January 9, 1998
The boys and Will are outside changing the oil in the car. I’m in here sneaking a cigarette. Yuck. I want to quit, but quitting seems to be adding to this depressing way I’ve been feeling. It’s probably the winter blahs because I really don’t have anything to complain about.
[I remember Will constantly telling me that I didn't have anything to complain about. I'd say I was lonely or tired or sad and he would get angry and tell me "You have it so fucking good and you don't even know it! You don't have a damn thing to complain about!"]
My smoking I don’t like. I get lonely around here sometimes, but instead of being happy when Will comes home, I usually end up saying something stupid. [Why would I only blame myself, I wonder...having no friends or contact with adults other than Will (isolation) adds to my willingness to believe his perceptions over mine.]
He has been very helpful and loving. He took care of the kids Sunday when I was the sickest. He has overlooked a hundred things I’ve only done half-way.
I want to go to the doctor and talk about how I’ve been feeling, but the $10 co-pay doesn’t seem justified. Maybe I should talk to Will about it on the way to his dad’s today – I don’t know. [The depression is getting out of hand. I'm considering bringing up my feelings to Will again. That hasn't worked out well for me in the past. And $10? Really? It's a doctor visit for crying out loud.]
I love my boys but I feel like I’m not doing it right. I love Will, but feel the same way. I should write to [my sister] too. I miss her. [Feeling I can't "do it" right comes from my abuser's constant nit-picking and condemnation.]