Yep. He's back.
Ok. I'm going to be brutally honest. I'm probably going to be lambasted and taken to task over my thoughts today, but hey-ho, I promised to be honest with myself when I started to write this blog, and I'm not going to start and edit things due to worrying about what other's might think.
Today, I positively dislike my husband. I mean really dislike him, and I'm not going to apologise for it. I'm not perfect, but by Christ I've had it today. He can't stand to be in the same room as me. He's choosing to go to friend's houses so he doesn't have to be near me. He can't look at me without being repulsed. He wishes I'd leave. He understands how the girls hate me and agrees with all the horrible things they say about me (these must be said subliminally because I've not heard them - and I'm hardly ever out of this house). He wants a divorce, he wants me away, he couldn't throw me far enough - you getting the picture yet?
He was away first thing this morning to help with a lawnmower. He doesn't mind doing this, but he won't do things for me because "I only help those that help themselves". He came back long enough to say hello to the dog before going next door. Tuesday is a busy night with the girls so tea is prompt. Normally I make it when he's in, but because of the running about I had to do I had his ready for him when coming back from next door.
I got in tonight to find that the dog had stolen his tea off the kitchen table (he must have used a step ladder because he's only a small dog - and if I'd been here when it happened he'd have been a small dog in a box). Hubby thinks this is hilarious. He thinks it's funny how the dog had climbed onto a chair to reach the kitchen table, he thinks it's funny because the dog obviously doesn't like baked beans because that's all that was left. He then proceeded to put some cheese on the beans left by the dog and melted it. He ate what the dog had licked and eaten around. Honestly. I can't believe it. He is such a clean OCD person I can't believe the plate wasn't bleached.
Due to him missing tea I asked him if he'd like a sandwhich. I made him some tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, but I don't know why because they are "f**king disgusting, just like you". He watched me make them before he commented. "Why couldn't you have just done cheese?". I had asked him what he would like. I had bloody asked him. So now the original sandwiches are covered and in the fridge and he's ignoring the cheese ones out of principle.
He has a doctor's appointment tomorrow, just a small one, but he usually gets wound up before them. It's just taken a little while longer to show his aggitation before this one. He doesn't want me going to it. "Why should you go? It has nothing to do with you." was the last words on the matter. To make the situation easier I bit my tongue. Saying nothing is sometimes the best option, but dear God you hear it over and over and over again until he's vented his rant and calmness descends.
Tomorrow will be different. He'll want me to go when he gets up in the morning. The reason for this will be so that I can go and put on a happy face and show the doctor that there's nothing wrong with him and that every single doctor that we've seen (and we have seen many) are wrong.
It's his face when he's saying these things that upsets me. He snarles words at me, speaks through gritted teeth and scrunches his face up in disgust. I really can cope with the memory problems - they are a walk in the park, but it's these mood swings that are a struggle. If I mention them to the CPN or Doctor then they'll want to put him back onto his "mood" tablets and then he'll know I've been talking about him which will make things worse, and he will refuse to go back onto them anyway - so what's the point.
Constantly Trying by name, Constantly Trying by nature.
I'm not going to re-read this, simply so I don't amend anything, so please can I apologise now for any typos. x