My daughter has gone to her grandparents.
My son is at school.
My husband is at work.
The day stretches in front of me. I’m relieved to be alone. I need to plan my day now. Try and do the right things – the things that will put me another step along the recovery road.
Breakfast and meds first.
Then phone calls. Starting with Nora to tell her about the rape. Then try and book a haircut and ring the dentist.
That will take me through to shower time. I want to dye my hair, to hide my greys! (I’m in denial about my age, it’s a common theme in my posts!)
I’ll be tired then. A lot will have been achieved. I’ll need to re-assess then. Will I go out and get the things we need from the shop? Or perhaps that might be too much. I won’t know until I reach this point in the day.
My son will go to his friend’s house after school. I might go and pick him up. I should do. I avoid it because it means talking to a person (the other parent). I’m not supposed to avoid stuff so I will try and go. If I can, I will.
My husband will arrive home.
I will make a dinner that the three of us will eat together. This is usually when it all gets too much and the internal distress starts to get out of control.
My daughter will arrive back with her grandparents. I’ll take her to bed. I’ll use this opportunity to hide away upstairs so I don’t have to talk to the grandparents. I know I shouldn’t but by this time I’ll be so tired that everything will feel raw. I’ll feel crowded and pretending to be ok will finish me off.
I’ll say goodnight to my son.
I may talk to my husband. Usually he avoids this with his phone, or the TV, or busying himself with housework. I’ll feel bad. I’ve been here all day. I should have done more. I’m fucking useless I am. Everyone knows it. That’s why I hide. What would I talk about anyway?
So I’ll give up and go to bed. I’ll fill in my DBT sheets, reflect on my day, dread tomorrow and wonder if I made a step towards being better today or did I fuck it up again?