Post meltdown recovery
My on-the-spectrum partner’s September tirade followed by the November ultimatums have left me in a pale blue place.
He’s better. The sun is shining and he’s off being a hero to family members again. I’m grateful for that.
I still struggle to find daily joy, to make small connections with others regularly. I’ve pulled back, smile less both to be less inviting and to hear less criticism.
Work doesn’t help. I tried to help a caller recently who recently found herself with 6 of her deceased brother’s children. The mother’s drugs had been found in their systems and the children had been removed to the caller’s care. This will be their first Christmas, mother having previously sold all gifts prior to Christmas to fund drug habit. Children just believed Santa forgot them. The call hit close to home, as we’re working with children in the area with similar backgrounds. This is ground zero. A local place known as Dreamland Pool is the inspiration for the title of a book about the opioid epidemic.
I almost fear finding cheerfulness, dreading the next major meltdown and it’s accompanying harsh words. Being labeled worthless, told that I’m responsible for looming divorce or suicide,...I know he throws words out in anger and moves on once he feels better. Those sentiments leave lasting wounds, though...much like when I cut tendons in my fingers but the hospital wouldn’t reopen the wound to give stitches, so the tendons pulled and tore for more than a year as they healed under my skin.
How to get out of the depression brought on by so much death, disapproval, and a general sense of despair?
He’s better. The sun is shining and he’s off being a hero to family members again. I’m grateful for that.
I still struggle to find daily joy, to make small connections with others regularly. I’ve pulled back, smile less both to be less inviting and to hear less criticism.
Work doesn’t help. I tried to help a caller recently who recently found herself with 6 of her deceased brother’s children. The mother’s drugs had been found in their systems and the children had been removed to the caller’s care. This will be their first Christmas, mother having previously sold all gifts prior to Christmas to fund drug habit. Children just believed Santa forgot them. The call hit close to home, as we’re working with children in the area with similar backgrounds. This is ground zero. A local place known as Dreamland Pool is the inspiration for the title of a book about the opioid epidemic.
I almost fear finding cheerfulness, dreading the next major meltdown and it’s accompanying harsh words. Being labeled worthless, told that I’m responsible for looming divorce or suicide,...I know he throws words out in anger and moves on once he feels better. Those sentiments leave lasting wounds, though...much like when I cut tendons in my fingers but the hospital wouldn’t reopen the wound to give stitches, so the tendons pulled and tore for more than a year as they healed under my skin.
How to get out of the depression brought on by so much death, disapproval, and a general sense of despair?
Comments
Post a Comment