Therapy + 1
Saturday - 4pm - the load arrived frozen. Had to find someone to fix that. Had to find a new truck. Made calls. Couldn't reach anyone. (Couldn't reach anyone who cared.) 4:30pm went to the office...alone. More calls. No help. No hope. HOPELESS. Finally had breakdown #2. Realized why the job is eating me alive.
I had failed.
Left at 6pm feeling hurt and alone. Then the original carrier called (finally) and we worked something out. The something carried on until 1pm Sunday. No rest for the weary. Bad bad weekend.
What weekend? There are no stinking weekends. No holidays either.
2 weeks vacation isn't enough. 14 of 365 work days. Not enough.
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Monday night - stomach problems. Very very sick. Decided it was the last straw and I was GOING to see a doctor. So many unnecessary risks in that act. I don't miss work for silly reasons. I don't come in late. I come in early and work late........I never stop working. It hovers over me. Big grey cloud...always threatening rain. STILL....I had to worry that taking time to see a doctor would stain my image. Make me look like a drama queen. Make me appear weak and pathetic. Not worthy. (WORTHY? I'M WORTHY of this suffering? Now that's just a sick irony!)
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Tuesday - made the appt for Thursday @4pm. He said to me "Who else in your family has had an ulcer." Yeah...no surprise to me. BUT here's the kicker: SHE has an ulcer too. SHE has one for the same reasons I have one...only slightly worse since the passing of her father. I feel for her. I hurt for her. So much to deal with being HER. I want to tell her I'm sorry for her and I want to take the pressure off of her......but.....what is the cost to self? When have I ever thought of myself first anyway? (And there is a sad sick part of me that feels terribly "one-upped" when she tells me of her ulcer. Afterall...hers is bleeding. Mine is not. So how dare I suffer out loud.) And I make light by saying "I'm proud of this! I've earned this! I've worked for 11yrs to get this ulcer and these grey hairs! ha ha ha"
That is what I say. It isn't what I feel.
I feel alone.
I feel - WHAT ABOUT ME?!?
I feel relieved somehow. Somewhere between crying on the bathroom floor and a doctor telling me I have an ulcer....I feel relieved.
I am pathetic.
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Friday - I worked 7-6. SHE had to go see her doctor about her ulcer and I had to stay late to cover. I don't mind. I really don't mind the work. The problem was trying to pretend I wasn't sick as a dog all day long. "No, it's ok. I understand. You take care of yourself. You have people who depend on you and who need you. You go get better." (Me, I'll just sit her and choke back the bile for an extra two hours. No sweat. I'm getting good at it.)
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Saturday - broken things again at work. Sinus headache to add to the strain. I lost empathy and became apathetic like a switch had been flipped. I tried to care but I couldn't. I just wanted to sleep off the Sudafed and the headache. I just wanted to be left alone to cry. I got none of that.
6pm HE awoke from HIS Saturday, 4hr, undisturbed nap. Our moods seemed fine. We needed to go out to get petfood. I said I needed to run an errand too. We showered. We dressed. We got in my truck and we started off. He said "Stop at the box so I can get the mail." I said "Ok." Then we started talking and I drove right by it. In 30 seconds stopping at the box had completely slipped my mind. He got mad. I should know by now that getting what he wants comes first. It just slipped my mind.
I backed up in the drive and took him to the box. He was huffy and kept saying "Well I ASKED!!" I said "I know, I just forgot! Just fucking shoot me in the head!" He got out and mumbled "Go by yourself."
And I did.
I backed right up and left him standing there. I went about my errands holding back tears of frustration. I let him down. I was the disappointment. I am the failure.
He was wrong to throw a fit. The box wasn't going anywhere. He was wrong to belittle me. But ultimately - I forgot to stop. It was my fault.
I came home...I took a little yellow pill and some more Sudafed. I went to sleep on the bathroom floor with the door locked.
He doesn't want me around. So why don't I leave? Why doesn't he leave?
"Sitting around....waiting to die."
Is that enough to tell my therapist the next time I see him? Is that an hour's worth? Don't worry - there are 5 more days until then.
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