Residual fragility + giving up smoking = tears
I took a few days off on holiday. I needed a rest, as I pointed out in My holiday week that was yesterday.
While this has been a great year, an immense year, I have realised today we, or at least I, don’t get over trauma overnight. A few things have happened this week that have stressed me. Mr O hates it when I panic about things, so I try not to, but I think trying not to leads to a type of stress in itself!
There was the washing machine saga and trying to work out how to afford a new one. Then there is the issue, still not resolved, of Miss O 1′s eligibility for ESL (English as a Second Language) in Year 12. Next came the question of the Adult Apprenticeship Incentive Scheme. There is now a cloud hanging over Mr O’s eligibility for that on what appears to be two fronts, but as it isn’t resolved yet, I’ll not write much at the moment other than to say it is stress I wasn’t expecting. As I wrote back then, the occupation has to be on the Skills Needs List and horticulture is broken up into different areas. The area of his apprenticeship seems not to be eligible; then there is the question of even if that wasn’t an issue, the apprentice has to be actually eligible as a permanent resident at the time of sign-up, not become eligible a few weeks later. There was no mention of a permanent residency requirement anywhere on the website, we only discovered that later, let alone this bit about must be eligible AT sign-up. This was the grounds on which I asked for priority processing for the permanent residency, so now I feel bad about that too. I do try so hard to do everything by the book: I thought I did. We shall see what happens. I tried.
I got a disconnection notice for the gas bill, which we had paid. I called up to discover that the payment has been put against our electricity bill and they won’t/can’t transfer it across. I have been very careful with the Bpay on this as now both the gas and electricity bill have the same Bpay biller code, but different references. Presumably it was my mistake, but stressful.
Moving is stressful.
The 26% loading on the health insurance premium is stressful and when Mr O went to the Medicare office to get the required letter (I wrote about this in My holiday week that was), he discovered the office had closed. We found out the hard way a few weeks ago that Medicare offices were being closed and amalgamated with Centrelink offices, but had been told this one was still open. So that isn’t resolved either. We will waste another Saturday morning going out of our way to get a letter we shouldn’t even need, in my humble opinion! Why can’t they exchange information?
This morning the tears returned. Just all too much in one week, when I had taken the week off because I was exhausted and needed a rest and needed to feel I was getting in control for the move. Neither has happened because so much else happened.
Each thing by itself is nothing major, really. I know that. We still have a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our back. Mr O and I are both happily employed. Around the world people are starving, having their homes bulldozed and getting on leaky boats to seek asylum. What have I got to complain about? In comparison, absolutely bloody nothing! A “blogging buddy”, Momfog, came home from church last year to find her home burnt to the ground. Many people way worse off than my family and I. When ever I feel stressed, I think of Momfog to remind myself how lucky we really are.
I feel something I can only call a residual fragility from “the battle” is still lurking in my soul. Anything stressful, or too many stressful things at once, triggers feelings and memories that shake me to the core. The fear I felt during that time rises again. I have no control over the sense of panic I feel when it happens. Plus Mr O and I are trying, for the second time since Easter, to give up smoking. I have been told before giving up smoking is, in itself, very stressful.
I know I feel the responsibility of ensuring the kids don’t miss out on anything, like sport or school camps, very heavily. Perhaps too heavily. We can only do what we can do. If only this hadn’t cost us so much, but it did. How can you put a price on life, on love?
Why publish this at all? Because such days, such feelings are part of the journey. Most of this web site is about sharing our experiences so others in similar situations don’t feel so alone and hopefully, possibly, show officialdom we are real people, not just numbers. Today is part of that same journey: people need to know a stamp in a passport doesn’t make the pain disappear overnight. It lurks.
I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. It just takes time to heal. The man will come today and fix the washing-machine, I’ll clear the backlog of washing and feel better. Mr O will come home and give me a cuddle and the kids will make a heap of noise and all will be right in my world.