My good days scare my husband, which makes me sad.
After 17 months he expects my bad days and he has learned how to prepare himself for them. He can feel them coming and it’s almost a relief for him when they arrive, the anticipation is worse than the tears. I think he in a sick twisted way, likes the bad days, he needs my anger, it is what he thinks he deserves. He does, but I’m getting tired of giving him the punishment he craves. I’m tired of baking hate filled cookies and cramming them down his throat, watching him swallow over and over and ask for more. I’m kind of ready to move on, to maybe bake some cookies with sprinkles or chocolate chips, no one else likes the ones oozing hate.
I’ve had a good couple of weeks, no breakdowns since my middle son’s prom. I’ve been able to side step triggers, and at times disarm them with laughter. He has been distant and sad, he pulls me close at bedtime and jumps if I get up for a drink or to shut windows on the brewing storms. He hugs me and tells me how sorry he is, and randomly texts me throughout the days. Texts which tell me how sorry he is for the Hell he has made my life, for breaking me, for letting me down…he texted me while away on a business trip “I am a good person”, I often wonder about the demons he continues to fight. How many of them wear my face and use my words to hurt him?
I have been productive and busy, planting flowers and digging holes, scrubbing floors and throwing out junk. I have been as normal as I ever have been since D-day, and it is breaking his heart. He is getting a glimpse of the woman I was before he started his affair, before my world came crashing down, and it hurts him.
I wish he didn’t miss me, I wish he didn’t love the person I was, because she comes to visit but she never stays. I know when the triggers overload me, and the voices get loud again, I/she will be gone. The sadness will return and he will come home to dying flowers and a dirty house again. I wish he had realized he loved me and what he was going to lose before the affair. I wish he hadn’t been blinded by whore colored glasses and the promises of fun and no resposobilites…I wish I could give him the person I was back forever.
If wishes were horses than beggars would ride…