I don’t know how to explain this without explaining it, but that’s exactly what I need to do. I don’t want to share the actual details because it’s too personal. I know—I really have no filter here so this probably makes no sense to you. But I don’t make a lot of sense.
John (my husband’s fake name) handled something yesterday because it was decided that he would. (I know, vague.) After, he gave me a summary of said thing he handled, including what needs follow-up. I asked a few questions, he gave some answers, but not in as much detail as I would have liked. And the reason I would have liked more detail is because all of the follow-up is being thrown at me.
I have told John so damn many times that this “something” is extremely difficult for me to deal with for reasons that would be obvious if I told you what the fuck I was talking about. I have asked him outright for help, but he says he has to work… he’s busy. So he handles (I use the term loosely) the first (kind of easy) part, I get the information second hand, and I’m left with everything that needs to come next.
I am alone. John doesn’t want to talk about it. I try, but his answer to everything is, “I don’t know.” UGH. I don’t fucking know either, but I’m the one who has to figure it out. Alone.
I may not have a job outside the home, but I have a fuckton to deal with right now. The above matter aside, I have a few things going on with myself that are troubling me.
I saw another specialist for my forever back pain. He told me a lot of things I already knew, and some new things. He told me I am not a candidate for surgery. Fine by me. He also told me about a procedure for which I might be a good candidate. One of his colleagues is a pioneer of this procedure so I am seeing him next. And I’m going back to physical therapy (again). I hope this time the therapist actually does more than hand me some exercises to do at home because that’s all the last one did.
Of course, my brain instructs me to worry that nothing will work and I will continue to have my forever back pain. You know, forever.
And something else came up at my last physical. I don’t know yet what it means, but I have to see someone about that, too. No date for that yet. But I’m in a panic over that, too. John doesn’t seem to give a fuck. I guess could give him the benefit of the doubt, but why would I do that?
I need help. I need someone by my side through all of this. Tell me it’s all going to be okay. Lie to me. Whatever. I don’t care. I just need some hope because I have none. Last night, I cried for nearly four hours. Kids were asleep, John was downstairs, and I cried alone.
People keep telling me things won’t always be bad. They tell me to have hope. They tell me to think positively.
I am fucking positive that I have no hope.
I am fucking positive that when things seem like they’re at their worst, I’m wrong, because they always get even worse.
I am fucking positive that I can’t handle my life anymore.
I am fucking positive that I need help.
I am fucking positive that I’m not going to get it.
• • • • •
My boys. I don’t want them to see me like this.
p.s. — Let me be clear: It’s not that you are not helpful. You are, in a very important way. That’s why I came here with this. It helps me to write it. It helps me to get some support. But I need help with my day-to-day stuff, and I have no one here to help me. I am all alone.