Wednesday, April 16, 2014


Apparently all of the stages I've been through in the past month cover the whole spectrum of grief. 
The denial, the shock and disbelief followed by the 'why me?' self pity. Bereavement...
Don't ask me how long it took, since this whole episode started, every day feels a week long, but I eventually landed heavily into anger. 

Anger directed at Him.

The self pity stage brought with it a lot of reflection on my performance as wife and friend. Even being a naturally self critical creature: I gave myself a high score. So how dare he do this to me? How dare he lay  'blame' on my doorstep?

I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve to see that face that was filled with adoration for 14 years, vanish behind a twisted mask of disgust and loathing.

I didn't deserve to be chased out of my living room and wrestled down onto the deck in front of neighbors and tradesmen. 

I had convinced myself, after that first whack on the hand, the one he didn't seem to notice, that if it escalated, I'd deck him. I took boxing classes a while back but I still know how to throw a decent punch with both hands. But this wasn't me, this screaming-in-a-heap useless thing under him trying to keep hold of the telephone. After-all it was Him, my lovely adoring husband.

I shocked myself with my own ineffectuality. Our dog shocked me too. He kept stepping forward and back again, whimpering; shaking. I always thought he'd tackle anyone who tried to tackle me, but I guess he had the same dilemma; this crazy-angry, aggressive person was still Him.

I have given this a lot of thought since. I think now, the only thing that could prompt me to physically fight this man, the one I've thought to be my soul mate since we met, would be if he had been doing this to our baby.

If she was frightened under him, yelling, with his hands and strength fighting her I would have torn him apart. That would be the only time I could hit him. And I would hit him over and over.

I've kind of always been better at defending others rather than myself.

So the doctors tell me he's improved so much this past week that they're letting him out of hospital. They say he's more cognizant of the fact he had 'a severe manic episode'. He's taken responsibility for his erratic behavior, for loosing his job, for being difficult, for engaging lawyers left right and center..

Only there's still no remorse about what happened with me.  Only blame. 

How does that work?

So that's how I landed here. 


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