I look at a pile of things – things that mean nothing to me and can go to Goodwill or ReHome store today … still the pile sits.
We move out in a few weeks and back into a SMALLER RV than we had before and still he is clinging to the idea that we NEED all of this stuff or that it will FIT.
Put on top of that my stress level has gone through the roof. I have been telling him for months that I’ve reached my limit and he throws more on top.
Medical, his family, move, job, PEOPLE ALL OF THE FUCKING DAY LONG, motorhome, people, new job, his family, medical …. when does it end.
I want to get into my tiny clown car and disappear. I want the pulling in all directions to stop. I want PRIVACY. I want to know that if someone knocks on my door I don’t have to answer that fucker. Much less worry about having my boss coming into my home to drop a deuce. This is not cool. This is no way to live.
Having to tell people where I am going and when I will be home when it all started as “if you are home you will help out if you can, if you can’t no big deal” … then it turned into a half-way house .. lights out, need to know where you are all at times.
Now what should be grand adventure for DH – all of his employment dreams come true are overshadowed by my foggy brained breakdown.
He is talking about leaving stuff in the house and sorting it as needed later to “reduce the stress on me” … loading it all up and giving it away would do it for me.
I am having a hard time keeping a grip and spend many hours just freaking the fuck out. Not safe, not healthy — but it is what it is.
I keep hearing “This shall pass” … but when .. I have given notice, given warning .. I have communicated the best way I know how that I am in dire need of assisstance and it isn’t until I am found in a pile of sobs in the middle of the floor that the full force of WHAT IN THE FUCK is going on. I am not as strong as you think I am – I am not even as strong as I think I am.
I am just ready to go on walk about.