I hate to admit it, and won’t say it out loud; but I’m losing hope. The stories of the magic that will come with this “new” cure are no different than when we tried a different medication two months ago.
Perhaps this is it: as good as it gets. Aren’t there people who exist in quiet desperation for their entire lives and never realize that life should be different?
I’m hiding, allowing myself to be spoken to in a way that echoes my mother and do nothing to change it. He calls me a masochist while I wonder if this is simply my “lot” in life.
Each of us begins life with a limited amount of:
• And ALL of the other emotions that I could fill one hundred pages with in an effort to make a mute point.
Maybe, I’ve used all of some really necessary feelings and now am destine to go without? In all actuality, I was probably never given the proper amount of some of the necessary parts of my soul, heart and brain; that are required to survive.
I’m freezing. I cannot figure out how to make it warmer in the house. I shaking and sleeping (alone on the sofa) in layers of clothes.
This will become my responsibility tomorrow: the heat. Add that to the other dozen tasks and I am once again “on bed rest” and its past 2:00 am and I’ve yet to sleep. I’ve got agonizing cramps in my calves – I should probably see if this is some side effect – but who do I tell?
He’s asleep. Again.
He’s no different. I’m a burden who takes care of others. The ultimate OXYMORON!
I’m beginning to think its all a play and I am not in control of my character. I wish that even cared about anything except my sweet dog and keeping warm. As my fingers are ice as I type and I must go find another robe.
I’m sorry to those of you who are trying on my behalf, but hope is slipping through my fingers.