Saturday, June 6, 2015

View From the End of My Rope

I thought I could do it.  I thought, with much help from God, I could survive the remaining 9+ years.

I'm pretty sure I can't.

The hardest part is having no one to talk to.  If I try to talk to my husband, we usually end up in a screaming match.  On the rare occasions I find myself having a conversation with anyone else, I don't really feel I can just blurt out, "Help me...I"m drowning!!!" And no one ever seems to notice.

Life is hard.

We've spent the past 16 years raising our granddaughters because their parents have other things they'd rather do.  My husband and I, instead of relishing each other's company during our tarnished golden-years, are constantly fighting about how best to do this.  We've walked through hell together and come out on the other side with very different opinions of how to avoid another visit.

We now approach life in much different ways:  He ignores subtle signs of potential trouble, adopting a "wait and see" attitude, while I watch with hypervigilence to spot anything suspicious so I can stop the problem in its tracks.  Maybe we're both wrong.  Maybe there's a perfect plan somewhere in the middle.

I'm at the end of my rope.  I'm still hanging on, but it seems to be slipping from my grasp.

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