Lets talk about Hopelessness

Ya I am on to a different subject today and one that really needs to be addressed and that is hopelessness, a strong feeling for many of the people who I have met since I started blogging. Here is the definition of hopelessness.

Definition of HOPELESS

a : having no expectation of good or success : despairing
b : not susceptible to remedy or cure
c : incapable of redemption or improvement
a : giving no ground for hope : desperate
b : incapable of solution, management, or accomplishment :impossible

for when things go wrong and you need me to be strong, I will do my best to help you along with love, caring and understanding

The definition does not exude confidence does it? It talks about despairing, desperate and impossible. And they are right most people feel this way about their situation at one time or another, I know I do right now. I am desperate for some relief from the symptoms that I am feeling, the anxiety and depression, the anger and fear. I hate the last two because they always go together for me, once I am afraid then the anger comes forward to destroy what ever slight or issue that has caused me fear to be destroyed, mangled even. At this point in my life I feel no hope, it is hard to feel hope when you are in the situation that me and my family is in. Me acting and feeling the way I have and with my wife on oxygen and sleeping all day, and she can’t even walk to the toilet without losing her breath. That makes it impossible for her to live a normal life and I feel bad because right now I am supposed to be the strong one for her and just only today have I gotten up out of the bed and actually made the damn thing and cleaned my room. normally I make my bed everyday but I haven’t even been able to raise my fat ass out of the bed to eat, let alone help my wife. It has gotten so bad over the last several days that my son was afraid to even try to wake me up lat night so that I could help Gerri out she was hurting and scared of the pains she was feeling, so Dylan was there sleeping right beside her and made jokes at her till she smiled and felt better. But you see that is my job to take care of her not his especially at 4am in the morning. I feel bad for him cause he isn’t getting the amount of sleep he needs and is sleeping through the day, and because of the way I have been he was scared that I would yell at him, I am going to talk to him later on when he wakes up ans explain to him that I will never get angry at him for waking me up when it comes to his mother. Hell I have even been snappy towards her and she has no control over how she feels or how she reacts to the pain and her inability to breath. I have felt that I have been selfish over the last several days, and I am ashamed of myself for the way I have been acting, but on the flip side of that, when do I get to feel bad, I can’t control it either, and my wife knows that she has been taking care of me for years and has been there for the entire process,. But yet that doesn’t stop me from feeling bad about they what has been going on the last several days. And quite frankly I am pissed at myself for allowing this to get the better of me. I mean who the fuck is supposed to be the care taker if both of us are down, I have to step up and try harder. Today is a better day for me I am getting more sleep, thanks to the xanax.
Now for the pity part of my post, sometimes I just can’t do it, either the anxiety or depression hits me or I am freaking out about my DID and sit belittling myself for those unfounded fears and irrational thoughts that I have about that. I just plain comes down to that, I just can’t do it sometimes. If you would have told me years ago that my life would have turned out this way, I probably wouldn’t be here now, and once again that isn’t fair to me my son or my wife to take the cowards way out. So her I sit once again feeling no small amount of shame for myself about not having the ability to help my wife and for my son having to do it for me during this time. Ya he can help, but with stupid things like getting her a drink or some such other, I need to be the one to handle the emotional issues, the tears and fears, not a 12-year-old boy. Part of me is proud that he wants to help his mother, but really it should be me.

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