I've made my health insurance selections for next year, except for clicking the "submit" button to make it official. I'm just ordering insurance for one, just me. I get to select whatever plan I want and don't need to discuss the pros and cons of each plan with anyone, and this freedom makes my head spin and my stomach ache. Perhaps tomorrow I can submit to a solo insurance plan.
Papers have not been filed yet but I plan on getting divorced soon and today that thought squeezes my chest. I miss him. Just right now. And I feel guilty for missing him because I have found another great guy, and I feel guilty for being so happy with the great guy because I cared for my husband so much it seems impossible that I could move on from that.
Today something happened that upset me and my husband knows exactly what to do in situations like that but the new guy totally bombed in offering support.
It's just been one of those weeks (already!) where I can't seem to do anything right. Although, just when I was SURE that I had just skipped my first period, signaling premature ovarian failure, today it arrived in full force, lured to the white panties I'm wearing. The now stained, soggy and sticky panties.
Anyway, that's good news. To kill time while waiting for my period I P'dOAS twice. Fuck if that action isn't exploding with emotions.
Last Friday I added new medications to my antidepressant cocktail. Sunday I'll add in hormonal contraception.
The calendar is ticking down to October 31 and I feel like I'm going to scream as people chatter on about costumes and parties. I can still feel being in room after room getting ultrasound after ultrasound, watching my son moving, seeing that he was alive with a strong heartbeat, while at the same time hearing about the organs he didn't have - kidneys, both missing... stomach ... bladder... all absent.
Anything that pretends to be scary repels me. Forget stupid, gory costumes, houses of horror and scary movies - the sequence of events at that ob visit were truly terrifying, true horror. Part of me is still stuck feeling overwhelmed by sorrow, fear, and rage at having to make the decision of when my son would die... I see no sense in feeling terrified by fake dead bodies and such.
I need to move to a smaller, windowless office at work to make room for new faculty. I'm trying to be accommodating and gracious about it but really I feel embarrassed, like I wasn't doing a good enough job to stay in my office, even though I know it just has to do with educational seniority.
And my car smells like it has a fuel leak. And my bank account is overdrawn.
With all of those worries and hormones and new medications and memories it's no wonder I feel "off". It's time to be good to me and take care of me. And it's time to go home and change out of these icky underpants.
Love to you all, thanks for listening to my whining.