Don't Use Words When You're Talking To Me!

We had another visit from Mr. Hyde this morning in the car on the way to work:

"I don't think I'm going to go to meetings anymore. I'm going to go to church instead. I think it's a better way to spend my time. Maybe I can find a sponsor who will work the steps with me, but who will understand that I'm not going to go to meetings."

"That scares me."

"Why?"

"It scares me when you talk like that. When you say things that make it seem like you think you're unique."

"You know, if you want to talk about this, we can talk about it. But if you're going to use mental warfare and use words and shit like that, I don't want to hear what you have to say."

(I'm thinking, should I use grunts? Telepathy? Cooing sounds? Sign language?)

"OK, we won't talk about it then. I don't feel well and I didn't sleep last night, so let's not talk about it."

"It's funny how nothing is ever good enough for you! You've never once told me that you're proud of me. All I ever hear is what I'm not doing right! What bills I didn't pay, what dumb decision I made."

"That's not true at all, and you know it. We were just in bed a few nights ago, and I was telling you how proud of you I am, how you're doing a lot of really hard stuff, how it's great that you got a sponsor. Really, let's not talk about it, though."

"I don't remember that! You never say anything good to me at all! And it's fucked up that you put more faith in those meetings than in God! That scares me, that you don't have any faith. You treat me like I'm a fucking child. You don't support anything I do or any decision I make. It's never right."

"Please let's not do this."

"You don't care about anything I've done to change. All you care about is seeing the worst in me. Why do you think I come home and go to bed right away? Why do you think I don't ever want to be around you?"

(I'm thinking that he surely is up my ass a lot for someone who doesn't ever want to be around me. I had to forcibly extricate myself from him over the weekend to get some alone time. I am also beginning to melt down. His words hurt.)

"It's early. Let's not start our day this way."

"You know, you treat me the same if I'm using or not. I might as well just go and get high. What's the point of not? It doesn't make a difference to you. You know what you do? You make me want to use."

We're at his work site now, and he gets out of the car and slams the door. And that's our morning.

Later, I was chatting with my darling Scout about the morning's events, and I was all caught up in the part where he said I'm not supportive. I said the following, and she saved it and sent it to me so that I could remember my words:

jw: i am so fucking supportive that it's a goddamn disease.
jw: i've been so supportive i've wrecked myself.
jw: i'm pathologically supportive.
jw: rubbing his hands, making him food, letting him drive my car, putting a roof over his head, telling him he's so wonderful for acting half human, loving him when he's been the most unlovable motherfucker on the planet
jw: loving him while he has been systematically trying to destroy my goddamned spirit
jw: taking everything from me that's worth anything.
jw: and i just keep on and on loving
jw: loving and loving and loving..........

It's my new mantra.

Just Shut Up.

You act like you're fourteen years old.
Everything you say is so
Obnoxious, funny, rude and mean.
I want to be your blowjob queen.

-Liz Phair

Liz Phair's "Flower" song was stuck in my head today. My husband was being a charming, grumpy, handsome, fussy fool of a man-child beast. He is tired. He's worked a lot this week, and the work he's doing is hard. It's going to take him a long time to get used to being up and out of the house, being a grown-up and all that. It was rainy and cold today, and he was working outside, so when he came home, he had a fierce need to let me know how awful it was.

I am getting better at ignoring him when he's crazy. He threw some sort of man-tantrum about the side of the bed next to where he sleeps. He generally has a giant stack of clothes piled up there, and I'll pick them up when I'm doing the laundry on the weekends.

Why can't you just leave my clothes that I have on the floor over here alone? I want to have something that's mine! You clean up everything, and I want to have one place that can be messy!

It's great. For a few minutes, I was really hurt. I was trying to do his laundry, to help him, and he acted as if I'd been trying to take something away from him. I started questioning myself...should I not be helping with his laundry? Is there some indignity that I'm foisting upon him by cleaning up the bedroom that we share? I quickly decided, however, that it doesn't matter, and that something great has happened: I'm off the hook for his laundry! I finished the load that I was working on, and instead of folding his clothes, I threw them on the floor next to his side of the bed! Instead of washing his clothes that were in the pile of dirty laundry, I threw them on the floor by his side of the bed.

I hope he enjoys his mess.