Confessions. Rated 18 due to references of gratuitous violence and swearing. But no sex, none, hardly ever. Damn.

I have been misusing my blog. Remember when I started how I said it was for the purpose of unburdening my soul? I forgot that. I have been carried away by the attention and comments I get by being funny or touching or cheerful or whatever and haven't been spitting out the crappy stuff that is still there.
Last night, having spent a lovely day together and a good part of the evening I sat here to write my blog and catch up on my favourite ones and somehow made H bad tempered.
I have come to learn that the men in H's family, are, to put it bluntly, in the words of Bridget Jones, 'emotional fuckwits'. ( herewith referred to as E.F)Honestly, never before have I ever come across such hopelessly useless emotional people. To call them disfunctional would be kind.

Short note to lovely, feeling and emotional sister in law here, who sometimes reads my blog. Kara..none of this is aimed at you, I feel more in tune with you than ever I did when we were in the same country....I hope the references I make to your brothers and dad today don't hurt you in anyway....but they are completely crap at anything emotional aren't they?!?!?

So then, I have learned, though not fully accepted, that H is a waste of time in the emotional support category, 0 out of 10 unless you count a pat on the back and hasty retreat to anywhere he won't have to deal with tears or declarations of undying love.
Hmmm, what then, to do? Many women, I suppose, would start playing 'buy me a rose' by good old Kenny Rogers and read Mills and Boon novels.
Some would nurture and love and need for alcohol, lovely mind numbing trances for the cost of a bottle of booze.
Some would find a man who could and would be willing to provide that which is missing, you know, some excitement, steamy sex, some softly crooned words and some plain old attention of the girly gentle kind.
Bollocks to that. I don't have the energy or the inclination to get into that malarcky.
I have found my answer....the internet. My blog....tell it to the faceless people, get it out and how marvellous, I even get comments, feedback and assurance that my feelings are valid. I get positive feedback to the things I say. Does it get better than that? I suspect not. I don't even have to brush my hair or clean my teeth. No hangover either. Bingo.
Would it then, be sensible to assume, that the E.F would breathe a sigh of relief that he was off the hook? One would assume that to be the case wouldn't one?
apparently not. With the realisation that as I had done nothing but sit at the computer last night in between happy moments and the 'can I smack his po-faced head into a wall please?' sulking of the man I am married to....I deduced that he minds me spending time on here. Tough shit. He can sulk and for the first time ever, he is getting it back.
( note added at later time...he is like a rather sweet puppy who doesn't know what he is meant to do in order to make the kind lady who feeds him smile again.....almost feel sorry for him but he is out with all 3 boys feeling a bit lonely and overwhelmed with all 3 I should imagine, so I will bury my pity until later when they get back and my peace is over, until then I shall stay firm in my giving as I get.)
Here, my lovelies, my emotional supporting square of flat screen darling, is some of what he doesn't get to hear.
Did I say I wasn't worried about my eyes? I did, didn't I?
I lied.
I forgot that I can tell my blog the truth..don't have to put on the face that the real people in my life get. No need to smile and say " oh it's fine, I won't go blind, it's not bad at all...don't worry about me I'm a tough one"
I am worried because horrible shit does happen to me, it really does. I can feel those pigments clumping, I swear I can, I can feel my retinas crinkling and turning into crunchy brown things that won't let me see nice things or my kids or chocolate.
Whilst appearing normal on the outside ( I often compare myself to an armadillo, hard and crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside) my insides are in such a turmoil that I am actually reaching bursting point.
Be still my heart. No really. Stop it. Stop pounding so hard you make my throat hurt.....I have those awful palpitations that actually hurt, OW! I have an appointment today with my G.P because my heart has been pounding so hard I thought there must be a problem. My lips and bottom half of my face is numb almost half the day...hmm some kind of terrible malady I imagined. Until last night, when for reasons beyond me, H did the silent treatment thing.
Why? WHY? What did I do? Oh, leave him alone, watch T.V....ow ow ow OW painful chest, can't breathe.....numb face ( oh that's because you're not breathing you stupid cow...breathe, it's necessary to life, go on, you can do it!)
Aha. panic attacks.....my friend, the thing that tells me I am still living despite every attempt to shut out anything that might remind me that I'm living and actually that's quite hard.

I hate sulking, I really hate sulking, silent treatment is abuse, no other word for it..if you give out the silent treatment without even explaining WHY you're doing it , it is worse than abuse, it is out and out sadism. My incredibly immature reaction to said abuse and silent treatment is to slam about and cry...which then makes me so mad at myself that I cry even more and then hold my breath and then.......what I want to do is abuse right back , only with my fists, feet, hard and unforgivable physical objects and anything that might give a satisfying THWACK .
Sensible me then, that understands that might be going a bit far and would demote me from my lofty pedestal of superiority and make me as bloody maddening and inferior as the silent treatment giving E.F.
I will now launch myself into the excuse my beloved E.F has that almost exonerate him from all blame. He never, ever uses these excuses, I have just picked them up as I've gone along and allowed them to be validated.
The parents.
H's parents, in the words of his sister are broken people...or did she call them something else and then said that the result of their parenting is their broken children?? Can't remember.
The mother. I know we're meant to dislike mothers in law, its a world wide joke but mine isn't a joke. She is very real. Walked out on her husband and children when the children were varying ages of needing a mother. I'm sure she didn't have much fun as wife to father in law but as far as I can gather didn't have such a terrible time that she had no option but to get out and get her kids later. Only she didn't get them later, she has been particularly crap as a mother.
She doesn't know the ages of her grandchildren ( these 3 anyway) actually in the few times we have seen her she hasn't actually known their names. It took maybe 2 years before she mastered the fact that 2 of them were called Seth and Isaac, the fact that she couldn't work out which was which seemed irelevant. The first time she came to visit after Seth's birth, when he was a few weeks old, H went to hand the baby to her and she recoiled and said " Oh he's too heavy for me" he weighed a hefty 11lbs..he only weighs 29 lbs now, he is a sparrow. Not one to give in too easily H waited til she sat down and handed Seth to her. She sat him on the dining room table ( at arms length naturally) and spoke over the top of his head, NOT ONCE did she look at him.
She had come with Kara and Jose ( nice sister in law and her handsome husband) and their puppy 'Drake' Nice puppy, sweet puppy, so beautiful that grandma Nancy felt compelled to take 2 full rolls of film of puppy ...without turning the camera on her new grandson even once. E.F. excuse number 1 gets a distinction in her grade as an excuse.
(Oh and let's not forget the christmas card signed "to Howie from Mrs T " except she did write the full name there just so he would be sure who it was from.)
She just walked out on marriage number 4 ( actually #'s 3 and 4 were to the same man, why not bugger up the same man's life twice?)
2. The father. I love this man, he is divine and loving ( don't ask him to say it though, sweet heavens the sky might fall down) it's a pat on the back and money if you need it. Not nearly as good an excuse as the mother but actually responsible for the nurturing of the E.F. side of H as he is the master of the don't talk about it syndrome.
If we don't say it, it ain't happening.
Family motto, one that screws up more minds than the hardest of drugs, but gosh darn it, why change the habits of a lifetime?!
Do you think they will gang up and hate me when I step in and smash this family tradition into a gazillion pieces because with my dying breath I swear I will tell my boys that they can cry and weep and sob and let the whole world know they are sad? Guess what generations of H's menfolk.... BIG BOYS DO CRY! And so do women and you can love them and hug them, you can tell them to let it all out because you know it will make them feel better and stop them having headaches and pounding hearts and stomachs that bleed.

MUCH LATER IN THE DAY after talking to my doctor......

"Take up thy bed and walk" she said. "Helen, there isn't a drug I can give you to help. you need time to yourself and some good things, why don't you try walking, really walking...I promise it will make you feel better, exercise is the best drug"
Oh...but I wanted real drugs, nice floaty kind of drugs that will make me feel happy and carefree. I don't think I want to thunder my heavy legs up and down hills panting like an overheated big thing ( wanted to write Rhino but not sure if they pant)
She also suggested that I treat myself to a good waterproof jacket so I can thunder in all weathers......WHOOHOO! That'd be a treat wouldn't it? Go for a stomp in the pissing down rain. Marginally better than the heat though I suppose, as hair plastered to head would be because of rain not sweat which is never an attractive sight, especially on an overweight 43 year old mother of 6. Especially when accompanied by a staunch frowning expression of deep resentment at having to get her only highs in life from walking, bloody hell they'd have to be some pretty great endorphines to make me think it was worth it!
Isn't life grand when you have so much to look forward to, failing sight and walking in the rain for your kicks. Ahhhhh bring it on, I have it all! At least she didn't suggest skipping....