Saturday, April 7, 2012

A Three Story Life: Grayscale

On this beautiful spring weekend, I cannot get myself out of the funk. Lowdown, hollow gut funk. Accumulative malaise. Scott is having an upbeat week. Dad maintains his usual life is a pain median line. All's well in the 'hood. But I've lost the color in my story. Depression is probably not catchy, but living in its weightiness long term is. For 7 years it has been my job to keep the mood elevated in the house. I haven't done a great job, but we kept going. I am unable to contribute right now. Every lift is harder than the last. I can act in a way that helps Dad deal with his issues of aging, and help keep Scott out of the way of Dad's mood, but I have trouble helping myself now. I'm down the blue scale to indigo, and the flight plan back up is missing. I know better than to read the news, or watch television because the news and television makes me scared and mad. Today I read about Walker in WI signing Act 219, reversing the equal pay law. Ron Christy on Hardball with Smerconish last night spouted the litany of Republican crud that the war on women the Republicans are waging across the country is a construct of the Democrats. And my gut gets hollower. The war on women perpetrated by drone Republicans doesn't impact my life as much as every tshirt put in the wash inside-out does, but it feels similar. It feels like progress is ephemeral and pointless. Tried to pay my car insurance yesterday. $12/month increase. And she warned about $30/year per driver Michigan mandated increase coming in May. I was so defeated by this I walked out. I actually said out loud I can't deal with this right now. I commented to Dad about it yesterday, and he got further depressed. My bad. Just now he said I want to help you out. He wants to give me $20 to buy a pair of sandals he just bought. It's a lovely thought, it's shoes, and I'm grateful for his offer, but it just made me sadder. I thanked him, demurred, and he said he doesn't want me to miss out on the sale. Sigh. My sadness must be terribly obvious, when Dad wants to help me cheer up. There are so many of us caregivers in the world, doing the best we're able, while we lose surety of our ability to do our best. We lose the essence of appreciation when we cannot appreciate ourselves. And we must appreciate us. To all the caregiving, weary, big-hearted women who wonder if there are good thoughts ever to be had again, I'm sending mighty good thoughts in your direction right now. Hold yourself tight, sisters. Hug yourself, pray, suck your thumb, cry, write a blog post, go to bed and pull the covers over your head, but find a way to heal for this moment. The next moment will take care of itself.

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