I made the call

Right now I feel like this is the best outlet for all this stuff because often I am either too tired or depressed to talk to my friends about it or I feel like I don't want to always have it be all about me all the time so I don't want to go on about it, even though they never make me feel bad about it. Anyway. Expect lots of gut-spilling for awhile.

I called my lawyer friend and set up a consultation with her for next Monday. She said initially that she doesn't think there is any kind of conflict of interest. The whole thing makes me feel anxious and sick inside. I feel like a failure. I had the most ridiculous thought this afternoon about how crappy our class reunion in 2009 will be if J. and I are divorced and we have to face everyone who knew us back in the early days of our "romance." No, I don't have to go, and no, I don't care what these people think....but there's a part of me that feels really ashamed about all of this, a part of me that doesn't want the world to know that my marriage is this bad. But on the other hand, here I am blogging about it.

Anyway. I took a first step. We'll see where it goes.

Advice?

Maybe somebody out there knows the answer to this question. I am trying to find a divorce attorney because the one I was going to go to is unavailable. I used to work with a woman who left to earn her law degree. I would call myself a distant friend of hers--you know, the occasional email, she took care of my cat once when we were out of town, we used to get together once a year or so but haven't for at least two years now. She is now an attorney who handles divorce. I was thinking about at least having a consultation with her, but I want to know if our previous relationship would be some kind of conflict of interest? I know nothing about this stuff.

Today, when J. was talking about how he needed money for something because he had accidentally left his ATM card in a machine and it got eaten, I said "Well, don't you have a checkbook?" And he shook his head no. I asked why not and he told me that he had been forced to close his account last May because it had been overdrawn too many times (he works for a bank and they have rules about that kind of thing). I asked why he had never told me and he said, "Well, it's not causing a problem, is it?" My name was on that account--neither one of us had gotten around to taking it off. I know, stupid. J. tells me it won't affect anything negatively for me. I'm not too concerned about it, but I feel....troubled by the whole thing.

I'm also troubled because there's a part of me that feels sorry for J. I really feel that divorce is the right thing to do, but on the other hand I worry that J. doesn't have much money, his parents are both dead and his friends network is pretty superficial...I worry that he will do something terrible like kill himself or something. I've taken care of J. for a long time and it makes me sad, in a way, that he won't have anyone to do it after I'm gone. I know, he should be taking care of himself....still I feel bad. Those of you who have been through this--did you deal with any similar feelings or fears about your ex?

One of the reasons this is so difficult is that there are parts of J. that I still love, and I still care about him. But I think I'm coming to realize that those feelings don't mean that it is best for us to stay married.

Yep, it's time.

Everyone who posted...you are right. You so are right. I re-read my post today and it has crystallized. I feel that every time I realize that I really need to get out, it brings me one step closer to actually doing it, if that makes sense. Each time I realize it, then "give it another try," my resolve deepens just a little bit.

I am going to call a lawyer on Monday, the one that came recommended to me from one of the people I trust most in this world. I've already had the free consultation with her--did that a couple of years ago. I'll try to find that file and look it over again, but regardless, I'm calling the lawyer, explaining my situation, and start working on a real plan. I know lawyers are expensive, and I might end up broke at the end of it all, but I think I still have enough room on my card to pay for it now. I know my family will help me when I need it. I know I have friends who will support me as much as they can. I know that if worse comes to worst, I can declare bankruptcy or call a credit counseling place or something and get things under control again. I won't be in any worse shape, really, than I am now.

I think I'm going to hold off on any more divorce talk with J. until I see the lawyer. I might need to sit tight for awhile and try to get some things figured out--I'll see what she says. There are some things I need to do that will alert J. to what I'm doing: I need to get into our lockbox and I need to have my name taken off his bank account, which only he uses at this point. I also need to get documentation of our home equity loan. This is difficult because J. works at the bank where all this stuff is, so I'm just going to have to do it and let the chips fall where they may. Oh well.

Last week I looked through all my bank statements back to September (my account is at a different bank!) and wrote down in a notebook how much money J. had given me from each of his paychecks over the past six months. There were many "nothing" entries. I also started writing down when J. forgets Bubba's medicine or does something else equally stupid, when I buy groceries/medicine/gas/other necessities for the house and especially for Bubba, when he is gone working late/seeing friends, when I bathe Bubba, put him to bed, take him to the doctor, stay home sick with him, that kind of stuff, so that I can better prove, if necessary, that I am providing most of Bubba's financial support and a large part of his care at home.

Melissa, you asked what happened at my psych appointment. Basically, she added some Zoloft to my Effexor. I go back in about two weeks and at that point, if I'm still feeling nonfunctional, then we will talk about Prozac or mood stabilizers, which have a lot of shitty side effects so I hope the Zoloft works. I went in looking like hell, a huge breakout on my face and no makeup, unshowered, unkempt, and then when I got there I was all fidgety and almost paranoid and really nervous...and then I cried of course. It couldn't be much more obvious that I am on the edge. I'm not sure what else I expect her to do...but somehow, it doesn't really feel like enough. I've been on the Zoloft/Effex. combo since that day, last Monday. Not really feeling any difference yet.

I got out of the house tonight and came down to LilCherie's, which has been a great break, although I don't want to go to sleep (it's 4:15 a.m.) because I know when I get up I have to go back there.

I just feel so sorry for Bubba. I know that it's probably better in the long run for us to get divorced now and spare him the years of angst/bitterness/coldness between us, but man, it's going to be so confusing and scary and awful for him. And it will be that way for me when he has to be with his dad. I would love words of encouragement here from anyone with kids who has gone through divorce to let me know that it will all be okay. At least I know J. isn't violent or malicious toward Bubba in ANY way and that he loves him with all his heart, so what I'd most have to worry about is that Bubba won't get bathed, may not get his medicine (which shouldn't be life-threatening) and will spend the entire time watching stuff on TV that's inappropriate for his age. It could be worse. But it breaks my heart that we will be hurting Bubba in this way.

I really never imagined that our relationship would fall apart AFTER we were lucky enough to have a living child. I never would have imagined that the absence of crisis would mean the end of our relationship. I never would have imagined that trying to live in normalcy would be the challenge that we'd be unable to meet.

Fuck it all

I am going crazy.
It's scary.

Last night: Woke up at 10:30 to coughing-to-the-point of vomiting child. Got him calmed down, nebulized, and back to bed but I was worried so I slept with him, waking up each time he coughed.

This morning: Woke up, did all the morning shit, got Bubba dressed and ready for school, drove J. to work so that I could have the car to take Bubba to his 10:30 doctor's appointment. When I climbed into the driver's seat I noticed the gas tank was far down into the red. "Thanks for leaving me some gas," I call to J. as he gets his stuff out of the car. He shuts the door and leaves, not saying anything.

Get Bubba to school and am at my desk by 8:40 or so. Finish work project in time to go get Bubba from school and take him to doctor. Doctor can't hear anything wrong with Bubba's lungs, but since the neb worked last night she prescribes an inhaler and spacer that we can use that will hopefully ease the coughing while he sleeps and also take less time/effort to give him, because Bubba doesn't like the neb so much.

Stop at gas station on way back from doctor's office. Cannot get gas cap off. This is an issue that's been going on for about a year, and about a year ago I asked J. to get it fixed. Since then, there have been occasional mentions of this problem, but no action. I wrestle with this thing for 10 minutes. Call J. to see if there's anything else I can try. He has no suggestions. I tell him that if I can't get it off I will call him back and he will have to get a ride to gas station so that he can get it off because I can't go any further without gas, especially with Bubba in the car.

Another five minutes and I get the thing off. Fill car with gas. Take Bubba, who has fallen to sleep in the car by now, back to school. Go to pharmacy to drop off Bubba's prescriptions. Pick up lunch to go and then pick up J. because he wants the car to go to the library over his lunch hour. He takes me back to work. The stress of the whole damn day pretty much has me in overdrive, and by 1:30 or so I'm starting to have the panicky anxiety set in.

At 3:45 I hear wailing on Bubba's daycare's playground below my office. I look out the window and see Bubba crying. He walks over to the teacher, explains something and points, she talks to him and he wanders back to a sled where some kids are playing. The teachers are standing there talking to one another. Bubba gets on the empty seat of a two-person sled, and is promptly shoved off, twice, face-first into the snow. No action from the teachers. Nothing, even though Bubba is seriously crying.

I truck it down to the daycare and take a minute to peer through the door to the playground before making my presence known. I see the teachers still standing there. Then I see one of them rush over to Bubba, at which point I go out to see what the situation is. I am seriously pissed. I call for them to bring Bubba over to me since I have crappy shoes on.

"Joe...pushed....me...off...the...sled," Bubba tells me in between hysterical cries, coughs and gags. I tell the teacher what I saw and that I was concerned that nobody was handling the situation. The teacher backpedals, saying that Bubba had been pretty much crying since he woke up from his nap 45 minutes earlier and that the incident she just took care of was the first one that period (which I know is false because I saw it evolving). I was so upset I was shaking and could barely speak myself. I reiterated that I was concerned and then scooped up Bubba and went in to get his stuff for the day. I ran into the lead teacher in his room and told her the same story, and she pretty much told me the same story that the other one had, you know, that my kid is sick or crabby and THAT's what was causing the problem, not the other kid or the negligent teachers. I am paying them $950 a month. This is the premier center in our entire town/area. The teacher/child ratio in Bubba's room is 1:4. They should be able to make sure my kid doesn't get shoved into the snow, especially after my child alerted them that there was an issue. The kid that shoved him is alternately Bubba's best friend and worst enemy. I know their relationship is difficult, and the teachers know it too. So wouldn't you think they'd pay special attention when they are playing together to make sure nobody gets hurt?

We always tell Bubba that if he's having a problem with another kid, he should go tell a teacher rather than hit or act out. I saw that that's exactly what he did, and the teacher did nothing. That makes me feel like I failed him.

I will be setting up a conference to talk to his teachers about this. Anyway.

I take Bubba up to my office and call J. to come get us (he has the car so he could go to the library, remember). I wait 15 minutes or so then go down to meet J., who is wandering around looking for us at the daycare (he can't call me because he hasn't gotten a new cell phone yet...another bone of contention since he hasn't had one since September and it causes a lot of problems). We get in the car and talk about the incident. I am shaking, sick to my stomach, crying but trying to hide it from Bubba, in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. It's 4:15 p.m. on the day that J. is technically supposed to get off of work at 3:45 p.m.

"Please tell me you're not going back to work," I say to him.
"I have to. I didn't shut anything down or anything and I have stuff I have to do."
"But isn't this your early release day?" I ask.
"Well, it just didn't work out that way today."

Nevermind that I spent three hours of the morning with Bubba/doctor/pharmacy, and now I'm leaving an hour early due to the playground incident. Let's not let that infringe on J.'s day at all.

So we get home, J. finds the time to get Bubba settled before racing back to work for another hour. I take an anxiety pill and vent, rather crazily and panicked, to LilCherie while Bubba watches a movie. J. gets home at 5:45 p.m., 15 minutes before the pharmacy closes. I give him a blank check so he can run up and get Bubba's meds (and mine, which I also had refilled). You see, he couldn't pick them up on the way home because he has no fucking money, even though he never gave me one dime from his last paycheck.

He gets home and I go lay down. I only intended it to be for a couple minutes, but the pill conks me out. I wake up at 11:30 to Bubba coughing and throwing up in his bedroom. J. is in there trying to get Bubba calmed down enough to take a neb treatment. Did J. think to give Bubba a neb treatment before bedtime? Nope. Did J. take the new spacer out of the soapy water I'd put it in to let it dry so we could use it? Nope. Did J. wake me up before Bubba's bedtime to get the spacer and inhaler together and give it to Bubba? Nope. Bubba coughed and threw up for about 15 minutes before he could calm down enough to have the neb, then had to watch a movie for awhile to settle back down for bed. Meanwhile, I'm starving since I missed dinner, and because I am the only one who buys groceries, and I haven't gone for a few days, there's not a damn thing in the house to eat, so I go to the store at midnight and buy $140-worth of food.

And here I am now, sitting in the living room, listening to Bubba's terrible cough and stressing out about it. I haven't eaten anything yet because I'm going back and forth between nausea and hunger and it seems like so much of an effort and nothing sounds especially good.

I hate my life, oh my god I hate it so fucking much. I am trapped. I can't live like this and maintain my sanity. I can't check into a hospital because I can't leave Bubba in the care of my worthless husband. I can't kill myself because of the same reason. Fuck.

Don't feel like you have to comment. I know it's getting old.

A better day today

First I want to say thank you again for your comments and for reading.

It's hard to write an update about last night because I feel like I keep writing the same thing over and over again, the cycle just goes forward. J. and I talked, fought, then reconciled again almost out of exhaustion more than anything. I went to bed at 7:30 a.m. this morning and slept until 1:30 p.m.

Somewhere around 5 a.m. I saw some notes on the table that J. had written following our discussion about the house and the stuff that needs to get done, the money situation, all of that. The notes kind of touched me--they seemed to be reminders for himself. I'll write them here:

Note #1
-Recycling
-Clean out garage
-Organize and go through stuff in basement
-Clean out car
-Scrape ice

Note #2
1. Laundry
a. Haul to basement
b. Sort
c. Wash, dry and fold, deliver all clothes
d. Not enough for full load, use hamper

2. Trash
a. Empty all wastebaskets
b. Remove big bag to garage or receptacle

3. Dishes
a. Do all non-dishwasher dishes
b. Drain and put away
c. Load and wash when full
d. Load or leave when not full

4. Toys
a. Put away

5. Flat spots [this is in reference to trying to keep some of the flat surfaces in our home clutter-free]
a. Put clutter in its rightful place
b. Clean up your own mess

6. Vacuum
a. Living room, hallway and bedrooms

Note #3
Sell CDs
Sell movies
Sell books

I wrote my own note and put it on top of those telling him that the lists touched me and that the unprompted effort touched me. So that was last night.

Today has been a good day, actually. I woke up and went to LilCherie's to bring her son back to our house so she and her hubby could get a break. She had a tonsillectomy on Tuesday and her hubby's had a cold all week so I thought it would be a good thing to do.

Having both the kids here today was great! J. seemed to really enjoy playing with them and roughhousing with them. I felt like tonight J. and I were really working as a team, and it's been a long time since I felt like that. He was really helpful with the boys and good-natured about it. It is amazing how much mental energy it takes with two rowdy boys, though. Wow, I couldn't do it all the time. It isn't so much the actual caretaking, because LilCherie's son (she needs to come up with a nickname for him so I can use it here) is six and pretty self-sufficient. It's more of the loudness of the kids going nuts with the toys and also worrying that they are going to hurt themselves because they get so wound up. LilCherie's son is just hilarious, and of course Bubba thinks everything he does is just the greatest thing ever. LilCherie's son thinks Bubba's imitating him is rather annoying, but he's also totally sweet toward Bubba when he gets hurt or needs help. It's really like they are brothers.

I've thought a lot today about Bubba's comment last night. It's hard for me to figure out if his comment was fallout from the potty incident a couple weeks ago or if I'm really that crabby with him or if it's because I've been so depressed and angry at life and J. lately and I probably walk around the house looking angry. I guess it doesn't really matter--obviously Bubba's picking up on it and I so do not want that to happen. So I'm trying to look at his comment as a gift, although a difficult one to accept. I thought about it several times today when Bubba was trying my patience and it jolted me back to calmness. I also found myself putting a smile on my face more today than I normally do, which I think is probably good for everyone.

More of the same--Updated

I called in sick to work again today.

I made an appointment with my psych for Monday to talk about how my depression is uncontrolled. That is the word that came to me today, and that is how I'm going to describe it to her. Uncontrolled. I feel like the antidepressant I'm on is doing nothing--but then, I don't know how bad it would be if I wasn't taking it, right?

I don't know how much is my mental illness and how much is my marriage.

I got the name of another marriage counselor from my therapist. I told her what we were looking for and she recommended this guy, and to be truthful, I was kind of glad it was a guy because I think that might work better for J. and hopefully he won't be so fucking sappy. I know I'm making assumptions here, but sometimes they're right. I gave J. the name and number and asked him to make the appointment since his schedule is always so busy.

I spent the day cleaning the house, which was a disaster even though J. had just had two days off (he went to a concert Wednesday night that was 2 hours away so apparently, that was worth two days off, even though he had to go back to work Tuesday night, leaving me alone with Bubba again, to finish up all the work he had to do). I packed up all his books, CDs, DVDs, and other crap that is always just stacked around the house in disarray and dumped it in a big box and set it on his bed. I know he'll be pissed, because I've disrupted his "organization" method...but my answer is going to be that if I have to clean the house, I'm cleaning it my way. If he doesn't like it, then he can find a place to put this crap so I don't have to look at it all the time. In an admittedly immature move, I also dumped all of his clean laundry into a basket without folding it and put it on his bed as well. I know that's petty, but it made me feel better at the time. Wow, not folding his laundry! What a bold move there! Jesus. I am pathetic.

I called J. and asked him to take Bubba out to dinner tonight because I don't want to deal with either of them. Really, I don't want to deal with anything.

I'm thinking about starting another blog just to bitch about my marriage, because I worry that people will just get really sick of reading about how my life sucks and I never do anything about it. Then I worry that if I did that, I wouldn't have anything to write here. What do you think? Is this getting just too fucking depressing to read?

Updated to add: Tonight when J. and Bubba got home, I did my best to be "okay" and volunteered to do Bubba's bedtime. Bubba and I were reading a book about emotions. We got to the "angry" page which shows a little cartoon face all red and angry, and Bubba said, "That look like you, mommy. I don't like that page." I lost it, I really lost it. I couldn't talk. I started shaking. I choked out the last two pages then told Bubba my tummy hurt a little bit so I was going to have his Daddy come in. I haven't gone to bed at all tonight; it's 5:30 a.m. I'm just shaken. I'm so disappointed in myself.

Today's Musings

Today I learned that...
Two pieces of cheesy garlic bread are not enough.

I'm done fuckin' around with those generic, cheaper brands of frozen garlic bread. If it's not Pepperidge Farm Garlic Texas Toast® then it's not worth it.

It's not a good idea to broil your second set of cheesy garlic bread Texas Toasts on "hi" without watching them or setting a timer.

While you're fucked up.

And your husband is just about there in terms of getting the 3-year-old asleep.

When the smoke alarm goes off.


Things I Feel Compelled to Share With You Tonight
The thought of LilCherie, in the Grumpy Pants I made her for her birthday, standing in the snowy parking lot of the hospital this morning after finding out that her surgeon was snowed in in another city and would not be able to perform her tonsillectomy, kicking her car in anger, really makes me laugh. Now that she's accepted it, I mean. I really felt bad for her at the time. But I still wish her husband could have secretly videotaped it for me.

I read the Lunchables® post over at A Little Pregnant and it really pissed me off. But I was too much of a chickenshit to post a dissenting view, because Julie is blog royalty and I didn't figure it was really worth it. Of course now that I'm putting this on my own blog it's "out there." Oh, jeez, what are we supposed to do? It's already out there! Call the cops! It's already out there! (Random movie quote -- do you know which one it's from?) But I was excited to see that Patty from Monday Changed Everything stuck up for herself. If you read her blog you'll see that she has a good excuse. I just feed my child crap because I'm lazy and depressed.

I'm half-afraid that I'm dying of cancer because I haven't felt like eating much lately, I'm really tired, and I have several unaccounted for bruises on my upper thighs (and one on my forearm). Of course, the appetite and fatigue could be attributed to the depression, even though I'm usually a "fat depressive" (I just made that term up. Impressive, huh?). And I guess the bruises could be from beating my fists against my legs in hopeless frustration, right?

I found out tonight that when trying to disinfect a light green throw rug after a dollop of your child's almost-diarrheal poo drops on it, a bleach-based cleanser should not be your first choice. There is now a five-inch circle of my throw rug that's the same shade as Greg Brady's hair in the episode where he buys the hair tonic from Oliver. Or, baby-ate-carrots-shit orange. I couldn't have just thrown it in the washer because you know, I was just too lazy and depressed.

I'm reading a great book right now called "Mommies Who Drink," by Brett Paesel. When reading books like this, I momentarily think to myself, "I could write this well! I could be this funny! Why am I not a published, successful author?" Then I remember, oh yeah. I'm too lazy and depressed.

I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Lazy and Depressed." Do you think that would pull in the readers or what? Sadly, I would be all about a blog named that. I should do a blog search...maybe it's already out there?

Today's Aha! Moment
I think I've come to a realization about how men--or at least J.--think, and why it causes a problem in relationships. I think he is mentally incapable of moving past the first most-likely outcome of an action or comment. Here are a couple examples, including the correct "Mom thought" as well:

J.'s first thought: Bubba is thirsty.
Most likely outcome: I'll give him some milk, then he won't be thirsty anymore.
Mom thought: But Bubba has to drink four ounces of juice laced with laxative so that he won't have a hard poop because is his holding his poops in and we are trying to get him to go without the hysterical drama and causing Mommy to have to take one of her anxiety pills. So, I'll give him the laxa-juice now and then milk later.

J.'s first thought: I want to make Bubba laugh, so I'll put some Toobers and Zots® (I'm lovin' that symbol tonight, by the way) up my nose and pretend they are boogers.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will laugh. Job done!
Mom thought: Bubba will think it's great, then put them up his nose, and then put other things up his nose, and then we'll be in the emergency room at 3 a.m. while some poor staff physician fishes pus-covered gravel from our child's infected nose. So maybe we'd better not model putting stuff up our noses as appropriate behavior for our 3-year-old.

J.'s first thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so I'm putting him to bed.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will go to bed.
Mom thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so we better get him his allergy medicine because if he doesn't get it he will be stuffy and he already has a cough; fill and turn on the humidifier because of the aforementioned cough; see if he has to go potty one more time so that he doesn't wet the bed; and bring in a glass of water and the toothpaste so we can brush his teeth.

I think you get what I mean here.

And now I guess it's also perfectly clear why, when I was having a spiral last week and told J. I felt like I was turning into my mother--the ultimate killjoy-- J.'s. answer was a sobering, "Yep."

It is what it is

Thank you so much to everyone who replied to my last post. I tried having "the talk" with J. on Saturday morning before he went to work. He started the conversation with an apology for the night before, which I accepted. I talked to him really calmly and told him I thought we needed to really figure out how to end our marriage, and explained how I hoped we could do it amicably and all that. He was a little more pissed off than I was at first but then just seemed sad. We were on the same page initially, that divorce is the next step. After a little bit of talking I kind of caved and suggested "one more time" of counseling, with the caveats that we find a new counselor who is a little less "touchy-feely" than the one we have now and that we focus on our situation NOW, not our past history/traumas/childhood scars etc. We need someone who can help us relate to each other and communicate, now. I don't know why I suggested it. I think I got scared.

I say I "kind of" caved about the counseling because deep down, I really don't think this will work. We've been down this road so many times. But I think it might be beneficial for a couple of reasons--first, we will be able to say we "tried everything" to make it work, and second, it gives J. another heads-up on where things are going.

Emotionally, I think we have pretty much made the separation. We have slept in separate bedrooms for...god, I can't even remember now, a couple years? It started out because I couldn't stand how much crap J. always threw all over the room and I told him that until he cleaned it up and kept it clean that I was going to sleep in the "guest room." He never did, and it's "Mommy's room" now. I think we've had sex once or twice in the last 8 months. If I'm playing with Bubba, he's smoking or playing his video games; if he's playing with Bubba, I'm smoking or on the phone with my friends or doing something else...it's like we're already taking shifts, you know? Like coworkers.

I do have my own bank account, but your comments made me think of a few things that I should get in order, for instance, getting my own lock box and moving my stuff out of our shared one. Basically, I'm going to start working on my plan while still going to marriage counseling. That might sound stupid or counterproductive or whatever. I mean, it would be great if marriage counseling would really turn things around and make our marriage work, and I'm open to that possibility...but not expecting it.

I also feel like I have to say here that I know I have my own issues and behaviors that have a negative effect on our relationship. But because this is my blog, you will probably only hear about what a jerk J. is. I guess I just need you all to know that I am aware that it's not entirely his fault. But most of it is (sort of joking there).

I hate that this is happening now, after we finally had a child. But it is what it is. Thanks for reading and for your support.

I need advice on ending my marriage

I am becoming more and more certain that I need to end this marriage. J. blew up at me tonight for a stupid reason and his anger far surpassed what would be appropriate for the situation. I don't know how to get out, or where to start. My financial situation sucks, so in an ideal world I would like to figure as much out as possible with J. in an amicable sort of way before involving lawyers, but I don't think J. will be very much on board with that. I would love to just pack up and leave, but I can't do that because of Bubba and how it would jeopardize custody issues. I would love for J. to pack up and leave but he won't because he can't afford it and because I'm sure he feels entitled to stay here.

What do I do? Where do I start? How do I get this going so that we can end this pathetic, miserable existence?

A big long nasty stinky dump about my husband

My husband isn't a terrible person. He has some really good traits--a great, dark sense of humor; a real ability to connect with people, albeit on a shallow/surface level; a sense of loyalty to his job (which isn't so great when they treat him like shit, which they usually do, but still, the trait itself is admirable). He used to be pretty carefree and easygoing when he was younger.

I start my post with that because pretty much the rest of it is going to be a confession of all the things I think and share with my closest friends but don't really admit to anyone otherwise, and I think these things are part of the reason why our marriage is so....broken and cold.

I have lost respect for him.

The word that comes to mind, as cruel as it is, is "loser."

There were hints very early on. He didn't make great grades in high school, and just barely missed being accepted to the state university, so he went to community college for two years, got his A.A. degree, and transferred to the university where I was. There, he basically flunked out of school because his parents were stressing him out all the time by not coming through with the financial support they had promised and, well, because he skipped classes and if the class wasn't interesting he just didn't study.

As I prepared to graduate from college, we were in my dorm room discussing what we were going to do afterward. I suggested we move in together. He was agreeable to that. Then I said, "Well, we could just get married," and he said, "Okay." "Really?" I asked. "Sure," he answered. That was my "proposal."

He bought me a $300 one-fifth carat solitaire diamond ring. He saved his wages from his job at the dorm's foodservice for weeks to buy it. At the time I thought it was so romantic and sweet. Now it just seems kind of pathetic.

We spent the first year of our marriage dirt poor, getting help from my parents to pay the rent and buy groceries. He worked at Hardees, I worked at Jack's Discount Store, unable to figure out just what I was going to do with the English/journalism degree I had since I had recently discovered that I hated newspaper work. After a year of poverty, I got my ass in gear, bit the bullet and got a job at a small-town newspaper. The salary was a pittance, but so was the cost of living, so we made it okay. He got a job at the lumberyard, and later at another Hardees, in management this time. We moved around several times due to my "career," and he always followed me in good spirits, working wherever he could find a job: a fireplace factory, a window factory, a discount store warehouse, a music store. Finally, after I got a good job in a town we loved, we decided we were "settling down." I saw an ad for a bank teller; he applied and got the job, and worked his way up a few notches to the position he's in now. He still gets paid about $13,000 less per year than I do, and I don't make all that much.

He works his ass off for this place because he always thinks it's going to pay off in some big promotion. It never does, and yet he works late several times a week, signs up for bank-sponsored charity events on his time off, works on the afternoon that he's supposed to have off every week, goes in on his Saturdays off to "back up the tapes," whatever that means. He does all this extra stuff for this place even though on his salary, he can't afford to pay his share of the bills. And then he complains to me that I get more time to myself than he does. Yeah, because I don't WORK FOR FREE for five to 10 hours a week.

So....he basically gives me whatever he feels like when he gets paid, which lately is enough to pay the house payment and that's it. That means that I have to spend my entire check on bills, groceries, the car payment, etc. If he was paying his 43.5 percent of the bills (we figured it out when I got my own account), I should have an extra $600 a month for myself. As it is now, I am charging groceries at the end of the month because I'm short. And none of the "extra" bills--like doctor, dentist, etc.--are getting paid at all. I bought every single Christmas present for my entire family, our son, his nephew by his sister who I've been estranged from since his parents died, and the one we buy in remembrance of Hope every year (he didn't even go with me to do that--Tingle did, which was nice but still). We'd agreed that his present would be a used electric guitar he wanted, so I let him spend $150 on that instead of giving it to me for bills, and then I felt like he should have something to open on Christmas, so I got him some books on learning to play guitar, a trivia book, and an iTunes gift card. I didn't even get a token Christmas present, which still burns me. And he has picked up the guitar exactly twice.

This week, I asked if he could pick up a prescription for me, since there was an actual blizzard warning in effect and it was zero degrees out and I had Bubba by myself since I had taken him to the doctor for a cough so I didn't really want to drag him out into the storm again. J. hemmed and hawed and asked me how much it was going to cost. I didn't know if it would be a $10 or $25 copay. "Is that an issue for you?" I asked. "Well, yeah," he says. Fine. I dragged Bubba out to get it.

(This part is embarrassing because it shows you how much I've been smoking lately, but...as my blog says, OH WELL.) The next day he asks if he can bum some smokes from me because he "doesn't have time" to get a pack before work. "Fine, just buy me a pack after work to replace it," I say. He says he will but he doesn't, so the next morning I ask him to do it on the way to work. He does. The following day I tell him I'm going to the gas station to buy some more and he says, "I wouldn't be against it if you bought me a pack too." I did it, but it just infuriated me. I pay for fucking EVERYTHING, and I'm sick of it. I came home and went to bed at 6 p.m. because I was so fucking depressed about it all.

J. and I have been together for 21 years now, married for 14. I have a long list of resentments that play over and over in my head, things he's said or done that are just too hurtful to forget.

The time he said he was "afraid of catching something" by having sex with me when I was dealing with the vulva stuff. Like I would ever have sex with him if things were not okay down there...and like I didn't already feel like a disgusting freak for having an abscess on my fucking vulva. Gee, thanks for the confidence boost there, J.! Frankly, I think that was an excuse anyway because his mouth hasn't gone lower than my bellybutton since before we were married.

The time we went to do karaoke with our friends Tingle and her husband, and, as usual, we were going through a hard time, and I got up on the stage and sang the Eagles' "Best of My Love" to him and he never looked up from his videogame.

The time after we had Bubba and I was going through horrible postpartum depression and he said "After the way you grieved for Hope, I thought you would be a better mother than this."

The time last year when I was wearing a new sundress, all white and frilly and showing a little skin, and I was feeling a little sexy and pretty, and he asked me if I was going to "change into something a little more appropriate" before we went out to eat.

The time he really pressured me to go to a "Family Fun Day" bank function a month after losing Hope. I practically begged not to go because I knew it would be excruciating. He got mad at me so I went, and saw about 8 million pregnant women milling about amongst the other 8 million happy families with small children, and ended up sobbing outside of a football stadium for 15 minutes before he came looking for me and took me home.

The time last fall when I wrote and sent him a love letter and he just never got around to reading it, and even said that he didn't consider it a gift because "it wasn't like it was wrapped up with a bow on it or anything."

And then there are all the disappointments. All the things he'll say he'll do but doesn't.

My 71-year-old father on a ladder, cleaning out our gutters, because J. never did it, or mowing our lawn because J. didn't do it, or taking back our recycling because J. didn't do it.

Christmas three years ago (I think, can't quite remember which year) when he presented me with a small, nicely-wrapped package "from Bubba" for Christmas...which turned out to be a box of drugstore chocolates that he had obviously bought that morning when nothing else was open. Or how about my Mother's Day gift, that infamous air popper? One more about gifts (and really, I'm not a materialistic person at all, people who know me in real life will attest to that). J. always bemoaned my small diamond even though I was always gracious about it and never even had an issue with it. "Just buy me something good for our 10th anniversary," I told him. This was during our 5th or 6th year of marriage. I said, half-joking, half-serious, "I'm telling you now, I want something good for our 10th anniversary, so start saving or putting something on layaway." We ended up spending our 10th anniversary in the hospital after having Bubba....and no anniversary gift (or even some "thanks for pushing my son out of your vagina" flowers) materialized. Ever.

All the times he's picked me up late from work, often when I'm waiting with Bubba, so I have to kill 30, 45 minutes in an empty building with an impatient toddler.

All the times he's fallen asleep in the emergency room when I was shaking with fear about whatever it was that I was in there for.

How he refuses to keep the car, which basically only he uses, in any kind of order, so that means that when I do have it, I have to lift my 37-pound son over a huge pile of crap in order to get him into his carseat in the middle of the backseat. I can really barely do it, but Bubba can't walk over the foot-deep pile of crap on the floor, so I have to. Oh, and he rarely fills it up with gas either--another thing I not only have to pay for, but have to do during -5 degree weather.

I came home tonight and made dinner for Bubba while J. fiddled with the VCR trying to get it functional to tape "Lost." (We've only had the VCR --which I bought him when the old one died--for about three months now, but he never got around to figuring out how to use it until roughly 45 minutes before the show). Then I gave Bubba a bath, and then I put Bubba to sleep--twice, because the first time, he was just about there when J. popped his head in the door to tell me he was taking my niece home, waking him up completely so I had to start all over again. Um, hello, ever hear of WRITING A NOTE? Jesus. So later on, after Bubba was in bed, I came out into the living room and just sat there with my cup of coffee. No TV on, no book, nothing. Just sat there in silence. J. came in from having a smoke and sat down and started reading his book. Never said one thing to me, even though I've told him so many times lately that it bothers me that we never have time to talk and that I have a lot of mental shit going on that I want to talk about but there isn't ever time. After half an hour I asked if he was ignoring me on purpose. "I just figured you were grumpy so I was giving you some space," he said. Another short silence before I just said, "I'm miserable." "Why?" he asked. And the thought of trying to even explain it to him for the millionth time overwhelmed me. "I just am," I said. And then J. went downstairs to wash his work clothes for tomorrow, and that was the end of the discussion.

My therapist would probably advise me at this point to write another post, listing all of J.'s good qualities, all the ways he hasn't disappointed me. Fuck it. He's always been better at disappointing me than loving me. I suspect J. is only putting off the inevitable divorce because he feels he can't afford it on his own (in fact, when we last discussed divorce, he said "I don't think either one of us can afford to live by ourselves." Well, newsflash, I can make it work and if I can't, I have a family who will help. He doesn't.)

All I've ever wanted is love. I never knew it would be so fucking hard to have it.

Still here.

Thanks everyone for your comments on my last two posts. I really appreciate the support and the encouragement.

So I went to the psych yesterday (since we are a one-car family, I had to wait for J. to come pick me up. He was late!! Can you believe it? My appointment was at 11:45 and he got to our house at 11:43. That was helpful. If I would have been in a better mood, I would have laughed at the fact that all the way to the psych office, the song on the radio was "Love Isn't Always On Time.")
Anyway, she upped my dosage of Effexor. I'm not really sure this is going to be effective; the way she explained it is that at the dosage I was at (150 mg) it acts as a pure serotonin booster but at the higher dosage (225 mg) the norepinephrine part of it kicks in so it's almost like adding an additional medication. We'll see.

I also talked to her about the possibility of me having bipolar II, which I discovered recently in my obsessive googling. It's characterized by periods of deep depression alternating with periods of being in a really good mood but not quite mania, as well as the problem of antidepressants "pooping out" after a few months. I would put a link here but my computer has been infected, I think, with some kind of virus that hijacks my google searches so until I get that fixed googling is a pain in the ass. Anyway, it's a milder version of bipolar, and one of the big parts of it is that antidepressants don't really work for it--you have to use mood stabilizers instead. My doctor doesn't think I have that, but I'm not so sure. I didn't think I have the periods of really good mood, or hypomania, but when I talked to Tingle she thought I did. Anyway, my doctor said if we can't get things under control with the antidepressants then she can try adding in a mood stabilizer drug and see if it helps.

I didn't specifically talk to her about going to the hospital because I figured that she would be able to discern from my depressive symptoms whether or not I should go. I was completely honest with her. I was a little surprised, really, that my symptoms warranted nothing more than a few sample packs of Effexor and a "come back in two weeks." I mean, what warrants hospitalization? I told her how I was so depressed it was hard to move; that I was fantasizing about shooting myself in the basement (in the little-used bathroom down there, because I wondered how many days it would take J. to find me there); how I usually dismiss the suicide thought because of Bubba but that yesterday and the day before I was actually trying to talk myself into it by telling myself things like Bubba would be better off without having a psycho mother, etc. I admit I was a little disappointed that she didn't recommend the hospital. Is that sick? I guess I wanted some kind of break, to get out of this environment that seems to smother me, and to have my depression validated by something as serious as hospitalization so that my work wouldn't think I was just a fucking slacker.

So after my appointment yesterday I came home and went to bed. Sometime during the evening J. put Bubba in bed with me, thusly ensuring that I would be up every two hours or so every time Bubba cried, had a nightmare, needed to go potty or needed cream on his butt because he's had some itching issues from a large poop a few days ago. Meanwhile J. sat in the living room and played on the computer.

This morning I woke up when Bubba did, at 7 or so, and came out into a complete disaster of a house. Candy wrappers, movies all over the place, Bubba's toys strewn all over, dirty clothes on the floor, dirty dishes all over the kitchen. It really pissed me off that J. couldn't take 15 minutes to at least straighten things up a little bit. Sometimes I am amazed at what an asshole he is. Then I think I'm being a jerk because I should at least be grateful that he takes care of Bubba when I'm incapacitated for whatever reason. Then I think, well, Bubba's his kid too, and I manage to take care of him AND clean up the house, so why can't he?

So to update you on the sex issue, I woke J. up on Tuesday night and made him read my letter, which outlined in humiliating detail exactly what I was hoping for on Monday and why he hurt my feelings, etc. His response was that he was sorry, he "just wasn't on the same wavelength" as I was. That he just didn't "pick up on the vibe." When I said that maybe the bigger question is why he didn't think of it himself, he responded that our last six months or so of pretty much avoiding each other was still affecting his behavior. I told him I was dealing with the same stuff but still was managing to overcome it to try to make our relationship better. I can't really remember the last time he initiated sex. He said he's afraid of rejection. Ain't that a kick in the pants? Jesus.

So I'm home again today, but feeling a little bit better after my sleep marathon. I am hoping to go into work again tomorrow. I still feel tired, so I'll probably sleep some more. Tonight are the caucuses in Iowa and I really wanted to go and caucus for Barack, but I'm not sure I'm up for it. We'll see how it goes. I feel an obligation because even after this depression lifts, I'll still be living in this country, and I really want to have some influence on who will be running it.

Thanks again everyone for reading and commenting.

There are some good things in my life, too

I’ve been struggling with the fear that I’m alienating my few readers by posting things that are so damn depressing. Then, I remembered what I wrote when I started blogging again about how I really just had to blog for myself, not for anyone else, so I’m getting over it. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that it’s not really about whether or not people are reading it—it’s more important that I’m getting it out. That said, I do appreciate those of you who still stop by, and I want you to know I’m reading your blogs even if I’m not commenting. I’m working up to it, I promise.

I stayed home sick again today. Called the doctor, talked to his nurse, who told me to “try to get up and around a little bit more to get your strength back” and to take Excedrin Migraine for my headaches. They just don’t get it. I’ve had enough bad infections in my life to know that there’s something going on. The exhaustion I am feeling is beyond just normal recovery. It is time for what my boss calls a “come to Jesus” meeting with my doc on Friday when I have my appointment.

I do want to write something a little more upbeat tonight, if for no other reason than to make myself feel better. First, the highlight of my day was talking to LilCherie, who called me on her way home from therapy. Lately I have been struck by what a lifeline LilCherie is for me. She is like a part of my body and my soul. I can’t imagine life without her. We met each other in second grade, so that was like what, 30 years ago? We became “best friends” in sixth grade, 24 years ago or something like that, and except for a brief two-year stint in college when we were stupid, we’ve been sharing laughter, secrets and tears ever since.

How lucky I am, not only to have her friendship, but to be able to see her at least once a week on our Girls’ Nights. I bitch about J. a lot here, but I have to say that a lot of husbands wouldn’t be so accommodating of that, and I am grateful. He knows my time with LilCherie is sacred and life-giving to me.

If LilCherie was my only friend, I’d still feel rich and blessed. But I have another soulmate: Tingle. Remember that cruel bitch Fate I was talking about yesterday? Well, she also brought me Tingle, right when I needed her the most. Tingle understands me in ways that nobody else can. She and I are so alike it is frightening at times, difficult at times, but mostly, reassuring and comforting.

I hate it that she is all the way in Cleveland, but one of the joys of our friendship is that even if our almost-nightly phone conversations consist mostly of “I’m tired” and “Me too,” there is never that awkward space between us that can happen in long-distance relationships. She is coming to see us later this month, to participate in our annual Pre-Holiday Girls’ Night celebration, and I am so excited to see her. I appreciate so much her efforts to visit and I hope she feels the same way about me. After this visit, I hope that the entire Depressionista clan can head out there, maybe in January if we have decent weather.

J. and I had our second marriage counseling session yesterday. Most of the hour was spent with me crying about my postpartum depression after having Bubba, but it was good to get it out. I think J. and I have isolated that time as when things really started falling apart for us. Yes, we had problems before, but it seems like that is when the anger really came down on us: he was angry and confused about my inability to be the mother he thought I would be, and I was angry and confused by his seemingly uncaring attitude toward it all. It was like that was just the final straw that made us give up, in a way, and we haven’t really had time to do any repair work on it, so here we are.

I think we both feel a little more hopeful just having started counseling. It’s not like the therapist is really doing anything spectacular…it’s more that we are just finally devoting an hour each week to talking about “the issues.” I told J. that I’m not sure we really even need counseling, per se, but rather just the time to talk about the big stuff. He wisely said that while I may be right, unless we are paying for it and actually going somewhere where we have to focus on that stuff, we just won’t do it, so it is good we are going. I agree. I think there is hope.

Another thing I realized after talking yesterday about that time when Bubba was an infant is how far I have come with him. I am truly enjoying being his mother right now. Things that others might take for granted, like missing their kid during the day or looking forward to seeing him at night, are somewhat new to me, as sad as that is to say. He is fun! He has such an amazing imagination right now, and we spend lots of time playing with pretend bunnies and baby Garys (the snail from SpongeBob). The funniest things come out of his mouth: last night, I told him I was going to make dinner, so I went and got things started in the kitchen and came out to find him already sitting at his little table in the living room (we are up and down with the “eating as a family” thing). He said, “Get back out there, Mama.” I looked at him, puzzled by what he meant, so he say, “Get back out in the kitchen and cook, Mommy.” It just cracked me up. Anyway, I’m grateful that at last, this parenthood thing is fun, and even more glad that Bubba and me seem to have a really strong, loving relationship right now—something I was afraid would never happen.

There are many things I have to be grateful for. It's hard to see them sometimes through a fog of pain and depression, but they are there, and I'm trying to remember that.

Marriage counseling again.

So much for NaBloPoMo, huh? I briefly thought about back-dating some posts but then decided to just say fuck it. Still, in the spirit of it, I'm going to at least try to post more often.

Tomorrow J. and I have an appointment with a new marriage counselor. We tried counseling a couple of years ago, and for various reasons it didn’t work out. I decided we needed to give it at least one more go before calling it quits, and he agreed.

I don’t even know how to begin to explain the deadness, the emptiness, and the anger that seems to define our relationship. Those who have known us for a long time will note that we’ve always had conflict in our relationship, and that’s true. Since high school we’ve been fighting and making up and fighting and making up. The difference is that back then, there was genuine affection between us during the good times, and we made real efforts to stop doing the things that pissed the other one off. Now, the “good” times are when we are pretty much ignoring each other but not actively pissed, or maybe sharing a joke or some small talk. It doesn’t go beyond that—there’s no intimacy, no cameraderie…it’s just not loving.

Sometimes it feels very much like we are coworkers, and our job is Bubba. I almost added “and the house” but I am the only one who does any housework, so I guess that’s my job alone. J. has generally been a very loving and involved dad, but lately I’ve noticed that even that seems to be sliding. Maybe it’s because I feel I’m doing a better job at being a mother, so now I notice his shortcomings as a father. I don’t know. J. is very good about taking Bubba out to the park, out to the mall to ride the carousel, things like that. But at home, he rarely does any kind of play with him that requires effort or attention. Usually they sit and watch cartoons together.

Every night, J. has to be reminded to brush Bubba’s teeth and give him his medicine. When I had my sinus surgery, Bubba didn’t get a bath all week because J. just couldn’t be bothered and I was too sick. He got one the day before I went for surgery and got his next one on the first day I was even semi-functional again. This morning, Bubba had to go potty and J. was in the shower. J. had locked the bathroom door because he didn’t want Bubba to open the door and possibly expose J. to my parents, who come out on Mondays to watch Bubba. Like that’s even a big deal anyway—it’s not like they’d be looking, you know?

Anyway, I went to take Bubba into the bathroom and encountered the locked door. Bubba was rattling the door pretty frantically trying to get in. “Bubba has to go potty,” I called into the bathroom. “Goddammit!!!” J. yelled. Then, in response to Bubba’s rattling, he yelled “Stop it!” so harshly I figured he was talking to me. “Bubba’s doing it,” I called back. “I know, I wanted him to stop,” he replied. I was really taken aback that he would yell at Bubba like that for something as innocent as that. It worries me to think of what it would be like if we were divorced. What would Bubba do when he visited Daddy? Just sit in front of TV all the time? Would I have to call every night to make sure he got his teeth brushed and his medicine taken and got bathed once in awhile? Would J. yell at him like that every time he was grumpy and tired from playing PlayStation until 2:30 in the morning (which is almost every night)?

What really got me motivated to make the counseling appointment was the love letter. On Oct. 14, I wrote J. a love letter. It was a page-and-a-half long, and I sent it through the mail for him because in the past he’d complained about never getting good mail. I started the letter out with the sentence “Warning: This is a love letter.”

Now, as mentioned above, I’ve not been really feeling the love lately, but the night I wrote this I was feeling optimistic and trying to count my blessings. This letter was my way of reaching out and trying to get things on the right track again. I sent it to him on Tuesday, and it arrived at our house on Wednesday.

He opened it right away, read the first sentence, smiled, then said he’d read it later. Sounded reasonable, since he’d just gotten home from work and was still in his work clothes and Bubba was being demanding, etc. But three days later, it was still where he’d left it. I picked it up and put it with my stuff. Two days after that, he noticed it was missing and asked for it back. At first I said no, but then I decided to try to be a better person than that, to try to be compassionate, etc., so I handed him back the letter and said “Even though it hurt my feelings that you haven’t read this yet, I still want you to have it because I still feel these things for you.” I handed it to him as he was playing Guitar Hero (he paused it for me—how sweet).

Two weeks go by. I hear nothing about the letter. J. spends his evenings spending hours playing Guitar Hero or indulging in his latest obsession with crossword puzzles. So finally I ask him one night, “Did you ever read that letter I gave you?”

Nope. He hadn’t read it. He knew he was in deep shit because he actually uttered the words “I’m sorry” but then told me he’d just forgotten it was there. I asked him where it was because I wanted it back for good this time. He wouldn’t tell me, so I started rifling through his stuff, for some reason thinking maybe it had actually made it all the way back to his nightstand or something. Finally, angrily, he went and got the letter—off the kitchen counter—and handed it to me, snarling at me that I should “cut him some slack” because it had been a “crazy couple of weeks” with his bad cold and my sinus surgery.

When I pointed out that he’d had plenty of time to play games or do crosswords, he didn’t say anything. Then I asked him how he would feel if he’d given me a present and I just left it on the counter unopened for two weeks. “That’s not the same thing,” he said. “This wasn’t a present.” That hurt me quite a bit, because I really do consider a love letter to be a gift, and one that’s way better than a popcorn popper. “Just because I didn’t go out and buy it at a store?” I replied. “Well, it wasn’t in a box, wrapped up in paper and with a bow on it,” he said. It just seems so cold and heartless and insulting to me. It seems like he really just doesn’t give a shit about me or us.

This weekend we went to LilCherie’s annual Halloween party, which is always a blast and which we always really get into. We’ve gone for 12 years or something like that and only missed one; we’ve had some awesome costumes. This year I decided to be Britney Spears, and had a hilarious costume that I’d spent a lot of time getting ready. J. didn’t know what to be, so I came up with some ideas and he picked one. While I was recovering from surgery, and still feeling pretty crappy, I went out and got him all the stuff he needed for his costume, going to three or four different stores and shelling out probably $30 to $40 bucks.

Saturday came around and by Saturday afternoon, J. was acting kind of mopey. When I asked what the problem was, he said he’d been invited to too many things that night, none of which he’d told me about. Apparently, another friend was having a party, and his sister was having a little get-together. I told him, nicely, to do whatever he wanted to do, to just be happy. He decided he would drop me off at LilCherie’s, go to his sister’s for awhile, then come back to the party. When he dropped me off at 4:30 p.m. he said, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Somewhere around 11 p.m. he came back to the party, only I didn’t know it because I was in another room of the house and J. didn’t even bother to find me to say hello. He just went straight down to the basement so he could play PlayStation with some of the guys. I didn’t even know he was there until 12:30 or 1 a.m., and by that time I’d taken off my costume. He never even got to see me in it. And he never even took his costume out of the bag. Later on, I just said to him, “I wish you could have seen me in my costume. It was kick-ass.” He said, “Well, you can show me later.” I declined.

I don’t know what’s going on. He seems so uncaring and distant. He sits outside of work and smokes for half an hour before coming home, so he doesn’t get home now most days until 6:20 p.m. or so. We don’t have sex at all, haven’t for months. We don’t sleep in the same room. Our friends notice he’s moody. My parents think we should get divorced and are actively starting to get angry at how he treats me and how he doesn’t do jack shit around the house. I can’t hold it together much longer.

Some of you might be thinking, “It sounds like he’s depressed.” He is, I’m sure. We both are. He’s on antidepressants, and recently, got diagnosed with ADD so he’s also on meds for that, which, in my opinion, have just made things worse. He feels they are helping, though, so he won’t quit them. He does go to therapy sporadically, but “doesn’t feel like sharing” what he is working on. Maybe that’s because all he talked about with his previous counselor, whom he saw for about a year, was current events, movies, and music. Gee, I wonder why it didn’t help anything?

So that’s the story of why we’re going to marriage counseling. If this counselor can’t get to the bottom of things, then I really think it’s over. It’s just hard to make the move to actually get divorced. I wrote in my journal the other day that it's like doing CPR on someone who is clearly dead: You don't know if the very next breath you give might be the one that saves the life, so you don't know when to quit, but in the end, you're still stuck with a corpse. I am afraid of what my life will be like financially because we have a lot of debt, and I’m afraid of how it might screw Bubba up. But I think this situation could screw him up too, and I know I can’t live the rest of my life like this.

Today I walked back from lunch and it just hit me what a mess my life is. I hate my job, my marriage is essentially ending three years after we finally managed to bring a kid into the mess, I’m depressed and old and fat and my sinuses hurt and I’m in debt. How did I get here? I can’t believe I’ve failed so spectacularly. I have always tried to do the right thing and make the right decisions, and this is where I end up. It feels very overwhelming right now, like I’m buried under a pile of shit and I can only claw my way out turd by turd.

So how was your day?

It's 4 a.m. and nobody else is up so I have no choice but to ramble endlessly on my blog

So we've figured out why men's butts stink. Now let's tackle another of life's mysteries: why does a simmering illness always become acute, or a new illness always present itself, after 5 p.m. on Friday and usually before noon on Saturday, when all doctor's offices are closed and you still have the majority of the weekend to survive?

Yesterday I came home early from work because I was just so exhausted. I laid down at about 5 p.m. and, other than a few feeble attempts, did not wake up until 2:30 a.m. today. As I was hacking up the chunky shit from my lungs that had accumulated over the past 9 hours, and blowing the chunky shit out of my nose, and feeling pretty much like I might pass out because I had been too fucking tired to even eat anything substantial for the past day and a half, I concluded that yes, my extreme fatigue, coupled with the chunky shit, probably meant I did have a sinus infection for sure and possibly a touch of bronchitis. Gee, it only took me a week to figure it out!

Obviously I had some kind of clue because yesterday, before I fell into a coma, I called our family otolaryngologist and made an appointment for myself because of the almost constant sinus issues I've been experiencing for the past six months (amazingly, I got an appointment on Monday!) And I called in my refills for antibiotics and prednisone, which I got that last time I had a sinus infection. So really, a doctor probably couldn't do much more, but damn! I'm sick of being sick on the weekend.

I had bizarre dreams during my fugue state. In the first part of the dream, LilCherie and J. were with me and we were carousing around Amsterdam and met this group of guys who were also from America and were touring the city and playing a few clubs with their band. They weren't famous or anything, in fact, far from it. Anyway, you'll know this was a dream because the totally hot bass player actually kind of had eyes for me and we were really attracted to one another. We flirted extensively with one another but it never went any further than that.

Suddenly, the bass player and I were at Nigel's Mom's parents' house in the U.K. She had this perfect life (imagine that!) and I was incredibly jealous. She was there getting married and I was there for the wedding. I was hanging out in the living room with Bass Player and my cell phone rang--it was my friend Pioneer Girl. I realized through the course of the conversation that she and Bass Player were actually an item and that they were going to be getting married. I was crushed! Bass Player continued flirting with me in a harmless way and I couldn't resist flirting back even though I knew it was a shitty thing to do, given his relationship with Pioneer Girl.

So...the wedding occurs and it's actually a double wedding, ostensibly between Bass Player and Pioneer Girl and my friend Nigel's Mom and her fiance, but of course in the dream they look completely different. I'm lonely and sad and just waiting to come back to the U.S. the next day, but still kind of sad about coming back because Nigel's Mom's parents' house is so perfect and happy and wonderful. During the wedding, there's a delay and they need someone to "entertain the crowd," so I end up doing this bizarre song and dance number about Christmas in front of the crowd. I notice a few little girls dressed in red, white and blue, obviously from America, and I say something to them in solidarity towards America or something. Finally the wedding occurs, we go back to Nigel's Mom's Parents' house, where I pack and count out my Euros to figure out if I have enough petty cash for the airport the next day.

Next thing I know, I'm in a car with J., heading for the airport, but he's not my husband. He's married to someone else. I say to him, "Do you really love her more than you love me?" He looks at me like he doesn't quite know what to say, like he's contemplating lying, and then lets his guard down and says, "No, I don't. Isn't it funny the choices we make when we're young?" I smile at him and we ride the rest of the way in a kind of friendly, wistful silence, wondering what could have been.

The general feeling I had when I woke up, and now two hours later, is basically one of sadness, lost opportunities, and jealousy, along with a dash of warmth because two men actually loved me or were attracted to me in the dream. The whole dream really took me back to the days of my youth when J. and I were really infatuated with one another. God, it seems like a million years ago. In some ways I feel starved for that kind of attention and adoration. It makes me sad to know that I will likely never feel that again in my lifetime, and because of my choice to marry the first man who ever showed an interest in me, I only got to feel it once.

The feelings J. and I have toward one another now are so much more complex. There's so much baggage attached to it all. All the shit we've been through--his parents dying, my surgeries, Hope--in some ways they deepen a relationship and in other ways they weaken it. You spend so much time just trying to save yourself that it's difficult to focus on the other person, and then the self-centeredness becomes a habit that's hard to break out of. And yet you feel incredibly bound to one another because of all the struggle you've shared. It defines your relationship in a way you never expected, and it kind of puts a cloud over it. When most of the seminal events of your marriage have been incredibly traumatic, the whole relationship seems locked in survival mode, rather than a higher place of love and respect. If that makes sense.

Yet there are some things that remain constant through it all. When I think of the time before I started dating J., when I first became attracted to him, the thing I remember first is sitting in the school library before school, his group of friends and my group of friends horsing around with each other. He made me laugh so hard and so much that I would leave after a half an hour with my face actually hurting. And through it all, I doubt there's been more than a few days here and there when he hasn't made me laugh, even during our darkest times. And I know deep down that I would rather have laughter than cheesy romance. I guess it's just human nature to want we don't have.

There have been three times in my life where I've felt that a dream of mine has actually come true, fully and completely. The first was when J. asked me out for our first date. The second was when I found out I was pregnant with Hope. The third was the day I gave birth to Bubba. When you really think about it, I'm pretty fucking fortunate to have had those three moments.

Just Another Post of Bitching About How Shitty My Life Is

I've been trying, really trying, to be compassionate and understanding. It's what my therapy is all about these days, and for awhile it really seemed to be working--my relationship with J. really seemed to be on an upswing. I felt hopeful and optimistic. Then J. got depressed and it seems all the progress I thought we made went out the window.

I still want to be a compassionate person, so I'm still trying. But damn, it's hard. I've been sick, more or less, for the last two weeks and still, J. has done little to nothing to help out around here. A few examples: While J. worked Saturday morning, I watched Bubba and did all the laundry--at least five loads. It got backed up waiting for things to dry so when J. came home I asked if he could keep it going. This meant he would need to dry and bring up two loads of laundry. Nope, he didn't do it. I even had to rewash a load yesterday because it had gotten sour. I didn't complain or bitch. I just did it and stomped around so he'd know I wasn't pleased. He didn't even say he was sorry.

The only other thing I asked him to do this weekend was clean his shit stains out of the toilet on Saturday before the babysitter (that he'd hired so he could go to the casino with his friends while I did Girl's Night) came over. Said he would; I ended up doing it Sunday night.

Awhile back, I nagged at J. about a hundred times to not leave his meds right next to the edge of the counter where Bubba can get them. Finally, I had to tape a bright orange sign on the counter next to his meds saying "Please Place Meds Away From Counter Edge." Now he's good about that, but he leaves lighters all over the place. So now I've had to nag at him a million times not to do that, and he still does. Today I found one on the floor next to the couch. I suspect it fell out of his pocket, but jesus! We have a two-and-a-half-year-old for crying out loud! On a similar note, yesterday Bubba grabbed J.'s razor off the counter and tried to "shave" with it. No harm done because I caught it in time, but now this is something new I'll have to yell at J. about. He does shit like leave the computer charger plugged into the wall but not the computer, so if Bubba happened to find it, he could easily electrocute himself. This is ridiculous. I should not be the only one thinking about Bubba's safety.

J.'s cell phone does not work properly. This is kind of a sore spot anyway, because when he got a cell phone (about 2 years ago now, I think) he decided he must have the new Razr phone, even though it cost him like $200 or something when he'd just borrowed $300 from me because he couldn't make ends meet. He also got it from a different provider than I have, so we can't call each other for free (he did this because of their "awesome" deal on the Razr.) Then, not too long after he got it, it began malfunctioning. Many times, it doesn't ring, so he doesn't know if I'm calling or not. I also cannot leave a voice mail message because J. has never gotten around to setting up his mailbox. So I can call and call and call and he may or may not realize I'm calling. At least 50 to 75 percent of the time I cannot reach him. Yet he still doesn't go get it fixed or replaced. Plus, he doesn't answer his phone at work if there's a customer in his office. So if there ever was a real emergency, my chances of reaching him are at around 25 percent.

J. is the primary user of our car, since I often ride the bus when the weather is halfway decent. The thing is like a garbage can on wheels. Old bags of fast food, empty cigarette boxes, lighters all over the place, the miscellaneous sock here and there, half-filled sippy cups full of old milk. It stinks and it is disgusting. I've cleaned it out myself many times but it ends up like this in a matter of days, and no matter how much I complain it does no good. And, in fact, Sunday night he bitched at me for leaving a shopping bag of stuff in the back of the car, which had been there for exactly 7 hours.

Likewise, his room--which I've talked about here before--is such a disaster that I can't sleep in there anymore, and I've told him this, but it makes no difference.

My dad actually had a discussion with me last week about how he notices that J. doesn't do a damn thing around here and that he was getting disgusted about it and wanted to give J. a piece of his mind. I managed to thwart that from happening, since I know it won't do any good, but I don't blame him. My mom and dad come out every Monday to watch Bubba, and dad almost always does some shit that J. should be doing, like taking back the recycling or doing yardwork, and J. just lets it go again. Even my dad is getting frustrated with it. To top it all off, whenever my parents do something around the house, J. gets embarrassed and says "they really shouldn't do that stuff. Tell them not to do that stuff anymore." Well, I'm not going to tell them, because I need some fucking help around here! I don't have the time or the energy to clean the entire house, do all the laundry, do all the grocery shopping, do all the cooking, watch Bubba AND clean the garage, take back the recycling, clean out the car, mow the lawn and shovel the walk.

I don't know how to deal with this. I've set him up with a therapist. I think it was helping him, even though a lot of their conversations seemed to be about movies and music; but recently he decided things were going "so well" that he would wait to make the next appointment. It's been about three weeks now and he hasn't gone. I pretty much forced him to see a psychiatrist and cajoled him to take medication, which he now does willingly...but it's just not enough. You have to want to change and it takes a little bit of goddamn effort. I'm really disappointed because things were going so well there for awhile--and now I realize that it wasn't a real change, just another upswing on the bell curve that is our relationship. I find myself wondering if I could have done better. I find myself wondering if I would be better off now if only I had had the self-esteem when I was younger to be able imagine that someone else could find me attractive. Now I pretty much assume that if we get divorced, I'll just be single forever...and truthfully, that doesn't sound so terrible.

Well, I guess I've just written another post "bitching about how shitty my life is" as J. would say. To keep with my earlier promise, now I will try to think of something funny or lighthearted to post. Okay, this falls into the category of dark humor...which happens to be my favorite category. I hope you find it as amusing as I did.

My bus friend, Martha, was telling me that her elderly father died in January. He was an asshole, so she was pretty much okay with it and relieved. Anyway, she said it was apparently a bad week in his town, because the funeral home was hoppin'. When she went there to find out when her father could be cremated, the funeral home director said: "Well, since you're not having a visitation or anything...we might be able to squeeze him in."

Damn.

J. just called with the devastating news that Nate won't be able to make it tonight. He is writing a paper and it's not going as well as he'd hoped and he has to get it in by the end of the day--like midnight--tonight. I'm still hoping he might get a burst of inspiration, get it done, and be able to come over...but it's not looking good.

I'll probably still make chili.

Sigh.

Things That Would Be Awesome

*To come home to a clean house after a fun evening out with my niece.
*To not have to smell the trash when I walk in the kitchen.
*To be able to walk to the bathroom without navigating Wedgit land mines on the floor.
*To be able to go bathroom to pee (after my fun evening out with my niece) without having to pull my pants back up and go out to the car to retrieve the only toilet paper we own, especially since I asked my husband to bring it in three hours ago before I left.
*To come home after my husband has been responsible for our son all night and see some kind of evidence that they did something, anything, besides sit in front of the television.
*To look in on my son and see that he had been put in his pajamas before bed rather than left in his clothes.
*To see him in his pajamas and then know that he had been lotioned before bed--especially since his eczema is flaring up and especially when I've had email correspondence with my husband about this specific topic earlier in the day.
*To have nights like this be an anomaly.

Girls' Nights, lumps, and magical cupcakes

Time for an update. We got back from our trip to Cleveland without incident. It was a wonderful trip and I want to thank Tingle and her hubby again for hosting us. The week after visiting Tingle is always tough because the missing her is so fresh. I'm hoping we will be able to see each other much sooner than the six-month stretch we just finished.

The trip was noteworthy for the fact that J. and I did not argue at all. I'm not sure this has ever happened in the history of our relationship. I am really proud of both of us and especially amazed by the fact that it didn't even seem to be that difficult. It wasn't like I was actively forcing myself to be patient...it just seemed to happen. It's almost like J. and I are really making real, positive changes in our relationship!

On the downside, we did have an argument today, the first real argument we've had in quite ahile. It was about Girls' Nights, and it's still kind of going on--he's at a SuperBowl party now (ironic, isn't it?) but I know we will have to talk about it when he gets home. He tends to begrudge/guilt-trip me about Girls' Nights, sometimes I think it's just because he knows how important they are to me and that sometimes they're pretty much all I look forward to in my life. We'll see how it goes. I wrote out a point-by-point discussion guide to help us when he gets home.

In other news, tonight when I was reading Bubba a story I was stroking his head and felt a hard, pea-sized lump behind his right ear. He said "Ouch!" when I touched it. Of course my first thought was cancer and then I figured it was the universe punishing me because the other day there was this Kids With Cancer Radiothon thing on and I turned the channel because it made me so sad and then I thought "What if it was my kid with cancer and somebody just changed the channel because it was too much of a bummer for them" and I felt guilty.

Then I googled "toddler lump behind ear" and now I'm fairly certain it's probably a swollen lymph node but I'm still going to take him to the doctor anyway, especially since he just had tubes put in a couple weeks ago. I've already decided that should anything happen to Bubba (the phrase "should anything happen to Bubba" is my gentler version of "if he dies") I'm just killing myself, which is actually very comforting to me. It is, however, a real reason (of many) why I will not have another child. If I had more than one living child, and one of them died, I wouldn't be able to kill myself because of the other one. Anyway...nothing like the searing reminder that death can steal away your child at any moment to brighten up an evening. Jeez.

While we're on fun subjects, tomorrow I have to go have my first mammogram. My mother had breast cancer 15 years ago, had a radical mastectomy and thankfully has been okay since; because of my history I have to have the baseline on the younger side of the 35 to 40 realm. I'm not real anxious about it, but when I make that realization, I then become anxious about my lack of anxiety. Like the hammer always falls when you least expect it to, so I would be wise to expect something bad to show up because then I'm not tempting fate. Fate (or whatever) and I do not have a friendly relationship, so I'm always waiting for it to bite me in the butt (again).

Speaking of biting, our high temperature today was 0 degrees. Yes, zero degrees. The HIGH. Right now it is 10 degrees below zero, and the projected low tonight is 15 below. That's not wind chills, that's not "feels like" -- that's actual temperature, folks. My hubby always says that one of the things he likes about living in Iowa is that the temperature extremes, both in the summer and the winter, have the ability to kill you. I don't know why he likes that--maybe it makes him feel tough or something.

Speaking of hubby, he just came home and we discussed the 9-point Girls' Night list. He admitted that some of it was just the way I had cavalierly assumed that we would be doing G.N. next Saturday, and some of his issue is that I am pretty non-functional the next day because I've stayed up too late and then have to sleep all day. Unfortunately I can't argue with that point. The discussion was pretty calm, and he's going to explore the issue more with his therapist to see if there's something deeper. I'm cool with that. So anyway, maybe I'd better start taking a clonazepam at the end of Girls' Nights so I can get some sleep. Could you make a note of that, LilCherie? :-)

Speaking of LilCherie, just in case I forget to tell you, Tingle told me she LOVED your "Physical Manifestation" card, said she "would totally buy those to have on hand" and said you should print them and sell them. I wholeheartedly agree!

While I'm giving shout-outs to my peeps (hee hee) I just wanna say hi to Pioneer Girl. We just can't seem to get it together on the phone, but please know that I will make a point of trying to call you or answer my phone when you call this week, and that I hope you're doing okay!

Speaking of Pioneer Girl, I'd like to tell you about the "Pioneer Girl moment" I had today with my cupcakes. Bubba and I made cupcakes today as an "enriching activity" that helped assuage my guilt for letting him watch hours and hours of Thomas and Shrek. I was without the car so I had to make do with what I had on hand. I had everything I needed except enough powdered sugar for the icing. So...I got out the coffee grinder and ground up my granulated sugar and voila! I made my own freakin' powdered sugar. They are delicious! I tried a different icing recipe from my 1960s era Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that used brown sugar along with the regular icing ingredients, and it definitely lends a different flavor to the cakes. Unfortunately the color was a kind of pukey golden color, so I dumped in some blue food coloring which turned green when mixed in, and then sprinkled green and yellow crystal sugar on top. They look like magical leprechaun cupcakes. I'm pretty proud, can you tell? Bubba wanted one so bad that he actually acquiesced to my demand that he eat one, count it, ONE, noodle with tomato sauce.

That's about all I can muster up tonight...but I promise I'll come back if I have an inspirational moment. I've been bad about blogging lately, and bad about commenting on other people's blogs, but I'm going to try to remedy that this week. I think it must be the cold. I'm shutting down into survival mode which means I have to conserve the small bits of energy that would otherwise be expended on blogging so that I can maintain enough body heat to smoke three-quarters of a cigarette every 90 minutes in the frigid garage.

I am pathetic.

P.S. Sorry about all the parentheses in this post (it's just a parentheses kind of day).

Happy Things

First, an update on my anger management efforts. It's going quite well, really. I had a fabulous weekend with my husband. We had sex!!! And it was satisfying!!! Equally astounding is that we did not argue; we enjoyed each other's company; we still managed to get a few things done around the house; and in general felt happier with one another than we have in a long time. My parents had taken Bubba for the weekend so we could enjoy New Year's Eve as adults, and that helped a lot.

Truthfully, there were not too many times that my anger was provoked, so I don't know that I can take a lot of credit for what went right last weekend; but I know I was much more aware of how I acted toward J., how I spoke to him and how I listened, and I think he recognized that. He also put forth his own effort by doing some laundry and housework on his own without me asking.

One realization I had this weekend is that when J. plays PlayStation, it's not necessarily a rejection of me. Yes, you heard it here first: there is something that J. does that is not ALL ABOUT ME. I came to this realization when I was straightening up the house on Monday, preparing for my parents' return with Bubba. There were just a few things to get done, and I was puttering around doing them while J. played PlayStation. My first impulse was to sigh and get bitchy, but due to my new awareness I stopped and instead calmly said "J., could you take those clothes downstairs?" And he actually stopped playing PlayStation and did it right then. That, of course, helped my mood. A few moments later, after he'd started playing the game again, I came across another thing I needed him to do, and the same scenario took place.

It was at that point that I had the thought that "Hey-maybe he's just playing PlayStation because at the moment, there's nothing really required of him, and he likes to play it. Maybe he's not intending to shirk his duties or ignore me--maybe he's just passing time." Novel thought, huh?

Over the past several days I've spent a little more time recognizing the good things about J. He is getting really good at thanking me for the things I do around the house or with Bubba. At the end of the weekend he noticed my efforts to be more patient and less angry and told me I was doing a good job. We've both been under the weather this week with colds, so we've been struggling through to get everything done and take care of Bubba, and I feel we've really been working together. Last night, he wasn't feeling good, and I was in a depressed anxiety attack about money (I'll save that for another post), and he said "Just do what you need to do to feel better--I'll take care of things tonight." The fact that he was so willing to just let me do what I needed to do, even though he was sick, actually made me more willing to pitch in. I didn't do a whole lot, but I did probably more than I would have.

Another highlight from the last few days is that on Tuesday, J. and I had a good, relaxed but deep discussion about how we parent Bubba and how we tend to repeat the patterns of our parents. At first I was afraid he'd discovered my blog because he actually asked me, "What did your mom do when she got mad at you?" and "How did that make you feel?" but he said he was just thinking about his own parents and how he felt when he was a kid.

So...that's the relationship update. I'm planning two more posts today: "My Psychotic Child" and "Poor--What is it Good For."

Today's Installment of "Tales From the Couch"

Thanks, everyone, for all your encouraging comments. I really felt better about myself after reading them and knowing that others struggle and feel similarly. Many of you mentioned that I am too hard on myself...I think this is the way I "pay" for the things I regret doing. Not real healthy.

I had a "breakthrough" session with my therapist today. The essence of it is that I was raised in a family who yelled at each other regularly as a way of handling conflict. With my therapist's help, I realized that when my mother yelled at me as a child, I felt scared and unheard; I felt unsafe because I didn't know what would happen; and I felt it was out of proportion to the action that sparked it.

Now, I repeat the pattern I learned then. When I yell at J., it's because I don't want to be scared and unheard anymore. I've been operating, subconsciously, under the belief that if I yell and cry and get all dramatic--just like my mom--then J. (and Bubba) will listen to me, but in actuality, it makes them less likely to listen to me. It puts them in that scary, voiceless place that I was in when my Mom got so mad, and, in the case of Bubba for sure, it teaches him the same thing I learned from my mom....and starts him off in the direction of anger, like I've been going down.

My therapist said something that really struck a chord with me: "If you don't break the pattern with Bubba, and he learns to approach things from a perspective of anger, then he might end up breaking away from you like your brother broke away from your family." (My brother is the one in our family who carries the most anger of any of us--and he is basically estranged from everyone except my Mom and Dad, and their relationship is deeply strained.) It all made perfect sense to me then.

Other nuggets from my therapy session today are:
•When our spouses don't give us the responses our parents should have 30 years ago--which is what we really want--that escalates everything. We need to do our own work, so that we can come to our spouse from a place of greater clarity and calm, so that we can stop subconsciously wanting to hear the responses our parents should have given us and instead hear our spouse's real feelings.

•If you take responsibility for your part in an argument or conflict, then you also take some control over the situation. As long as I'm always the victim in the situation--the one who has been wronged--all I can do is have a tantrum. My therapist finally explained to me in a way I can understand the whole "first you have to work on yourself before you can communicate with others" thing.

•J. has needs too. Needs that are going unmet. Yes, this seems elementary, but trust me, it was kind of a revelation.

•One of the things I discussed with my therapist was that I get so sick of J. "prattling on" at inopportune moments--like shortly after one of my panic attacks or three seconds after I get up in the morning--about work stuff, cool stuff he's seen on TV that he wants to tell me about, customer stories, etc. Sometimes I actually tell him I can't listen to him about that stuff right then. Sometimes I do act bored (he goes on anyway). My therapist asked me what I'd rather have him talk to me about. "Deep stuff," I said. "Important stuff, like our relationship, like his feelings, like our kid's future..." Then she said, "If you can't listen to the superficial stuff, why would he trust you with the deeper stuff?" Good point, huh?

•Okay, this one's going to seem obvious, but to me, it seemed like someone finally illuminated something for me. My family is volatile. We argue, cry, yell...and then make up and go on, feeling that we've cleared the air. J.'s family was incredibly skilled at denial, and that's how they handled conflict. They just pretended it wasn't there. In fact, when we were engaged and his parents were dragging their feet on doing any of the few things they were responsible for, I asked his mother point blank if they had a problem with us getting married. She just got up, went to the stove, and started talking about the weather or something. So I asked again and same thing--she just started a completely different topic of conversation like I'd never asked the question. It was freaky.

Anyway, the point is...I'm a yeller and J.'s a denialist (is that a word?). Even when he engages in arguments with me, he often says "I don't know" or he denies simple facts like how much housework he does or whether or not he told me what time we were leaving...he tries to deflect the argument. He also often does housework and tries to move away from me physically.

While I was discussing this with my therapist, she said, "Well you two both found the perfect person to work out all your stuff now, didn't you?"

That got me thinking...you know how sometimes you ask yourself "Why do I have the shitrock? Why am I so unlucky? Why do bad things always happen to me?" I thought of all the bad things that have happened to me and about the anger that's gone along with it and thought, "hmmm, maybe my 'lesson' here on Earth is to figure out how to deal with my anger." I'm not sure--I mean, are we ever sure? But it makes sense to me right now. The universe has thrown many, many situations at me that made me angry, made me feel the world was unfair, made me want revenge and made me almost unbearably angry. Maybe these situations are opportunities to figure out my stuff.

Basically my therapist is yanking me out of victimhood one session at a time and helping me see J. as a human being again. I'm excited and optimistic, right now at least, about trying to approach things with these new thoughts in mind.