When he comes home, he has to go to sleep. I struggle to keep things quiet and to stay out of our room so he gets his rest. It's like I lose the whole upstairs of our house. I feel trapped in a shoebox. We live rurally so there isn't a lot to do. I should be heading out on long walks, but somehow I can always talk myself out of exercise. It's like I'm missing the part of the brain that makes you do stuff.