Monday, May 30, 2011

Anger and Depression

Anger and depression are really two sides of the same coin.  At least in my case.  Instead of getting angry I get depressed.  I'm having a bad day today.  It took a week of resting to get to the point where I could circumnavigate my back yard to inspect my flowers.  Then my husband took me for a ride while he dropped off some sound equipment.  The trip was roughly and hour and a half.  We then ate dinner on the way home.  We ate out on the patio of the resteraunt so that we could enjoy the nice weather.  I watched the sparrows hopping around under the tables hunting for food scraps.  I admired the lilac bushes that were oddly still in bloom (mine hit their peak a week ago and now look pretty crappy).  We got home and I was tired.  I sat and finished my book.  After one hour of reading my eyes hurt and I could no longer focus them and everything was blurry.  I sat down to watch episodes of Glee on Netflix.  Hubby decided that we should go out for ice cream.  I was tired but in my desperate need for normalcy and companionship I went.  This would be nice.  Go out for ice cream.  I knew it was going to keep me up half the night but I didn't care.  Hubby decided to take noisy car.  He loves this thing.  It is a '55 Bel Aire that he built himself.  He races it on the drag strip.  Back when I was healthy I didn't mind riding in it once in a while.  Now that I'm sick it is not my preferred mode of transport.  It is uncomfortable.  It is loud.  It vibrates horribly.  It is loud.  I can't talk because it hurts my throat to yell that loud.  Did I mention it is loud?? 

The day had gone pretty well so far.  But hubby decided that he wanted to cruse around town with me in the loud car.  Not what I wanted to do.  Not in that car.  I don't do well in that car.  But he never asked me if it was okay. After two laps around town I can no longer keep my eyes open.  I'm nodding off.  This is a car that is so loud that you can't hold a conversation in it and I'm falling asleep.  We finally get back to the house and now I can't walk and can't go up steps.  I beach myself on the couch and wait for the sugar to run out so I can sleep for reals.  I'm up until 4am.  Birds are singing when I finally hit the sack.

Today I'm miserable.  I can't move again.  My arms and legs feel like they are filled with lead and I can't move them.  He wants me to sort coins but it is too much effort.  He wants me to clean my stuff of the coffee table.  I do it but it is a Herculean effort.  I try to make pesto but I can't find the parts to the food processor.  It tires me out completely just looking in one cabinet and a drawer and I have to go lie down.  Now I'm getting irritated.  I can't even make god damn pesto.  Oil, basil, nuts, garlic and Parmesan.  I want to yell and throw things.  Someone moved the oil I just put out.  No one wants to help find the lid so the processor works.  Hubby looks around and gives up.  I'm so damn frustrated and tired at this point I just lie down on the couch and leave him to it.  My son comes home and walks into the middle of this.  He starts looking.  Hubby is trying to rig the processor so that it will work without the lid instead of looking for the lid which has to be in a cabinet since he put it away!!  I'm just getting more ticked off.  I have such a short fuse when I'm this tired.  I feel like no one appreciates the huge effort it takes me to do the simplest tasks when I'm this tired.  My son finds the lid and I rise from the couch to make the pesto.  I don't have enough basil, the Parmesan falls out the tub in a big clump so there is too much cheese in the processor.  If I was well I would fish some of it out but now I'm too tired to care.  I blend the stuff together.  It is the wrong color.  I've added too much oil.   The ingredients are way out of balance.  Too much oil, too much cheese, not enough basil.  Eh, I'll just use it as a marinade for the chicken and not put it on the table for a sauce like I normally do.  I drop the mess in a sieve to get some of the oil to drain off but it has done some weird chemical bindy thing and turned into a huge yellowish oil chunk with green flecks in it.  Totally unappetising.  Dinner comes out okay.  My son made risotto to go with the grilled pesto chicken. 

After dinner I sit out on the deck by myself.  I'm miserable.  I'm short tempered.  I'm tired.  I'm hot.  I feel like crap.  I have no energy.  I'm berating myself for doing too much yesterday and setting myself back so badly.  I start crying.  I wish my husband would come and sit with me so we could talk.  I wish he would come and comfort me.  I wish he would hold me and tell me that this will pass.  Instead I cry by myself.  I am so angry!

I go inside and he is playing video games with my son.  I settle down for a night in front of the tube.  First a movie, then a stand up comedian, then a few episodes of X-Files.  Now I'm depressed.  It is hot and humid out and this combined with the CFS makes me suffer horribly.  My body can't handle the heat and humidity.  I feel even crappier than I did.  My energy has returned a little so I'm sitting up instead of lying down like earlier. 

Then the best part of my day happens: hubby comes in on his way to bed and asks me if this is what our marriage is going to be like from now on.  He isn't having any fun.  He doesn't want to sit and watch TV all day with me (I've never asked or expected this).   I say he could have come out on the deck with me and he says there are too many mosquitoes.  I tell him that I meant hours ago when I was out there after dinner.  He counters that he wants to be able to do fun stuff.  I ask him what and he says travel, bungee jump, fun stuff.  Of course we didn't do any of that before I got sick and I would never ever bungee jump.  We never traveled anywhere cuz he was too damn cheap.  All I heard about was how expensive it is to rent a room, eat out, take a taxi....  Even if we had a fun trip he was always trying to do things on the cheap. 

So I cried some more.  I still feel crappy.  My stomach is upset even though I took Prilosec earlier.  I'm hot and miserable.  I swing between being angry at myself, angry at him, angry at CFS and being depressed.  So much for getting a hug.  This sucks.  All I want to do is cry.

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