My day started out bad. My oldest decided to be moody and jumped on his brother, attempted to strangle him by wrapping his arms around his neck and wrestle him to the floor, pushed him, kicked me, hit me, lobbed a toy at his brother's head....It finally culminated with me trying to get him to calm down, wrapping a leg around his kicking ones, and as if in slow-mo, watching him lean all the way forward as he possible could and with all him might head butt me. He hit me so freaking hard that my tooth still aches and he split my lip.
I immediately picked him up and tossed him on the bed and then screamed at him in pain and anger. Not my finest hour. I shut the door and he sobbed. He did try to come out when I called his father so I could calm down. I screamed at him again and his dad because calling Hubby is always a mistake. My husband tries to solve every problem (ie tell me how I should be going about things) instead of being sympathetic that my child hurt me so bad that I'm sure I've got nerve damage.
HB fell asleep. I fixed lunch and then went and got him up. I apologized for my behavior with nary a mention of his. He ate his fish, sighed, and proceeded to apologize. It was fraught with much mumbling but I could make out that he had taken his head and hurt Mama and caused Mama's owie. And it was followed by an air kiss. We kiss good-night but we also kiss to make up for owies. Sadly it was the most sincere and heartfelt apology I've received in a long time.
Afterwards I attempted putting him down for a nap, but of course he wasn't tired so I gave him water, pop corn, netflix via wii, and snuggled up next to Knee for a short nap. His behavior was much much better after that.
I thought things would much improve when Hubby got home, but sadly no. He told me he was sorry that I had such a terrible day. I went to therapy. I've recently decided that I can't handle these bursts of anxiety on my own and have been seeing a therapist to help work on coping tools.
My therapist thinks Hubby has OCD. "Does he grumble about his schedule? Does everything need to be picked up off the floor for him to be happy?" Yes. and yes. Living with Hubby is living with a perpetually unhappy person. My last therapist told Hubby to work on his communication skills and then wanted to see me alone. As if I'm the only one with all the mental problems.
What's been happening is I tend to loose/misplace things. Not all things trigger panic, thoughts of self-harm, followed by depression. But certain things do and they seemed to be tied to what I perceive (realistic or not) will be other people's reactions.
It seems to be a manifestation of an even larger problem...my inability to live under the same roof with my husband in a unhappy state. He's never happy and when he is, he can say the most insensitive mean inappropriate things.
I got back from therapy and told him about our discussions which are talking about serious and upsetting things. My husband is not good with emotions at all. He never has been empathetic. He doesn't know what to do or feel when a person for example has lost a loved one. He just skulks.
So I explained that my therapist says that I need to figure out what helps me self-sooth. In other words, what calms me down and do that whenever I go into a panic. I mentioned that she said that some of her clients color particular the ones with bulimia because it helps distract them. What does my husband say (because he thinks it will make me laugh) "so is sex yours." Not funny. For one thing, we're trying to curb bad habits not create new ones. Sex addiction is real. It's as bad as wanting to stab myself with sharp objects. So I sent Hubby out of the room. "You're causing me stress. Leave the room now." "I'm sorry. I thought it was funny that it would make you laugh." "I'm talking about serious things. It's not appropriate. Leave now."
I take a deep breath. I let it go. I can let things go, you know. I really can. But they tend to snow ball...
Part of what Hubby has been talking about lately is fixating on the 5,000 as in the amount of money I should be earning yearly when Knee turns two because my job (apparently) has no other value. I'm minimum wage minus child care expenses. I mentioned this to the therapist and at the time I had no idea where that figure came from. But it's like the whole paternity testing incident, my husband has once again made me feel like garbage. Like my only value to him is the services I can perform for him.
It got worse because just as we went to bed my eldest came in. Hubby, wrongly, assessed that HB's diaper leaked. So I took the initiative and went to the scene of the crime and stepped in it. All over the floor was vomit. I figured HB was okay so I changed him up, set him on the rocking chair, gave him water, and then stripped his bedding. My husband got cleaning supplies. He never completed the spot he was working on before he told me he couldn't handle the bodily fluids (OCD?) and could we switch. At this point I was basically done.
I sighed. My blood pressure went up. My husband can't stand mess and if it inconveniences him further by having to be cleaned up by him, I never hear the end of it. Ever. Doesn't matter that HB didn't intend to mess up the carpet. It's still vomit and somebody has to clean it up. It feels like a punishment. Like punishing a child for vomiting by getting upset about it instead of saying "Oh, I'm sorry you felt bad." shrug your shoulders and clean it up.
When I was away at a movie with my friend my husband was in charge. My child cut himself and instead of attempting to calm him down, he confessed that he grabbed my screaming, upset, in pain child, and hauled him over to the sink. never once did he attempt to comfort him until it was all over. Not good. It bothers me because I think Hubby is going to give the kids a complex.
"That's it" I said. "Go to bed. I'll handle it all." Guilt. Guilt spread across my husband's face. "No, that's okay. I should at least help. It's not right that you do this all by yourself." "No, leave now. You're causing me stress. Go." He left and I handled it.
Angry, I asked about the 5,000 figure. I knew it was a mistake to even ask. My husband hates me. I spend all my freaking time tip toeing doing the best I can. Nope not good enough. He attempted to go into his expectations of a house wife. "No. I'm an adult. I can set my own standards for myself. You are not my dad." And I'm sleeping on the couch...or attempting to. Right now I'm cathardically blogging trying not to think ill thoughts. Breathe in. Breath out.
I'm expecting tomorrow morning I'll spend the whole day not wanting to get out of bed because my husband hates me so much or more like he's so damned self-centered that he doesn't realize how much he's hurting me. I'm a fucking human being. I'm not a number, a statistic, or a dollar sign. If he doesn't like the fact that his children vomit, want his attention when he's getting ready for work, or wake up in the middle of the night, then he should have re-thought marriage. Children are dirty, smelly, messy, and germy. I have no sympathy. He can get over it. And if he doesn't like me staying home or how I keep it, then I will waltz my way into a job and out the door. Because what's the point in sticking around when your spouse tries to in his perfectionist manner, treat you like a servant or a child to the point that you are literally fighting off thoughts of self mutilation. Something has got to give. And at this point, it can't be me.
I'm at the end of my rope. I feel helpless. We've talked about these issues. We've seen therapists. My husband makes excuses and I make attempts to ignore the problem and stuff every bad feeling down. And so it's come up to lurk it's ugly head. Because we all have baggage and stuff can and does trigger it until it gets worse and worse and worse.
My therapist is trying to figure out why the stuff is being triggered. Where in my life did I start equating how a thing dredges up these feelings of panic and why. We tackled one problem. I want to be fair to my kids. I want to be a good parent. She told me that I was one. My husband very rarely says that. There are no compliments, no flowers, no outward signs of appreciation.
I fix my husband meals, I tackle chores when he hasn't been able, and I don't complain about it. I was sick for two months and periodically after that. For nearly a year, I never heard the end of it. Am I really not worth it? Do all my efforts mean nothing? I've done everything to try to keep a clean house and gave up when it wasn't maintained to the degree he wanted even though it exhausted me. I clip coupons into the wee hours of the evening while that Ass sits on his Ipad playing games. Does he even care? Nope. He tells me I get to take naps (sometimes) and sit around the house all day (some days like today I sit on the couch just to make sure HB doesn't kill someone). But it doesn't matter. What's worse is he claims that Stay-at-home dads don't complain about stress the way SAHM's do. It's all in my head is it?
I wanted to take a shower in the morning, but he basically told me that I'd have to do that while the kids lean over and try to jump in with me or do that at night. I have needs too. They aren't being met. And that's why I'm going to a therapist because mentally I'm at the end of my rope subsisting on little sleep because I can't unwind and my child wakes up.
And now he's awake again...