Do you know what it's like to hate your job, and not be able to quit? I suppose Drew Carey would tell me that I belong to an exclusive support network called "Everybody" and they meet at "The Bar."
But man, I tell you, it's tough. It's tough when, ever since I had a kid, I've wanted to stay home more than anything. I knew, somehow, that I was supposed to be home with her, supposed to be there for her every single minute.
But I can't. I have to go away to work every day.
And now? Now she has autism. And nobody knows why, of course. They say it isn't our fault. They say it's not environmental, not because of a lack of vitamins, not because of trauma. They say it's genetic. But if it's something she was born with, then who the hell else do you blame? She came out of my body. I birthed her. Therefore, I am to blame.
But it isn't that simple, is it? Disabilities aren't that simple. Placing blame isn't often helpful. Even "pinpointing a cause" isn't helpful, because it's in the past, and she is here, now, and I have to help her. But I have to go away to work every day. It's torn me up ever since the day I had to return to work, and it still tears me up. Tears me up worse, now, since her disability sounds so stinking severe.
It's put me in a bit of a tailspin.
It's also affected my holiday spirit, to be very frank. I'm not as excited about the holidays as I normally would be. I'm not depressed, just stressed out. The whole thing makes my stomach hurt if I think too much about it.
Her face is here, right in front of me, taped to my computer. At home, her face is my desktop picture.
I suppose she was born to me for a reason. But I've got to be done with the blaming pretty soon. It's tiresome.
And I've got to be self-employed, soon. Every day feels very, very desperate.