Thursday, September 11, 2008

fear of the fire or the frying pan

last night and this morning have been very telling for me. very, very telling. 

as usual, the backstory helps. my wife went away for monday and tuesday nights (and wednesday day also) for training in her work so i was left alone with the dogs and the townhouse. this seemed like a really great thing, full of promise and peace and quiet. 

in fact, i used the two days for just that, spending the entire time at home, watching tv or playing my guitar or working on art on my computer. granted, i did work during the days but the nights were mine. all the things that i wanted to do, i did. might seem lame to some but going to bed at 9:30 (i get up at 5am everyday for work) and not having the tv going until 11 was just about heaven.

last night, my wife came back. i will freely admit to missing her as i always do. i do love her still. 

as soon as she got out of the car, it started again. a running commentary of my failures. pointing out that i didn't do all the dishes or enough laundry (the last time she was home for a few days she turned the house into a shit pile). commentary on things supposed like i didn't walk the dogs enough. it's already 10pm and i now have shoulders as tight as piano wire.

we head upstairs to bed with her complaints of how tired she is and that i just can't know how tiring it is to sit through that training (i'm in training all the time and teach it sometimes) for three days and then have to drive home afterwards some 3 hours away (ironically, i am always the one driving on trips and visits to friends and such and she is sleeps most of it). 

in bed, ready to go to sleep and the tv goes on. i cannot sleep with the tv on. my mind follows the dialog and the constantly changing light glows through my eyelids like a mistimed strobe. oh, and she keeps the thing up loud. this goes on for an hour at least.

this morning, i am up at 5 and dressed and ready but twenty of the hour. i head downstairs feeling very strange. i have the stress sleep headache, my shoulders are aching and i am so tired it's painful. 

i take my prilosec with a few ibuprofen and down the last of the gatorade in the fridge. 

that's when i snapped.

i turned towards the cabinet and fire off a really hard punch into the door that rattled glasses and hurt like mad. another. another. right now it's a little hard to type since my fingers are sore and creaky.

i so hate my life right now. i am stuck in a place where i have no one to understand and help and, in fact, the person that means the most seems to go out of her way to use the things that hurt me and destroy me the most with a frightening regularity. 

what do i choose? stay in the frying pan and keep burning or jump and fall into the flames below. it's not going to get better here amidst the grease and sizzle but i cannot see over the edge and that fear, that uncertainty and self doubt paralyze me, leave me gasping with anxiety. i know that i am good at fucking things up when left to do them on my own. bills, balance. i forget all sorts of things, have no confidence.

shall i continue to pretend that nothing is wrong, things will get better, keep the faith? look to the future, learn from the past, be a man? i can cry like one, that's for sure. 

what i wouldn't give for an ass load of money to fall into my lap so i could say goodbye and hire someone to manage that stuff for me. then i could finally work on getting help that didn't always require careful and controlled options dictated by my insurance company. and my wife.

sadly, writing all this hasn't helped one bit. this is serious.

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