…my mum’s voice.

What a strange day.  I really don’t like weekends anymore.  During the week I manage to get on with the things I need to do, like go to work, get dinner ready and do a number of other crappy little chores before I flop down exhausted by the sheer effort of my tasks.  Come the weekend its full of expectation and very little enjoyment.  I feel enthusiastic about what I could do but then my physical limitations; the aches and pains in every joint and muscle, prevent me from doing anything.  Likewise, mentally if feel just as incapacitated; not knowing what to do, where to go, how to spend my time.  Lately, I feel lost in my own life.  I spend too much time faffing around on Facebook and watching TV,  watching other people live their lives; envious of their physical freedom, their friends, and their families.

Here in Birmingham its just me and Dave and our four cats; Mili, Remi, Popi and Izzi.  Our families are spread out over the UK.  My mum and dad in Edinburgh, my brother and is family in Glasgow and my sister and her family in Bristol.  Dave’s family are equally spread out; his mum and dad in Nottingham, two of his brothers in London and another brother in Reading with his (estranged?!) family.  Dave has mental health issues, he suffers panic attacks, has agoraphobia and, what I believe to be his worst problem, PDA (pathological demand avoidance); which means he is on the autistic spectrum.  This makes him difficult to live with sometimes, or should I say difficult to live with all the time but with some moments of fun, happiness and lightheartedness.  Don’t get me wrong I’m not without my problems; I’m 52 years-old, menopausal, awfy fat with fibromyalgia and lipoedema and I have a searing anger within me which I find difficult to control.  So, neither of us are having a great time at present.

I’m not sure where all this anger is coming from; internal frustration and my own limitations and disappointment at how my life has turned out or general frustration  towards others who I believe have let me down.  Either way, I know its not good for me to feel this way but I am struggling to find ways of coping that are not personally destructive or which just paper over the cracks.  In my head I hear this voice which says ‘suck it up, Paula other people have worse problems’.  I know this is my mum’s voice.

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