Happy Thoughts

Jump to Comments

“Remember, think Happy Thoughts!”  trilled Betsy as Timothy just about skipped out of the office waving a paper plate, yarn and feather dream catcher.  Timothy said good bye unprompted and even added “see you later!”.

Betsy is Timothy’s new therapist.  She is a pretty woman of about my age, soft and approachable looking in a not-too-matronly way.  The first time we met, Betsy made fast friends with Timothy by telling Timothy about her farting, burping, snoring, stinky bull dog.  Everyone knows that even if an 11 year old boy does not like dogs, they think farts and burps are hysterical.  Timothy thinks she is great and spent the whole hour talking to her.  They do art therapy, which is right up Timothy’s alley.  The dream catcher project was a nice segue into talking about intrusive thoughts and reoccurring bad dreams.

When I left Timothy and Sarah in the waiting room to go sign what seems like billions of papers (stating we were indeed there, that I am still his mother, that it’s ok that he use scissors and  other seemingly incidental CYA sorts of things), I answered Betsy’s questions like I answer everyone else’s.  Yes, things are fine at home.  Yes, the medication seems to be working well for Timothy and the child psychiatrist was very pleasant.  No, we don’t need any referrals for family counseling or other services.   No, Timothy’s verbal tics have not gone away, but seem to be occurring less frequently.  Nope, no self injuring behaviors this week.    Yes, yes, everything is going swimmingly and sure we will let her know if there is anything else she can do.  Think Happy Thoughts!

After dinner, I called my grandmother.  She is 92, and lives on the other coast in her own condo.  She is fiercely independent.  She  told me about her daily walks, the hot weather, my cousins and aunts and apologized for not sending winter hats and mittens for the kids yet because now her fingers “don’t quite work as well as they used to”.   She told me that my father, who I have not seen in 23 years, was out to visit her for four days.  I was silent.  Gramma picked up the slack;   “How are things?” she asked.  “Fine, fine Gramma, things are just great!”  I replied.  Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts.

I hung up the phone and cried.  Things are not fine.  Things are bad and picking up steam to worse.  Aldo and I fight.  A lot.  We never fought before.  He keeps saying he will leave because I am miserable to be around.  And… I want him to just go.  It kills me to admit it, but I wish he would just go and lay on a sofa in a different house away from me, leave his socks on someone else’s floor and get tobacco and coffee all over a different coffee table.   For the first time in 20 years, I actually told Aldo to go fuck himself.

I am miserable.  I am tired.  I find myself being short with the kids.   I am fat because I comfort myself with food.   I am broke even though I work 6 days a week.  I knew this would be hard, but never in my life did I imagine how much Aldo’s debilitating pain would impact almost everything.  I don’t think I can do this anymore with Aldo, but how can I do it alone?  Who will watch the kids while I work if Aldo leaves?  Who will take me, my two kids and my three giant dogs if I lose the house?   Where on Earth would we even live?  I fantasize about running away to Maine and hiding in my friend’s house for a long, long time…  weeding her garden, baking cherry cobbler and maybe working on some of the short stories I never seem to get around to penning while our kids and dogs  run free  in the vast wooded wilds.

I cried for all these reasons, then, like any good crying jag should,  moved on to other equally depressing things.  I cried for my lost relationship with my own father and the possibility that my kids might have the same thing happen to them.  I cried for Aldo’s chronic pain and suffering and the loss of all he finds enjoyable in life.  I cried because we had to medicate Timothy to stop him from saying he wants to die.  I cried for what might happen to us, what is happening to us, and then I cried some more because I was a blathering, sniveling mess.

Mostly, I cried because I feel like I am losing my very best friend to something I cannot do a damn thing about.    And now, I am crying because Aldo is at his super-part-time job and I know that his young, unmarried co-workers (two of whom he has already informed me have propositioned him…)  are patting him, soothing him, bringing him coffee and giving him cigarettes while  telling him I am an ungrateful, unsupportive, stupid fat bitch.    I know this because if I were a single twenty-something working with Aldo I would do the same thing.    And here I sit, eating chocolate and pouring out my heart to anyone who stumbles upon my blog while smiling and saying “Fine, Fine!” to anyone who asks in real life.

Good God, I need a sign.  Please let me know this too shall pass.  Please let it all be alright.   Please help me.   Something needs to happen, because it can not stay the same.   Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts.

4 Comments

Filed under Life, blatherings, odd timothy

Tags: blatherings, chronic pain, happy thoughts, marriage woes