I've been so blessedly, infinitely, angelically patient with my husband during his detox, but that frustration that has plagued me for months about his unemployment is starting to knock against my heart.
He woke me up this morning because he wanted to use my phone, and he approached me with the most awful, whining voice: "I need your phone." The word "need" in that voice of his...the word "need" in his mouth addressed to me at all...it makes something bright red boil in my guts.
I want to be patient. I want to be good. I want him to be better, and I want to be on the other side of this mess, waiting for him with open arms to be the man I know he wants to be, and who I know he can be. I just am so tired from it all, and I need some help with the bills. At this point, I have one steady job that almost pays the bills, and then I have a few freelance gigs that will help...but it's not stable, and I won't know from one month to the next if I'll be able to make it. I've had a few windfalls lately to help me prepare for the hard times on the horizon, but so much could be resolved if he just had a job...a little job...a little part-time job that made minimum wage.
And I'm so afraid that he'll finally get a job and refuse to contribute any of his earnings to the household expenses, since that's his pattern. I don't have another bout of that in me, I don't think.
I wish that there could be a timer inside of me, some way to organize my emotions and to monitor when they'll be done. I could set a date, but I've done that before and I never stick to it. As soon as my big deadlines arrive, there's some new event on the horizon that keeps me locked in...some new bait that keeps me hopeful that things are changing for the better.
And things DO seem to be changing for the better. They really do. I just don't know if it's going to happen fast enough, and I won't choose hope for him over my own happiness.