Tuesday, April 14, 2009


My computer crashed this past weekend, and I've been debilitatingly unwired at a time when I could have used some cathartic writing. I've forgotten how to write in a notebook. It doesn't feel real to me anymore.

My husband had a tantrum on Easter Sunday. We were having a lovely morning, eating a breakfast together that he'd made and drinking coffee while sitting in our swing in the front yard. The sun was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The air smelled great.

We were talking about the church service we were about to go to and the potluck we'd planned to attend later that day. We'd both been looking forward all week to the events, and the day was starting off so warm and easy.

I started talking about how I'd been considering going back to school, and how I'd thought of applying to a lot of different kinds of programs...maybe social work. Maybe for literature. Maybe divinity school...

He got upset at the idea of me going back to school, and he was very defensive. I'm not sure what the idea of me going to school brings up for him, but it all culminated in him screaming at me and punching a(nother) whole in the wall.

It's been a long time since I've seen that side of him, and it scares me. I am still kind of reeling.

I went to church by myself. He apologized later, and I appreciate his apology. It was sincere, and I realize that he's in the first throes of the first year of his recovery. He's doing well, considering how sick he's been. He's detoxing from methadone gradually, but it's rapid enough to affect his mood. I understand. I empathize. I appreciate that he apologizes...but I am still not sure that I am willing to live in a situation that can be so volatile. I am afraid of him when he is violent, and I don't think I have many more of these incidents left in me.

It was particularly hurtful because I can't find anything I could have done differently. Often when we have a fight, I can see that I have a part in it. I might have been harsh with my words or blamed him for something that isn't his. While nothing I could do will warrant a violent response, it at least helps me to understand how the situation escalated. On Easter morning, though, there was nothing I could have done differently. We were just talking, and he blew up without a reason that I can see.

I've been talking to all kinds of sponsors and friends and therapists about this stuff, though, and so I'm hoping that I will work it out. For now, I'm still ruminating.