I lay in bed last night and thought and thought about this. I don't know what to do. I'm not losing weight, but that's not the biggest deal... I will be able to get this together and exercise and so forth as soon as the semester is over. I think so, anyway. My hip is better than it was. I'll be ok... or I can be, anyway, if I can stop worrying about Michael.
He is gaining weight every day. He says he wants to lose weight, but he's not doing much that looks like it to me. The problem with the porphyria diagnosis is that it's given him latitude to say "I need more carbs." And to some extent, he does, truly. But he cannot eat this level of carbs and lose weight. It's how we started on all this. There's some balance... and some days, he's there with it, his head's into it. But more often than not, it isn't, and when it isn't, it's all about, what can I eat next? He's not ready to put real effort into this, and if he was just maintaining, I'd be ok will that. But he's not. He's gaining, and every pound is less mobility, and more important, it's a pound farther from being able to have that crucial PET scan.
I am trying to stay the hell out of it, because it does NOT help when I say anything. But I cannot bear to watch this. It depresses the hell out of me. And it makes it harder for me to take care of myself; the only way I can do it is to try to separate myself from him, and that's not good for anything.
Sometimes I feel like I'm building this invisible wall around myself, brick by transparent brick. It hurts. It keeps me safer. And it's all wrong.