I was wondering when the asshole would get here. My husband's detox has thus far been gentle as a lamb. Today is the 10th day since he quit his methadone maintenance cold turkey, and the asshole has landed.
I was trying to walk through the house this morning, and he'd spread himself out through the middle of the living room in such a manner as to block my way. I had to get into the kitchen to get my lunch to take to work, and he was so busy with his video game that he couldn't be bothered to sit up and let me pass. When I asked, he sighed deeply and struggled to unfurl himself from his elegant prostration. I went into the kitchen and retrieved my 99 cent Michelina's boxed lasagna, and finished packing my things. As I was walking out the door, I approached him to give him a kiss goodbye, and he slammed down his video game controller and sighed hugely, mistakenly believing that I was trying to pass him by again. How dare I interrupt his very important video game playing with my trivial needs, like for nourishment! What a bitch to pack a lunch and go to work!
And tonight, when I got home, his stomach was bothering him, and he said that it's my fault. He's been struggling to poop while detoxing, so I've been feeding him laxatives at night. It's my fault, now, that his stomach is upset. I poisoned him.
There, now. I feel better. It's written down, and it's over. Thanks for listening.
I'm actually holding up quite well in the midst of his latest drama. I'm so very tired of drama with him. I'm just kind of going to work, doing my thing, coming home, and going to bed as if he were doing his normal thing. I try to be as compassionate as I can without letting down my guard and getting too involved in his feelings or too invested in his plans, and it's working for me today. I hope that his little slips into assholery this evening and this morning aren't indicative of some new shift in his mood. I like him when he's docile. I don't like him when he's not.