I don't even know where to start.
I had intended to restart this blog as an account of our family now, after so many years of being too busy to write, now that the boys are teenagers and we have taken in an extra teenager for the school year. I guess I got busy again and just didn't have time. I also didn't make time, perhaps subconsciously, because Fall is hard for me anyway. The months of September and October tend to find me raw and emotional. There are several reasons for this, including that the change of weather pattern tends to bring back a cluster period of migraines and vertigo, so I try to stay busy and just keep my head down and push through. I hate to show my emotions in public.
When I got the Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain diagnosis, after spending a year in various doctor's offices trying to explain my pain, it was Fall. I can't have that condition, I told one doctor. I don't have time for that. She said, "Well, some people can cope, and some people can't. I guess it's up to you." (PS - never hope to get emotional coddling from a neurologist. Just FYI.) Still, I didn't break down. I didn't accept it. I didn't cry over this until weeks later I when was sitting in yet another new doctor's office, a rheumatologist this time. And I told him the same thing: I can't have that, I don't have time for that, there has to be something else. So he asked me when was the last time I remembered not being in pain? I could not remember the last time I wasn't in pain. It had become a part of my normal. Then I cried.
I am normally the one who can cope in tangible ways. I am the one who copes when everyone else cannot. I lend myself to that, the classic caregiver. I am not particularly good at offering emotional comfort in bad times, but I am the one who makes sure you drink water, and the trash gets put out, and the dog gets fed and the children get dropped off. I focus on the things that have to happen so someone else can grieve. I am rarely the one who cries.
But the last 24 hours have hit me at a level of devastation I have not felt in many, many years. This morning at 6:15 I cried into my bathrobe sleeve, sitting in my kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew. And then once I got to school, I thought I had myself mostly pulled together. But my computer crashed (thanks for nothing, Windows 10) and I bolted into my principal's office where I came completely unglued. I sobbed into her shoulder for at least ten minutes, repeating "I can't do it. I can't do it." I did eventually pull myself together, but my throat felt tight all day, like I was just sitting on the edge of another crying jag, just barely holding it together, like a twee bird's nest in a storm.
I haven't felt this devastated over someone I did not personally know since Lady Diana was killed, in 1997. I cried for days, then. It is always the surprise that gets me. Nobody died in this election, but I am grieving as though that's what happened. It isn't that Hillary lost. I get that people don't like her, that's politics, fine. I am grieving because he won. And I didn't see it coming. I really thought most Americans saw him for the nightmare that he is. And as the polls started coming in last night my elation that the election season was drawing to a close turned to horror. The unthinkable happened.
I don't know how long it will take to get over it. But I'm going to go back to my old tricks of staying busy and taking care of others as best I can. I won't be on social media much, I think. I may still drop in here with some hopefully hilarious stories of our tribulations with three teenage boys. Maybe after Christmas I will be the funny girl, again.