Honest-to-G*d.
He had today off, even though I didn't, and we ran some errands. He is not a good driver because he doesn't pay attention. We almost rear ended someone today because he was running his mouth instead of watching where he was going.
He missed driveways, parked me so close to an evergreen bush I could barely get out of the car; pulled the car out and then sat there, blocking traffic, as he waited for me to get to the car instead of driving toward me (I had mailed a letter); we bought groceries. When we got home, he handed me 3 bags of groceries and said "that's it."
"Really?" I said. "Where's the milk? Where are the Kotex?"
"I'll go check the car."
"OK" says I. I walk into the kitchen and there, on the stovetop (and we've had many, many conversations about not putting stuff on the glass stovetop [because you can't tell if it's hot or not.]), is the milk, the Kotex, and four bags of groceries. Also, a plastic bag holding a container of anti-freeze (that needs to stay in the car). He comes back in angry because he went out to the car for no reason.
"All you had to do was tell me you brought groceries in and put them on the stove. I thought the three bags you handed me were your first trip from the Car."
"I don't know what I brought in." And so on. And then an argument ensued about not putting items on the stove. More later.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Did I miss something?
My husband and I like Coke Zero. OK, we LOVE Coke Zero. A lot.
I limit myself to two per day. I could drink more, but two...a day.
It wasn't on sale when we went to the grocery store on Sunday like normal, so we bought a twenty-pack and decided we would split it Usually a 12-pack is $3.48; they went up to $4.99, while a 20-pack was $7.50. He brought it into the house (heavy), I took out ten cans, put six in the cupboard, and put four in the refrigerator. He took his ten out to the van.
Monday morning, all four cold cans were gone from the refrigerator.
He probably drank two and took two for the road. So that means he got fourteen Cokes, and I got six.
*rolleyes*
I limit myself to two per day. I could drink more, but two...a day.
It wasn't on sale when we went to the grocery store on Sunday like normal, so we bought a twenty-pack and decided we would split it Usually a 12-pack is $3.48; they went up to $4.99, while a 20-pack was $7.50. He brought it into the house (heavy), I took out ten cans, put six in the cupboard, and put four in the refrigerator. He took his ten out to the van.
Monday morning, all four cold cans were gone from the refrigerator.
He probably drank two and took two for the road. So that means he got fourteen Cokes, and I got six.
*rolleyes*
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Stove: Huh
I got up at 7am today, although I was awake from 6am on forward. My husband got a snow advisory that work would begin after 10am, so he got to sleep in a bit. It was snowing here, but had melted within 20 minutes. Too bad. I'm really hoping for a whopping huge blizzard and it just hasn't come yet.
So anyway, I sliced a bagel and put it in the toaster, only it wouldn't turn on. Now yesterday, like I always do on Sundays, I made my husband a week's worth of meals for while he's working out of town (there's nowhere to eat where he works, and it's just cheaper, also). Since the stove was out, I used the crock pot to make Martha Stewart's Soy-Ginger Chicken. It's quite good, I've made it many times over the years. The rice I made in the microwave following directions I printed off the net.
Urgh, notsomuch. Very rubbery and hard. He's going to hate it. Oh well.
But back to the toaster. The stove, really. The other night when he blew it up, he was pacing fro the kitchen to the dining room (an L shape) and back, hitting himself in the head (he hits himself when he's upset), moaning and whining about "Oh no! Oh shit!" and how he'd fucked up, what an asshole he was, and he "needed to check the breaker." Since the breakers are in the kitchen, and he was whining about them, I took that to mean that he had checked them.
Nope.
When I couldn't toast my bagel, I checked the wall breaker panel right by the light switch to the kitchen and what do you know? Two breakers were flipped. I turned them back on and the toaster AND the stove both work. Huh. How about that.
***
Update
I emailed my husband to let him know that the stove was working--the breakers were off! His response?
"I know. I turned them off. I was afraid the stove would overheat."
*crickets*
Seriously, abso-fucking-lutely NO communication going on here. Jesuz just kill me now.
***
I got up early yesterday (Monday), felt great, got a lot of work done including some calls with new clients (I hate talking on the phone), then thought I'd take a little nap at 2pm. I woke up at 2am. Yeah, no weird sleep pathology going on here. *fuckme*
So anyway, I sliced a bagel and put it in the toaster, only it wouldn't turn on. Now yesterday, like I always do on Sundays, I made my husband a week's worth of meals for while he's working out of town (there's nowhere to eat where he works, and it's just cheaper, also). Since the stove was out, I used the crock pot to make Martha Stewart's Soy-Ginger Chicken. It's quite good, I've made it many times over the years. The rice I made in the microwave following directions I printed off the net.
Urgh, notsomuch. Very rubbery and hard. He's going to hate it. Oh well.
But back to the toaster. The stove, really. The other night when he blew it up, he was pacing fro the kitchen to the dining room (an L shape) and back, hitting himself in the head (he hits himself when he's upset), moaning and whining about "Oh no! Oh shit!" and how he'd fucked up, what an asshole he was, and he "needed to check the breaker." Since the breakers are in the kitchen, and he was whining about them, I took that to mean that he had checked them.
Nope.
When I couldn't toast my bagel, I checked the wall breaker panel right by the light switch to the kitchen and what do you know? Two breakers were flipped. I turned them back on and the toaster AND the stove both work. Huh. How about that.
***
Update
I emailed my husband to let him know that the stove was working--the breakers were off! His response?
"I know. I turned them off. I was afraid the stove would overheat."
*crickets*
Seriously, abso-fucking-lutely NO communication going on here. Jesuz just kill me now.
***
I got up early yesterday (Monday), felt great, got a lot of work done including some calls with new clients (I hate talking on the phone), then thought I'd take a little nap at 2pm. I woke up at 2am. Yeah, no weird sleep pathology going on here. *fuckme*
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Some thoughts on a relationship: Whitney, RIP
I just want to relate an example of the nature of my relationship with my husband. This happened tonight, as we sat in the van out in the parking lot when we returned from the grocery store.
The side doors on our van have electronic buttons that will open the doors. I wanted that door opened on the passenger side behind me to get the box that held the leftovers of my dinner. I kept pressing the button but it wouldn't open. So I pressed unlock then the button, then the door lock and the button, and nothing; it wouldn't open. I did this about four times, pushing the buttons in different sequence.
Finally I turned to my husband who was jabbering about something (that he'd probably already told me about 5 times already), and I said, "why won't the door open?"
"Oh", he said. "Here." And he pressed the main unlock button in the door on the driver' side.
He sat there and watched me push those buttons over and over and did nothing. He lives only in his own thoughts, not in the world at large. He was not paying any attention to what I was doing. This is what my whole day is like when I spend it with him. When I speak, I have to repeat myself constantly, because he's not paying attention. Even when we're having a so-called "conversation."
***
I've been watching some music videos of Whitney Houston from her heyday in the 80s and 90s, and I've been crying. Not just her death, which is horrible--she was a year younger than me--but of the memories that come up with her music.
I can remember where I was and what I was doing the first time I saw "How Will I Know" for the first time on MTV. And the boyfriend I had. The one who died in '88 of a horrible illness. He was horrible to me a lot, but I loved him, and we had some good times, too. I don't think I'll ever really get over his death.
And the song from THE BODYGUARD, "I'll always love you" reminds me of my second husband. We had "always and forever" engraved on well, on his wedding ring. I still love him, too. He was in prison, and I found out recently (I looked up his daughter's FB page and there was a photo of him) that he had been released from prison. He looks the same, just gray hair in his goatee. I'd love to see him, but it's not a good idea on many levels. I divorced him in '97, and he may hold a grudge against me from then---or not. But I just don't want to get reinvolved with the lifestyle he lived. I don't know if he's still involved with it or not, but I don't want to run the risk. He's a good man. I wish him happiness.
This is a sad day in many ways.
I'm calling for a therapist on Monday. I wonder if I should be in the hospital? We'll see.
It's weird that Whitney is dead. I wonder what it's like, for her? What is her afterlife like? Is she happy?
The side doors on our van have electronic buttons that will open the doors. I wanted that door opened on the passenger side behind me to get the box that held the leftovers of my dinner. I kept pressing the button but it wouldn't open. So I pressed unlock then the button, then the door lock and the button, and nothing; it wouldn't open. I did this about four times, pushing the buttons in different sequence.
Finally I turned to my husband who was jabbering about something (that he'd probably already told me about 5 times already), and I said, "why won't the door open?"
"Oh", he said. "Here." And he pressed the main unlock button in the door on the driver' side.
He sat there and watched me push those buttons over and over and did nothing. He lives only in his own thoughts, not in the world at large. He was not paying any attention to what I was doing. This is what my whole day is like when I spend it with him. When I speak, I have to repeat myself constantly, because he's not paying attention. Even when we're having a so-called "conversation."
***
I've been watching some music videos of Whitney Houston from her heyday in the 80s and 90s, and I've been crying. Not just her death, which is horrible--she was a year younger than me--but of the memories that come up with her music.
I can remember where I was and what I was doing the first time I saw "How Will I Know" for the first time on MTV. And the boyfriend I had. The one who died in '88 of a horrible illness. He was horrible to me a lot, but I loved him, and we had some good times, too. I don't think I'll ever really get over his death.
And the song from THE BODYGUARD, "I'll always love you" reminds me of my second husband. We had "always and forever" engraved on well, on his wedding ring. I still love him, too. He was in prison, and I found out recently (I looked up his daughter's FB page and there was a photo of him) that he had been released from prison. He looks the same, just gray hair in his goatee. I'd love to see him, but it's not a good idea on many levels. I divorced him in '97, and he may hold a grudge against me from then---or not. But I just don't want to get reinvolved with the lifestyle he lived. I don't know if he's still involved with it or not, but I don't want to run the risk. He's a good man. I wish him happiness.
This is a sad day in many ways.
I'm calling for a therapist on Monday. I wonder if I should be in the hospital? We'll see.
It's weird that Whitney is dead. I wonder what it's like, for her? What is her afterlife like? Is she happy?
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Well, I managed to pull my crap together for the rest of the week and have lunch with a colleague and new friend (we'd only met via email); clean the living room, try to vacuum (it just died--I wheeled it out to the bin), and even got some work done.
But as I was watching TV last night, these commercials for Cancer Centers of America came on. And it highlights cancer survivors, the wonderful care they received at CCA, and how they had a new lease on life with their cancer recovery.
These were people who embraced life, wanted to live every day to its fullest.
I wish I could be one of those people. I know that life is a gift, that it's short, believe me, I know, time has really zipped by for me. But I spend a lot of time wondering what is on "the other side." What happens after death? I think this is the thing that keeps me from dying, really, is that not knowing. Lot's of people have died before me--billions--but none of them ever came back with any reliability to tell the rest of us what it's like. Or what is our real purpose here? Life can be so very hard, so confusing, so sad. The moments of happiness are so few and far between. I never really understood or learned what it meant to be an adult. I just...don't get it. So many people I know, many younger than me, who have their shit together. And I just don't. I don't know how.
I wish I knew how to live life to the fullest--I wish I knew how to make myself feel that way. But I don't think it's something you can force. Either you have it or you don't.
I don't, and because I am aware of this, it just adds to my feelings of worthlessness, sadness, and depression.
But as I was watching TV last night, these commercials for Cancer Centers of America came on. And it highlights cancer survivors, the wonderful care they received at CCA, and how they had a new lease on life with their cancer recovery.
These were people who embraced life, wanted to live every day to its fullest.
I wish I could be one of those people. I know that life is a gift, that it's short, believe me, I know, time has really zipped by for me. But I spend a lot of time wondering what is on "the other side." What happens after death? I think this is the thing that keeps me from dying, really, is that not knowing. Lot's of people have died before me--billions--but none of them ever came back with any reliability to tell the rest of us what it's like. Or what is our real purpose here? Life can be so very hard, so confusing, so sad. The moments of happiness are so few and far between. I never really understood or learned what it meant to be an adult. I just...don't get it. So many people I know, many younger than me, who have their shit together. And I just don't. I don't know how.
I wish I knew how to live life to the fullest--I wish I knew how to make myself feel that way. But I don't think it's something you can force. Either you have it or you don't.
I don't, and because I am aware of this, it just adds to my feelings of worthlessness, sadness, and depression.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Laissez-faire
Things I no longer do (and am simultaneously both appalled yet don't give a fuck).
bathe
wash hair
I skip my teeth once or twice a week. Although brushing doesn't do them any good. I inherited bad teeth. Well, what teeth I have left
clean house--not including dishes, trash or cat boxes, because they smell. Eww.
leave the house (except to get mail late at night with my coat on over my pajamas)
dress
sleep at night
anything productive
answer the phone (wait, that I never do if I don't know who it is, or, rather, do know. *ahem*)
plan for the future
wash my face
get dressed
I skipped all my pills last night, not on purpose, I just didn't feel like coming upstairs to get them and picking up where we left off on our post-stove explosion fight.
I do take an anti-depressant and and anti-anxiety.
Actually, all in total, I have 8 prescriptions. No, 10, but two of those are asthma inhalers. A steroid and a rescue. I can't afford the steroid one right now.
So how do I present myself to the world? Online and via social media, my only interactions with other people 99% of the time? I fake it. I save everything dark and dirty for this blog, otherwise it would leak out to other aspects of my life. (Or maybe I'm not covering up as well as I should?) Who knows.
I don't post anything like the above on any social media. Indeed, I just read an article in TIME magazine about the new Facebook Timeline. It's a real information-gathering machine. I spent about an hour locking down my FB account. Everything is friends only. You can't even ask to be my friend if I don't already know you or are a friend of a friend. Yeah, I'm private. Find the article and read it. It's hella scary.
I took an Ambien (oops, that makes 11 prescriptions), and I'm going to stream a Netflix while I wait for it to kick in. *fingerscrosseditworks*
bathe
wash hair
I skip my teeth once or twice a week. Although brushing doesn't do them any good. I inherited bad teeth. Well, what teeth I have left
clean house--not including dishes, trash or cat boxes, because they smell. Eww.
leave the house (except to get mail late at night with my coat on over my pajamas)
dress
sleep at night
anything productive
answer the phone (wait, that I never do if I don't know who it is, or, rather, do know. *ahem*)
plan for the future
wash my face
get dressed
I skipped all my pills last night, not on purpose, I just didn't feel like coming upstairs to get them and picking up where we left off on our post-stove explosion fight.
I do take an anti-depressant and and anti-anxiety.
Actually, all in total, I have 8 prescriptions. No, 10, but two of those are asthma inhalers. A steroid and a rescue. I can't afford the steroid one right now.
So how do I present myself to the world? Online and via social media, my only interactions with other people 99% of the time? I fake it. I save everything dark and dirty for this blog, otherwise it would leak out to other aspects of my life. (Or maybe I'm not covering up as well as I should?) Who knows.
I don't post anything like the above on any social media. Indeed, I just read an article in TIME magazine about the new Facebook Timeline. It's a real information-gathering machine. I spent about an hour locking down my FB account. Everything is friends only. You can't even ask to be my friend if I don't already know you or are a friend of a friend. Yeah, I'm private. Find the article and read it. It's hella scary.
I took an Ambien (oops, that makes 11 prescriptions), and I'm going to stream a Netflix while I wait for it to kick in. *fingerscrosseditworks*
Monday, February 6, 2012
Never Better.
I knew my husband had a disability when I married him, I just did not know how severe it was. Until tonight.
He blew up our electric stove. The how of it is not as important as the fact that he made a stupid choice that 99.9% of people, who aren't electricians, would make. So we are stoveless for now.
For a long time we both thought that my husband had Asperger's Syndrome. The LCSW he saw three times this past fall said she didn't think so, although she thought he was on the autism spectrum for sure. How the hell would she know that from three visits? I've known him eight years and I'm still trying to figure it out. I called her after he got in trouble at work, she called back and said she'd requested some testing from our insurance, and she'd get back to me. That's been two months, now. Do I care enough to call her? Or did she mail it to us and he hid it, as he does much of the mail.
My husband...is not right. I can't explain it. As I said, I'm still trying to figure it out. I remember a made-for-TV-movie that was on in the late 90s. It was based on a true-story about a family who had adopted a Native American boy who had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. The adoptive parents loved the boy and did everything they could for him to be a productive member of society and a good person.
Finally, one night, when the boy was about fifteen, they went out to dinner and left him home alone to do his homework. They came home to water tumbling down the stairs from the upstairs bathroom. The downstairs was quickly filling with water as well.
When they asked their son what had happened? He explained that he couldn't get the water to turn off, so he had closed the door so "there wouldn't be any consequences."
He had no concept of what a consequence was and could not take responsibility for his actions. It was the last straw for the parents. They found a different living situation for the boy, I think it was a group home, I don't remember. No matter what they did, was kinds of therapists, training, psychotherapy, discussions they did with the child, he was not capable of being responsible.
And that resonates for me now. No matter how many ties I give my husband a direction, he does not remember it. No matter how many times I tell him--10, 20, 100 times. He cannot make the change or follow the direction. He is not capable.
It does not make him a bad person. It just makes him a very, very difficult person to live with. I can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm decompensating very badly, and that's perhaps why I sleep about 12-18 hours a day.
I have no money.
I have no friends or family who would take me in. And my cats.
I'm trapped.
When I had the money, I didn't go, because we suddenly had health insurance for the first time in 6 years, and I was going to get him some help with a psychologist. And it didn't really work out. Things didn't get addressed, didn't get better, nothing changed. Except the money was gone.
I feel like to save myself, I've got to leave. I don't want a divorce, but neither can I live with him. It's just too exhausting. I feel like I have a toddler who needs constant supervising. If I had a dog or a cat who behaved this way, I'd be finding them a new place to live.
Lord help me.
He blew up our electric stove. The how of it is not as important as the fact that he made a stupid choice that 99.9% of people, who aren't electricians, would make. So we are stoveless for now.
For a long time we both thought that my husband had Asperger's Syndrome. The LCSW he saw three times this past fall said she didn't think so, although she thought he was on the autism spectrum for sure. How the hell would she know that from three visits? I've known him eight years and I'm still trying to figure it out. I called her after he got in trouble at work, she called back and said she'd requested some testing from our insurance, and she'd get back to me. That's been two months, now. Do I care enough to call her? Or did she mail it to us and he hid it, as he does much of the mail.
My husband...is not right. I can't explain it. As I said, I'm still trying to figure it out. I remember a made-for-TV-movie that was on in the late 90s. It was based on a true-story about a family who had adopted a Native American boy who had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. The adoptive parents loved the boy and did everything they could for him to be a productive member of society and a good person.
Finally, one night, when the boy was about fifteen, they went out to dinner and left him home alone to do his homework. They came home to water tumbling down the stairs from the upstairs bathroom. The downstairs was quickly filling with water as well.
When they asked their son what had happened? He explained that he couldn't get the water to turn off, so he had closed the door so "there wouldn't be any consequences."
He had no concept of what a consequence was and could not take responsibility for his actions. It was the last straw for the parents. They found a different living situation for the boy, I think it was a group home, I don't remember. No matter what they did, was kinds of therapists, training, psychotherapy, discussions they did with the child, he was not capable of being responsible.
And that resonates for me now. No matter how many ties I give my husband a direction, he does not remember it. No matter how many times I tell him--10, 20, 100 times. He cannot make the change or follow the direction. He is not capable.
It does not make him a bad person. It just makes him a very, very difficult person to live with. I can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm decompensating very badly, and that's perhaps why I sleep about 12-18 hours a day.
I have no money.
I have no friends or family who would take me in. And my cats.
I'm trapped.
When I had the money, I didn't go, because we suddenly had health insurance for the first time in 6 years, and I was going to get him some help with a psychologist. And it didn't really work out. Things didn't get addressed, didn't get better, nothing changed. Except the money was gone.
I feel like to save myself, I've got to leave. I don't want a divorce, but neither can I live with him. It's just too exhausting. I feel like I have a toddler who needs constant supervising. If I had a dog or a cat who behaved this way, I'd be finding them a new place to live.
Lord help me.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Depression Doih
There's an old adage that says something like, "If you think you're crazy, you're probably not."
I may have been living in denial-land lately, denying that I'm not depressed, convincing myself that I just don't feel well.
Depression can make you feel physically unwell.
I slept from 7am to 7pm today, and I feel like I could take a nap.
My world is in danger of collapsing around me, and I just don't care.
I just don't care.
I may have been living in denial-land lately, denying that I'm not depressed, convincing myself that I just don't feel well.
Depression can make you feel physically unwell.
I slept from 7am to 7pm today, and I feel like I could take a nap.
My world is in danger of collapsing around me, and I just don't care.
I just don't care.
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