The real truth...instead of that fake truth I usually tell.

That's kind of a joke between hubby & me, but it fits this post.

I realized today that, despite medication and 6 months of weekly therapy sessions, I still feel like a naive child. I still don't want to admit that anything's wrong with me, even when people notice that clearly, something is. I don't want to admit that I have all of these aches and pains in my body, and in my soul.

I wonder what I'm here for. I think of my husband, working so hard to do so much for us both -- I have trouble doing things involving lifting or bending my arms in certain (many) ways, and have join pain when walking or standing for any length of time. Some people might attribute this to my being fat, but that's not it, or at least not most of it. Something has happened to my body, quite possibly as the result of extraordinary stress throughout most of my life. I can't remember a time when I was not under stress, not even when I was "happy". Is it just me, or does that sound really screwed up? I think it does.

I have a great love for many people -- ones I know and ones I don't -- but it's hard to tell if that love is given naively. Actually, I guess I know it's given naively in some cases (maybe many), but I continue to want to err on the side of mercy, if you want to call it that. However, for that luxury, the cost is great.

I feel bad for my hubby, because he takes on so much responsibility, and I seem incapacitated in so many ways. I can't imagine that I could do enough for him to make it "even". Yes, I know, you're not supposed to keep score, but doesn't everyone in some ways? I hate to admit it, but I do. I eventually give up on people when they don't seem to be interested in my attention. Is that wrong, or smart? I don't know which at this point.

So, on the inside, I'm a frightened, blubbering child, looking for that safe haven where I know nothing bad can happen. And on the outside, I am the pragmatic adult who knows there is no such place.

WIP