We had company in and out all weekend, which had a nice, temporary blurring effect on my emotions, but I was aware in the back of my head that I was angry, depressed, and not processing things logically. I should be an actor, I could have won an Academy Award for my brilliant performances this weekend. Deon Mumple, nominated for his performance as a normal, happy-go-lucky guy for whom everything is emotionally fine, part of a happy couple and a beautiful family life everyone should be jealous of. Fuck. Smile and hate every moment of this torture. Assure your guests everything is fine. Lies, lies, and thank God, no videotape. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, because it rarely makes sense. I can logically process my emotions, but sometimes it makes too much sense and I don’t like the logical conclusions. Does that make sense?
I’m in the emotional down turn of this swing thing, and it predictably sucks dirt.
I love my wife but it’s by choice and requires effort, much more effort at some times than at others. I love my readers and commentators, and I think that’s pretty easy, but I don’t have to live with you, now, do I? If I lived with you I’d probably love/hate you too. She is so good at hitting buttons that piss me off, and she doesn’t just hit them and back off, she leans on them until she hurts me. Especially when I’m feeling shitty myself.
I love my kids and do my best to mask what I’m going through. When I have the daily stress attack in the morning before I leave for work, my son asks me if I’m all right. I wish I could tell him that I’m not all right, life sucks for me right now, and it’s not just allergies, it’s stress and depression and inner rage and I hate everything except my family, until they do or say something that pisses me off.
I swear, “she fucking hates me.” (La, La, La, La)
Crash and burn. It’s OK, I’ll be fine in three months, give or take. It does scare me a little (every time), since it’s just started for me again. Can we just skip forward to September?
I already feel less energy, less motivation, less everything, except worthlessness and helplessness and hopelessness, which I feel more. So far, I know it’s not true because I am logical. But I can expect, logically, that I might believe it is true in a month or so. That’ll be right on time for another fucking family event. How entertaining. Watch Deon reprise his role as a contented husband. ::Inside:: Anger, loneliness, rage, Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. ::Outside:: Fakes a smile.
Not like that’s happening. I asked my wife for some favorable treatment this weekend, and predictably she shut completely down, to enhance and frost the cake of my emotional downturn. When I need something, it’s “buh bye,” emotionally. When she wants something, I give it because I’m desperate. The next day she asked me to turn off a show I was watching because she doesn’t like it, so I shut it off. Then she scolded me for watching the show in the first place and went on a rant about how she doesn’t like it, it’s inapropriate, blah, blah, blah, blah blah (goes on a while), at which I told her to shut up because I had already complied with her demands. Without swearing. Mum would be… proud? Well, she should be. I was a model of restraint, and at the time she started digging into my sensitive heart, there wasn’t anyone around to hear me if I had sworn.
She wouldn’t approve of my play list today.
Tsk. I can see her shaking her head, irritated but grateful that I’ve got on my headphones. Nope. Not approving at all.
There’s something satisfying to me that these songs are available for my listening, and emotional venting, pleasure.
Is it too much to ask for some encouragement when I could really use the emotional support? Apparently so, since that’s the trigger for more, or worse, shitty treatment. Can September get here quick, please? Or better still, just “Wake me up when September Ends.”