-T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
My husband's crap is bothering me, and I'm mad at myself for it.
There have been a few weeks where I've been doing a really good job of staying out of his stuff. He's been struggling with this detox business, which is still pretty rocky after 4 weeks, and I've been going on with my life. I've gone to yoga, and I've gone to work, and I've come home. I've been kind to him, and I've helped when I could. I've stayed away when it felt too painful to help.
Last night, he said he wanted to go back to the methadone clinic. He said that this morning, he was going to go to the clinic to talk with his former counselor, and he asked to borrow my car to get up there. I told him he couldn't borrow the car.
I've let something in this interchange trigger me, and I'm not sure what it is. I kind of think it's less about him wanting to go back on methadone and more about him asking to use my car, which is a little bizarre to me. It's petty. I told him "No," and it's over. I'm mad, a little, that he'd ask.
I guess a part of it is that I'm sad that none of this will be over until I make it be over, and I'm sad that I am not ready to make it be over. I'm sad that everything is pointing in the direction of getting out of this relationship and going on with my life. I'm sad that this relationship has been an elaborate ritual of acting out the garbage of my mind. I'm sad that what felt like so much love was really so much sickness. I'm sad that I don't know if I'll ever be able to do better. I'm sad that the idea of being alone is so very attractive. I'm sad for the me who I thought I was, for the life that I thought was real.
I was climbing the stairs in the parking garage at work today, and it occurred to me that I'll be glad when all my pets pass away because then I can join a yoga ashram or a hare krishna commune. I had no idea I was waiting for my dogs and cats to die so I could join a cult, but apparently, I am. Who knew?
My husband's crap is bothering me, and I'm mad at myself for it.
There have been a few weeks where I've been doing a really good job of staying out of his stuff. He's been struggling with this detox business, which is still pretty rocky after 4 weeks, and I've been going on with my life. I've gone to yoga, and I've gone to work, and I've come home. I've been kind to him, and I've helped when I could. I've stayed away when it felt too painful to help.
Last night, he said he wanted to go back to the methadone clinic. He said that this morning, he was going to go to the clinic to talk with his former counselor, and he asked to borrow my car to get up there. I told him he couldn't borrow the car.
I've let something in this interchange trigger me, and I'm not sure what it is. I kind of think it's less about him wanting to go back on methadone and more about him asking to use my car, which is a little bizarre to me. It's petty. I told him "No," and it's over. I'm mad, a little, that he'd ask.
I guess a part of it is that I'm sad that none of this will be over until I make it be over, and I'm sad that I am not ready to make it be over. I'm sad that everything is pointing in the direction of getting out of this relationship and going on with my life. I'm sad that this relationship has been an elaborate ritual of acting out the garbage of my mind. I'm sad that what felt like so much love was really so much sickness. I'm sad that I don't know if I'll ever be able to do better. I'm sad that the idea of being alone is so very attractive. I'm sad for the me who I thought I was, for the life that I thought was real.
I was climbing the stairs in the parking garage at work today, and it occurred to me that I'll be glad when all my pets pass away because then I can join a yoga ashram or a hare krishna commune. I had no idea I was waiting for my dogs and cats to die so I could join a cult, but apparently, I am. Who knew?
Photo by Apples I'm Home
