Well, now I’ve crashed for real, and while it’s purely situational, that doesn’t make it suck any less.
Family problems top the list of woes, followed closely by the dark, gloomy days and early nightfall of mid-autumn. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually glad that I happen to be so heavily medicated right now, because my emotions are flattened and I’m not feeling the full effects of this mood shift. I want to cry, but can’t. Fortunately, I’m also NOT thinking about death or dying, with the exception being the ever-present shadow of Will’s cancer, and that’s an equine of an entirely different hue.
It’s hard to believe that only a week ago, I was bouncing off the walls and running my motor-mouth at a hundred miles per hour. Today I’ve moved from the recliner, to the downstairs bathroom (had to take my meds, what else?) and to the computer desk. That’s it. Oh, yeah, and I went to the kitchen for some Cheez-Its and cottage cheese. Big fat hairy deal. All the energy and life I had a mere week ago has vanished, like it never even happened. I can hardly even think of anything to write.
Ironically enough, this is where keeping a mood chart comes in right handy. At a glance I can see that I had a brief situational depression right around the same time last year, which makes me wonder for the umpteenth time what the hell it is with November that something bad always happens in it. The year before, it was one of the family cats that got sick and died; last year, it was the loss of yet another kitty plus a good deal of fighting with my 25-year-old son about the direction his life was taking. This November, that same son’s life is in the toilet, and now he’s cut me out of it because I called bullshit on his lies and his failed promises.
To say that I am hurt beyond words would be the understatement of the year. This is the child who challenged Will and me every step of the way and made us work the hardest. He was born angry and gave us fits throughout his childhood with his tantrums and learning issues and emotional dysregulation, though we took him to therapy and did counseling at different times during his youth. I have always believed he was an Asperger’s kid because he’s never gotten the hang of living in society and relating to other people; I also highly suspect he is bipolar as well, because of his dark depressions and his irritable, angry mania-like episodes. But no, he doesn’t see a single thing wrong with the way he’s living his life, even though his ten-month-old marriage is already over and he doesn’t have a steady job that enables him to provide for his four-week-old daughter.
To make a long story short, he’s mad at me because I called him out, and because I refused to let him come back here to live after his wife kicked him out for doing something for which I’d probably have beaten him with a baseball bat. I can’t deal with his drama even under the best of circumstances, and lately has not been the best of circumstances, as you all well know. Will shouldn’t have to worry about it either—he needs all of his strength to fight off the cancer. Besides which, we can’t afford to have the kid live with us because he eats $300 worth of food in a week and never offers to buy groceries, and he’s always sponging money off his Dad. Even worse, taking him in would have put off the inevitable day when he will actually have to face up to his many mistakes and “grow a pair”, as the saying goes. We’ve already enabled him enough; time for him to man up and figure things out for himself.
I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that we did the right thing. So why does it feel so bad??