It hasn’t been the greatest of Sundays. I don’t know why, I just haven’t felt right this weekend. I’ve spent most of it in bed, not because I really wanted a lazy weekend, I just haven’t had the energy to do much apart from lie around doing nothing. I’ve stuck to a promise that I made recently to go to more meetings, and have been to two this weekend, neither of which I particularly enjoyed. I didn’t feel any identification in either meeting; this afternoon I just wanted to fall asleep in the meeting room. I probably picked the wrong meetings. Although I’ve been to both many times before, and have enjoyed both in the past. I don’t think I was in the right frame of mind this weekend. What’s wrong with me? It’s not just tiredness – I’ve felt off since Friday, to be honest. It didn’t help that I woke up with a headache and temperature today, after thinking that I’d gotten over the flu or whatever it was that made last week so horrible. If I’m really honest I haven’t felt right since before I got ill a few weeks ago. I absolutely detest being ill, and the fact that it’s taking so long to get back to normal health is beginning to get me down. I haven’t been sleeping well either; I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, shaking and crying from night terrors, something I haven’t experienced in years. I’m beginning to worry about what’s going on.
I know worrying doesn’t help – if I believe I’m ill then I’m probably going to feel that way even more strongly. But something is definitely wrong. I guess if I really look at what’s going on in my life, the situation at home continues to be a sore point for me. Although I’ve managed to start using the kitchen again this week, I haven’t had the chat I’d like with Robert, and so the resentment is allowed to continue. I hate coming home most evenings now. Even though I know there’s only a few months of it left, I sort of regret not taking one of those rooms that I went to see earlier in the month. I could have been gone by now, but stupidly I thought that by staying I’d magically find some way of clearing the air with Robert. It’s not going to happen. We’re never going to clear the air. He has no interest in speaking to me (I haven’t asked, I just get the strong impression on the rare occasions when I see him that he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than in the same room as me. I probably give exactly the same impression).