PairoDocs
Well-known member
I know that I haven't posted much lately, it's because I've been dealing with ever shorter poor quality sleep, not writing or doing anything else "right-brained" lately such as music. I've also not been showing or receiving (my wife has attempted lots--so it isn't her) affection, nor have I been even communicating with my friends or church--and they aren't wanting to reach out to me either. I don't blame them. Lately I've become more surly and grouchy even with my wife and children. I don't know what to do as even prayer hasn't helped. I want to be a good husband for Laura, but instead I have let everything slide. For the first time in several years I haven't done a thing about income taxes (The past three years we even filed early) and have already done one extension, and even in an area I usually do well in, bills, have fallen by the wayside. I may still be able to get some of them off on time, but I'm just plain sick of it. Even garbage, something I managed to resume fairly quickly after my lifting restrictions were done, was badly neglected this week and I managed only one can (I needed to do three).
Forget the decluttering. I haven't done anything in a month except a hasty cleanup of the dining room for some dinner guests. I went to Virgin Valley in hopes of finding some nice beautiful opals--in part to prove to Laura that the trip was worthwhile and that maybe I could sell some to make money for the family--but ended up with only pathetic scraps and a few token pieces of nice opal found on the cheaper tailings dig. The one really nice find, a huge opal log about 2 1/2 feet long and over six inches in diameter shattered into hundreds of pieces due to my stupidity of wetting the opal in an attempt to preserve it. The mine owner told me that wetting opal logs is a big no-no, something I should have known but didn't. I spent the past week every night until sometimes 2 am trying to separate the fragments into labeled baggies like the way paleontologists label where shattered pot fragments were before they try to piece together the artifact. I finally finished bagging up the opal log pieces in 40 bags--there should have only been a few larger dry ones, not hundreds of smaller pieces. Perhaps I could have sold the log for several thousand dollars (or at least donated it to a museum so many people could have enjoyed its beauty) if I hadn't stupidly shattered it by putting water on it in a totally lame-brained idea of trying to preserve it. Then I could have relieved Laura of some of the financial burden of this family or even paid for this 430 mile trip and the $450 in mine fees. I'm so tired, yet I can't sleep because of my guilt--I can't even provide for my family, and probably never will be able to do so again. I have a Ph.D. in chemistry and I absolutely detest chemistry and all it stands for and would rather be homeless and starving than work in a lab ever again.
There is no support from my family, except a little from my father and he's pretty sick now, and I've alienated all of my friends so I can't call on them, nor can I rely on my church as they are all concerned with one another, and not weirdos like me. I'm so lonely, and I'm falling apart, but not even counseling nor antidepressants (bupropion) have helped. My yelling and angry demeanor is scaring the children and alienating Laura. I'm even getting new wrinkles around my nose where I have never had them before--hate and anger wrinkles, and I see the look on my face a lot when I look in the mirror--it's ugly and so much unlike the way I used to be.
Of course I'm sick of my stupid heart's idea of a normal heart rate (90-100 bpm). I'm not running around 24/7, nor am I small child. It should be 60 like Laura's is when I'm resting--she's 46 and so am I and I'm more physically active, so my rate should be slower than hers not faster. Even beta blockers didn't slow it down. It is definitely no longer amusing, any more than that ugly keloid my skin decided to make over my incision. Every single day it reminds me of how much a pathetic loser I am--I can't even heal right. My parents have nice strong healthy hearts at 75, and so should I!! Yeah, I'm alive now, but if I'm so frail that my mitral valve's chordae tendineae snapped for no good reason (no rheumatic fever, no Marfans, no nothing), and the only reason why I'm alive is because of advanced 20th and 21st century medicine, then what place is there for someone like me? I'm not employable, and lack the discipline for self-employment--so now I'm just a useless leech and should have not struggled to survive. I wouldn't have been missed much except perhaps for a short while by my immediate family--then they would realize what a relief it is that I'm no longer dragging them down. Have a nice auction for the clutter, then a celebratory bonfire to burn up the rest, and pave the driveway with my stupid, useless rocks and opals. Then sell the house with its colorful driveway and leave this uncouth backward part of rural Idaho behind forever with its rapidly fading memories of me. I should have let nature take its course--perhaps God had seen that my life would descend into this, and had given me an opportunity to bow out--to save myself and my family the evil to come. Instead I decided to attempt to embrace life and continue on in hopes I'd make a new start of things. I was wrong.
Sorry about all this, but that's how I feel right now. I just hope that if something happens to me, Laura will at least tell you if I can't. If I can muster up the courage to do so, I'll check and see if anyone has some words of encouragement to get me out of this bad place I'm in.
Chris
Forget the decluttering. I haven't done anything in a month except a hasty cleanup of the dining room for some dinner guests. I went to Virgin Valley in hopes of finding some nice beautiful opals--in part to prove to Laura that the trip was worthwhile and that maybe I could sell some to make money for the family--but ended up with only pathetic scraps and a few token pieces of nice opal found on the cheaper tailings dig. The one really nice find, a huge opal log about 2 1/2 feet long and over six inches in diameter shattered into hundreds of pieces due to my stupidity of wetting the opal in an attempt to preserve it. The mine owner told me that wetting opal logs is a big no-no, something I should have known but didn't. I spent the past week every night until sometimes 2 am trying to separate the fragments into labeled baggies like the way paleontologists label where shattered pot fragments were before they try to piece together the artifact. I finally finished bagging up the opal log pieces in 40 bags--there should have only been a few larger dry ones, not hundreds of smaller pieces. Perhaps I could have sold the log for several thousand dollars (or at least donated it to a museum so many people could have enjoyed its beauty) if I hadn't stupidly shattered it by putting water on it in a totally lame-brained idea of trying to preserve it. Then I could have relieved Laura of some of the financial burden of this family or even paid for this 430 mile trip and the $450 in mine fees. I'm so tired, yet I can't sleep because of my guilt--I can't even provide for my family, and probably never will be able to do so again. I have a Ph.D. in chemistry and I absolutely detest chemistry and all it stands for and would rather be homeless and starving than work in a lab ever again.
There is no support from my family, except a little from my father and he's pretty sick now, and I've alienated all of my friends so I can't call on them, nor can I rely on my church as they are all concerned with one another, and not weirdos like me. I'm so lonely, and I'm falling apart, but not even counseling nor antidepressants (bupropion) have helped. My yelling and angry demeanor is scaring the children and alienating Laura. I'm even getting new wrinkles around my nose where I have never had them before--hate and anger wrinkles, and I see the look on my face a lot when I look in the mirror--it's ugly and so much unlike the way I used to be.
Of course I'm sick of my stupid heart's idea of a normal heart rate (90-100 bpm). I'm not running around 24/7, nor am I small child. It should be 60 like Laura's is when I'm resting--she's 46 and so am I and I'm more physically active, so my rate should be slower than hers not faster. Even beta blockers didn't slow it down. It is definitely no longer amusing, any more than that ugly keloid my skin decided to make over my incision. Every single day it reminds me of how much a pathetic loser I am--I can't even heal right. My parents have nice strong healthy hearts at 75, and so should I!! Yeah, I'm alive now, but if I'm so frail that my mitral valve's chordae tendineae snapped for no good reason (no rheumatic fever, no Marfans, no nothing), and the only reason why I'm alive is because of advanced 20th and 21st century medicine, then what place is there for someone like me? I'm not employable, and lack the discipline for self-employment--so now I'm just a useless leech and should have not struggled to survive. I wouldn't have been missed much except perhaps for a short while by my immediate family--then they would realize what a relief it is that I'm no longer dragging them down. Have a nice auction for the clutter, then a celebratory bonfire to burn up the rest, and pave the driveway with my stupid, useless rocks and opals. Then sell the house with its colorful driveway and leave this uncouth backward part of rural Idaho behind forever with its rapidly fading memories of me. I should have let nature take its course--perhaps God had seen that my life would descend into this, and had given me an opportunity to bow out--to save myself and my family the evil to come. Instead I decided to attempt to embrace life and continue on in hopes I'd make a new start of things. I was wrong.
Sorry about all this, but that's how I feel right now. I just hope that if something happens to me, Laura will at least tell you if I can't. If I can muster up the courage to do so, I'll check and see if anyone has some words of encouragement to get me out of this bad place I'm in.
Chris
