Perhaps I am on the pitty pot this morning. I don't feel strong enough to go to work, so I told my psychiatrist that I am not ready to go back. I blame it on my fibromyalgia, if indeed this is what I have. Is it all created from my mind? I don't know what the next step is. Below is a letter that I wrote to my brother; it is where my mind is this morning -- the first Monday of December.
Dear XXXXX,
I need to talk to someone or tell them how I feel, and you are my pick. I wish Mom was here to talk to, as I think she would best understand what I feel. Perhaps I have done this to myself -- this alone feeling I have. I have so not wanted to burden anyone with what I am going through, thinking, instead that I could do it by myself with the help of the counseling I have been in. The truth is I can't. I need a support system, but I have torn my family away from me -- pushed and prodded until I feel as though I no longer am a part of this group.
I wish my life was different. I wish Dad had been the sort that I have seen on TV, perhaps Ward Cleaver. But he wasn't and isn't. I hate him. I can't believe I spent so many years of my life trying to be the daughter that I thought I should be -- one that would get his attention in a positive way, instead of such ugliness that I had instead.
I am mad at Mom too. How could she have been blind to what went on with him -- and how could she have stayed with him with the things that she did know what was going on. How could she left so early in my life when I need her so much now?
Where do I turn and what do I do now? Melinda
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