So, I just get a call from my parents and the sister who yelled at me for ‘not sticking up for myself’ with my mom a minute ago. They wanted to meet me at some restaurant like nothing happened.
I instantly went into a panic attack. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I don’t want to see them.
I was just finally recovering from this lupus flare, had stopped crying for the first time in days.
I need to be left alone. My memory isn’t as faulty as theirs. I cannot breathe when I think of this shit.
Their stance will be ‘oh, don’t make such a BIG DEAL ABOUT IT’.
They don’t understand that my body needs rest. I am not a mindless machine. I am burned out.
$5 dollars says they show up on my porch today, anyway.
Jeff says they were here earlier this morning before I woke up, but went to an antiques market.
I don’t want to cook, entertain, serve coffee, sit on the porch listening to my mother alternately berate me and praise the baby. I KNOW that she is ill. I know that she likely may or may not remember what happened 2 days ago.
I need to decompress.
I am laying in bed with the baby, trying to get her down for a nap. R has gone to work, the rest are out shopping- and the house had been blissfully quiet (except for the sounds of BabyFirstTV blaring in the background for Maisie).
To top that all off, my back went into spasms again. Valium time. I hate medication.