A piece of advice

Okay folks, here's the best piece of advice I can offer up today.

If you have been looking at your lover with expressions ranging from disapproval to rage for the last 24 hours, and you have not somehow made up or made amends, I highly recommend you do not try to touch them in a sexual manner. I cannot express this enough. It is the wrong thing to do, in every instance. There in no way in which this is the right move. Ever. NEVER FUCKING EVER!

If you have read even a handful of my blog posts it is probably more than abundantly clear that I have anxiety issues. If you didn't figure that out, you might want to check upon your reading comprehension skills and go back over the previous posts. Also, I have anxiety issues. Lots of them. In addition I have an incredibly, unrelentingly, unfuckingbelievably stressful life. I'm sure there are many many people who can say "but you don't have it that bad..." and you can shut up and go read someone else's blog because this is about me and my issues and my life and I'm really fucking stressed. (Honestly I'm generally not this selfish, but dammit I have had a shitty couple of days.)

I know I wrote about how Monday went to total crap right? All because I tried to avoid triggering my own anxiety issues further and removed myself from what I was perceiving to be a stressful and crowded situation. Because by doing so I would hopefully alleviate some of my own symptoms, avoid negatively impacting my family, and make a nice dinner. The response I got to every single one of my efforts from my husband ranged from scowls and sneers to falling asleep while I was trying to clean up and get the Wildflower Child ready for bed. Also, I almost impaled myself on a chef's knife.

Yesterday he decides to tell me he had a migraine Monday night, but didn't want to tell me because everything he was doing was pissing me off. What? I was pissed because everything I was doing appeared to be pissing him off! It would have helped tremendously to know that little tidbit of information so I could try even fucking harder to be thoughtful about his feelings. Because apparently I should know by now that when I get stressed (have fun following this folks), he feels inadequate and frustrated so he gets angry at the situation and takes it out on me.

What?

Welcome to the selfish mind of my husband.

So not only do I get to deal with my own mental and emotional issues, but then I have to remember, in the middle of an episode, that my mood is going to cause him to get anxious and frustrated and angry with me and I should try to make him feel better because he can't make me feel better.

It is such a good thing he's not like this all the time. Because I have done so much to modulate my behavior, my tone, my language, my body language and my approach to make him feel better. And that's the thanks I get in the middle of an anxiety attack.

And then, when I spend an hour watching "Weeds" with him and try to get him to bed at a reasonable time because he is coming down from a migraine and needs to get up in just over 5 hours, he tries to undo my pajama top and cop a feel.

NO!

But did I slap his hand away and scream at him to not fucking touch me?

No, I did not.

I asked him "Please honey, don't do that. You have to get some sleep and I have to get ready." Gently. Calmly. I then carefully extricated myself from the daybed we had been laying on, not crushing either him or the four cats that had piled on us, and went to tickle the ears of the cat on the chair across the room while he lurched up into a sitting position. Apparently, from what he told me later, I was edging away from him and staying as far away as possible.

I was clearly petting the cat.

Also, if you saw the look on his face, you wouldn't blame me for not sitting in his lap.

No he's never hit me, nor will he, but damn he can look violently pissed.

Next thing you know, we are in an argument about whether or not he needs the bathroom before I start getting ready to go to work on the cam site. And heaven forbid I jokingly say "if you need the bathroom, take the fucking bathroom!" Seriously, I was joking. Yes "fuck" is my favorite word. He exploded at me "how is THAT supposed to help?"

I tried. I really tried to work last night. Got dressed up, turned on the computer, got halfway there. And then I could hear him stamping around upstairs and couldn't do it. So I went back upstairs and proceeded to hash it out with him at 1:00 a.m. Because my life is awesome.

I don't know if we resolved anything. I stayed calm and quiet. He yelled at me a few times. I tried not to interrupt him ever. He cut me off several times. Eventually we watched another episode of "Weeds" and when he started to fall asleep I went to bed. He made me kiss him goodnight.

I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of having to negotiate his feelings while losing control of my own mind and emotions and coping skills. I'm so sick of the people around me thinking that if I just tried harder I would be able to control these feelings and fears and wouldn't be so scared. I'm so sick of him blaming my mental issues for his.

I'm so sick of him not admitting he's an alcoholic. And not using the AA program. He's been sober for a year. (As far as I know.) But can't get a chip because he doesn't work the program. And actively resents it. And claims he can drink someday if he wants to.

And treats me like an alcoholic.

And today he will apologize and be contrite and I'll say "okay" and hug and kiss him and pretend it will never happen again.

Until it does.