It turns out that my husband’s illness is killing me. My cholesterol is through the roof and my doctor says that it’s not my diet that’s causing it, but stress. Stress. And as I look back on my life, I realize that I’ve been stressed for a decade now. My mother’s illness and death, handling her estate, my grad degree, the job that followed that, and now my husband’s dementia. It seemed that everyone on earth was telling me to go get a therapist and her advice? Leave my husband. My dear friend who came to visit us said the same. Leave him. Forget those silly vows, get out now. And I have to admit, I thought about it. And thought about it. And cried about it. And prayed about it. And I asked for a sign. And the universe sent me a sign. What was it?
Are you f-ing kidding me? A peacock? That’s it. The universe hates me. There is no other explanation. I’m being mocked. By. The. Universe.
But somehow, seeing the peacock made it easier. I could chase a silly dream or I could face reality.
While chasing the dream is oh so very tempting and oh so very enchanting and reality is anything but, I will hate myself if I don’t do the right thing. And the right thing is to at the very least stay around and be his advocate. You just can’t go through our medical system without an advocate. And staying gives me the right and cause to call his family names, like coward. Which felt damn good, I have to say. I can’t ride the high horse if I don’t do the right thing. That is one of the perks.
But back to stress. Apparently my cholesterol is so high that it shoots off the allotted space on the graph. Everything else looks pretty darn good.
For some reason I’m going to buy a house and slip the yoke back around my neck. For this I’ll have garden space and room for a potter’s wheel and kiln. And perhaps another dog. I’ll be 30 minutes from a forest and about 30 minutes from work.
Questions not to ask your cute-as-pie lender: If I run away and default on my loan, what will happen to me? I’ll never be able to return? Anything else. How far is the long arm of the law?
Anyway, a little internet research reveals some stress-fighting foods:
Berries (blue and such)
I recently learned that abuse is about control. And as I am nagged about going to a store I don’t want to buy things at after I get off work in the evening, I think again about that yoke. Do I really want to slip my neck into it again. Willingly? Maybe riding that high horse isn’t worth it. Maybe I could step down off that horse and slither away to freedom.
With all due respect, what kind of stupid sign is that?