Wednesday, February 17, 2016

The Flip Side

At this very moment 20 years ago, my wedding began.

Twenty years. That's a milestone. That's significant. That's important, especially in this day and age. It's remarkable. Twenty happy years is a miracle.

Except I'm not happy today.

I freely admit that this stupid brain injury, coupled with my medicinal cocktail of mind and mood altering drugs, has me in a bad spot. There's a reason they warn people with brain injuries to avoid making any serious or life-altering decisions on their own.

Like unpublishing every single book/poem/short story I've ever written. Taking down my website and disappearing, becoming nothing but an internet ghost with old URL's and defunct purchase links.

Or running away from home.

That's, essentially, why I'm here. Because, while I'm happily married and wouldn't change Bryan for anyone in the world--because after the passion and fun and heartache and everything life is, he gets me. Genuinely gets me. And that's more important than anything else.

But I woke up Monday morning mad. And I went to bed Monday (ahem, afternoon--personal timeout) mad. And I woke up Tuesday mad. And I didn't sleep at all last night because I finally understood why I was mad.

Like any normal human being, I WANTED TO CELEBRATE MY ANNIVERSARY. It's a big one, and I wanted to do something big. Unfortunately, due to my current physical condition, I can't even comfortably go out to dinner. Dinner at a restaurant. When was the last time you gave a second thought to a dinner alone with your husband?

For our tenth anniversary, we finally took a honeymoon. Although that sounds weird, I wouldn't change that memory for anything. I'll even go out on a limb and say a honeymoon after 10 yrs of marriage is even more magical than one taken ten hours after the wedding. It was the best. In the past we talked about how to top it. Where to go for our 20th? What to do?

Forget topping it. How about repeating it? I'd give anything to be able to go to Disneyland this weekend. But, finances and work schedules aside, we simply can't. No, correction. I can't. I get anxiety just thinking about the crowds. Forget the noise. Forget the rides. I can't even handle that many people.

Do you know what our anniversary plans consist of? Bryan is going to make me a lovely dinner. My mom has arranged for none of the kids to have to come home until late tonight so that we can have the whole evening alone. At home. Why? Because it's the best we can do, and they love us.

Let me translate that for you: Everyone in my home is rearranging their schedule/life to accommodate my disability. Mine. The "mom." The one who is supposed to be the one doing the rearranging.

I'm completely split down the middle. Part of me is overwhelmed by their love and thoughtfulness. Part of me is furious at myself for requiring it.

Saturday I made cookies. Sunday was Valentines day, and I wanted to make my kids heart shaped chocolate chip cookies because it was the only valentine I was able to provide. It exhausted me. At one point, near breaking, I collapsed on the couch and drew Bryan's attention (not deliberately). He kept asking me what was wrong so obviously I had to respond. But what I said was, "Can we please not draw more attention to my condition?"

I'm tired of everyone having to make allowances for my condition. I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of doctors, medications, alternate therapies, all of it. I know it's immature. But I'm over my limit. I'm sick of all of it.

It cost me a night's sleep, but at least now I understand why I was so angry. I'm posting this for you 3 people to see because I'm hoping it will help me get it out of my system, so I can enjoy the paltry, unworthy, celebration of our 20 years of marriage. Because that matters. I'm not going to ruin Bryan's anniversary because I'm feeling sorry for myself.

**Update** It never stops, does it? The car has decided to literally fall apart, and now my son can't get it home. So I guess we'll take a rain check on that lovely dinner we'd planned, so Bryan can go rescue the kids. This isn't the first anniversary I've spent alone.