Sunday, September 21, 2014

This is why facebook says my maiden name right now...

My husband and I had a huge fight a few nights ago.  I mean, HUGE.  I did not want to share a bed with him, let alone a last name.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to get a divorce.  I hated him.  I hated everything about him.  I wanted to punch him so hard in the face that his teeth flew out.

Before this blowout occurred, I was driving home and I was in a pretty good mood.  Well, that changed as I called him from our driveway (I drove our truck and was unsure of my parking job and needed him to guide me, it was dark out) and there was NO porch light on and he didn't answer.  I called him twice.  So, I said fuck it, grabbed the heavy ass grocery bags I had and attempted to unlock the fucking door in the dark.  As I cussed my way through this process my phone rings... FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER, was what I thought in my head and possibly out loud.  The dogs started barking as I was struggling to find my key in the dark and my husband opened the door.  Drunk.  I could see it in his face.  His face morphs when he drinks.  I hate his face when he drinks.  He no longer looks like the handsome man I said "I do" to 2 years ago.  He unlocks the door and I walk in without greeting him and walk toward the kitchen to put shit away.

I yell at him about his phone and it being dark out.  My mood?  from zero to insanely angry in a few minutes?  You bet your sweet ass.  I'm bipolar.  Not an excuse, a fact.  Not only am I bipolar, I have a fucking insane amount of shit going on in my head that I try to keep to myself as to not stress anyone else out.

Well, keeping the shit in, sucks.  So therefore I explode pretty easily.  I'm worried about my dad.  I'm worried about my mom.  I'm worried about both of my grandmothers.  I'm worried about my two aunts that I keep in touch with on my dad's side.  I'm worried about my own health.  I'm worried about my husband.  I'm a huge, fat ball of worry.

On top of all this, I've had shitty flashbacks and have NOT been wanting to sleep because of the nightmares.  I'm tired.  I'm scared.  and now, I'm instantly angry.  Do you think my husband EVER asks why I'm really upset?  No.  He just rages back at me and defends his drinking.

Now, I know I married an alcoholic. I know this, I'm not a fucking idiot.  But I'm tired of fighting about this shit.  I'm tired of hearing his defense of his drinking.  I'm fucking tired.  TIRED. I try to do everything in my power to be a better person for him, I really do.  I know it's a long journey, but I am at least trying to walk the path of being a better human being for the sake of my husband.  He's cut down on drinking sure, but he still drinks to the point of passing out in his desk chair, slurring his words, walking like an old man because he's attempting to keep his balance... I don't like it.  Especially since I'm mostly sober.  I drink rarely these days.  I drink maybe a beer or a mixed drink once a month if even that.

We fight.  Yell.  I cry.  I can't handle everything.  I'm broken.  I stay away from him and crochet in the living room.  He asks me to go into the bedroom with him, I can't be around him.  A while later, I go into the room and he's in bed.  I start up our fight again because I need something.  I need him to comfort me and I'm not sure how to ask.  I think, as I'm starting to cry, "why the fuck isn't he comforting me?" and I look at those hollow, empty, drunk eyes and I fucking hate him.

I leave the room.  I sit on the couch and cry fucking hard.  As I'm sitting there, stewing in my pain/anger, NOTHING from him.  I'm pissed.  I'm thinking of who I can stay with because I can't stay here.  I can't let my parents know we are fighting to this point because I don't want my dad to worry about me. I don't want them to hate or even dislike him.

I walk into the bedroom turn on the light and poke my husband as hard as I can and tell him to get me my suitcase.  He hops out of bed and starts "looking" without asking me any questions.  He says he can't find it and gets back into bed.  I'm being dramatic, I know this, but I'm trying to get him to fucking ask me what's wrong, why I want to leave, why I'm crying so hard.  Anything.  He doesn't.  I tell him I want someone who will fight for us.  Someone who will comfort me when I need it.  He does none of this.

I'm in so much pain and so fucking angry, I can't see straight.  My mind is racing and all I can think about is this rage I feel toward him.  I hate him for not attempting to care for me.  I hate his guts with every inch of my angry soul.  I want to die.  I just want to fall asleep and die.  That's really all I want.

I want this quite often, but I really wanted it that night.

The next morning, I wake up after waking up every 30 minutes to an hour as I "slept" on the couch.  I'm still pissed.  I still hate him.  I still want a divorce.  I shower.  I get out and see his stupid face (yes, that was my thought as I got ready) and I hate him even more.  He asks me how it was sleeping and I don't even hear his words.  I angrily look at him and say, "what?" and he repeats himself and I mutter, "fine."

We start fighting again.  Finally I can't wait for him to ask me what's really wrong, so I tell him.  I tell him that he doesn't have to live in my fucking head.  I tell him about the horrible things my cousin did to me that I can't erase from my fucking head no matter how hard I try and that I can't sleep because of the fucking nightmares.  I'm having a really bad PTSD week.  I yell that I am worried that my dad may die any day now.  I'm worried about my sick grandmum.  I'm worried about my fucking mom! I'm worried about her so much it hurts me.  I hate how fucking sick I am making myself over worrying about all this shit that I CANT turn off.  I have no control over any of it.  I am at a loss.  I feel like I am drowning.  I can't fucking breathe.  I can't.  I can't tell anyone this because I don't want anyone else to stress.  I'm worried about all this weird shit that's going on with my body that I can't even recall right now.  It's weird and random and as I find each weird thing, I think "that's weird, that can't be normal." and I fucking move on and try to forget about it.  I have too much to worry about now to worry about myself.

Not to mention I have this odd premonition that I don't have much time left.  I really am worried but I don't want to know.  I really don't.  What if it's true?  What if I'm not being overdramatic? What if my mind is telling me to make everything as right as it can be with God and everyone else?

I remind him as we are fighting that I begged him for comfort the previous night and he denied me.  I can't handle it.   I still don't love him.  That emotion got buried as my hatred ignited.  He tries to comfort me, but it's too late.  I don't want his comfort any more.  I shouldn't have to beg for it in the first place.  I shouldn't have to cry and start arguments with him in order to get him to ask me what's wrong.

We've been together over six years.  I'd like to think that he pays enough attention to me to know when something is wrong, I mean our dog knows for fuck's sake, why can't a he?

I spend the day away from him and my mum keeps trying to find out what's wrong or what happened during our fight.  She knows because my eyes are so puffy from crying that I can barely see out of them.  I don't tell her anything.  She just knows that I hate my husband and that is all.

Well, after he picks me up from my parents house, I still don't like him.  I still want a divorce.  He tells me he will stop drinking.  I'm not asking for this because I don't want him resenting me as he goes through withdrawals. I know it won't work.  Alcoholics can't stop drinking.  They can't.  It's in their brains that they crave it.  I don't want him to turn into Fun Bobby from Friends after he stops drinking.  I want him to just know some fucking limits.  Stop before his eyes turn hollow and he has to walk like an old man for balance.

I tell him that when this fails, he can't just leave me.  He needs to allow me time to get on my feet so that I can continue my journey without him, because pretty much, if he's not going to be there for me when I need him, I may as well be alone.

I'm still iffy about how I feel toward him.  I love him. I know I do because he's the only person I've ever wanted to be with forever.  He's the only person I miss when we are apart.  He's the only person that I try desperately to get to love my God because I need him to be with me in the afterlife.

My anger however, is still denying that love.  My pain is making me keep him at bay because I need to be able to make a clean break when this all fails.  I need to be able to turn my love off and when you love someone as deeply as I love him, it's hard to do.  It may seem like it's off now, but it's not.  It's just scarred and battleworn and not really up for doing it's job right now.

My heart is still broken as I write this out.  I don't know what to do.  You can't listen to a broken heart, because it goes into survival mode and in survival mode, you want to get away from the one who broke it.  My mind  tells me that I need to listen to my broken heart, but something beyond all of this tells me to heal quickly and love him more than I've ever loved him before.

Time will tell.