I need to work on loving them better

I hate "hostile humor".  Making below the belt comments; ones he know will hurt.  If I get upset Ron gets angry and then does the "You're wierd". 

Once or twice I have unloaded on him and asked "Have I ever found these comments funny?  Have I ever liked them?  If entertainment is your stated goal then you fail."  He tells me I can't control him.  He has a big "thing" about "being controlled". 

I find it telling: he has never told these "Jokes" in front of my family or anyone he respects.  He knows they're offensive and inappropriate. 

For instance, I have a "thing" about people minimizing my disabilities.  I am heartily sick of being told there is nothing wrong with me.  I am "fine".  Or maybe I'm "faking".  I am "not trying hard enough".  "You could drive if you wanted, you just don't want to try."  Go on in that vein for a while and I'm liable to erupt in anger, tears, or both.  Ron knows this and he uses it against me. 

I was so medicated I had a hard time making #8's on my handmade labels (the guy who fixes my label gun had to take it home today).  It's just the price I pay for "optimal" symptom control. 

Ron made a comment.  I told him, very evenly, I didn't like that and asked him to stop.  He did after making a "wierd" comment.  Normally I try to hide my depression symptoms but I was too tired and frustrated to try.  If he got upset, he got upset. 

Ron needs a lot of help at work.  He was completely correct, later, when he blurted he could do nothing without me.  I helped him.  I wasn't exactly jolly, though.

I was right, Ron got upset when he saw I was depressed.  He grabbed my arm, very agitated. 

OK, here's something I really don't like: don't grab me when you're upset.  I have been the victim of physical abuse in just that frame.  I will automatically jerk away and withdraw. 

Ron ought to know this, but then I go to the head injury.  Maybe he really can't understand. 

Ron held my wrist tighter, I wrestled it away, not caring if I made a scene.  A construction worker came by to get change (looking back, probably not a coincidence).  I did that and Ron tried to grab me again.  I stood away from him so he couldn't. 

I told him I didn't want to talk, I wanted to work, I had a lot of work to do.  I told him I would be happy to talk to him later, at home.  I told him I would be happy to help him get soda or whatever as needed.   Muttering under his breath, he rolled off. 

He wanted me to do meter readings (A/R feature on vending machines).  I did them and returned the player to Ron.  I made my pastry labels because I was nearly out of stocked pastry.  I then stocked the pastry.  I stocked what other snacks I had (not much) and praise God the machines didn't look too bad. 

I desperately need more product, though.  Getting it tomorrow, taking it in very early Monday. 

I took drinks out of the bottled vendor (it needs a thing rebuilt) and put them in the cold food vending machines.  I made 4 rows of drinks in each food machine.  The food machines looked great. 

I did help Ron as needed.  Mainly he had a problem with a leaky can of orange soda.  I had to mop it up and clean the front of 2 soda machines.  People kept tracking through on my wet floor, one guy on purpose just to be ugly. 

I'm gaining a newfound respect for the custodians.  I can see why they rope off the mopped areas with caution tape. 

I got the bucket and all myself.  I'm not forcing someone else to clean up Ron's mess, or mine. 

I forgot all irritation at Ron when one guy tramped across my clean floor, looked down, and then did a stomping dance, prancing around, making as many muddy footprints as possible.  I looked on, holding my mop upright in the bucket, wanting to smack him with it, but achieving a fairly placid face.  Then the guy asks for a free soda.  We told him no. 

[Side note, earlier we did give a free soda, slightly dented, to a nice guy who has never asked for free merchandise.]

"Hey, I saw how many you had in your stockroom!  You've got those big 36-packs.  I saw them.  You can spare a can." 

I reminded the guy he makes 3 times what we do. 

"But I saw those big 36 packs in your stockroom."  He must have pushed the door open and gone exploring.  We do have them, but they're on a lower shelf and not easily spotted.  You'd have to open the door, walk in, and look all over the place.  He probably thought it was all our inventory, too. 

We own 10% of what you'll see in the stockroom, but everyone assumes it is all ours. 

"Maybe I'll just take one next time." He said slyly.  I reminded him that was stealing and "You'll go to hell."  He didn't seem worried. 

We only have one stockroom key, so Ron wants me to leave it unlocked when we're working. Not anymore! 

Ron told him, no, in a smart way that meant business.  The guy stomped around some more on my (formerly) clean floor.  He looked around and saw the shop towels on my cart. 

He helped himself and exclaimed over the "softness".  He reached for more and I took them away.  "These are ours, and you are stealing."   He mumbled something about wanting a napkin as I put the shoptowels on a lower shelf of the cart. 

Every table (at least 2 dozen) in the cafeteria sports a roll of paper towels.  We also have multiple wall mounted units in addition to that.  No, he was just being unpleasant. 

I was glad when he left to log in to work. 

We have had one or two guys we really hoped to retire, this guy just made the list. 

Some people just see any kind of service provider as a personal slave/kickball.  It reflects on them.  My job is to hold Jesus in my heart and ask Him to help guide my expressions, body language, words, and feelings. 

Could have done better on that today, all around. 

We got home.  I tried to take a nap. 

Ron started drinking, made 3 phone calls and a very loud bang.  I gave up after that. 

I got up.  Ron told me to go to sleep, to "Take something to help you sleep if you need it". 

I don't need that kind of thinking in my home, ever.  Really, with my risk of addiction, the last thing I want is a sleep aid habit. 

Ron decided he wanted to talk to me.  Because he had been drinking, I'm ashamed to say I tuned most of it out, in a way that was obvious even to him. 

He did say he loved me, valued me, what would he do without me.  I was amazing but the disabilities aren't... etc.  He went on for a while about how he hates "my brain" which I think meant the bipolar... realized I was tuning him out and went to bed. 

He sounded so dejected as he rolled off down the hall.  It was tragic. 

I feel bad about that. 

I have issues with people drinking.  My alcoholic, neglectful mother maimed my brain.  Then she gave birth to me and neglected me.  I remember her coming in my room and bending over my crib, reeking of alcohol... and I was scared.  I'd cry in fear of my mother. 

Because she'd been drinking. 

The one time I saw my Dad "loose" counts in my top 5 worst teenage moments; when my boyfriend told me Dad was drunk.  I was so humiliated I broke up with the boyfriend. 

When I met Ron he told me he'd had bad experiences with drunks, and "seldom drank, never more than 1 or 2 drinks at a time."  I believe him.  What can I say?  I was a brain damaged, crazy, 17 year old. 

Ron has seldom been cuddly when drinking, and on more than one occasion I have fled the home late at night. 

It's hard to put that aside, the very human anger and urges, because he's drinking again. 

I understand, on an intellectual level, reality really sucks.  He makes it look pretty easy, but he's a wheelchair bound, partially paralyzed, nearly 60 year old blind man.  He's got hearing impairments and brain damage. 

I think most would drink a lot more than him, then add "pain pills" to the mix. 

On an emotional level, I go to "Why me?  I'm the one who stuck around!  I'm the only one you've got!"  I'll tell him that. 

I get angry, too.  Who wouldn't? 

I get angry at the drunks/addicts I see under the overpass.  For whatever reason, everyone has acted like I had to minister to them. 

They are well covered.  We have Star of Hope.  We have The Church Under the Bridge.  We have countless other ministries reaching out to end addictions and get people saved, back on their feet, and gainfully employed. 

I've never felt a call to go to them; but I know God wants me to love them.  I've been asking God to help me with that. 

I do not have.  God's love.  In my heart.  For the typical or atypical alcoholic.  The only positive story I can tell involving an intoxicated alcoholic involves a Bible Handout.  It was 2010. 

Ron had been particularly awful that morning.  I went on the Handout anyway.  A convertible, weaving all over the road, approached the light.  I saw the driver and his passenger were both very drunk.  I walked over, smiling.  They gaped at me. 

"Here's your present!" I said brightly as I handed over a Bible.  He took it.  I then extended another Bible to the passenger.  "Here's yours!  Merry Christmas!" 

I often wonder what they thought when they sobered up, and found the Bibles!