I finally checked back in here and saw a concerned comment from a reader – thank you so much! It does me good to know someone out there is concerned for my well-being.
I’m okay, just busy. I’ve been more than a little wrapped up in helping my sister sister deal with her husband who is end-stage and dying (albeit slowly). I’ve invited her to Ohio for Thanksgiving; she was so unbelievably grateful that I feel a little ashamed for not doing so sooner.
I’ve spent a great deal of time being stressed and depressed, but at the advice of my sister-in-law (who dealt with a former spouse that was an addict), I’ve given myself some time and a deadline. I’m giving myself the next six months to find a job and save some money; if, by March, I haven’t found a decent-paying job I’ll just bite the bullet and take two jobs so I can move out and continue looking for the “right” job. That has done a LOT to alleviate the stress and depression.
I’m also gearing myself up to start attending Al-Anon meetings – surely that can only help, as well. I’ve talked to enough people who tell me it’s a life-saver when given an opportunity, so I guess I’ll give it one.
As for the situation with my husband, we’re still distant (which is a huge relief, for me at least) and he’s ignoring my declaration that I intend to divorce. I do know he’s talking to someone online (long story) and realized that I just don’t care. He’s done a couple of things lately while drinking that would have been cause for a great deal of anger/frustration/depression in the past, but I’ve just been brushing it aside and moving on. It’s what my therapist would have called “healing,” I think.
On that note, I had to drive him home from the office today; his stomach is upset and he has a pain in his side. He keeps clutching the right side of his abdomen right about where his liver and pancreas are. I’ve not said anything (to point that out would serve no purpose except to piss him off), although I did offer to take him to stat care, which he declined.
Thoughts of liver and pancreatic cancer, which is what my own alcoholic father died of, keep dancing through my head. All that does is make me sad; what a waste of what could have been a good life it would be.