was uncomfortable in the first place.

This is a time of growth, and I am having more good times than bad times (although I’m not sleeping), and I’d have to say that getting him out of here is the best decision I have made in ages.  Years.  A really long time, anyway.  Now I just have to start building myself back up from the ground, which will likely be a daunting project, but I’m ready for it.  I have some goals I want to accomplish, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I need anyone’s permission, and I can focus on what it is that makes me happy.

 

wallow im awesome

 

Life in Waves

I didn’t publish anything last night for the first time in awhile because, I dunno, I wanted to not think about anything.  Kizzie and I watched the new episode of Grimm and then I went to bed for a fitful night’s sleep.  I just can’t stop thinking.

Life is coming in waves right now.  I feel sad and confused.  I feel angry and resentful.  I feel relieved and happy.  I feel like I’m feeling too much sometimes.  I don’t miss drinking, but part of me wishes I still did so I could just blot out the next few weeks or so while I get used to being alone.

I started the day on a rough note.  French vanilla creamer in hot coffee.  It’s gotta go.  It reminds me too much of our coffee mornings, back when we actually had them.  When things felt okay.  I think I’ll go back to doing it like I did before, and drink it cold.  I always did like it that way and it’s appropriate with oncoming Summer.

I wrote a list today that I emailed to my therapist.  It is basically a list of all the good things, the positive differences that come about with DSB gone.  It’s four pages single-spaced.  You’d think that if I could come up with four full pages of why it’s better to be alone than to be with him, that I wouldn’t be having any problems.  I guess that’s not the case.

The night is the hardest.  And the morning.  And around lunchtime.  It’s all hard, who I am kidding?  Even though I know he didn’t treat me well for the most part, my predictable life is gone.  I can do what I want now, and I am doing what I want.  I stayed out tonight ’till dark, and DSB would never have allowed that.  It worries me a little that I might mess up my sleep schedule, but I don’t know who I’m kidding with that one since I’m not sleeping anyway.

There are some things that have to be dealt with.  Like the big project boat sitting out in my backyard.  I’m tired of looking at it; get a big ol’ pang in my chest when I see it everyday.  I tried to tell Mom and the Big Dawg that it was killing the grass, but Mom cut straight to the chase.  She knows why I want that boat gone.

Kind of like all the welding projects he had in the works for people.  They’re all sitting up in my garage.  I can hardly stand to go in there.  I don’t know how those people are gonna get their stuff, half-finished, that they have already paid for part of.  I don’t have their contact information and I doubt DSB is doing anything about it.  It makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, but the Big Dawg said he would take care of any issues.  I’m supposed to just send people down to the bait shop.  He is saving me there, but that’s not unusual.  He saves me on a daily basis.

What I can’t seem to get over is why I was treated so badly, when I tried so very hard to make him happy.  I did everything around the house, cooked his favorite meals, brought him his dinner, refilled his glass, did all the grocery shopping, stopped almost every day and picked up (and paid for) something to drink, to eat, to have.  I rarely got more than a thank you, and I often got nothing.

Mom had Rock, our main employee and the son they’ve never had, over tonight when I was there.  We’ve always been acquaintances, never really talked about anything.  But you know, the things he said, he wants to help me anyway he can and he really does care.  It’s nice to have people who care and it makes one wonder why sticking to someone who obviously didn’t care for so long happened.

I was feeling really crappy toward the end of the evening and he came inside and ate dinner with me while QoB and the Big Dawg sat out on the deck, and we had a really good, meaningful conversation.  I felt a million times better after talking to him, and I know that was his aim.  He is going through something similar with his girlfriend, and we can just relate to each other.  I can see that in time I might start feeling like he’s my brother, too.  I don’t blame Mom and the Big Dawg for wanting to adopt him, at all.  He’s just that good of a kid.

It’s just nice to feel like people care, is all I’m saying.  I spent a long time feeling like the main person in my life didn’t care, no matter how much I did for him.  That is a bad and empty and hollow feeling.

I don’t want to feel that way anymore.

 

Now when  I’m feeling spunkier, this is the song I’d like to dedicate to DSB.  I’ll probably listen a few dozen times and then try and get some sleep.

 

Collection of Thoughts

For-the-moon-never

 

In the past, I struggled with nightmares.  Trauma-induced nightmares that would wake me up, breathless and sweating.  I’m pleased to say that with a good healthy kick of Prazosin, and years of therapy, I don’t have those dreams often anymore.  Now when I dream, it is usually right around the end of the world and I am fighting.  With guns.  And saving people.  And looking for my dogs.  And my sister.  These aren’t nightmares, per say, but they are unpleasant.  I also have a lot of dreams about showing up places inappropriately dressed.  I don’t believe in dream interpretation, but I can imagine what some people would say about that.  It is funny, though, to only  have two types of dreams:  end of the world dreams and inappropriately naked dreams.  I’d like a little more variety.

 

he who does not understand silence

 

I like this.  It spoke to me, but I didn’t hear it.  OK, kidding, obviously.  There is so much truth in this quote, though.

DSB:  What’s for dinner?

Me:  *silence*

DSB:  What’s wrong?  What happened?

Me:  *silence*

DSB:  Do you not want to talk about it right now?

Me:  *nodding head*

DSB:  Come see me when you’re fit to have this conversation, because we ARE having this conversation.

And what I was trying to do was keep from crying, but he thought I was mad about something.  Sometimes the tears come for no reason, and they will not go away.  And he doesn’t get that, even when I explain it.  Emotional times around my household lately.

 

She-lives-the-poetry

 

Word to you, Mr. Oscar Wilde.  When I was growing up, I wrote tons of poetry.  Now, I can’t even read it.  It’s to the point where, if a poem shows up in my reader, I just delete it.  I can’t go there.  All that time I spent gushing out my emotions on paper, in poetry form — that time is over and long gone and, while I wish I could still write like that, I appreciate the medicated and unable-to-write-or-read-poetry version of Rosa better.  But Mr. Wilde is right, I am living it.  You can’t read it or see it, but it lives on.

 

friends are like quarters

Amen to that.  I’ve been through times when I’ve had tons of “friends,” who really I could probably only call acquaintances, and some not even that.  Now I have a very very few friends, and they mean more to me, and are more to me, than any 790 Facebook friends I used to have.  It’s funny who we choose to share our life with, and I think the better quality comes from sharing it less, but sharing it with people who get it more.

 

 

 

 

Obsessive Tendencies Rosa

The theme of today’s Daily Prompt is:

Can’t Get it Out of My Head!

They ask “have you ever become obsessed with something?”

Me?  Obsessed?  Obsessive tendencies Rosa?  Ha!

It varies from day to day, but five constant obsessions include:

1) DSB’s health.  We’ve been in the ER most of the afternoon and evening, and DSB has pneumonia.  Like, in a bad BAD way.  They admitted him and, while we waited for a bed, he forced me to go home, laying on the guilt with, “the dogs need for someone to be home.  We left them in the middle of a thunderstorm.”  Gah.  So here I am, at home.  DSB is still sitting in the ER waiting on a bed.  And I am (in my head) writing my memoir, which at this point is stuck in the litany of illnesses, surgeries, accidents, and mishaps that DSB has had in the two years that I have known him.

Emergency

2)  Blogging.  Not blogging well, mind you.  But blogging.  Putting something up every day, even if I have to do it at 6:00am in my underwear or at 9:00pm before I’ve had dinner.  Even if it’s complete drivel and no  one reads it.  Hey, I’m blogging.  Daily.  I’d like to get away from doing “list and picture posts,” but I think I’m becoming obsessed with those, too.

3) Jelly beans. That’s right, it’s Easter bunny time and I am ALL about the jelly beans.  Year-round, actually, but right now, they’re everywhere!  Jelly Belly is my favorite, but I even like the $1 packages you can buy at Dollar General.  Jelly beans are my kryptonite.

These are Jelly Bellies...taken from Wikipedia of all places

These are Jelly Bellies…taken from Wikipedia of all places

4) My pups.  They mean everything to me and we treat them like they are itty bitty royals.  Treats, snacks, good (and expensive!) dog food, always up to date on shots and heartworm and flea/tick, fresh water, and a dog food bowl that never stands empty.  I can’t explain the love I have for these pups.  See below for yourself:

kizz

Kizzer Wizzer licking her chops

Rascal in water

Rascal in Kansas waters for the first time in his life

Kizzie and Rascal in water

Kizzie and Rascal wishing they didn’t have to be on leashes

5) Sticking to my schedule.  If there is only one non-medication thing I can do to treat my bipolar, to keep the bipolar demons at bay, it’s sticking to a schedule.  I have a wake-up schedule and an evening schedule and a bedtime schedule.  I take my meds at the same time each day.  I go to work on the same days, structure my days off, and generally not allow myself any down-time to brood over things.  If I’m not blogging or catching up on the 210 (yikes!!!) blogs I follow, I’m reading a book or scrubbing my kitchen or chatting up DSB.  Idle time is not good for me, and I learned that the hard way.

via I actually keep a day-planner.  Love!

via
I actually keep a day-planner. Love!

So, down goes another “list and picture post.”  They really are addictive!

The Downside of Care-Taking

All relationships have their ups and downs.  Heaven knows that DSB and I have had our share.  For the past two months, things have been very tense because DSB has been laid up and I have been caretaking, working, and running a household.  All by myself.  Did I mention the waiting on hand and foot part of it?  Stressful.  Miserable.  Made all the more miserable by his miserable attitude.

I understand being in pain.  I understand not feeling good.  What I don’t understand is taking frustration with that out on your partner.  I really don’t.  I can forgive a lot of it, but sometimes it’s just like, “Really?  Seriously?”

DSB came home from the hospital on Thursday evening.  He was in good humor, we had a crap dinner from McDonald’s, and pretty much went to bed.  I worked Friday and he called, asking where his truck keys were.  Well, I really didn’t know off the top of my head and couldn’t really see why it was so urgent that I find them, so I told him I would find them when I got home from work.

When I was leaving work, I found them in my glove box.  I texted this to DSB and he replied about how he never should have left something “so important” with me and he should have taken care of it himself.  Whatever.  They weren’t lost and it wasn’t like he was getting ready to take his non-running truck on a joyride.

When I got home, we almost immediately left for his doctor’s appointment and there were a lot of sighs and moans on the way, as he criticized my driving, claiming I was taking rough roads just to cause him pain.  Sure, that’s what I’m doing.  Makes total sense.  Then he was grumpy in the doctor’s office because I asked some questions.

By the time we got home, things were very tense.  DSB seemed to be oblivious, but I was reliving all of his little comments.  We ate dinner and went to bed.  We left the night off on a good note, so I was hopeful for the morning.

I woke up this morning and had breakfast and coffee.  I then went in to see DSB and he asked me to run out and get him biscuits and gravy.  I told him I didn’t want to leave twice in one day (because it is fracking cold out) and that we could combine the grocery shopping trip and his biscuits and gravy run into one trip.

I was then accused of not caring about him, not putting him number one, and being selfish.  Okay then.  Two can play this game.  I had no desire now to be in the same house as him the rest of the day, so I called my mom and told her I was coming into work and then I would hang out with her in the afternoon.

No, it’s not my scheduled day to work, but we have recently totally revamped the store and there are still many things that need to be put away and organized.  So, there is a valid excuse to go to work, other than to get away from the house.  I actually like all of the little organizing and putting things away into their place.

I told DSB my plan to go to work at 10:00am and then spend the afternoon with mom.  He grunted something at me, not sure what, other than I think it was just to say he heard me.  I told him that I’d run get him biscuits and gravy when I left and he said to just forget it.  He knew that he was not important to me.  That I only do things if they serve me.

So, my plan is to totally stop doing anything for DSB.  Maybe once that is taken away, he will see how much I do for him, and possibly apologize, although I doubt it.  I guess what I am saying is that, at this point, I am not willing to bend over backwards to help  him out as I have been doing for the past two months.

Want a drink of water?  A pillow?  Something fall on the floor?  Get it yourself.  He is supposed to be moving around because of the blood clots, so here’s his opportunity.  I think it will be beneficial for him to fend for himself for awhile.

That, and I’m just pissed and fed up.  I don’t think I’m wrong in feeling that, and even so, I don’t really care at the moment.