The Little Things

So, first, I just have to say…  HOLY SHIT I almost just wrote this post on my vanilla blog!  SHIT!  I’m losing my grip, I have too many personalities!  And fuck, I hate having two personas and never being able to cross them.  Because of my article on Writing About Writing some people have responded to it on Facebook.  Some of their responses have been incredibly heartfelt and I want to reach out to them, and I CAN’T!  I don’t have a stealth Facebook profile, and before now, I never thought I needed one (what am I going to do, friend my two friends who know both of me and give myself – and them – away?)  So I’m having weltschmerz.  What’s new?

Okay… Now that that’s out of the way…

I’m on vacation.  And I’m tired.

Sir and Sub Brother aren’t on this trip with me.  They’re home, a thousand miles away.  I can barely even talk to them, other than a quick text or email because I’m traveling with my mom, and… she doesn’t know about them.  Because… that’s how my life works.

So no Facetime unless I’m hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.

And while traveling is fun and exciting, it is… I’m sure for everyone… exhausting.  But, for me, I find myself exhausted not only by the traveling, but by being away from Sir and away from my dynamic.

I find myself developing a kind of mental exhaustion. I stood in the kitchen tonight and just wanted someone to tell me what to do next. I wanted decisions taken off of my shoulders for… just a minute.  Traveling with my mom means I am responsible for not only everything to get myself taken care of and where we need to be, but her as well.  She wanders off in the grocery store, she steps into the street without looking, she doesn’t notice things…  Last night I dropped her off with the groceries while I went to find parking for the car (which turned into a 20 minute endeavor ending in a four block hike back to the place we’re staying…  ARGH!)  I finally get back and she’s left the groceries outside on the steps and is standing eating chips while she waits for me.

I seriously almost lost it.

So I went and took two of the four bags into the house (assuming she’d grab the other two as she followed me, and I started unpacking and putting away the food.  Mom goes into the bedorom.  I look around for the other two bags and can’t find them… she left them outside!

I literally almost burst into tears of frustration.  I couldn’t handle it anymore.  I went outside and got the other two bags and I threw them onto the table and unpacked the rest of the food.

But… that’s how it goes.  She’s getting older and she has ADD and she refuses to get treatment for it and between those two things… I have to take care of everything.  I have to drive.  I have to shop.  I have to decide what activities we will do.

I love my mom.  I appreciate all of her help financially, because I couldn’t cover my medical bills on a monthly basis without help.

But sometimes, those little things… just… make me want to break down and curl in a ball.

I want Sir here.  I want Sub Brother here.  I want that focus and attention and anticipation.  I want my family who help me look at street signs and can work the GPS and can soothe me with a soft word and a light touch…

I want Sir’s directions when I’m tired and I can’t focus. I want the simplicity of a command.

I want to feel like someone else has my back and it’s not all on me… all of the time… in a strange place… without even my familiar routines and coping mechanisms to fall back on that I have for myself at home.

And I miss Sir and Sub Brother even more deeply than just this two days we’ve been apart. We’ve been struggling for months. All of us. It feels like our relationship has been in an uncertain place, that nothing is quite right, that everything is slightly raw nerves and dischord.

It isn’t anything huge and dramatic. We aren’t having shouting matches. We aren’t sleeping in separate beds. There aren’t cold silences or dark looks. Things are just… off.

Sir says that these things happen. We’ve all been dealing with really heavy shit, and that affects our relationship. He says we’ve been in weird phases before and they pass. He says nothing has truly changed between us and we’ll get back to who we are.

But… How do I believe him?  Depression brain lives in the moment – the moment that currently sucks and is horrible.  Depression brain doesn’t live in the moment in that syrupy, chirpy, stupid Facebook, “Live in the moment” to a background of autumn gold trees way.  Depression lives in the moment in the “This moment is all of eternity and all past and all future exists only in this moment and therefore it always has and always will be this bad… unless maybe it gets worse,” way.  Depression brain is a bad Buddhist.

I miss Sir.  I miss who we have been. I miss who I used to be, able to take comfort in my place in my relationship, able to accept and feel peace, able to… feel whole.

Maybe being away from them will help me reset myself. Sir says it isn’t anything I’m doing wrong, it’s just my PTSD, but… I’m dearly sick of my PTSD.  I just want my life back. I’m tired. I’m weary. Too much sits too heavily on my shoulders and… I just… can’t do this any longer.

Sir says to go to bed.  🙂  My mom went into the bedroom so I snuck on video chat in the living room. Of course, to my mom, I will perpetually be 13 years old, so she has told me twice already to come to bed and get some sleep…

Somehow Sir can get away with it, but my mother is a different story.



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