Had a really long talk (more like a fight) with DH last night. Apparently I'm controlling, make him grow up and be too responsible, having an affair (don't laugh too hard on that one), and blaming everything on medication. Thus begins the Internal War, Battle One.
His comment (see last post) was made because when I'm not around, he gets to be a little kid at his parents and is not forced to be a grown up or parent our daughter. His mom does everything for him. Yet, he gets mad if I make decisions for him or even schedule something for him because I am too controlling. Gee, maybe if I called myself "mom" while I did it, he'd take it better? My medical/counseling/jaw/orthodontic expenses are the reasons we are so broke, but when I work late two nights, he accuses me of having an affair (personally I found that one kind of humorous considering my aversion to being touched at all as of late). So I figure I have a few options.
Option A - stuff all my emotions, become the "perfect wife" who lets her husband go hunting every weekend, does all the housework, makes all the decisions, is available to meet her husband's every need, including physical, cooks dinner, doesn't work late and structures everything around husband. I become both Mom and Wife to my husband, and raise him along with my daughter.
Option B - let it all hang loose. Rant and rave. Insist husband grow up. Stop making decisions. Let him mope and cry and try his best to make me feel sorry for him. Watch him go overboard doing things for me in an attempt to make up for his barbed comments. Watch him try to do all housework and everything for daughter and then expect me to "get over it" because he is "trying." So I get over it and we have this same argument in a few months. Or I rant and rave too much and am accused of being hysterical.
Option C - Give it 110% and risk all. Admit to husband my weaknesses -- I did this when I had the issues with prozac - he was wonderful about helping me get off meds. His wonderfulness lasted about 1 week. Then he told me that I was not allowed to "use the medication as an excuse." I told him honestly that I, could frankly, live without sex for the rest of my life, but was willing to acknowledge that was my problem and work on it. One and 1/2 weeks later, I'm expected to have that all figured out and it's my fault that I don't. I'm supposed to enjoy being in a 100 degree house with no airconditioning with enough dust to make the world's largest dust ball (AKA my in-law's house). Not only do I fail to utter a single complaint, but I put together a family gathering and assist with a housewarming for a relative. Husband assumes that I'm complaining on the inside and attacks me anyway. So I can continue throwing myself out there to be trampled on, in hopes that it will improve before I'm crushed and destroyed?
Option D - the one that is most well-known to me. Option "D" for "Deny." Deny myself and who I am. Become the perfect Wife who kills herself at work to make the big money. Who comes home and fixes dinner, does laundry, and is the perfect parent. Who sends Husband off hunting every weekend while she stays home with the toddler, cooks meals for the entire week, cleans the house and runs all the errands. Who organizes everything, makes all the appointments, and tells Husband everything he needs to do. Mask the panic, anxiety and fear and sleep with Husband on a regular basis. Come home and watch him play his Playstation games for hours, engaging him in conversation. Develop a whole list of topics to use in replying when he asks, for the thousandth time, "What else is new?" (his attempt to engage in conversation).
Option D has a sub-part - the Plan for every possible scenario. The Lawyer part of me is taking over. Flashing little warning signs in my head. All those pieces of advice that I give to others. Protection plans. Stop blogging. Stop online writing. Go have a consult with an attorney and only write notes to the attorney. Quit counseling. Get off all medications. Be the best mom ever. Start putting money in your own account. Clear all the "survivor" and "abuse" websites off computer. Go look at condos/apartments. Copy all financial documents. Don't talk to friends. All that stuff that makes absolute sense from a legal standpoint and absolutely no sense if you are trying to cope and Live.
But then again, I forgot. I forgot the rules and got my hopes up. I'm not allowed to thrive and live. I'm just here to exist. To deny myself and live by someone else's rules and do what they want. Because otherwise I lose. If I admit who I really am - the messed up, on medication, having panic attacks, unfocused, self-injuring person that I really am - I stand to lose too much. My husband (who seems to be walking away himself) and my daughter. I refuse to lose my daughter because I've allowed myself to get so messed up dealing with this crap. I just refuse.