I have been feeling a lack of motivation for blogging lately, especially in English. I blame, in part, the restart (again) of my Dutch blog, but I also blame the fact that just too much is going on in my mind that I don’t know how to put into words on paper (or on the computer screen, of course). Today, I got myself yet a couple more journaling guides, and one of them is 53 Weekly Writing Retreats by Mari L. McCarthy. I subscribe to her newsletter and have been thinking of joining one of her journaling courses, but I never followed through.
The first journaling exercise in this 53 weekly retreats thingy is called “Goin’ Outta My Head”. It asks you to write what’s on your mind. This may not exactly turn into a blog post that’s going to go viral (not that any of my blog posts will ever go viral, ha), but I don’t care. Here goes.
I’m having huge difficulty imagining I’ll ever be ready for life with my husband. My husband wants me to practise coming to our home on a MOnday or Friday (so after or before the week-end we’ll spend together) to practise time alone where I can’t reach out for support. He wants me to use my limited accessible long-distance transportation for this. The tiny village is not in the same short-distance transportation area as the institution, so I can’t use the virtually unlimited regional accessible transportation service. Not that I have a regional accessible transportation pass yet. Anyway, it sounds logical that I’d use my limited transportation for rehabilitation rather than socialization. Or not. I am supposed to visit a friend at the other end of the country on Thursday, but the bidirectional journey costs me about half my allocated transportation kilometers. I’ve now setteld on going part-way by accessible transportation and part-way by train, thanks to a great service that allows consumers to combine accessible transportation with guided public transportation.
However, I’m completely overwhelmed by the whole idea of having to live with my husband in four months. He works full-time. We live in a tiny village where the nearest support agency is almost 20km away. We don’t have a clue whether I can get on-call support at all. We don’t even have a clue where to ask these things, and yet, because we moved out of area, social work isn’t going to help us. And because it might slow down my rehabilitation process, the professionals in control won’t let me go to an institution that is within our area.
I like our new house far better than the old one and, besides, it’s where my husband feels at home. I have never had a place where I felt at home at all, and I don’t want to make my husband feel out of place. The care in our old town isn’t great either. Besides, there’s just no going back. I agreed to move to the tiny village and we’ll have to deal with it.
However, because the powers-that-be take no responsibility for getting me proper care but are refusing to let me go to an institution that will, I feel like all responsibility rests upon my shoulders but I have zero control. I got this whole ball rolling with my comment, over a year ago, that I want to go live with my husband, yet now the ball is completely out of my reach.