It’s been a week for the books. And it’s only Wednesday.
I have been worried, stressed, and preoccupied with my relationship with my Mister.
I have been tearful, exhausted, and irritable. I have been impatient with my kidlets, and downright annoyed with my teenagers.
A sweet friend told me on Monday night, that she thought I should go on an anti-depressant for thirty days, and then re-evaluate where I stand within my relationship.
“I’m already on an anti-depressant,” I said.
She was visibly surprised. We sat in silence.
I must be a hot mess.
And here I thought I was holding everything together. Holding myself together. And it turns out, that I’m flying apart into a thousand tiny pieces and I don’t know how to save myself, apparently, from myself.
Last night at work my supervisor further validated the Hot Mess Theory. I was written up for well, pretty much not doing my job.
I cannot buy into the entire reprimand. My skills are solid. My patients like me. I give good care. However. I am exhausted and irritable and I have been foolish to think that those things were not bleeding over into my professional life. I feel hurt and tired and sad and defensive.
Seven years on nights…it’s enough.
On a good note, I saw Mister yesterday for a quick visit, and while there were tears and general gnashing of teeth, I left feeling calmer than I had been in a while. There is no doubt that he loves me and wants what is best for me. But how can I ask for what I need, if I myself cannot figure that out?
In PolyLand, I am a secondary partner to him. He has a wife, a child, home, a career. I see him twice a week, generally, and overnights are rare.
I am madly in love with him. But I am still lonely.
I don’t think an anti-depressant can fix that.