Thursday, February 23, 2012

This Looks Like More Than I Can Do

You must think I’m strong
To give me what I’m going through
Forgive me if I’m wrong
But this looks like more than I can do
On my own


In 3 weeks time: Charlie was hospitalized with A-fib so bad they wanted to shock his heart to get it back to normal sinus.

The Lexus died, yet again. Despite it not being in his best interest health-wise, Charlie fixed it... costing $200 more than we had to spend.

We broke down and called my septuagenarian parents to ask for a loan to buy a long overdue second car.

Daniel made a mistake, leaving a knife in his pocket at school. He was caught with it and arrested on weapons charge. At 17, he’s considered an adult and this is a charge that will certainly get him expelled and possibly send him to jail. This the same week that his girlfriend confessed she’s being treated for DID and today ended their nearly 3 year relationship.

Charlie has a cardio cath scheduled for Tuesday. The same day we have to be there for Daniel’s expulsion hearing. A day I have to work due to switching days with the other driver. Plans can’t be adjusted. Unless we have the second car by then, we’re toast. I’ve missed 4 days of work this month, kicking us back more than $400 and making getting to the end of the month a real challenge.

Oh, and we need money for the public defender. $40 non-refundable ‘assessment’ charge.

I don’t know who my oldest child is anymore but I know I don’t get to spend time with my granddaughter and what I do see of my daughter… is hard to like.

Becka’s ex got mixed up with human traffickers who are blowing up her phone with demands for money for Noeli’s life and threatening to kill him. Even if she had money, she wouldn’t pay coyotes. Noeli shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. But she lives every day wondering if the father of her child is ever going to even get the chance to get his butt home to Cancun and survive to know his daughter.

John is in need of some intervention again. Not as drastic as last year but he’s asked for counseling. This is the closest thing to good news I can even see right now.

I find myself fantasizing about swallowing a bottle of klonopin or buying a pack of single edge blades… I haven’t and won’t but the thoughts are fucking exhausting.

My physical health has so deteriorated that I can now do for 1/2 an hour what I could do all day last year... and it takes most of my 3 days off to recover from 4 days of work... meaning sometimes NOTHING gets done... and it's all on me to do.

I took a nap this afternoon and dreamed I not only split again but completely fell apart. Given the sobbing in my dream, it’s a wonder I wasn’t crying physically… and I’m to the point of hoping that little bit of dreamed emotional release will be enough to keep me from snapping.

The people in my everyday life (church folks) are wonderful for prayer purposes but not people who could hear any of this without platitudes. Last time I told my pastor I was fighting off depression, he reminded me that singing praise helps. Yeah, because I don’t already sing my guts out every moment I’m in the car because it’s helping me stay from teetering on the edge… but damn, it’d be nice to be taken seriously for frikkin once. Answers like that make it hard to care that I haven’t been since my job made getting to service a nightmare. They can accept others so ill they can’t function but I guess I’m held to a higher standard.

I’m scared for my family. I’m scared for my mental health. I’m at my limit. I’m done trying to be strong. Stop fucking expecting it.