This weekend was a tough one. Weekends were not working for us. I still blog and conduct business on Saturdays and my husband wants to jump out of bed and literally get in the car to head to the dog park the second we wake up. I told him in the interest of not shocking the dogs or their owners with a frightful sight, I gotta have time to get myself ready for the day. It was beginning to feel like my life was one "Are you ready yet?" in 30 second intervals after the other. I was getting stressed and resentful and not enjoying our time together because by the time we finally got anywhere he was pissed at me that half the day was over with and I was pissed at him for all the stress he was causing me, a slow moving Fibrate doing the best I can to get my butt out the door! So we talked and came to a resolve. He has his Saturdays till 4pm to take care of his business and I have the same to take care of mine. This weekend was our first opportunity to practice our new strategy.
Saturday started out well enough. He got up early and did dog-park-gym-who-knows-what and I slept in. Then I blogged, made my rounds around the Fun House and got ready to go get our hair cut. We met up at 3 and it was such a less stressful experience. Afterward we decided to enjoy the sunny and pleasantly warmish day and walked around, talking and exploring, until we settled on what looked to be one happenin' spot! DJ blaring, outdoor patio full. Groups of people drinking and eating and laughing and having fun. We grabbed a table and he starts in with Martini's and I have a Bellini. As he drinks his excitement grows, for we were amongst the land of the living, and it has been so long! He tells me he wants friends and a social life again and has missed living for these last 6 years. I hear him, I truly do, and try to squash that guilt monster sneaking up inside me. His feelings, wants and desires are all so normal.
But as the sun goes down it gets cold. And the droves of stilettoed and mini-skirted 20-somethings come pouring in. The place is packed! My husband is drunk and having such a fun time and I am quickly and quietly spiraling down into the misery of Fibro pain and overdoing it and too much stimulation. But the light in his eyes, the excitement and joy at simply being somewhere other than his living room with his wife keeps me quiet. I am sitting there, a tense and stressed out little bundle of nerves, sinking deeper and deeper into pain and hurt and anxiety. And it is there I get slapped in the face. For once again I am reminded I am so not normal. I cannot go and do like a normal. All I wanted was to be in sweats sitting on my sofa watching TV. Warm and safe. I 'll admit I did a little bit of mourning. For my lost self. Who I was. And how far away she is from me now. And how I cannot even pick up the shell of my former self and put it on for one measly afternoon. So we head home and as we are walking to the car he grabs me and kisses me, deep and long, and it shocks me, knocks me off my guard. And then I get mad all over again that my husband kissing me in public is a surprising experience. How is this is the woman who was proposed to while straddling him at The House Of Blues in Hollywood on New Years Eve? Who is she and where has she gone? I want her back.
Thanks for joining,
Leah
P.S. Please "Follow" Chronicles Of Fibromyalgia on Networked Blogs on Facebook (link from my badge on the right). Thanks!
