Today, my husband kicked down the banister to the stairway, kicked the dog, threw a chair, called me a cunt, and told me that he's going to fuck another woman tonight in order to make sure that he never comes back to me again. He also threatened to kick in the door if I don't let him in when he comes back to get the rest of his things. It was very dramatic.
I took him to his parents' house, and that's that. I hope he stays.
He got himself very worked up because I wouldn't let him use my credit card to get car insurance. He had the money to give to me, and I still wouldn't let him use it. I'm afraid that next month, he won't have the money, and I'll get stuck with the bill (like always). He's also very hurt that I won't drive him to the methadone clinic in the mornings at the time he would like to go, and it's not good enough that I'm perfectly willing to drive him later. He's also very upset with the idea that I'm not willing to put his needs before mine anymore. He finds the idea abhorrent.
There is a part of me that is relieved that he's gone, and I'm hoping that his anger will fester long enough to keep him away. There is another part of me that is really deeply hurt. I never wanted our relationship to end. It saddens me that the tools I need to be able to live with him in his disease make him unable to stand living with me. Right now, he refuses to take responsibility for his own life. He refuses to live with me if I won't enable him, and it's really sad that he's that deep into his sickness.
It's sad that he can't see how messed up he is, too. I understand that he's struggling. He's trying to get a car, which seems like a real ticket out of a lot of the troubles he's gotten himself into; he's realizing he's not likely to be able to get this car with his arrest warrant and shoddy credit history. He's desperate for a loophole that will keep him from having to clean up the messes he's made, and he wants it to be someone else's fault. I hate to see him hurting so much, and I'm mad at his disease for taking away my sweet, sweet man. I want that man desperately.
I realized something today. While I was driving him to his mother's house, he was cursing me and saying all kinds of awful things, and it was hurting so, so badly. In the end, though, as much as it's hurt to have to pass through this awful time with him, I wouldn't trade a second of it. I love him, and I would take every bit of pain I've experienced as his wife to have had the opportunity to experience the other side of him. I risked a lot to be able to be with him, and it was worth it. I've known true love, real love, and I'm glad we had our time together. It was worth it.
It was worth it.
It was.
I still harbor hopes that we will be able to be together one day, that he will find maturity, responsibility, and real recovery. I don't know if it will happen, but I hope it will.
