Alive...But Barely Kickin'

I'm not sure what to even write, or how to begin a post. I can barely stop crying long enough to type. It's been a tough month for me, and in so many ways I just don't know why. I suppose it's best to start with what I do know.

First, I'm extremely depressed. I find it hard to get out of bed in the mornings, and when I do go to bed, I find it hard to sleep. I thought I had a form of post-adoption depression. But my kids don't make me sad - in fact, most all of the joy in my life comes from them. I've dealt with depression my entire adult life (and looking back, probably even earlier than that). I have a wonderful physician, and manage the depression with a low-risk medical regimen. I've learned that I can't medicate the tough times away, and I don't want to be so medicated that I feel numb (although that seems appealing at the moment).

I feel very, very lonely. Mainly I feel lonely in my marriage. It's not that I feel a need for friends, or someone to go out with (though it would probably be nice). I also don't feel like there's anyone on the face of the earth that I can truly talk to or who would really care, or who even wants to understand me.

I feel like I have no husband (that I've felt much longer than a month - really for most of the time I've been married, though there are times I just make the most of the situation. M's a great dad tot he girls. But to be frank, I've decided he's incapable of truly loving another human being. We will never have intimacy. Never. And I'm through trying. I'm just going to stick it out because I love my girls more than my own life and they deserve both parents. But I married someone who doesn't know what it means to love someone, or share a life with someone. It was a mistake. But I can't do anything about it now. We talked about separating, but when it came to figuring out custody issues, I couldn't get past what it would do to the girls. So I stopped working on leaving. Instead I'll just have what I did in my first marriage - a roommate.

I'm teaching 5 classes this semester - on part-time pay. So I make nothing and teach my ass off. And I'm not enjoying it as much as I thought I would. My students are slackers who have lied and pissed me off to my limit. I don't want to step foot in the classroom one more time this term. The last straw was a black student who went all the way to the top to complain about me teaching on "the n-word" in class and how unprofessional and offensive I was (despite the fact I teach a class in interpersonal communication, a section on language, and never even USE to flippin' word - yet a documentary I showed pushed him over the edge.). I've spent the last two weeks dealing with this guy and feeling like the biggest failure in the world (and wondering if every other black student I have is thinking the same thing, but too afraid to go to my supervisor). For those who know my story, claiming I'm a racist or trying to do anything BESIDES better the lives of my black students, colleagues, and friends - well, is quite a stretch. But it's been such a blow to my entire self-concept that I can barely think about teaching. My classroom has become my personal hell. I cry in the car on the way to campus, and I cry all the way home. I'm so tired of apologizing for being white. So tired of walking on eggshells around every black student because of my whiteness. Oh, and in the end the student got what he wanted - now he gets to finish the class as an independent study with my (very sympathetic) supervisor. Because he got offended, and he's black, so he gets catered to.

Man, I wish every time I've been offended in life I had just complained angrily enough. Just think of all the catering-to I'd have gotten.

But it's because I'm white. And I tried to teach about the history and transformation of the "n-word". And I don't have the social permission to do that. Not because of my education or experience, but because I'm WHITE. So I'm evil. Of course. Evil white bitch. That's me.

Got in a fight with my husband for caring too much that his family apparently has no desire to even meet his youngest daughter (they've never seen her - and have no plans to). I think it sucks. It hurts my feelings. But HE got mad at ME for feeling that way. Fabulous. And we yelled and fought about it. Because, of course, I dared talk about his family. Then it got turned around on me about my family and how horrible they are. He said he thinks my folks are just being nice to him because their worst fear is that I'll die before him and they'll never see their granddaughters again. He thinks they are just having a relationship with me now to get to the girls - that they really care nothing about me, or having a relationship with us. So I asked him how old his girls could be that it would bother him that his folks hadn't met them, or seen them - and he said it would never bother him.

Again, more sense of isolation. We are here - our families are elsewhere. And he wants no intimacy with them, or with mine. And even though my folks say they want a relationship and do everything they can to make that happen, my husband claims its all a lie to get to see the girls. Wonderful.

It's a miracle I even speak to my husband anymore. He obviously cares little about me on any substantive level. I don't think he wants to see me hit by a mac truck or anything, but as far as truly love me - no. Absolutely not. It's this truth that hurts the most.

Rebekah's baptism will be Dec. 21st and my folks and brother and SIL are all driving up here for it. Michael will be here, but I'd bet my life that he barely speaks to anyone and makes himself scarce. Good times. Everyone in his family is obviously "too busy" to come. The truth is it just isn't important to them. We've offered to buy bus tickets (they won't fly). We've offered to pay for everything, but our offers are always declined.

It's no wonder my husband can't have a relationship with me - he never learned how to have one. Didn't care to learn, I suppose. He's a very, very sad person to be around. Sometimes just seeing him makes me want to cry. He's just void of any emotion at all. There's been "sick" moments where I've wished he'd hit me or something - just so I'd know he at least felt something. Oh, and if you're about to suggest he seek help, he already apparently sees someone, but we don't talk about it (whenever I ask, I get punished, so I stopped asking, but insurance statements do come in the mail, so I guess he goes).

Don't want to go to church anymore either - showing up as a family feels like the biggest joke. Folks think we're happy - BWAHAHAHAHAA. Oh, yeah. Not so much. Sometimes I go and sit there and wonder if anyone else sitting there feels like a bigger fraud than me.

I'm gonna end this on a positive: the girls are happy and healthy. Our home is closed and we don't ever have to see a social worker again. Mia is fully potty-trained, and will be 3 right before Christmas. She's stayed dry in her little Halloween panties all night for a week now, so we're cautiously ending pull-ups and aware that accidents will happen (but that will just be the day we wash the sheets!). Rebekah is running around the house like mad these days, and her favorite activity is pulling all the recycling things out of the bin in the kitchen and carrying empty containers all over the house (especially milk jugs).

We finally hired someone to clean for us - and she comes every week for 3 hours. That I thank for saving the last shred of my sanity.

If you read all this, you are a saint. I would welcome your prayers, thoughts, and comments. I'm so imperfect. If this let anyone else know how screwed up someone else is, and that it's OK, then...welll...I'm glad to be in your company.

Peace.