Wednesday, January 11, 2012

The Sound of Musing

What the FUCK is wrong with me? A nun posted an encouraging post on my husband's Facebook status and I felt jealousy. A nun!!! I had to go check her page to make sure she really was a nun.

I feel so insecure in our relationship. I want so much to feel intimate and connected with him. I want our conversations to be free and easy, spontaneous instead of guarded. It's like we've knitted so much potential danger and meanings into everything that we can't express ourselves without meticulously weighing every word.

Yesterday, he told me not to spend money. I told him I didn't have any to spend (agreeing with him). He got defensive and said he was just telling me we didn't have much in the bank. I told him I was just agreeing with him. He stomped out the door. Thankfully, he came right back and told me he loved me. I know we're both trying. But it's so hard.

Thursday, January 05, 2012

No More Mrs. Nice Guy

Last night was really bad. You were so angry, really really angry. I just let you stew in the hopes you'd work through whatever you were upset about. You went and took a long nap and seemed okay when you came back down. You even leaned over and kissed me. I thought that was nice. Then you watched the WVU-Clemson game and used the laptop as well as IMing whoever was on Facebook chat. Suddenly, you were furious again. You stomped upstairs, leaving with a snide remark about me coming to bed whenever I was ready. Then you started texting me. Bombarding me with texts, in fact. I couldn't keep up with them but I tried. I'd be halfway through a text and receive one, then two from you while I was still typing. Eventually, my text inbox filled up and I couldn't receive any more texts at all, nor could I tell you that fact until I emptied some out.
I can't delete an entire chat text, just an individual text one at a time, once my inbox is full. So here I was, trying to delete each individual text and confirm each deletion so I could read the last two-three-four texts you'd sent, and you sent even more. Which backed up the queue even more and not only that, bounced me out of where I was and made me have to start over deleting. Needless to say, I was frustrated.
Then you came downstairs, complaining. I explained. You fumed, telling me you had chest pains and knew warning signs for a heart attack. I told you to take an aspirin, two times I said that. You asked me if I wanted to go to counseling when I shared the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse article by John Gottman. I said of course I did, that you were supposed to find us a counselor six months ago because you didn't want to go see anyone I chose. More noise. You reminded me that you want me to come to you when you're depressed/upset/angry and hold you and comfort you. You reminded me that you've told me this a zillion times. Yes, I know. And every time I've done that, you've either said in a mean tone that you don't want me to touch you, or you've coldly ignored me and not hugged back or relaxed or acknowledged my coming to you in any way.
I even read a lot of information about dealing with someone who has PTSD. It all says to leave you alone when you're withdrawing, to not press you to interact, to not chase you or follow you.
I've tried it both ways. Neither seems to work. You claim you want me to pursue you and comfort you, when really all you want to do is punish me for doing it. I refuse to leave myself open for abuse of that sort any more. I'm sorry you feel so upset, lonely, angry, frustrated, etc. I do, too. But you cannot take it out on me any more and have me just sit by and take it.
Then you said you don't believe I love you at all because I don't convince you that I do. I asked you what about the fact that the rest of the time, you say how I love you so much more than you love me? You told me that I just don't get it. You're right.
Then you started in on the house and why didn't I clean the house. I asked you why don't YOU clean the house? It's a valid point. I am not the housemaid here. I am a family member just like you are, and you are obviously the one who is having problems with the condition of the house -- not me. So you have to throw in my face how my house was when you met me. That's it; don't address anything I say. Insult me, degrade me, use your words to hurt me.
I finally was just shellshocked to the extent I could no longer talk. I refuse to say mean things. I am not going to lower myself to that level. So when there is nothing left to say but expressing frustration in a negative way, I choose not to talk at all. Eventually, I just wandered upstairs and went to bed about a quarter to two.
This morning you're all nice and sweet and apologetic. And I am just not interested in apologies right now. I feel beaten. You texted me that you wanted us to turn off all electronic devices as soon as you get home. Well, no. That's not okay. I am not ready to curl up and be intimate yet. I am still reeling from abuse, to be honest. And I feel contrary. I don't want you to decide when I turn off my "device" and be at your beck and call when you can't even have a conversation with me about anything deeper than who paid what bill when.
I think I have changed. I used to be free and easy and open and expressed myself easily. Then you complained and insulted me, chiding me about how rude I was, and how uncouth I was, etc. You even said the other day that nobody could "fucking stand" me because I am so mean to everyone. When I asked who, you named your sister and your aunt. I reminded you that I was always nice to your aunt until YOU told me what nasty things she said about me, which caused me not to like her. And I reminded you how mean your sister has always been to me and pointed out that I have been as pleasant to her as I could possibly be with the ONE exception of the comment I made that one time about her behavior in the military to get ahead being the equivalent of prostituting herself. And for that, I apologized and acknowledged that I was out of line for saying it.
Instead, I have spent the last (?) fifteen or so years stuffing my feelings and opinions and smiling and being pleasant to people. I have specifically avoided expressing opinions that were controversial or possibly debate-inducing. I listen to you express whatever opinions you have and I pay attention. I stopped being controversial. I became "nice." And now you complain that I'm not interesting. You describe how interesting M. is, how her ideas are so controversial and you love to argue with her. I'm not a bit jealous of M. Not at all. But I think I see how it is.
You want to argue. You want to debate. You want the conflict. You think you don't, you say you don't, but you do. You thrive on it. As long as you win. Because when I make points that are right, you ALWAYS change the subject and usually change it into a direct attack on me.
I am tired of being Mrs. Nice Guy. I don't give two shits about what your sister or aunt think about me. And you shouldn't either. You're my husband, I'm your wife. We're supposed to be a team. We're supposed to be on the same side, back-to-back, against the world. I don't know where your conflicts lie as far as your family is concerned, but I know this: I am tired of stuffing who I am with zero payoff.

Wednesday, January 04, 2012

Different Strokes

I am so tired of trying to please you. This has been the stupidest thing I've ever done, is to try and please somebody else. I know better, too. I feel as though I bend over backwards, constantly, trying to please you, and you don't acknowledge it (or see it). You decide what will be on TV, how loud it will be, when you will change it in mid-show or song -- never mind who else is watching or present. Do you really think I give a flying flip about college football?? But you want me to sit beside you and be near you, so I endure it because I love you.

You bitched about me watching "Law and Order" so much. It just so happened that both of us like that show. I made a conscious effort to find something you liked, too, so we could share the experience. Because of the negative associations I now have with L&O, I don't even enjoy it any more. Do you realize you often ridicule any and everything I do?

You complain about my driving. I'm not that crazy about yours, either, truth be told. You turn into traffic far too close to other cars, like when you make left turns across traffic. You curse and rave and rant at least half the time you're driving. It amazes me. Your blood pressure must be sky high when you drive. You steer to avoid potholes but almost always hit them anyway, causing me to be thrown sideways and then bumped on top of it. I can't count the times you've driven up over the curb. But hey, people have different ways of driving than others. I don't mention these things to complain -- I mention them because I never do mention them because I rarely think about them, and then if I would ever bring it up, you'd ask me what it was and I wouldn't remember. So now I have recorded some of them and can come back to this post for reference.

It's funny how different people's perspectives are. For instance, you constantly complain about feeling old/hating "old things." You despise my purse, for example, even though I carefully researched fashion trends and bought a fashionable style. Heck, the purse I had before this one was fine, too; you just decided that it was old-fashioned and hated it,too.

You wear T-shirts, won't cut your hair or trim your beard, wear bandanas on your head. Do you think that makes you look young?? I think not. I have opinions on how you look, but I keep them to myself unless you ask me what I think because people are entitled to express their style the way they see fit. I am just glad that you -- for the MOST PART -- stopped wearing ballcaps all the time. You still buy one at least once a month and they lay around everywhere. But thank God, you don't wear them constantly any more. And thank YOU.

Everyone has their own perception of what "old" is. For me, listening to classical music on public radio reminds me of my father; hence, it seems old. But you listen to classical music and it seems cool to you. I like classical music; that's not the point. The point is, it makes me feel old to sit and listen to it all the time. So when we're in the car and you change the station to classical music, just know that I am sitting there feeling ancient. I don't say anything because this shouldn't be your problem. It is my issue with classical music, not yours. So why should I impose my feelings on you? I can deal with my own feelings. I just wish you would deal with yours -- about my purse, my hair color, my hair style, my decision to wear or not wear makeup, my clothing, etc.