Gosh, I hate always coming here to write these entries. Not entries in general, but the ones where I come here and I just let all my anger and rage flow out, because usually they make my husband look like the biggest ass in the world, and me the biggest idiot in the world for constantly putting up with it.
Here we go again.
I hate, no matter if I'm right or wrong, I'm always always ALWAYS wrong. It started when Alex for some reason decided that it would be great to argue with me about why our community decided to have Halloween on Saturday versus Sunday. No matter what I said, I was wrong... I mean, I should have know. He had been looking for a fight all day, and no one was giving it. He was an ass at the store when we were in line... like a giant ass. Saying shit that would get his ass pounded if anyone cared to listen to what he was saying.
Stupid shit.
But yeah... when I tried to explain to him that we have a BIG hard-core Christian community, and majority rules... and the hard-core bible thumpers do NOT want their kids trick or treating or celebrating anything remotely close to a pagan holiday on the sabbath... and he was like- Oh, did that bitch-friend of yours that I hate tell you that shit. Sure, I handled it pretty poorly by saying- Which friend, you hate all of my friends.
The debate was... shit, I don't recall... a little bit of WHY it was on Saturday night and a little bit of who put the damn fliers up in the first place. He was SOOO certain that it was Melissa that put the flier up... and no matter how many times I said- No, our MAYOR, JoLinda, put them up... He was right, and I was wrong.
It seems to always be a battle with him. I finally told him he just needed to knock it off. He's treating Matthew poorly right now (not right this second, but all day long today), and it hurts because I know the kids look at me like- Why the fuck are you letting him treat us that way? I mean, it got the point where he jerked Matthew out of bed and screamed at him to go do the dishes. I had just gotten the baby to sleep so while Alex was off doing whatever (helping AJ blow up the air mattress) I went into the kitchen and hurriedly helped him out.
Without meaning to be, I have become my mother (when she cared enough to care) and Alex is my dad without the excuse of alcoholism.
I don't FEEL like going to bed at 8PM... we all get up roughly at the same time, and I get up about 10x a night now with the baby (who has given up going to sleep, sleeping, and being kind).
He has an appointment with his psychiatrist, and I am tempted to tell him that he should repeat EXACTLY everything he said and did JUST FOR TODAY... I know he won't because he knows how bad it is. If I was in the States, I would have packed the kids up the MINUTE that he jacked Matthew up two feet off the ground and screamed at him. No, I can't leave even if I wanted to, and no, so long as the soldier isn't being harmed... and there's no unmistakable and undeniable physical proof that can't be even thinly explained away... there's no help.
Every single bit of this hurts.
I guess the only reason I write about all these bad times is that one day, I hope to look back and either see how far he's come with his anger and hate for us, or to have carefully documented evidence to make sure that he can never hurt us.
The baby... sheesh... he's not sleeping well (or at all) and he's a terror to get down. He screamed for about an hour yesterday night. Of course, I had NO HELP. It's hard to calm a baby when you can't be calm yourself. Tonight, I thought that I would do it a little better. Alex was out in the living room (where I am now) playing video games (of course... side note, he played video games in our bedroom yesterday while the rest of us were spending quality family time together in the living room). So, I took the baby and gave him a nice, warm bath with that Sleepy Time wash. I kept it quiet and light, despite the fact that at some point Alex decided to have a 'scream at the kids' time. I dried him, put a diaper on, trying to remain calm as Alex's yelling increased. I dressed him in his jammies and rocked him in my arms a bit.
Now... I don't know about anyone else, but it's a BITCH to be all calm and relaxed, trying to calm and relax a four month old when someone who is physically intimidating and loud comes stomping through the room, slamming shit and being a giant dick. For some un-GODLY reason, he decided that would be the BEST time to show just how pissed he is with life by slamming shit, throwing crap to the floor, moving whatever the hell was under the bed, and generally being loud and angry.
If anger were visible, he'd have thick red anger lines just radiating off of him like stink lines. I felt the baby tense up and I tensed up and...
God, I'm just so unhappy!
I forced myself to be relaxed (not an easy feat, but I'm used to pretending and I'm used to playing my role) and despite his seemingly best efforts contrary, I was able to get Gabriel asleep. Granted, because I didn't want to go watch TV in the bedroom, Alex is pissed and if you could hear the tone he used when he said- Oh, can't watch TV in the bedroom because we wouldn't want to wake the baby... I'm just SO sick of the hate that seems to drip from his every word. I wish that just for one day the whole wide world could see him for the person he truly is.
I'm not sure what's worse, but when he's around, it's starting to affect how I see my kids. I can't explain it. I was thinking a lot about it when I was trying to rock Gabriel to sleep. When I lived alone with my kids, my kids were my world. I lived and breathed them. I kept my house somewhat clean, cared for my kids, and I think I was the happiest I have been in a long, long time. I never really spanked or struck my children (don't get me wrong, I was by far perfect and I did yell a lot... and I did spank them... just... hear me out).
Now, especially when he's in one of these moods, I get this overwhelming urge to be away from them. At first, I thought maybe I just didn't want them around, or to be around them, but deeper down, I think I don't want them around their father. I can't explain it. To add to it, I'm finding Elizabeth really challenging. When it's just her and I (like in the mornings when I get her off to school) things are fine, great. We have little conflict. When he's around, we're like oil and water. I'd think it's because she and I are both fighting for his attention, but in reality, she's trying to get my attention and I'm trying my hardest to keep him from blowing up.
I feel so bad for our kids because I can't imagine how hard it is to sit there and look at two very different parents and know what the rules are. My rules never change, my reaction to breaking them never change. His are always... you're ok until you fuck up but I'm not going to tell you ahead of time what you'll do to piss me off... and then the punishment NEVER seems to fit the crime.
These are all the things I'd say to someone if I could ever get an appointment with mental health. I manage to get Alex one... and Cody's been a few times, but I just never have time for me.
But I guess I shouldn't complain about anything because he's always right, and I'm always wrong.
Totally unrelated, I'm getting a Kindle for Christmas. I was happier about it earlier in the day, but with all the emotional bullshit, it's like winning the lotto but then finding out the government's taking 99% of it in taxes that you'll never see again.
I wish I had one of those marriages that the couple could talk about anything and it be ok... even if they didn't agree, they could talk. I never bring this stuff up because it always boils down to- It's all in your head. OR It's all your fault. OR If you would just....
Why even bother, you know?
This is why we can't have alcohol in the house. I don't even drink, but if we had some, I would sure do my best to drown away the pain. I need to stop crying so I don't have puffy eyes tomorrow at the bus stop... or when I do my NaNo video. I don't want to look back at my life and say- Wow... I screwed that up royally.
If I believed there was a god listening to me I would fall to my knees right now, clasp my hands and say- God, please help him release the anger inside of him.
I just want this to be over with.
I want to be able to point at something solid and concrete and say- THAT is why he's so angry all the time... because once you identify it, then you can fix it. To fix something, you have to know what's wrong with it.
So, tomorrow, I start NaNoWriMo (ok, well in like 3 hours... but I'll be in bed by then). I haven't the foggiest what I'm planning to write about. It will be fiction, that's for sure, since we can always use a little bit of fantasy to lose ourselves in. I think I'm going to give it the obscure title Hannamites. I like the word (I created it... someone asked me what we were called here and it came to mind... we are Hannamites because we live in Hannam. All Hannamites are Yongsanian.... people who live in and around the Yongsan Army Post, but not all Yongsanians are Hannamites... that term is for those who live with in the stone walls and barbed wire fencing).
I have too much in my head.
Its been so long since I've written anything (I think last NaNo was my last writing of any real merit, oh, except for Drew)... I don't know if I still work off the power of One. Writing an entire story based off of one seemingly unimportant sight, smell, taste, sound, touch, or event. I know I've shared with you before that I wrote an entire story based on the sound of ice cubes hitting the bottom of a glass... or of a girl washing a dog...
Entire stories off of something so small and unsubstantial.
I feel better now, a bit, other than my nose being clogged up on one side. Being with you, diary, is a lot like laying on the leather couch in a therapist's office. Too bad I can't get in with a therapist here...
Too bad indeed.
I guess, if nothing else... I think I might finally be over the stage in my life when I want to peel my skin from my meat and bones when I get stressed.... that or I just wasn't as stressed this time around.
I need Zen. |
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