While I've had the flu recently, I wake up at odd intervals and stumble out of bed and wander around the house looking for clues of what has transpired while I've been sleeping. The house is an absolute wreck. Now, granted, it usually is a mess, but it's one step closer to pandamonium now. I go to the refrigerator, open the freezer door, put a toaster waffle in the toaster and wait. When it's done, I butter it and gobble it down, go back to my room, take more meds and fall back into a coma-like sleep. This has been my routine for a few days now.
I wake up from time to time and read a few blogs. I read a post recently that really struck a chord, about needing time and space and just normality. I just want a little bit of peace, a tidy home, to not feel like I live in a powder keg. During my feverish sleep, I have been awakened by husband yelling at the kids, and then the kids running into my room to be comforted. My son ran in most recently to tell me that daddy had hurt his hand...indeed he had, it was red where he had grabbed his arm - and for what you might ask did this 3 year old do to deserve such treatment? He wouldn't answer his father when he asked where his milk cup was. Dad has a big booming voice and I doubt very much that my son even recalled where he had put said cup, but that didn't seem to be factored into husband's mind. I got out of bed and went to ask husband what had transpired, and it was clear that he felt justified in his actions. I asked him if he realized that he had hurt his son, and he actually said, "does he realize that he hurt me?"
Wow. I wanted to strangle him in the worst way right then. I wanted to tell him to get the f***out of the house, away from me and the kids. Forever. To quit poisoning them with his self-pity and immaturity. He's 47 years old for heaven's sake! What could a three year old possibly do to hurt him? He really, really doesn't get it. He is so busy stewing in his own pool of pity that he can't step up to the plate even for his own beautiful son. And to think that I had a hand in creating this awful situation for my children makes me weep. That in trying to fix within myself a need for love and acceptance born from my own father's neglect, I have put my children in very much the same situation.
I want peace, security & happiness. My husband says he wants these things but does not demonstrate behaviour congruent with that statement. He talks about it, as if he knows that those are the right things to say, but he does not live in a way that makes me believe him. He is still frozen in fear, just where I found him many years ago in his cave of an apartment when I met him. He may have stopped drinking, but he still refuses to get in the game of life. I have made it possible for him to stay on the sidelines. I don't want to do it anymore, but I have to dismantle this situation with care, it seems, for my children. There is no way to shield them from the hurt that will inevitably come, but I want them to have something real to look toward, and to fall back on...and the only way to do that is for to make my words congruent with my actions. That will create real security and peace and happiness.
Hello out there
1 year ago