Tumbling Down

I had The Talk with Will late last night.

I’ve done nothing but stew and plot and plan for the past week or so, and I figured I’d better let him in on my thought processes. He’s been watching me like a hawk and asking if I’ve taken my meds, which I know means he’s worried about an impending mood episode. Last night he went so far as to suggest I talk to Dr. Awesomesauce, even though I’m not clinically depressed and I don’t think there’s anything the good doctor can do for me at this point. I am, however, severely stressed out, and the anxiety is mounting by the day as my life continues to unravel like the sleeve of an old sweater after a stray thread has been pulled.

I just wanted Will to know that I am deeply sorry for taking him with me on this downward spiral. Friends and family can tell me till the cows come home that it’s not all my fault, but part of me isn’t buying it. I keep thinking that if only I were stronger none of this would be happening, even though I know on an intellectual level that it’s not a character weakness, but illness. And then the part of my brain that’s (still) in denial about the illness stands up and demands to know why the hell I can’t just power through things like any other self-respecting human.

It’s become obvious that it’s time to talk to the family and quit minimizing the trouble we’re in. I’d rather walk on hot coals than admit how bad things really are, but pride is a luxury I can no longer afford. I never dreamed that I’d have to ask for charity…..they shouldn’t have to take care of us. Nor should the taxpayers. I swore long ago that I would never again darken the doors of a welfare office, but it’ll have to be done because we’ll need food stamps. Food stamps! Never in all my years as a working nurse did I think we’d need them again. But I can’t work as a nurse anymore, and no one else apparently is hiring 50-somethings with a spotty job history, so again, there’s not much of a choice.

And I think that’s what bothers me most of all…..the fact that my choices are being taken away by circumstances, some of which are beyond my control. I don’t like not being in control. This sucks SO badly and all I want to do is run away. I remember feeling that way earlier this year for different reasons, which just goes to show that you better be careful what you wish for because you may get it. I wanted to get out of the rat race and live an authentic life…..well, guess what, I got out of the rat race all right, in fact I got kicked out of the rat race, and there are few things more authentic than poverty.

Sorry to be such a downer today, but other than the fact that it is a gorgeous and unusually warm October day, there is no joy in Mudville, so to speak. I had ONE freaking job—taking care of Will and me—and now I can’t do it like I used to, and there’s no going back. Phooey.


Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

4 thoughts on “Tumbling Down

  1. Hope that your talks with husband and family go well. Your husband clearly loves you and is concerned for your wellbeing. Swallow your pride. Accept food stamps. You paid taxes for years for such services.

    Liked by 1 person

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