Why can’t people keep their big heads out of my business?
Im not that interesting, I assure you. But it’s kind of disrespectful to talk about someones mental illness with others. I am hurt, to be told that my partner’s sister and grandma have been chatting away about my depression and anxiety over coffee and cake, making their own assumptions of what I am like and comparing me with their experiences.
His sister told me to my face that they were discussing down Sydney how I was going to look after my mother in law with my depression, doubting me – even though I work as an aged care nurse, and that grandma said she thinks someone with depression is someone who sits in a dark corner all day and doesn’t move.
Sorry, but I believe that as an individual I feel differently to others, you have no idea what is going on or what I am like or how this illness has affected me. Everyone experiences some form of grief and depression in their lives, but is it exactly the same as their neighbour’s?
Talking about me is one thing I am not happy with but to put their assumptions in and then come back and tell me what they think right before they come stay in my house for 8 weeks, it made me much, much worse. They were coming to stay as I was to look after my mother in law while she recovered from her second heart surgery.
I couldn’t do it, I let what they said get to me, bad.
I would work myself up because my mind’s telling me I’m not good enough and I have failed. I have failed everything. I then locked myself in my room for the remainder of their stay. So then my partner had to have time off work to look after his mum and me. Never have I ever felt so low, like nothing will get better.
Too many times have I let people get to me. I am aware I have no control over how others think, but I try so hard to be strong and not give people a reason to treat me this way.
Since then, her words have changed. She apparently didn’t say those words, and then she did. Put my partner in a position where he had to either believe her or me. And now their dad’s involved, only grasping her side of the story, whatever story that may be. I can guarantee it wasn’t a word of the truth because the abusive phone call from their dad, not wanting to listen to a word I had to say, just told me I shouldn’t of even got an apology then hangs up. One thing I will say about myself, I won’t lie. I hate it, nothing good comes of it. What would I gain from lying?
I journal daily and have her words written with my favourite black pen, and I wrote how her words made me feel.
Im not lying. I am hurt. Yet I am the one played out to be the bad guy and she is the poor victim.
I can’t stop thinking and dwelling on this. There is a massive wedge now. I didn’t ask for any of this.
Sorry for the rant…
If you have read all of this, then thank you and well done. And no, you don’t get a prize.