Oh, the well meaning people. I don't blame them. I don't get mad at them. I understand they are only trying to help.
I know I should eat better. I know that exercising would be GREAT for my body. I know I should eat whole foods. Organic foods. Take supplements. I know there are all kinds of 'natural' anti-inflammatory foods, supplements, etc. I know. I know. I know! Did I mention, I know!?
What these very well intentioned people forget, rather, what they can not possibly comprehend, is the lifestyle I live having an Autistic & Epileptic child.
The sleepless nights. The endless days. Just check some of my Facebook posts. They are usually three, four in the morning, or earlier, when most of the people I know are still sleeping. Peacefully. Comfortably. With their spouse. Or lover. Or comfortably alone.
I don't have the luxury of taking time in the morning to have a 'routine' for myself. To take time to 'heat' my back, and stretch out my sore, aching muscles. Then take time for yoga, or meditation. I have most likely been up most of the night. Like last night. And the night before. And the night before that. Roxy doesn't understand that I have had three back surgeries. She doesn't understand I have tears in my shoulder. Or a herniation in my neck that sends shooting pains. She doesn't understand the strain that changing her 65lb. body puts on my already over-worked, stressed, injured body.
Roxanne doesn't understand that I stay up with her when her brain won't shut off, and I am completely exhausted. When the affects of the numerous medications fuck with her little head. I am her source of comfort. Her 'woobie'. Her 'blankie'. I am her source of food, and life. I am her port. Her safe place. At the expense of my own body, time, energy, peace, relationships, marriage, friendships, and soul. I give it all to her. I do it to the best of my ability. Then manage to save the minute amount of energy I can muster to the remaining family members and friends, that I love, love, love! I need them. Like air. They keep my life normal.
So, I grab the quickest thing I can find to eat. I grab my pain meds to help me get through the day with some degree of quality. So I can function, and work through the pain that has engulfed my body. "Intractible Pain", the doctor calls it. Some may find that weak. I don't care anymore. It works for me. Fast. I walk a couple times a week. And push myself to do it. I would love to grab my cookbooks that have collected dust, and make an amazing meal. I would love to take much needed time for myself and do something selfish. Like sleep. But, I am too busy changing diapers on a pre-teen. Feeding her. Bathing her. Trying to entertain her, because she does not have the skills to entertain herself. She doesn't have friends. Or play house. Or board games. Or go outside. She doesn't have sleep overs with girlfriends. She doesn't go to glass blowing birthday parties. Nope. None of that. I am grateful she still watches Blues Clues. Woe is the day she looses interest in Steve or Joe!
I know I should take better care of myself. But please don't keep telling me. I know. Wanna help me? Really? Make me a meal. Come to my house and take Roxy for a walk in her stroller. Take your vacation time to sleep at my house, in the bed with Roxy. You stay up all night with her so I can sleep. My husband has to sleep by the way. He has to work. Or we lose the little we have left. Don't tell me that I should look into services that are available to us. Did that. There aren't. Not ones that apply to us. Don't you think I would have utilized everything, and anything that is out there? But no, I won't send her away, so don't tell me to do that either.
I really do appreciate all the concern. I know I am loved, and that is a great feeling. But, I am smart. I know what would be good for me. So, thanks. Really. I will end my rant now. Duty calls. Literally.
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