Friday, March 7, 2008


"I'm just going to go to bed," he told me when I got home from work. I'd come in and found him in bed, as usual lately, staring at the television. I tried to lie down next to him, put my arms around him for a few minutes before beginning my nightly detachment.

"Oh, that's good," I said, my face buried in his hair. "I got a call from a Nar-Anon friend who is having a rough time, and I told her I'd come over."

"Whatever. You're going out to get fucked."


It seems my husband needs desperately for me to be doing something wrong. He isn't too fond of my ability to detach from his struggles...but he also doesn't seem to like it too much when I get in his business and boss him around. He doesn't seem to like very much about anything.

"All day long, I look forward to when Law And Order will be on. It's all I have to look forward to," he said as I was getting dressed. I expect this was meant to make me feel guilty for going out with my friend, and possibly also I am supposed to feel guilty for not leaving him my computer when I go to work or letting him use my car. I take the computer with me and I keep the car because he has proven pretty resoundly that he can't be trusted to respect my things...and he knows all of it.

I hate this situation. I hate that he is suffering and that there isn't much I can do for him. I hate that it feels like my only choice to remain healthy is to stay detached from his situation and take care of myself. If I am demonstrative and affectionate, he says nasty things to me. If I try to leave to avoid hearing hurtful things, he lays on the guilt. It's unpleasant to come home, and it's hard to watch him hurt like that.

It seems really up and down, too. He came home from the clinic this morning and got in bed with me, put his arms around me, and talked for a while. It was obscenely early, but I woke up for a few minutes to talk and play with him. We had a good morning, and it felt like I was having a nice visit with my husband. I left to go to work, came back home, and I find him all cold and resentful and sad.

"Going out to get fucked." It's such an ugly phrase, and such a senseless thing to say. I am uncomfortable with how these things bead up on me now. It's good that they don't penetrate, but it also means that he's saying awful things, and I just walk away without responding. I'm not upset, but he's not experiencing consequences for his behavior...

But then, he never does have consequences when I get upset. My upset doesn't bother ways, it seems like it functions as a reward almost. Maybe his consequence is that I don't respond anymore, that I just stay away.

So that's us, tonight. Who knows who we'll be tomorrow. For today, though, I've got some stillness underneath all the stuff that's boiling on the surface, and that's enough for me.