Well, I’ve slid into a pit of loneliness. I had been congratulating myself on feeling a lot less desperate and alone than previously. Not that there are more people – just for some reason, I felt I had enough to do with managing myself.
This is my second week of working from home, plus a therapy free previous week. And it’s been hot.
I don’t do at all well with heat. I’m not sure what it is, but I wilt. My air conditioner doesn’t cope once temperatures go above thirty. I think I have a tendency to dissociate when I’m uncomfortable, so I end up feeling quite spacey. I wanted to go out to a group on the weekend, but it’s held on the second floor of a church, and I thought it would be just sweltering, so I didn’t go.
Today I didn’t do much. I went out at noon to sit in a cafe and then got my nails done, in an attempt to break out of my lassitude. It didn’t help much. I’ve been needing to vacuum and clean my bathroom, and that hasn’t happened.
I feel miserable.
I talked with a friend on the phone on the weekend. She lives in another province, so we never see each other, but we talk sometimes. We first met about twenty years ago in a support group, both trying to work through the effects of abuse. Since I was in a frightening and abusive marriage at the time, not much working through was able to happen, as my PTSD was simply triggered over and over by my situation. She seemed better off – she was working, unlike me, and she was in love with her boyfriend.
However, things worked out badly for her. Her boyfriend left her, and she fell apart, to the extent where she needed to be hospitalized. She got herself a major diagnosis (schizophrenia) and some heavy duty medications. And she went back to her family in a western province, to live on disability and stay with a (formerly) abusive brother.
No way on this earth is she schizophrenic. But….she is afraid. She is afraid of not getting her insurance money, she is afraid of doing her own research, she accepts doctors are smarter than she is. She is a lovely, kind person, but she is living a nightmare as far as I’m concerned. If I was stuck, dependent on my insane family, my life wouldn’t be worth living.
I on the other hand found a very slow way up and out. I went back to school for a writing qualification. I slowly separated from my ex, despite complete economic dependence on him. Finally, finally, fifteen years ago, I found steady work which paid enough to live on. And just five years ago, I finally moved completely out of my ex’s house, found a therapist, and was able to start healing my PTSD.
My life is difficult. But it’s going in a good direction IMO. My friend’s life seems to have crashed and burned. She said she’s struggling with ‘motivation’, getting out of the house even for a walk is hard for her. She thinks it’s part of her ‘condition’ – apparently with schizophrenia, lack of interest in life is supposed to be an issue. Well – I wonder, is it the ‘condition’ or is it the anti-psychotic meds that cause that? And to me, if I was trapped in a small apartment, living with my abuser – I would completely shut down also.
So it’s painful to talk to her. It’s good, in that we’ve shared a lot of our struggles with each other, and I can talk about most things and she’ll understand. But her situation seems so very sad to me, and I can’t really say much about it without offending her. She has no prospects of ever getting off of disability, off of meds and working. Of ever being able to afford much of anything, like being able to live on her own or with someone she chooses.
I always want her to get angry. Maybe you can’t get off the couch because you’re angry? No, she doesn’t feel angry. Then I remember trying to get her to feel her anger twenty years ago. It didn’t happen then either.
I am so sad this friend’s life has gone this way.