Sunday, January 17, 2010

sprained my ankle, who cares?

january 17 2010

I can't belief that other women can feel unwell and the whole world comes to their rescue, and others just have to put all their pain and emotions aside and go on and on, until they break or kill themselves.

Yesterday we were surprised by a huge, voluminous shower of rain, hail and icerain.
It was more than the sky opening up, it was flooding us with all winter has to bring.

As always I had to keep the roof between kitchen- and sheddoor from coming down, so I pushed the snowy load off.
Because there was a bicycle standing in my way I had to bend over and at the same time push the watery snow of the roof. Because it was so cold it was part plain ice and heavy. So I jumped and landed wrong on my foot. I felt it move to the right, to the left, until I grasped hold on the bike and prevented a fall.

With so much snow around I just stepped with my bare foot in the snow, what better cooling can one get, ej? And called one of the girls to give me a hand and make a cold wrap.
So there isn't much swelling.

There should have been, maybe it would have made clear better that something serious was the matter.

Being together with someone who is autistic causes for some women an intense loneliness because there's a lack of real compassion and care. There's an imbalance between giving and taking.
One has to understand, interpret, ignore and deal with so many problems, that often one has to violate own needs, dreams and feelings to to be able to live life day by day.

I feel like a single mother, my tasks are those of a single mother and I have to enable a grown up man to live a seemingly normal life. Which means that the world sees his best moments and we have to deal with him letting off steam, venting his frustrations, sometimes in words, sometimes in behaviour, which turns a normal day into a complete daylasting exeprience of the worst morningmood ever.

So he spoiled the wonderful afternoon one of my girls and I had dreamed of.
The rest was gone, including my autistic son, their father was supposed to do his own things and we would go shopping.
There was no money, so we stayed at home and I told her we would find some samples of facial masks and fun like that and spend the time with girly things. We both thought that would give us the relaxation we so badly need.

Instead of having some girly time, we had to deal with someone in the house with a terrible mood, who commented on everything we did, so she just went to her room and made homeworkassignments due somewhere at the end of last week, and I took the load.

That I sprained my ankle was not just bad luck, it was a consequence of being stressed and uncoordinated.

One would have expected that all the care he got after he had his knee surgery would have been a good example for how people should behave when someone has difficulty walking.
Nothing of that all.

I still need to have my back x-rayed (mopre than three months ago the doc requested that), but there's no chance to go to hospital to do so.
Last evening there was no chance to go to hospital with that anckle and it's sure no option to be away more than half of the day to go by bus to the doctors post at the other side of town.

So I sit here, trying to push away my emotions, with a person who has such a bad mood that he would be arrested when such thing for bad mood would be possible, and who moans and groans with every movement to make clear his knee still hasn't recovered from surgery two or more months ago.
He offered to cook, but sighs every time he pulls the spoon through the soup to stir it and hisses between his teeth regularly.
I know opening a plastic bag is a huge effort for a grown man, as is slicing a sausage with a sharp cook's knife.
Tapping off a spoon against a pan is probably an effort to break the whole thing into 12000 pieces, otherwise I can't understand all the noise he makes.

I guess he needs attention and this is his way to make clear that I've broken his routines.

It's his way to state that in his eyes I've changed his world of sunday.

Well, I'm secretly imagining that my Scotland dream has come true.
That I carry my bags over a small gardenpath, lined swith small little flowers, to an old door which is the entrance to a small cottage.
My own place, where it doesn't matter that the storm rages around it, because it's home.
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