I’ll begin in the middle…

VanGogh-starry_night_ballance1It was the end of July and I had just kicked him out again.  I don’t recall actually “kicking him out”, but that’s how he recalls it.  I remember telling him that the kids and I couldn’t depend on him anymore and that yes, we’d be better off without him. I wanted whoever he had become to go away.  I wanted my husband back…the dependable, stable, steady and honest man I loved.  This monster in front of me was anything but those attributes. I didn’t know who my husband was anymore.  Actually, I didn’t know who I was anymore either. I was depressed and irritable all the time…yelling and screaming at my husband and kids…finding no joy in anything anymore.  But I always loved my family.  Truly I did.  I just couldn’t stand myself.  But I trudged on.  I knew things weren’t good…I knew we weren’t a healthy family…but I kept telling myself that everyone goes through rough times…ours just seemed to stretch out longer…and longer…but eventually…yes eventually…we would be alright…if we could just get though today.

And so, when I kicked him out that night, it was just another night in a string of awful, lonely nights, filled with anger, hostility and pain…nothing unusual at all.

But then he didn’t return. He didn’t turn around, didn’t have a few drinks then stumble home, didn’t call or return my calls.  He just left.  He left me.  I couldn’t believe he left me.  I couldn’t believe that I had kicked him out and told him we were better off without him. But I hated that person he became…I hated who I had become…but I didn’t know how we got there.  At the time, I didn’t know we were there.  i figured he was just being the drunk bastard he had become and when he sobered up, he’d come back to his senses and back to his family.  But morning came and he hadn’t come to his senses…in hindsight, ironically, I guess he actually, for the first time had come to his senses. He realized that I was impossible to live with anymore.  I was cruel and heartless and loveless.  I had no love to give and couldn’t receive any love either. I made him feel awful about himself and berated him constantly.  He had tried and tried to weather the storm, but his complacency only made me take him for granted more.  Made him my punching bag.  He was lonely.

In truth, I thought he was unmotivated, disengaged and perfectly satisfied with status quo, which enraged me. He was emotionally unavailable, disconnected and lazy. I hadn’t wanted to be touched in 6 years.  I tolerated it for about 2 years..and then I couldn’t tolerate it any more.  I cringed when he touched me.  He loved to say that…You cringe when I touch you! spitting the words at me with such vengeance, but with deep sadness in his eyes.  I knew I was hurting him but I had become emotionally vacant myself…hardened to feelings of guilt and remorse. I had stopped caring. I was angry that he had the nerve to keep bringing it to my attention that I was an unloving bitch.  How dare he throw that in my face.

I had told him countless times over the last 6 years It’s not you! it’s me! There’s something wrong chemically…I love you! Those words meant nothing.

My behavior revealed that I was terribly disturbed. I knew I was chronically depressed and suffered from generalized anxiety as well as OCD.  But telling my husband that I was depressed as opposed to not loving him, only made him feel worse.  He had long stopped telling me to just be happy! Just wake up in the morning and say, ‘today’s going to be a good day!’  What a joke that is…how nice to live in a brain that allows you to just be happy. How effortless for you.  “Happiness” is your default setting. Fuck you.  I could pour every ounce of my energy into trying to be happy and all it would do is exhaust me..take the last drop of energy I have and kill me with the sheer exertion. But he had stopped trying to persuade me to just be happy.  He had begun to take my unhappiness as a personal assault on him.  If I was so unhappy, he must be making me so unhappy…and worse still…he couldn’t make me happy, no matter how hard he tried. 

So he left. He quit.  He quit on me and he quit on us.  He was tired of towing the line.  He was tired of being dependable. He was tired of being the rock…the martyr. He was tired of us…he was tired of me….and I was just…tired…all the time…


~ by imasurvivor2013 on April 5, 2013.

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