And the winner is....

Bloody hell!

Got the test results, and it was as I thought - I am indeed a member of the 'I'm a bastard' club. I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's not as though it's a surprise, but it is an entirely different kettle of fish to suspect something and then discover that you are right. Or as the DNA test says, 99.9% right.

So now instead of two sisters I have four half sisters and a half brother, and have gained two nieces and a nephew. Except that I haven't because that isn't how it works. I'm not just going to slip into the lives of these people like I belong there. Genetics isn't all you need to make a family - it isn't necessarily even the best place to start.

And then there is the whole medical history side of things. I've lost the autism gene, but what have I gained? I'll find out on wednesday, when I meet the man himself. That could be an interesting day.

Speechless!

HE WENT TO THERAPY!!!!

(and he is going back next week)

What to do when you have changed but they have not

I have come to realise that what I really want is for my husband to get some therapy. Somewhere he can talk about whatever he likes without fear of the consequences. Somewhere he can get things off his chest without aiming them directly at me. Somewhere he can learn a whole new and previously unexplored vocabulary of emotion.

We have had a lot of conversations recently - more than we ever had before. More open and honest. During one of these I told him that the only thing I want him to do to demonstrate his support of my illness is for him to go to a counsellor. That's all. He said he would - amazing. Without even that much of a fuss.

Then of course, over the next few days came the conditions, the qualifications, the excuses. Culminating in last night when we talked about it YET AGAIN.

First he said 'but I thought I was just going to come to your sessions'. Then he said 'but I am so busy I'm not going to have time to find someone'. Next 'I only said I would go once, anyway'. Finally 'what will you do if I don't sort it out in time?'

Fortunately there was nothing sharp within reach.

I have extracted the following commitments from him:

1. To find a counsellor by himself
2. To do it within 2 weeks from yesterday (and I won't ask him about it until then)
3. To actually commit to the process and go for at least 3 months
4. To shut the fuck up

OK, that last one was a bit of a lie, but we can dream.

I even managed to remain totally calm and rational throughout. I am very impressed with myself.

I am more than the sum of my (broken) parts

I am really starting to resent the way my husband sees me as an 'ill person'. I mean, he's doing his best and everything, but it seems that everything I do or say is being filed away in his head under 'irrelevant because she is clearly crazy'. It's like having a totally valid, non hormonal argument when your period is due, based entirely on the fact that they are being a wanker, and having them say (calmly - always calmly) 'do you have PMT, by any chance?', and all you want to do is shout NO - YOU ARE JUST BEING A WANKER!

I am allowed to be angry without it meaning something else. I am allowed to be snippy without needing to up my meds. I am allowed to not fancy a shag without it being a return to the dark old days of merely inhabiting the same house.

It is the unholy combination of tiptoeing around me and at the same time patronising me that is starting to really piss me off. I wish he would just get out of my space and stop looking after me quite so much. Particularly since he is clearly suffering from the self imposed pressure to be a martyr to my illness. I feel like I have to be better RIGHT NOW just so that he doesn't have a heart attack - any mention that this might be a slightly longer term issue is not popular.

Maybe I should just go for the heart attack option. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Frustrated much?

So, the test was inconclusive. Now I have to send more DNA for a different test, costing me another squillion pounds and taking another eternity. It's funny how time slows down in these situations. If I was lying on a beach sipping frozen margaritas then the three more weeks that I have to wait would feel like about 25 minutes. It's not fair! (god, I sound like my children when I say that).

It does seem more than a little ridiculous that the people who were supposed to be the adults in this situation (my parents, of course - all three of them!) couldn't behave as such and FIND THIS OUT FOR THEMSELVES YEARS AGO. But then, they might have actually had to deal with the consequences. Far better to leave it to me, in the midst of depression, to deal with it all by myself (well, except for the dozen or so people who know all about it, none of whom are the protagonists of course).

Do I sound bitter? Maybe I am just a little. Maybe I would also like to be able to stick my head in the sand and pretend this isn't all happening. Maybe I have done that for long enough and it is time already.

*insert primal scream here*

Ohfercrissake!!!!

35 years of wondering
one week to get the kit
two weeks waiting for a result

and that result is 'inconclusive'

Why can there not just be an answer to this question? It's the mystery that has no end. I have a headache.

Let me out

What I need to do right now is walk up the side of a mountain with the wind in my hair. It must be cold - I need the comfort of layers of clothes; big swaddling scarves and a warm hat. Somewhere desolate and wide open. Scotland, maybe.

Shame I live in the suburbs.

Where we are now

Mental illness - what a crazy thing (pardon the pun). The last few months have been a hell of a ride. Depression, mania, breakdown, depression, DNA testing, nymphomania. It's all go.

I'm currently waiting for the results of the DNA test. Will my real father please stand up....

Apparently, some ridiculous proportion of people are fathered by someone other than the man who raises them, so I shouldn't feel so bad. Interestingly, that doesn't actually make me feel much better. The pshrink tells me that he has heard worse stories, but that also doesn't make me feel better.

You know what does? Tea and chats with friends, and imagining a life I don't currently live