Skip to main content

Love is not Enough

Just because my husband says he loves me does not make him a good caregiver. If love is what I have then love is not getting the house clean, or making sure I have all the medications that I need, or making sure I have truly nutritious meals, or have any attention whatsoever to my emotional condition. Any suggestions that I have are met with much more than light resistance, in fact I am accused of heaping too many tasks on and being a shrew that always knows what's right and this stuff is told to me heavy on the sarcasm and derision. 

I do not deserve to have mental anguish foisted upon me in what is likely the last years of my life. One would think that a man at 58 years old would develop some kind of a loving conscience. But instead I have my dry drunk husband that is good at looking good to others while behind closed doors he heaps on the mental abuse and employs manipulative and bullying behaviors to get his way.  His Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality makes it near to impossible for me to maintain an even emotional keel. I need help.

From day to day I do not know if I'm going to be confronted with the angry frustrated abusive cabinet-slamming furniture-throwing man.  Or if I am going to actually wake up to that thoughtful loving man that I thought I married.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

I Heart Trellis

Early in our relationship, though we were traditional nine-to-fivers, we were driven to create something together. At 36 and 43-years old, respectively, we were beyond creating babies. Besides, we came into our relationship with a perfect daughter each. Mine was 13 and his, twenty-three. Both blonde, bright, and beautiful and his came with a bonus, a baby! I came into the relationship with a condo that needed no work. He had a work-in-progress in the woods, actually two. We would spend our lives together redesigning and improving these "cabins in the woods". But, before that we took an afternoon cutting down young alders to use to make a trellis. Working together, we .wove supple, young branches into a nine-foot tall trellis with two hearts stacked one atop the other. We were in the gooey, sickeningly sweet, first months of love, forging a new life together. Here we are seventeen years later, separated by circumstance, through no fault of our own. I live in a hospice faci...

Tuesday

Tuesday is shaping up to be my best day of the week. Every day holds the requisite eating, changing, television, and napping. But Tuesday, I got a glorious, hot bath in a handicap-accessible bathtub with my Angela and Lisa, reorganized my shower caddy with my Lisa, read "The White Album" by Joan Didion with my Lindsey, "supervised" doughnut-making and sampled same with my Sandra among others, and listened to Ryan Feng play classical piano. A new book fell into my lap today. Of course, I mean that figuratively. "Play It As It Lays" by Joan Didion was just laying on top of the informal Bailey Boushay House library cart, so I borrowed it. .Guess what we'll be reading? I feel very blessed!