ML and I are having trouble communicating.
To be fair, like everyone else, we are living in stressful times. We added the purchase of our first home, moving, ML’s Dad requiring daily care due to lung cancer, me not being well enough physically to properly clean and unpack our new house, being bombarded with stupid little issues with the house that sees us dishing out $$$$ at every turn….to the mix and we’ve become a bit distant and cranky.
I’m also not the easiest person to communicate with. I travel the dips and flats of depression, anxiety, panic, OCD and aspergers daily – but that’s the only travelling I do. I’m also extremely agoraphobic and would rather cut off a foot than leave the house. I do. When I absolutely have to. But with the monster virus floating around out there – there’s no way. My Dr’s have been wonderful – allowing for telephone consultations during this time. Suits me just fine.
So, I don’t have much to talk about. I’m no longer reading. A little switch in my brain has malfunctioned and I can no longer concentrate long enough to get through a book. They no longer bring me the joy they once did. TV is a barren land – with the occasional documentary (I love SBS on demand!) to sink my teeth into. When I try to discuss them with ML (I LOVE conspiracy theories), I can actually see his eyeballs rolling into the back of his head.
He’s tired. I get it. He comes home, wants to relax and watch TV (he’s a TVaholic – mostly news and politics – he actually watches Parliament Time on the ABC). He doesn’t want to talk. We’re neither of us chatters, nor do we bicker to fill the blank air space. His days flow pretty much the same every day, as do mine so….um….yeah…..
So when he brought up a subject last night, I jumped in, settled myself down, and began to discuss. Except, he didn’t want my ideas or opinions, he didn’t care what I thought of the whole situation, made it clear I had no idea about the whole deal. Because I sit here like an onion every day – I’m no longer able to process thoughts and express opinions.
So, I try to engage him by asking questions…how’s your Dad? Fine. Did you go with him to the Dr today? Yep. Is he eating all right? I guess so….you get the idea. And asking ML how he is – well that’s even worse. He’s my carer too, so he’s fine…he’s always fine. Everything’s fine…except when it isn’t, then it’s a catastrophe that I need to stay out of. It’s far too much for my fragile mind and body to bear.
My goodness…I sound like a whinging bitch. I should be grateful. But we live beside each other. We’re room mates. We don’t touch – heaven forbid one of us gets this virus. He’s in bed by 9:30, I’m still wide awake at 2:00 am.
We’re physical and social isolation failures. I cry a lot. I’ve cut myself off from a lot of the people I used to communicate with on a regular basis because….if I could explain it I could work toward fixing it. I feel like a nothing, a nobody, an onion. I question and regret everything I write and say. Sitting outside the bubble looking in.
I’m trying. Blogging again is helping a little. I speak with my brother a lot – he’s such a smart guy and we never run out of things to talk about. Our telephone conversations always involve a bit of laughter and a few tears. It’s all I can manage right now. He’s my light in these dark times.