I am far too fond of alliteration for my own good.
I really appreciate everyone’s comments on my last post. They mean so much to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to reply. I don’t have the mental capacity to do so just yet.
It’s been a month since I was released from the hospital, and I’m only doing marginally better, physically. I still can’t tolerate much by mouth. Moderate to large quantities of clear liquids make me very sick and I can only handle a little “full” liquids at a time. My doctor tells me not to push it, to take it easy on my gut. But my stomach frequently complains how hungry it is, and that’s hard to ignore. Plus, I miss food.
I miss all the things I used to be able to do. Not just eating. I miss the things I used to do for stress or pain relief–baking, weight-lifting, taking baths.
Consequently, I’m doing much worse mentally. “For now” has, in my mind, stretched into “forever” and that’s hard to ignore. I’m still grieving. Others have projected an image of “toughness” onto me, and I’ve adopted it for myself, stubbornly trying to hold onto some vestige of emotional, if not physical, strength. So I project an air of “I’m doing fine” when I’m shattered inside. I’m still not able to work properly, and my supervisor is frustrated with me, which only makes me more angry with myself.
I’m falling into a lot of the same unhealthy patterns as the last time I was on TPN. This includes distraction from my grief–when I can’t work, I constantly occupy my mind with puzzles and music, audiobooks, or TV. This is not a thing I like to do. It feels empty, so I punish myself later.
And I’m also falling into the same relationship patterns I was as last time. And it kills me. Peroxide is a doll. He wants, desperately, to make things better. I recognize that he can only make things easier. I feel bad that this has come down not only on my shoulders, but his. And so, whether to punish myself or through a misguided attempt to “protect” him from the same pain that I’m experiencing, I push him away.
I did this with Shadow, before. And Peroxide’s feelings for me are much stronger than Shadow’s (and so are mine), so he’s willing to put up with more crap from me, and he won’t allow me to push. But he can’t keep me from withdrawing, so I do. Even though I don’t want to, I do. Even though it hurts me, quite possibly as much as it hurts him, I do. Because I don’t know how to do anything else.
Yes, I am in therapy. Yes, I’m trying to process. But trying is all I can do. The wheels are just spinning.