Little frustrations

When is the time to admit that you might be slowly going out of your brain?

When is the quiet desperation in which we live something that needs greater attention and care?

Today I caught a taxi ride to my local shopping centre. It was the first time I had left the house in over a week. Having less than $20 on my being put an end to extended travels, still it didn’t stop me from thinking about making an escape with the monosyllabic driver as my accomplice. 

I feel trapped. 

Horribly trapped. 

Trapped by my circumstances and by the lifestyle I have made for myself. 

I don’t know how to get out of this. 

I feel trapped, alone and worthless. 

A chain of events began to unravel a fortnight ago. An impatient man smashed into the back of me. I was driving Wobbles’ car and at a complete stop at a busy intersection. I was shaken and hurt with whiplash. Grateful to have not been seriously injured or have the car completely written off, the incident has left me in a position which provides a nice summary for my own life: my own little no man’s world of inconsequential events. 

Despite comprehensive insurance covering both parties and the at-fault driver’s insurance company providing full repairs on our vehicle, the car looks like wracking up a 12 day (and growing) absence while away being away being repaired. Despite the fact that it was drivable after the accident. Before handing it over there was no indication that the delays would be so long. As the insurer sweetly told me today: “I am not aware of any insurer who insures against inconvenience.” This one car, outer suburb living couple is now stranded. Wobbles likes to walk to work does not feel at all restricted by these changes. Apparently insurance company reimbursement for rental cars is only likely when the vehicle is completely destroyed. Our governments’ traffic accident department only begins to refund medical costs when they pass $600. In the scale of motor incidents this is minor. Another one of those grey areas. Unimportant on a wider view, but really important to me. 

Okay, so I don’t go many places or do important things. I certainly have appreciated the ability to go somewhere if I need. It is my tiny piece of freedom…that one little bit of control in my own living. It is also a reminder to the fact that despite having moved to a dream location less than 12 months ago – a destination that was one my Brigadoon – that I have barely set foot out the door in that entire time. I do nothing. I see nothing. I go nowhere. Where have I got to walk to? What would be the point? 

It is a world of restriction, layered with restriction, topped with a good helping of restriction. It is all my own doing. 

This situation has set off some additional inner frustration. Frustration at being less and less able to cope with frustrations. Frustrated at feeling my issues are unimportant in the eyes of a world of fertility clinics, large insurance companies, and very busy loved ones. No one, not even myself has the strength to give constant support to my sometimes efforts to get pregnant, get fit and find purpose. 

How can I get anyone to understand that my little car bingle physically hurt me, and left me somewhat shaken? That a couple of years spent in the vicinity of infertility has seen me battered and grappling with increasing feelings of failure. Is it possible to convey how much I fear for my future generally, and feel that I have been heard? Really heard? 

Recently I began to look for work. I have worked long enough to know that work can not be a source of wellbeing for me, but I accept that the financial benefits work would bring could solve many issues. I just wasn’t prepared to face additional issues of failure brought about by a late life attempt to look for work outside of my own profession. It has been the proverbial bitter pill to swallow. Just like the car I didn’t use that much when it was freely available, I now feel completely grounded by my inability to find a job I didn’t want in the first place. It in turn exacerbates the frustration of not being able to find the creative skills I so desperately want to help nurture my own sense of well being. 

They are all little things, but they mean everything to me. 

As usual it seems to be the little things that are my undoing. I don’t appear to have the inner resources to pull myself out of this one. The sense of frustration compounds and grows daily. The idea of a baby seems like just another pipe dream, like so much else I have wanted seems unlikely and remote. 

I don’t have the confidence to feel I can redress the imbalance in my life, or to properly communicate to loved ones and even faceless authorities of the situation I now find myself in. 

I will keep looking, but feel ill-equipped to find answers that have long failed to materialise.