I am ashamed because I meticulously plan out his lunches. Because I want him to have the best. Because it is not normal to be scared of Safeway. That is shameful. I hate myself. Doesn’t matter if he loves his Cherrios, Craisins & banana main course - it’s there because the anxiety of leaving was too much and we still had some food in the house and maybe we’re out of salad dressing or Quorn (his meal has to be vegetarian kosher).
But I have a system for things. Fridays is breakfast day. Every other Friday I get up early (4:45) and make him an egg and cheese for lunch (and breakfast). Fridays we go to shul (with the exception of today - he’s with a friend tonight) and usually eat at the Mexican place across the street or make homemade pizza or something. Sundays I get up before he does and I make him eggs.
I have not been taking him out as much, but still most times. We did go out last week down the street, even with the snow, because I promised we could. What I am trying to say is that the anxiety is increasing and I’m afraid I don’t know what to do. I want to lie in bed all day - the past few months I’ve had a couple of those, pissing around on the computer while he gets some free Wii time or is at my aunt’s house - but I’m pushing, pushing, pushing. It is easier to take him to dinner after karate class than it is to go one of those damned birthday parties.
For social reasons - yes.
Because I don’t like to feed my kid cheap junk, but sometimes it* was* mac and cheese and Hebrew nationals or a burrito dinner. It was a rough year, because I was living off of child support and my dad’s sporadic generosity.
I’m close with the Rabbi’s wife. I’ll send a note. The Rabbi helped me pay for my first major dental appointment from his discretionary fund (I think I mentioned it on here), so I don’t want finances, and I don’t think he does counseling. Also, I’ve been to their house, so it’s weird. But maybe the Mrs. Rabbi can at least drag me out of the house and offer emotional support.
I really do think I need to be put back on meds, though. I’m just sinking. I keep wishing I’ll get hit by a bus. Every morning I’ve woke up and thought, “Fuck. It’s not Friday.” And I LOVE my job.