So, as of last Wednesday, we’re two months into this stupid separation crap. I’ve resorted to sarcasm and grumpiness, lest I devolve into a flood of tears. (Which also happens regularly. Usually in the evening). I am at the point where I often grumble about how I ‘HAD to fall in love with a Canadian!’ like I could have controlled that one. For the most part though, I’m ok. Sometimes, I’m very not, okay.
The first month was extremely rough. He was falling into a job with higher expectations than he had believed, with crazier hours (14 hour days…ALL WEEK) and insane learning curves. My life was…much the same. Same apartment. Same mess. Same work. Same. Same. Boring. Same. I didn’t even know where he lived really, or what his days were like. I didn’t know what he was doing, where he was, if he missed me. It was a huge mindfuck for me. Thank god for my friends because if it weren’t for them…honestly? I don’t know where I’d be. They quite literally held me up when I could not go any further. They listened to my whining, my crying, my insane anxiety spirals, everything. They listened. They tried to help. I could feel their love across the miles.
I tried to do as much as I could to support myself in that time. I cooked meals. I started to exercise. I worked to find a therapist. (And then another therapist. And now…am on the hunt again.) I found a GP and talked to him about medication, which was a HUGE jump for me after my horrible experience with Effexor in 2004-2005. He listened to me, he was so kind, so caring and genuine. I LOVE him and am so glad I found him. I’ve now been on a low dose of Lexapro for about 6 weeks and I think it’s taking the edge off of the daily, constant, CHRONIC spin. I plan on seeing him for some other health concerns I haven’t gotten taken care of due to lack of insurance…soon.
It all helped as much as it could. Probably was the reason I wasn’t in bed every single day, wasting away. I started losing weight, I avoided the crap food lest it make me feel crappier. I really did feel like I was doing the best I could in a seriously shitteous situation. I felt proud of that. I felt like, “I might make it!”
Then his job evened out. He felt more capable and confident. We started talking more. At first I was so ecstatic. I felt like our love was renewed. We both felt so close, so committed. We started talking about the future and what would happen. Would he come back here? Would I move there? Who was moving where and what implications that had on our future. It was…amazing. So reconnecting and just…it demolished any negative thoughts and fears that I had with one fell swoop.
Fast forward to today. It’s been a rough couple weeks. I had a birth false alarm, then I got sick with a cold that turned into the mucusy cough that wouldn’t die. My coworker gave notice. I went to a client in what we thought was active labor, at 4am, for 4 hours…then it all stopped. I slept for a few hours and went to work. Later that night, I went to a DIFFERENT birth and was up all night with them until 7am. Then I attempted to go to another birth, back to back. It was crazy. Less than a week later, I went to another birth ( a VBAC at home!) and then labor slowed and…I went to work. FINALLY that baby was born and I got home at 4am. This is all within a 2 week span and did not include the fact that I was still going to appointments, interviewing applications for my coworker’s job, teaching 7 hours per week, all day Sunday and still just…keeping up with life. I’m still coughing and have two postpartum visits for next week but..man. It really set me off in a bad way.
I’ve felt unsteady and apathetic for the last two weeks. I’m exhausted, like bone tired. Not just “i didn’t get sleep” tired, but TIRED. I feel like I have no more stores of energy to get myself up and moving. I wake up tired. I work tired. I stopped working out. I stopped having the energy to cook great meals. I crave sugar and crap. I get weepy at the drop of a hat and I explode with feelings if someone asks me how I’m doing. Andrew is at a loss of how to help when he’s so far away but he keeps trying. I’m not depressed. I’m sad, sure. It’s a shitty place to be. But I’m not depressed daily. I’m just fucking tired. I think I’m going to talk to my GP about adrenal fatigue when I see him in two weeks. We shall see.
Other than feeling completely unstable and not knowing what I’ll be like at any given moment…I’m still upright. I’m still putting one foot in front of the other. I’m working. I’m teaching. I’m loving my clients and students. I’m still inspired by birth, by the midwives and clients I work with. It’s still my passion and my love, even when it gets hard. I guess that’s why it’s my calling, or a good tip that it is. Even when it’s at its roughest, I can still see the light. (Sometimes not in that moment, but..it’s there).
We’re looking at me moving to be with him and immigrating from inside. It means I can’t work for 2 years, but…we’re thinking…maybe that’s the window we need to start a family. Maybe that’s a sign, saying, “HEy. You can’t work on your career or go to school for 2 years….I know you want a baby so…”. We’re feeling like, if we do that, then we can get ahead in life. If he returns for his PhD…it’s another 4 years of struggling, not trying for babies and just making ends meet. Andrew’s willing to give up the PhD for now, to help us get ahead as a couple and as a family. That’s a huge thing in my book so we’re looking pretty seriously at it.
After the first month, I just don’t care what we do, honestly. I just want to be with him, whatever that takes. Anywhere in the world. As long as I’m with him, I don’t really care.
My current plan is this: Get my eating and drinking under control. Get regular, healthy food and enough water into me so that I feel stable. Then add in some exercise and see where that takes me. I’m sitting here meal planning and putting one foot in front of the other. I’ll make it. I have to.