I’ve stopped wearing make up almost entirely. I haven’t done my hair in two weeks. Most days I come to work wearing a T-Shirt and jeans. And not a cute vintage looking casual chic t-shirt – the same T-shirt I’m probably going to wear to bed later that night.
I know that’s no big deal for a lot of people. I realize that many woman go all natural on a regular basis, and that’s cool. But for me? I’m not that girl. My lack of concern for my physical appearance isn’t a sign that I’m outgrowing vanity.
It’s because I’m just too tired to care.
(Yes, depression, signs, blah blah blah, I know.)
I would expect anyone that knows me to notice, after a while. I would hope that the person who lives with me would see that I’m just not trying anymore – and wonder.
It’s not his job to fix me. It’s not his fault that I feel like this. It’s not his job, it’s not his fault, it’s not about him. I know. I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW!
But I resent like hell that he doesn’t ask.
I come home and take a nap after work more often than not now. Sometimes that means the kids don’t get dinner until 7 or 7:30. And while I know it’s not going to kill them, it’s definitely outside of the norm. And it’s not what I want for them, or for me.
It’s not his fault I’m tired. It’s not his job to make me get out of bed and face my life. I know. I know I know I know I know I KNOW.
But I hate that he doesn’t pick up the pieces while I sleep. I hate that uses that time to sit on the couch and watch TV while the world continues to pile up outside my door, waiting for me to get back to it. And while he’ll happily do anything I ask as long as I’m standing over him watching it get done like some kind of task master from hell – I’m so tired of having to ask.
He can’t fix me.
This isn’t about him.
I know that in my head, but it doesn’t stop me from being angry.
I wish he would carry the world for me, run with it while I quietly fall apart in the background.
I wish he would wrap the Christmas presents like he promised to, because I’m not going to keep asking. I can’t handle the resentment mixed with guilt for being a nag and a drain.
I wish he would figure out the health insurance papers like he promised to, instead of collapsing on the sofa beside me while I try to drown out the world. I’m not going to ask or expect more because it’s not fair – but I’m seething with disappointment.
I wish he would encourage me to get out of the house or go get my nails done, instead of happily accepting my excuses of wanting to save money and being too tired.
I wish he wouldn’t pretend not to hear when I complain about the constant pain in my neck and back, and offer a massage. Because I’m not going to ask and feel like a burden.
I know it’s not fair. I know I’m expecting him to read my mind. I know I’m hoping for skills that he is simply not equipped with. I know it’s better than being alone. I know he’s a good father and husband and I’m lucky and being selfish and must be absolutely awful to be married to right now and oh my God yes I am still talking about all of this. I know.
But I wish…