Monthly Archives: April 2019

Radio silence

I went home on Saturday while he was there to iron out a few practical details. He is being very generous, for which I’m grateful, and I handled the conversation fairly well, I thought. All things considered.

But that evening, back at the clinic, somehow the enormity of it hit me – that the love of my life just doesn’t love me – and since then I’ve been so sunk in sadness that the other patients are all asking me what’s wrong. I started up the blog to post pithy observations of clinic life, but I’m so sad and lost and scared now that I have no wit nor pith. I’m not my usual self, and I don’t know what to write. I don’t want to be maudlin, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret later, so I just… don’t know what to say.

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What happened, in brief

Okay, it’s been two weeks. I think I’m ready to sketch the bones, but I don’t want to go into too much detail, because… well, because a lot of it’s still too raw, and because I might say something unfortunate that could have bad consequences later.

Backstory: our youngest is 18, so we’ve been talking about moving to a smaller place. Two weeks ago, on Saturday night, he came into my office and said he didn’t think we should look for a place together. And you know, I thought that thing about suddenly going cold was a metaphor? But I really did go cold, from one second to the next: I felt like my lungs were coated with ice.

He said a number of other things, that he’s not thinking divorce, just a separation and we can keep the joint accounts, and something about the house … And that there’s another woman. I don’t remember much of it. I cried a lot, and eventually he went away and I went to bed and cried some more.

The next morning he left for the apartment he’s renting in Cologne because he has a fellowship there this semester (hang on – is that really why he rented it?), and I alternated crying and sleeping in 3-hour (or so) stints until Monday afternoon. Then I had to get up because I had appointments to cancel.

I called a therapist (not my therapist, she retired in November) and she can’t take new clients now, but she gave me an emergency appointment for 4:30 that afternoon. I’d been hoping she could squeeze me in the following week sometime, because I really wasn’t ready to get up and get dressed, but I did it anyway. She referred me to a psychiatric clinic right near where I work. I said okay, I’d check it out. She said, “Will you really?” I said probably not. So she called for me and told me I had to show up in person. I promised to get Thing Two to take me in the next day (Tuesday, the, um… 16th).

That turned out to be a good decision because there was a lot of runaround and waiting and I wanted to bail but he wouldn’t let me. And they admitted me, and that brought a set of problems that I’m not ready to go into right now. They put me on antipsychotics for a week, which seems weird. I think if I were psychotic I’d be, I don’t know, peppier. They made me feel sedated but not less anxious – my brain was still a jar of angry wasps, I just couldn’t do anything about it.

So now I’m on sertraline (Zoloft) in the mornings, and quetiapine (Seroquel) at night so I can sleep, but my roommate has a two-year-old who was sleeping through the night, but now he’s teething so two nights ago he was crying every couple hours, and last night he graduated to coughing and vomiting. His mother is so apologetic, but it’s not her fault, or his, poor grummits. Still, it means the sleeping-pill is basically useless and I might as well not be putting that stuff in my system and risking the side effects for nothing.

And that’s all I’ve got right now. I’ll try to put up a FAQ soon. Because when this happens, you get a lot of questions.

Song du jour of the day: nothing. For once, my head is without music.


Blank Space

I keep meaning to post some basic information or a faq or something here, but I barely get any time at my computer and when I do I can’t think what to say. But at this point I have two email threads, twelve WhatsApp chats, five Facebook Messenger chats, a Ravelry thread, and a Google Hangout going, and that’s just the people who know and are concerned. I’m losing track of who knows what and I have to have some central place for information, but then I feel like a dork if someone asks how I’m doing and I refer them to the blog, like that’s SO 2003. But keeping all those people updated by typing on a screen with my thumbs is time- and spoon-consuming and people are falling through the cracks and I feel guilty because they’re worried and I know they want to help but I just can’t keep this many threads straight in my head.

All of which is to say watch this space and eventually there will be some information. Probably. Maybe at the weekend? I’m probably going to have to abandon my commitment to the linear narrative, though.

Song du jour of the day: What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? by Jimmy Ruffin.


And Then In a Week

So it’s been a week, and at this point it’s probably not going to turn out to have been a horrible nightmare and I’m going to have to face it, so.

My husband left me. And then I checked myself into a psychiatric clinic.

That’s all I feel safe sharing right now.

Song du Jour of the Day will probably be patchy for awhile yet because I can’t listen to music, but lately Brook Benton’s Rainy Night in Georgia keeps forcing its way through the white noise.