I went to the counseling office a different way last night. I got lost. Blank stare. There is nothing more exasperating than knowing you’re close but being unable to figure out how to get from ‘here’ to ‘there’. I got there with a minute or two to spare. I hate being late.
This session was a little better, in-as-much as my husband didn’t throw up an excuse for everything I said. Progress is progress, right?
There are somethings which I’m perfectly content to take care without interference from him. The bills come to mind. Money has been a constant point of contention with us, and the only way it works smoothly (as in no collection notices, and the other sorts of fun mayhem) is if I do it by myself. I’m holding firm on this point.
Now that he seems to be awake to the reality I live in there seems to be a fighting chance this could work. Problem? He’s hell-bent on being a martyr. Okay, you screwed up; big time. Can we move on now? You’re not done feeling sorry for yourself? Em, okay. It’s all about your pain? Really?
Call me a cold-hearted bitch if you’d like, he created his own pain. He didn’t listen to those around him telling him things were skewed. Why or how I got through this time is a mystery for the ages. I’m not interested in anything other than how we are going to move forward. Vent your pain, but don’t expect me to hold you up through it. Nope. Not going to do it.
While he’s busy feeling sorry for himself, trying to drag me in to kiss his owies, I’m in pain too. There has been no emotional or physical support for a number of years. I’ve been on my own and you know what? I don’t have anything left to give anyone else. This wife is flat-out tired of taking care of herself and everything and everyone in the household. Tapped dry. I’m supposed to support you because you feel bad you cheated on me, lied and were a rotten husband? Em, what about you supporting me, buddy?
So back to counseling. I’ve mentioned before that I can predict when my husband is going to have a manic episode (for lack of a better description). He thinks I should be responsible for pointing these out to him. Blank stare. Why? Because you’ve listened to me in the past? Oh right, let’s make me responsible for your actions.
The results of this are far too clear to me. I will stay his mother at some level. If he goes manic and I don’t say anything it will be my fault. If I say something and he doesn’t like it, then a resentment is formed. Looks no win to me. He wants to know what ‘he’s’ supposed to do about it?
In the years I’ve known this man, one cannot tell me he doesn’t feel these episodes coming on. Even if he hasn’t until now, the symptoms are easy enough to figure out. I mean really. If I can pick out P.M.S. and not take it out on him, he can monitor his own moods too. I want nothing to do with it. N-o-th-i-n-g! The rest of us seem to muddle through with our own issues.
My mothering days are over. I’m the grandma now. Spoil them rotten and send them back. My husband is going to have to grow up with his young adults. If I don’t have to remind or do these things for our kids, I’m not doing them for you. Mean, evil and unreasonable; that’s me.
We’ve been operating under his conditions for years. This time it’s my way or the highway. I’m not going to waste my time with someone who doesn’t want a wife/partner but someone to take care of him.
Yup, I’m in a mood.