Thought I should introduce myself before I blather on about all sorts of things.
My name is Charlotte. I am older than 25 (by more than 4 years). Married to ‘N’. Two precious young daughters, ‘R’ and ‘O.’
This is the part where I say I feel stupid and am not sure what to write. A million dialogues filter through my brain at 3:00 am when I am laying in bed praying to relax enough to sleep. Maybe later I’ll reconnect enough with myself to remember them.
As to how I fit on this particular blog – I am occasionally depressed and, lately, frequently anxious. There are moments when I function normally. Other moments when I hole up in my house and hope the phone doesn’t ring. Lately, I have avoided most gatherings. I don’t want to pretend, yet I feel I must.
My husband became disabled last fall. When we see friends, the most common response is, “Well, we’re just going to believe he’s going to wake up one morning completely healed.” I want to say, “Good for you! You’ve just made yourself feel better while completely absolving yourself of any need to provide emotional assistance. Because you BELIEVE he’s going to get better. How very The Secret of you.”
I’ve been living in a strangely real, real world. A world that combines caring for two precious little girls — with caring for my previously patient, physically able husband. A world that combines starting a home business with filling out reams of paperwork for disability. Do you know how discouraging it is to know that all that paperwork will automatically be rejected the first go-round?
I guess I found a little of that 3:00am angst.
