Thursday, January 13, 2011

Two 2011 snippets

Happy New Year to my gentle readers.

I'm still alive and kicking out West. H is stable, which is a nice change. And I'm spending more and more time at work…and less and less time at home, which is preferred.

What to say?
On a typical day, H will complain repetitively about:

How sick he feels, how tired he is, how much pain he is in
How he hates taking his meds
How his dad disappointed him and has made stupid choices
How his mom was an emotionally abusive monster (she was)
How he doesn't get his needs met at home (from me)
How he is frustrated that he spends so much time in bed
How he is disappointed that he will never go on an international trip (Australia in particular)
How he is frustrated that he can't do what he used to do

And the only response I can muster to the repetitive sad state he's in is, "I'm sorry, honey," or "It was a long time ago" or "that must be frustrating or disappointing."

Thing is, I want to make him feel better, but I really can't. And I know that just being here is a help for act as a witness to his life and feelings. But, sheesh, it is sad for me to see his pain and sadness and loss of hope, knowing that not only is there no way for me to fix it, but also that there is little likelihood that he can as well.

Acceptance is really, really hard.

This rock, again?
Poor Sisyphus...pushing that same rock up the hill, only to have to do it all over again. Can he choose another rock or another hill? Can he just decide not to push it up the hill? If he doesn't push it up the hill, is life worth living? (Apologies to Camus.)

Me, I've decided to just polish up my rock so at least it is purdy.

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