Month: November 2013

Where am I going?

I feel a bit of a mess at the moment.

My attempts to not drink haven’t worked and I’m not even trying at the moment.

I’m worrying about my relationship with my partner again.  I’m worried about my job.  Well, I’m not worried about my job.  I really don’t mind my job, and it’s kind of like having a second family, working in a small business environment; everyone knows everybody else’s business and whatnot.  However, I’m aware that I’m working several levels below my capabilities.  And I guess, what I worry about is why I am I not prepared to work to my full potential.  I mean, I am happy that I’m exceeding my manager’s expectations at work, but I could have a job that pays more, with more challenge and responsibility.

But, as I say, I like where I work.  I like the people I work with, and I feel valued and appreciated.  And it’s a contrast to go home after a day’s work to someone who is pretty much indifferent to you.  I mean, we exchange banal pleasantries, but he’s not really interested in my day or how it went.  And honestly, I’m not really interested in how his went, either.

It’s not that we have just fallen into a routine, or slump, either.  It’s just that … there’s nothing there.  We never do anything with just the two of us, and for the most part this has been because we have not had any babysitters convenient to us.  But now, when we could organise something for the two of us now that we have a bit of money and the kids are a bit older and it would be simple just to hire a sitter, we don’t.  I don’t really want to, and he never suggests it.  A weekend away with just the two of us does not appeal to me.  I like being at home best when he is not.

We’ve lived these parallel lives, pursuing our own interests and social circles (if you can call mine that) for so long, that I’m not sure it’s possible to incorporate our lives any more.  It’s not a relationship; it’s a financial arrangement.

I try to think back and remember what it was that drew us to one another in the first place, and I honestly can’t remember.  I liked that he was smart.  He was the smartest guy I knew.  He’s never been one to tell me what it is he sees in me.  And we’ve discussed this before.  I’ve told him that I don’t think he even likes me.  He assures me that he does, but never tells me why.  

And I hate that whenever I speak to him, or ask a question, I’m treated with rolled eyes and an exasperated, even contemptuous, tone.  For example:  today he and my son are going sailing, and he mentioned they would be leaving at midday.  At 12.25 they still haven’t left and my son is not dressed for sailing.  I went to find out what was going on and find my partner in the garage.  I say, “Weren’t you meant to be leaving at 12?”, because I’m concerned they might be late.  In response, he snaps at me, “Yes, but then the trailer is broken and I had to fix it, didn’t I?  We can’t go anywhere when the trailer is broken!”  Which, in writing, doesn’t seem so bad, but it’s the way he says it, as if I’m such an idiot not to realise, or that it’s somehow my fault.  And I know – I know – that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it; it’s just a habit.  But I’ve asked him, before, to not speak to me in that way.  I’ve taken a stand many, many times and told him that he doesn’t need to bring me into it, that it’s not my fault.  I’ve ignored it and just walked away when he speaks to me in that way.  But I’m tired of it.  I don’t want to live with this incivility any more.  It feels disrespectful.

Every so often I think about leaving.  I have a plan mapped out in my brain.  I will move out; he can have the house.  I will rent somewhere nearby so we’re not disrupting the kids too much and we will have joint custody.  I am prepared to sign over my portion of the house to him.  It’s a scary thought: I will be middle-aged, fat, and have absolutely nothing to my name.  I will be alone for the rest of my life (I have had to accept this, because being middle-aged, fat and having nothing to my name and also having 3 kids (ie, baggage), I’m hardly an attractive prospect).  But I think I can handle it.

My problem, at the moment, is that I don’t earn enough to rent a house nearby in Sydney and raise 3 kids by myself (or even jointly).  And it’s unlikely that I will, in my current job.  But I’m thinking that I can stick it out for another year, and learn as much as I can from those around me.  This also gives me the opportunity to really assess my relationship, and see if it’s worth salvaging.

And then, in 2015, I can make my choice.  I can find myself a better-paid job with the experience I’ve gained.  And I can choose to move out, if that’s what I want.

Or maybe this is just castles in the air.

Secret shame

I went to visit my mother on the weekend.

We discussed various family matters, amongst which were my nephew’s wife, who has post-natal depression, and my cousin, who also suffers depression and recently had a breakdown.

I realised, as we were talking, that my mother still has no idea that I have my little dalliances with depression also. Which is probably all for the best. When talking about my niece-in-law, my mother was horrified that she has her 2 young children in daycare. Because, in her (and my older sister’s) view, children ought to be with their mothers. Mum had asked my niece-in-law if the youngest (who is 18 months) cries when she drops him off. She admitted that he did, but the staff have told her that he soon settles. My mother very heartfeltedly told me that she had discussed this with my older sister (who is not the grandmother of the children – that’s another sister). My older sister, a homeschooler and very much against any form of childcare, told mum that children stop crying at daycare because they know no-one is going to comfort them. I had to point out to mum at this stage that the children are probably getting very good care at their daycare centre. That my own children had been to preschool and daycare and were very happy, and that I knew a lot of children who have been in daycare from a very young age who were perfectly happy, well-balanced children.

I also pointed out that it’s probably better for the kids to be in care, at this stage, than to be with their depressed mother who feels that she can’t cope. And I pointed out that my niece-in-law is probably doing the best she can, and doing what she feels is the best thing for her kids.

And I was reminded why I have never said anything about my own struggles; fear of that judgement. That disapproval that I am not doing what’s right for my children. I am sure, as it is, that my mother and older sister heartily disapprove of me going out to work, as it takes my attention away from my kids. I’m sure they discuss that at length. So I keep it all a secret.

And yet I still want their approval. What’s with that?

Day 5: accentuating the positives

The gloom continues, but I decided I would think about the positive outcomes of being sober.

Today we have:

1.  I look better. I don’t look puffy and bloated in the face any more, and I’m losing that purplish tinge that I seem to have when drinking.

2.  I’m more aware of my body’s signals. I am feeling very tired and run down. Last week, I would have attributed this to a hangover, but this week I’m able to judge that my thyroid is probably playing up again and can take action if it continues or worsens.

These are good things.

Day 3 Blues

I’m kind of thinking this is a bit liks the Baby Blues; the hormonally-induced depression that sinks in a couple of days after giving birth.

Feel very glum. Could be the weather – grey and rainy here in Sydney. Which, actually, is good considering the bushfires that have been raging across my state over the past few weeks. My dreams are full of fires in the bush behind my house; it’s not inconceivable that we may be in danger this summer if we don’t get soke serious rain soon.

But, day 3 and I’m still here. My attitude has definitely changes. Yesterday I was invited to a party and it didn’t cross my mind that maybe I should allow myself to drink for just that one night.

Speaking to friends I hadn’t seen fir a while yesterday, though, and telling them I’m now working fulltime, I realised that I really hate it. I hate feeling rushed and unavaioable all the time. Not sure this is the life for me.

New Day

I like this part of the day: early on a Sunday morning when no-one else is up yet, and I can sit here, reading blogs and sipping tea for an hour or so before anyone else emerges.

Day 2 of being sober, and I’m feeling better already.  I’ve heard it said that each time you go sober (this is my 4th or 5th), it gets easier, and you slip more easily into the healthier, more positive modes of thinking.  I’ve already turned my back on the drinking and am looking forward.  I’m looking to forward to losing the weight that the extra 500-odd calories per day, 3 or 4 times a week had added.

Yesterday I was ruminating on how my drinking was my “for me” activity.  I started my new job back in July, and I’m working full-time, which was (is!) a big adjustment.  I get up at six, do the kids (and my) lunch, get ready for work, sometimes start preparations for dinner in the morning, out the door, work all day, come home, collect kids and drive them around to their respective activities, make sure everyone’s done their homework, get dinner ready, make sure everyone has a bath/shower, put children to bed.  And, I know this doesn’t seem like an awful lot to some people, but I was beginning to feel like a bit of a slave – doing stuff for everyone else and nothing for me.  To top it off, my partner was in an accident, fractured a vertebra in his neck and so was incapable of helping much for 6 weeks or so, so my weekends were spent desperately trying to get things tidy in between still driving everyone around to their various activities.

So I started drinking again. And buying clothes on eBay, but that’s another story.

But yesterday, I decided I need to commit to doing something that is for me.  And honestly, at this time of year I’m probably not going to find something that’s I’ll be able to sign up for, but that gives me time to think of something for next year, when community classes etc begin.  Eg, I tried bellydancing a couple of times a few years back and I loved it, but just never got around to moving beyond the beginners class.  

In the meantime, I could start walking at night; a while back (when I was on a fitness kick a couple of years ago), I would walk around my (very hilly) neighbourhood 3 or 4 times a week.  I could drag out the exercise bike.  I could use one of my collection of Wii fitness games or exercise dvds.  Because spending time on building my body’s fitness would be something for me.

I could start singing lessons again.  I do sing, but haven’t sung in about 6 months because I just haven’t had the time to do it.

I could crochet again.  I had big plans to crochet little Christmas ornaments for all the teachers and carers of the kids this year, but I haven’t managed to start this yet because I’ve been too busy drinking.

Many, many possibilities.

Around the corner

I think I’ve finally made it.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been desperately battling a yearning to be “normal” and drink like normal people.  Once again I’ve proven myself incapable of doing this.  I have a hangover today – it’s not the worst I’ve ever had, but it’s there.  I fell down the stairs last night and have a massive bruise on my bum and have hurt my elbow.  In the past few weeks I’ve been telling myself that drinking is the only “fun” I have in my life.  

And in one way, it’s true; I’m pretty much doing nothing but run around after family, and it’s boring.  Drinking, at least, made me feel like I was doing something, because, and let’s face it, it’s fun getting a bit squiffy.  Obviously though, I go well beyond squiffy.  

So several times over the past few weeks I have woken up and sworn that was it:  no more drinking.  And it lasted for 3 or 4 days, but then I would tell myself that I just wouldn’t drink as much as I had the other night, and started it up again.

Today feels different though.  I feel like I’m done, and I’ve turned the corner.  I’m looking forward to a clean life again.