Sad

I'm sad.

I'm sad because my husband of eight months won't have sex with me.

I'm sad because the flat is a mess of piles of his things that I can't go through and organize, so they remain, and he does nothing about them.

He did keep me company while I washed dishes this afternoon, and he started work on rearranging the kitchen cupboards so they are more organzized and I can reach the stuff I need to without knocking over other stuff.

He says things have to be done slowly, because of his fibro and his energy levels and his pain, but what about my pain and energy levels? I live with it the same way he does and I get things done. I'm happy when he does the chores I can't do, but I am sick of living in this mess.

I am taking anti-anxiety medications to deal with the panic attacks that this all causes. He's afraid I'm going to tunr into my mother - a Valium addict. I assure him that I won't. He says me being upset drains his energy levels and the pills are the only way I can see to cpmbat that. We are on a waiting list for marriage counseling. Emails from his mother do not help because she has no understanding of chronic illness and chronic pain.

I'm less sad for writing this down.

Good...your hate has made you powerful.

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