Angst

I am out of sorts today, angsty. I feel a little psycho and impatient. Gone are my peace and calm. I’m stirred up.
Why this detour down a path of demons? It could be the weather. The rain has been falling for hours and it is cloudy and gray. The sun has been obliterated by darkness.
It could be that things don’t seem to be going my way. It could also be that I just spent two hours doing things I didn’t want to do. Most likely, it’s my hormones. Sometimes they make me feel a little nuts. I am so irritable.
Sometimes, there is a little voice that gnaws at the back of my mind. It reminds me that while I feel pretty decent, things could be fomenting in my head. Are there new lesions growing? How’s my myelin? I try to focus on the moment, to not let these voices get the best of me but at times, it bugs me. I value my capacity to think, my lovely mind, above all else. Yet I know… I know that all is not right in my brain and that, I can neither deny, or ignore. Usually, I bless my disease for showing me what really matters but at times all I can think is, “Why did this ever have to come to me?”
I resent my fatigue. I really resent my husband always saying, “I don’t assume that you have done anything while I was at work.” Or, “I can’t count on you for anything.” These sentences are marked by caviats like, “Don’t take this wrong.” But of course I take it the way it sounds. It sounds like I am a burden. It sounds like he is being martyred by my incapacities. It sounds like I’m a slacker.
Am I really not pulling my weight? My guess is that I am but a low level of guilt at being “diseased” is plaguing me. On some level I must be worrying about the times when I won’t be able to help or the times when I feel too fatigued. I almost feel driven to do more now because I can but I resent every minute I spend doing things like cleaning house, weeding, grocery shopping and other tasks that take me away from what I really want to do. In the past these were welcome summer diversions that made me feel like I was accomplishing something during my break but that’s just not an issue anymore. I find meaning in my life through my writing, yoga and artistic creations. I feel like even when I’m not cleaning house I am doing a lot. Sometimes my husband says I must not love him because I allow these things to claim some of our time together. Of course I love my husband or I wouldn’t bother to be married I just have started a love affair with myself. I find that at times I am loathe to interrupt or change the course of my affair.