I've written a lot about how hard it has been to go through losing a child when your spouse is not well. Tim's depressive episode has pretty much isolated himself from the entire household. Jake and I just look at each other and carry on the best we can- one of us needs to grow chest hairs, and that's pretty much all there is to it. When I did share about being in a relationship with someone who has bipolar, I think I mainly vented about things that weren't being done- household chores, repairs around the house, yardwork. I think I forgot to describe the heartbreaking loneliness I felt having had the only person who held me up through all of the arrangements just quietly disappear into the shadows.
Twisted or whatever, I care not, Cory was my partner. It was her and I against the world and to parent Jacob the majority of the time. Without her, I could barely stand. Now to also lose my spouse, the man who is meant to care for and protect me-it was a huge blow. Talking to him, even earnestedly, the threat of divorce clear in my words, his face was a mask. He would listen; he would walk away. When I say I've been alone in that house, that is exactly what I mean. At times, it feels like a jail sentence, but then I realize there is no pointing in marking off the days...where is there to go from here?
So in an effort to tell the whole story (tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth), let me shed a little light on what it's like to live with a grieving mother who is also suffering from PTSD:
Tim might be leisurely enjoying one of his History Channel programs, when a piercing scream comes from my bedroom. He runs in, sure I have hacked off a finger with one of my scrapping tools only to find me sitting up in bed in the same clothes I've been wearing for a week, dirty hair pulled back in a careless bun, and tears streaming down my face.
"Honey, what's wrong"
"I want Cory. I want her. I want her. I want her." The wailing begins and may very well go on until my throat hurts. Usually, Tim will slip me a pill and get me to lie down on my side, one of Cory's stuffed animals in the crook of my arm, and the covers up to my chin. "Try to rest, honey. Just try to rest."
Sometimes, I refuse to eat. Three grapes in the morning. A cup of coffee if I leave the house that day. During these times, Tim tries to ply me with milkshakes, that old trick of Dr. Z's. I tell him I can taste nothing. While this is true, sometimes I can't taste anything, other times I have reverted back to "I don't deserve to eat if she can't. I let her die".
Do we want to discuss my driving? Tim tends to drive like an old man, so whenever we travel together, I am always behind the wheel. The road rage has gotten somewhere better, but it still pops up when I see someone crossing the street WITHOUT EVEN LIFTING THEIR HEAD, LET ALONE LOOKING BOTH WAYS, and somehow the cars magically part for the person like the fricking Red Sea. What the hell? What the HELL, people? Driving right along, I scream and swear at the top of my lungs, hitting the steering wheel or my thigh to the beat of my words. WHY MY GIRL? WHY?
My mood day to day is every bit as unpredictable as Cory's used to be. The other day I got the mail in. Bills, bills, more bills, and oh....what was this? Discover card has sent an offer to my dead child. It has her name right there front and center: Corinne Nicole Mansfield. Shaking, I set it on the counter. Silently, it regards me.
What do I do with the damn thing? I can't throw it away- it has her name on it. I put it to the bottom of the pile and leave the room. Later, when I sit down to do my bill pay, I put in a bill holder where three or four such other envelopes rest in a gloomy pile. This is surely the saddest hoarding I have ever done.
The other night, I went onto Vera Bradley online to look at their cute little sticky notes- perfect for my planners. Scrolling past, I discovered they have made a credit card shaped magnifier for reading, edged in their pretty designs. Instantly enraged, I opened my mouth and just SCREAMED! "Are you @@@@ing kidding me?" Sure, sure, now you make something that would've helped my girl when it's TOO LATE!! Absolutely infuriated, I slammed the lid down on my laptop as hard as I could, and fell into a fitful sleep, harboring hate for God and everyone in my heart. What a shit deal. What a shit, shit deal.
What do ya say? Wanna come live with me?
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