Too good to be true.

We have a big test tomorrow. Cogniative tests. I always dread a dr's appt because usually the mood changes in him and he becomes argumentative or obstreperous.

I thought today had gone well. Smiles, happy with me and the girlies. Then the wind down to bed time. I've spent the last hour listening to how useless I am. How lazy I am. How I'm happy to be on benefits because it means I don't have to go to work.

I'd love to go to work, get out of the house, see people and actually work. The house feels like a prison where I can only go out if I have persmission, and I don't mean "go out" go out, I mean out at all.

I'm not lazy. I'm not happy to be on benefits. I want to work, but this sodding illness means I can't. Money is tight, excrutiatingly, and I'd love to bring some in so I'm not always saying "no" to things, and not extravagant things, things that I should be able to say "yes" to. I'm sick of stressing about bills. Of robbing Peter to pay Paul. Yet it's always my fault. It's always me that stops this by not working. I don't not work because I'm happy not to. I like my brain to be ticking over, I like to be challenged mentally, I'm certainly challenged in all other areas of our home life, but this doesn't matter because he's getting wound up about tomorrow.

He'll put on a "nothing's wrong with me" face for two hours tomorrow and then there will be the come down, the unwind, the not having to pretend time and boy, I look forward to those as much as I do the upwind (can't think of a better word) for these sodding appointments.

Apparently, all he says about me to others is good. Why does that have to change when it's just us. I do absolutely everything, I keep so many plates spinning and all I get is resentment for it. This illness is an absolute b*****d. You start believing the things that are said to you over and over again, and that's when you feel the wall coming. I'm trying, I fail, I succeed, but I'm trying.