Monday, January 7, 2013

MS attacks me in a different way today

Yesterday was not a good day.  Even tho it looked like it for the most part, cause I'm good at hiding what's bothering me if you don't know me very well, which is kind of handy in a place you're fairly new to.  Unless you live with me.  As Michael can attest to.  He received a good blast of my anger, which I later apologized for - one thing about him... he doesn't ever seem to hold a grudge.

What's wrong?

Someone likes me.

We've gone on 2 or 3 "dates".  The quotation marks are because it makes me uncomfortable to use the word "date".  So much easier to say "Going for coffee" or "Going for a walk" or "Want to run an errand with me?"  It sounds so much better.

He does a lot of things right.  Number one is treating Annie right, as in not ordering her around or not petting her when she's working.  At heart, she would prefer to belong to a man, and so the male voice is something she responds to, when it should be MY voice she needs to be paying attention to.  Also, when she's working, she can't seek attention from another, such as petting, and most people (those who like dogs) will automatically start petting a dog who walks up to them.

HeWhoLikesMe seems to be a gentleman, helping me on/off the bus, letting me go first, opening doors, etc.  Pays for things.  Tells me he enjoyed our date the next day and asks how I am.  Makes it clear that he likes me.  Because I am "emotionally strong" and "a lady"... (even tho I swear like a sailor).

But he's moving too fast, or he would be if I let him, and I am out of practice on ... everything.  Plus... to be blunt - my pain meds have taken away all that he would like me to be interested in, if you know what I'm saying.  I guess that's not exactly blunt, huh.

The question arose... how do two fat people do it?  Which one is going to sacrifice their computer and Google "How do 2 fat people make love?".  Not me.  

All that is manageable.

What I'm REALLY struggling with is Dating with Multiple Sclerosis.  Imagine that. 

My routine is messed up when he calls and says let's go to the beach, and who can say no to that?  I don't WANT to say no.  But I literally HATE leaving the apartment.  Except for the dog park.  I've got the dog park down pat.  Leash, poop baggies, Chuck-it, ball, and Annie.  But God forbid if it rains, because the decision between a raincoat or an umbrella tears the whole thing apart, and the ball is forgotten, or the poop baggies or the Chuck-it. 

I've noticed an increase in my memory problems, and pain levels, and energy levels.  Especially my memory.  Routine is everything.  Don't hang your coat and cover up my purse hanging there too, cause it will make me forget my purse.  Don't say a word to me when I'm getting ready to go somewhere, cause it makes me read the clock wrong.  Don't hand me something to put away if I'm talking, cause I'll put it down somewhere and then won't be able to find it when it's needed.  Like the appointment card for the eye doctor sometime this week.  Don't look at me wrong, cause it'll make me forget what I'm doing next.  Don't look at me right, for that matter, cause it will make me nervous, and wonder what the hell I'm doing.  Things that happen when you live with someone.  I knew it would be a problem when Michael moved in, but I figured I'd adjust and build a new routine, but it hasn't happened. 

I realize what a bear I am with Michael, and I think about being in an actual, real live relationship.  The truth of the matter is... I feel safer living by myself cause there's no one there to mess me up.  I feel less disabled when there is no one there to see how bad it really gets.  I feel glad there's no one there to hear the constant verbal diarrhea of pain utterances that flow from my mouth.   I feel calmer living by myself cause there's no one there to do something horrible like de-rail my entire day simply by being in the bathroom when I NEED TO PEE GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT.  I feel better living by myself cause I can control my environment and there's no one to blame when the environment doesn't work right.  I actually PREFER not being a bitch, as it turns out. 

Yesterday, the self-hatred of the MS almost sunk me to the level of depression I was in when in Idaho.  Only because of the happiness I feel in San Francisco, do I realize how terribly black it was back there.  And for several instances yesterday, I felt it again. But I actively fought it by getting out of the house instead of going back to bed.  As always, the city always charms me. 

The pain doesn't help.  It confuses the issue.  Is it the pain that's running the show, that makes me so short-tempered and quick to jump down someone's throat?  That makes me so damn forgetful?  That wears me out so fast during the walks with a man who clearly wants to hold my hand ... but doesn't cause I'm putting out the vibe "don't touch me"?  

Or is it the fear for anyone living with me?  Which is really different than the fear of living with someone.

If no one is there... I can't jump down their throat.  


No comments:

Post a Comment

Cheer or jeer me on...