So Monday came home and himself was perseverating over the bills. There is nothing in the world that makes me feel worse that this - not that he does it on purpose. It's just that I'm currently making about 1/3 of what he makes, so I feel utterly responsible for our dire financial situation. The one thing I heard 2 months ago keeps ringing in my ears,
It's like you're allergic to making money.
It's like you're allergic to making money.
It's like you're allergic to making money.
Yeah. Well, none of this helps that idea that I feel like I have that I am completely and utterly useless vocation that I'm very good at, but nobody cares about. Nobody cares that I'm good at diagnosing children, and that I can get kids to talk to me, because nobody cares about children. Anyone and everyone who works with children is horribly underpaid, unless they have MD or PhD after their names. The rest of us, well, we can go fuck ourselves, right? Even those of us with multiple graduate school degrees.
It's been hard to explain this to Himself. He reminds me often of how important I am to him, how much I help him, and that supporting him in his athletics is very important. He tells me that I'm very good at inspiring others, and that I'm brave. I know this.
Still. I'd like to have something for myself, some sort of accomplishment that is mine. Just mine. So far, I have nothing, and I feel like I'm in the shadow, waving my scribbles with a gold star on it in the air, saying, "look what I did!" I'm last, or nearly last, to cross the finish line in everything I do, and there is nothing I do that someone I know can't do better.
So back to Monday. I came home and fuck did I feel like throwing up - two days in a row, after and entire weekend of it. Himself was sitting on the couch going over bills, and worrying, and then of course I took that on, because I feel like everything is my fault. Then it hit me that, well, this is what my panic attacks would start like, so I took 1/2 hit of a Xanax - it took me hours to find the shit - and then 30 minutes I felt all better. ALL better. I did it again when I came home from work on Tuesday. Just once, at about 5 pm both days. But I know I can't keep taking this shit. It's habit-forming.
About the same time, my therapist called me to tell me that Blue Cross had approved more sessions with her. Whew. I hope this helps. I made so much progress before, and was even sleeping through the night now, and I'll start seeing her 2x month starting next week.
I went for a training run last night, with Himself. He taught me some more stuff about posture and such . It was good. I felt good. I feel closer to him when we run together.
I need coffee now.
