Rocks and Hard Places

I have become an unpleasant person to be around.  Don’t get me wrong, I laugh a lot, but I do it to cover up the fact I can’t, or worse, won’t concentrate during socializing among peers and friends.  This bothers me, especially now that I’m painfully aware of it.

There is such a thing as caregiver’s fatigue, compassion fatigue, or what has been coined lately as secondary PTSD.  They’re wide terms that basically point to a lengthy list of symptoms including insomnia, anger, and depression.  I don’t think any of those are what I have going however.  No mine feels all too voluntary.

Last week my husband and I attended a convention in Las Vegas for a freelance job of mine.  Normally I work exclusively from home, but this one week we go SEMA.  It’s hard on my husband.  Crowds are a bitch.  But it’s a car show and my husband is the biggest petrol-head I have ever known.  This show is closed to only industry and I’m lucky enough to have an in.  It’s something car guys dream about going to every year.  Hell, they’ll go to Vegas just to stand outside it and see the cars on display in the lots around the convention center.  So, I go and my husband takes a deep breath, fights his anxiety, and like holding his breath through a smoke filled room, he endures what must be horrible just to be a part of something he’s wanted to see since he was a young man.

I love this man, but I’m unpleasant.  I really noticed it these past few days.  I cannot enjoy anything that might leave us in a place where Chris will be caught up in an episode.  My chest is tight when I notice crowds gathering.  I jump at any noise then look to him make sure he’s okay.

As we walked through the Venetian, which is an amazing hotel, I caught a glimpse of my expression in one of the many mirrored surfaces.  I wore a scowl, those two lines between my eyebrows drawn so tight they touched.  I saw the old woman I’d become because I’ve tried so hard to grab all of his sorrow and anxiety and swallow it myself.  My breathing is shallow and I’m aging myself with worry.  I’m so afraid something will happen away from home.  So afraid people will see and he’ll be embarrassed.

I’ve become one of those people friends are concerned about at first but then avoid.  I cry a lot but I’ve also noticed an overall numbing.  I feel heavy, clouded, and I hurt all over.  I don’t think I have caregiver’s fatigue, I can sleep just fine.  I’m not having panic attacks.  I don’t resent my husband and I still have this deep down need to protect him from anything that might be a trigger.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but I hesitate to tell my husband because I don’t want to upset him.

I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place.  And it seems to be getting harder.