A bit of backstory: My parents came out to Louisiana for my grandmother’s 82nd birthday on the 28th. They want to make the two hour drive to see me. I am less than enthusiastic about this, but I figure it’s like medicine: I get it all down in one gulp, and I won’t have to do it again for a while.
So I had a dream last night.
My parents get here and nothing goes right. I can’t placate them, I can’t shut them up. All par for the course, but they would not leave. They said I needed them here since I obviously fail at caring for myself. They said I needed a keeper.
They come and take over my life. They take over my room, commandeer my bed. My dad goes to my job and basically does it better than I could ever do it. They make their home here and nothing I say can make them leave me alone.
My dad called me today, mainly to be sure that the number he has for me is right.
He told me how he’s doing, asked how I’m doing, and said some other stuff.
He asked me if I was praying. I told him yes, and then he said, “It’s important that you spend some time alone with God every day.”
I choked out a reply in the affirmative, meantime trying not to bray like a donkey over the phone.
I’m still cracking up over it. 😀
WARNING: This post may contain whining. If this is not to your taste (and I don’t blame you at all), skip it.
I’m tired. I’m tired of getting up every morning, tired of the battle I fight every morning to get me up. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed, I wake up (after waking up at least three times during the night) feeling absolutely wiped. I want to stay in bed and cry.
I’ve got this place to prettify, but I can’t work up the enthusiasm to do it. I’ve JUST unpacked my books a couple days ago. Yes, I’ve been here for a month. Yes, I love my books, and usually I unpack them first. I haven’t had the motivation.
I don’t want to eat. If I could I’d just sit here and live on Pepsi. Nothing tastes good when I eat it. None of it is spoiled or off in any way; it simply tastes like dust in my mouth. I eat only because I have to.
I hurt all the time. I take ibuprofen like candy, around the clock, every day. That’s 600-800mg every four to six hours, every day. My stomach’s fine (went to the doctor and had it checked), but I know this isn’t good.
Worse than all of this is the fact that I can’t work up the emotion to care. Yes, all of this stuff is bad, but when I think about them, all I can feel is a gray flat line. A “meh” feeling.
I wish I could get drunk, or sleep around the clock.
I’m supposed to be getting ready for bed. My tea is brewing and I’m tired, but sleep may not be coming now. What I’d really like to do is curl up in bed and cry. Not for any particular reason; I just want to cry.
Life feels so hard and not worth it. I don’t feel like eating or anything really. I didn’t even cook today; instead I sponged off my downstairs neighbors.
I feel ashamed. What happened to my will to take care of myself? My will to get things accomplished? It’s a struggle to get my worthless self out of bed every morning. It’s a struggle to get myself to do anything almost. I moved here and suddenly, I can’t handle life. I feel like I should come with a warning.
When will I be able to stop dragging everyone through my own personal mire and begin to feel regular again?