I’m a real advocate of allowing people to be honest about the negative stuff in their lives. I’m a believer in recognising the balance between wonderful and crappy.
Unfortunately I often pick up a strong hint from people that, unless one’s life is truly truly monumentally crappy, we’re supposed to think positively even when we don’t feel like it and bound around joyfully saying only nice things and never complaining.
‘But look at those people worse off than ourselves who never complain!’
Even when I’m feeling low, I can list the good stuff! I know what it is! I don’t need annoyingly cheerful people prodding me with their happy finger, or miserable bastards telling me I don’t have the right to complain.
I’m massively, massively exhausted today. And I have had to take a combination of painkillers so I can get through some bad period pains. And I fully intend to not be joyful or to waste any energy pretending otherwise like some irritating fluffball of false cheerfulness. I will still be naturally delighted by a butterfly or a new flower or my children’s senses of humour.
I have pulled out all the stops for my family recently. I’m not complaining about that. I have no regrets. But, despite a certainty that could I do it all again I would, I can’t hide the exhaustion. I can’t pretend it’s not there. I suppose you might say I’ve refused to “think Aspie” in the last couple of days or think about the needs that involves. And now Aspie and hormones are both here to remind me I can’t ignore either for long. All I want to do is curl up somewhere dark and quiet for a day and sleep and think and empty my brain of all the recent interactions and images that are playing over and over. (And maybe have someone bring me tea and Voltarol and chocolate occasionally…) But I can’t because I have to be Alpha Dog, Alpha Bitch and chief doer of the everythings for 2 weeks now to get us through the rest of the holiday. As much as I can organise timetables for our shop and organise time for the family and organise times a journey will take us and organise and organise and organise… I can’t organise exhaustion and I can’t organise energy. These days just happen to me.
I know that many people see time at home with the kids as time off but I see it as my job – particularly when I’m the only parent here because the only time I get time off is when my husband is contributing and easing the constant to-do list, and “what does everyone need from me?” tune that plays forever in my head – and it has to be him rather than anyone else because our responsibilities are joint so it’s not help – it’s our lives, and he’s the only one I don’t have to explain to. (To be honest, I’ve always failed to see how my life of washing, washing up, preparing meals, tidying, cleaning, vacuuming, wiping poo off toilets, restocking the fridge, picking up dog hair, tripping over miscellaneous gubbins, repeatedly tidying the kitchen, stopping regulalry to say ‘Oi! Pick that up’, ‘Stop that!’, ‘Clean that up!’ ‘Wash your hands’, desperately trying to find time to pay bills, answer emails, do the wages, get outside and grow and pick vegetables, walk the dog, drink cold tea, never getting an authorised break, working through period pains, feeling guilty if I sit down, and never getting paid for any of it for twenty years, is like a holiday to some people. I’m clearly doing it wrong. Or maybe it’s the not getting paid bit…? )
Brains that never switch off need calming by reducing the stimuli sometimes – otherwise there’s no such thing as time off. I’ve pushed other people’s needs to the front of my brain for 20 years – 25, if you count the years I forced myself to socialise as much as I thought I should, and I think the not emptying often enough has finally worn me out. Some days the only thing that anyone can do for me is leave me alone ( – it’s taken 44 years and an Asperger’s assessment to learn to say that and it still feels totally evil).
I don’t need advice or solutions, I just need to grump. I actually don’t think there is a solution.
I know the best thing I can do today is write things down instead of letting them whirl in my brain, find something nice for our youngest to do, so I can ease the constant guilt, and aim for a rest sometime this afternoon by suggesting a DVD later. It won’t solve anything but it might keep things from getting any worse.
I don’t want to not have what I have, I don’t want to not have my children. I don’t even want someone else offering me anything. Dealing with communicating or organising with another person when I feel like this makes my head spin and exhausts me further. I just need to complain before I get up off my arse and carry on!
I am wading through treacle today but the treacle-wading boots fit only me. If you want to wave and offer a supportive glance as you run past me wading at 2 metres per hour then please do but don’t offer to discuss how I might do this any better/faster/more efficiently, and don’t ask me to explain why I should dare to suppose that my apparently charmed life is so difficult sometimes.
It just is, Dear Reader. It just is.