I'd Like To Win
I do. Win. I broke my fiance's depression. Relate, break, fight, step by step, caress, gentle loving gestures daily.
Tonight as I stood broken, Mum had bought some 40% sugar bars. Dad's trying real hard to zero sugar intake. Not 1 box, but both boxes of different bars. No bar for lunch tomorrow at work. Work he hates, fought really hard to get, knows it's doing him good in his retirement. Supports his income which helps pay the bills and house us. And Mum can't even check the sugar on some cereal bars for his lunch.
I told her she just made a mistake. Just say so and be sorry. Done. It's simple. She defended herself instead. But she realised what I said was true. The futility of it all. She trespassed close to Dad's heart: food. While he's at work. Earning when his earning days should be done. He worked damn hard those years shifts in the police. Just covered us. A little focus on the little things he really appreciates would go a long way.
She made a mistake. She defended, he was angry about that. I told her. I went away. She cried, finished the washing up. He started watching the boxing. She finished, I went back down and dried a couple of things. She went back in. I went to bed, touched both and stood, a broken man. Dad asked about my OH. If she's making the right decision. Small talk, but not. I said I feel her pain. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. No reason to extend it. She won't get enough out of it to justify it. Not even close.
So after I left the room, immediately, he spoke. Softer, of his crossness. Actually he used the word angry. She bowed. She gave as well. So as I went up the stairs, broken, I had won. They knew conflic resolution. For the first time perhaps in years and years. I won. I won at life today.
And yet here I sit. Broken. I cannot straighten my back for fear that my internal stitches will come out. My teeth are rotting from the sugary hospital food when I didn't brush them. I'm working on that btw no need for advice there. In pain. Hobbling. In filthy compression socks I've been wearing for 5 days solid since the op. I'm tired of reading about stuff on here, thinking I could do that if only I knew how to program, or some such. I want to do. Enough dreaming. I want to win, FOR ME. I want to ROAR. The world should hear this. Instead here I am, alone. Afraid to post such to my Facebook wall. So here it goes, to EP. My gifts of brief interventions that worked. But not for me.
Tonight as I stood broken, Mum had bought some 40% sugar bars. Dad's trying real hard to zero sugar intake. Not 1 box, but both boxes of different bars. No bar for lunch tomorrow at work. Work he hates, fought really hard to get, knows it's doing him good in his retirement. Supports his income which helps pay the bills and house us. And Mum can't even check the sugar on some cereal bars for his lunch.
I told her she just made a mistake. Just say so and be sorry. Done. It's simple. She defended herself instead. But she realised what I said was true. The futility of it all. She trespassed close to Dad's heart: food. While he's at work. Earning when his earning days should be done. He worked damn hard those years shifts in the police. Just covered us. A little focus on the little things he really appreciates would go a long way.
She made a mistake. She defended, he was angry about that. I told her. I went away. She cried, finished the washing up. He started watching the boxing. She finished, I went back down and dried a couple of things. She went back in. I went to bed, touched both and stood, a broken man. Dad asked about my OH. If she's making the right decision. Small talk, but not. I said I feel her pain. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. No reason to extend it. She won't get enough out of it to justify it. Not even close.
So after I left the room, immediately, he spoke. Softer, of his crossness. Actually he used the word angry. She bowed. She gave as well. So as I went up the stairs, broken, I had won. They knew conflic resolution. For the first time perhaps in years and years. I won. I won at life today.
And yet here I sit. Broken. I cannot straighten my back for fear that my internal stitches will come out. My teeth are rotting from the sugary hospital food when I didn't brush them. I'm working on that btw no need for advice there. In pain. Hobbling. In filthy compression socks I've been wearing for 5 days solid since the op. I'm tired of reading about stuff on here, thinking I could do that if only I knew how to program, or some such. I want to do. Enough dreaming. I want to win, FOR ME. I want to ROAR. The world should hear this. Instead here I am, alone. Afraid to post such to my Facebook wall. So here it goes, to EP. My gifts of brief interventions that worked. But not for me.
36-40, M
