Monday, August 10, 2015

Impossible to tell

Ron is driving me nuts. 

Bad enough he has made some bad decisions; decisions that have led to a lot of anxiety on my part lately (that, I can't talk about, but he hasn't been cheating on me or hitting). 

Up all night with anxiety and worry. 

He's been drinking, a lot,lately.  He's also having "unexplained" leg pain, weakness, and horrific debility.  I am amazed he is still able to get to the bathroom, even with a mobility device, and he's damned sure getting up to the kitchen and drinking a couple times a night. 

That might not sound so bad, until you realize, for Ron, "One drink" is about 8-10 ounces of hard liquor (3-4 "drinks"), over ice.  I know about the first one, I assume more follow... I try not to police his drinking, per advice from AA. 

When he drinks he varies from overly friendly, not respecting boundaries, pestering me even when I make it clear I need some time to myself; to completely offensive, cursing at me, saying it's "fine" he called me an "itch" or a "blank" instead of the actual profanity.  Drinking, all the boundaries go away. 

He wonders why all his old friends won't call him back.  I could tell him - you phone them drunk, make incredibly offensive comments in the name of "humor", and then wonder why they don't like you anymore. 

And, no one likes a drunk, but other drunks.  They're just not fun people. 

He slurs his words, slumps, wonders why his back bothers him, and his leg is bothering him, so let's run the massager on it all night and get another ulcer.  Agh. 

I would go absolutely insane if I could not journal in some fashion. 

So, just now, I was posting on a message board.  He wanted to hear about every single subject, then began pontificating on how nothing existed anyway, just being completely depressing.  I shut down. 

A couple minutes later, he starts pestering me to look up this, or that.  I told him I was busy.  He threatened to shut down the internet.  I reminded him he needs the internet to file the monthly accounting report.  Which then led to me saying, I'd rather do the report tonight. 

Tomorrow I am having dental work done, I will probably just want to go to bed when I finish.  Gum procedures are Not Fun.  I always feel as though I've been beaten. 

Ron was pretty obscured by this point, and, after several attempts to communicate, I had to basically shout at him "I want to do the report tonight".  He got angry and said I was "mean", started with the name calling again. 

I reminded him, I am having dental work done, I do not want to do it tomorrow (the deadline).  I don't like doing things last-minute anyway.  We did it, amidst much complaining on his part.  Huh.  I'm the one doing the data entry.  I had to tell him "You are being combative, please stop".  He denied it, but he did tone it down. 

This morning wasn't much better.  He was very stiff and in obvious pain.  He kept shouting at me, name calling, etc.  I told him, more than once: "I know you are in pain, but it's not acceptable to attack me."  Then he denied he was in pain, or had attacked me. 

Lately, he just doesn't understand, I am doing things.  I don't just stand in a closet waiting for him to call on me to serve him.  I have my own work to do.  The snack machines put a mortgage payment in his pocket, AND paid me (once).  I need to fill them if we're going to make any sales.  If I told him "Give me a minute" he was screaming at me.  Over what?  He wanted to put a case of drinks in the stockroom?  I "had" to put up a sign saying the drinks were cold after 10?  That second?  My arms full of our best-selling chip, the coil before me empty? 

[sigh]  It was exhausting, and not because I was working hard.  Just the mental drama... ugh.  Complete strangers realized I was depressed, but Ron kept name-calling. 

Ron used to go on and on about his precious "Normal" woman, who would be able to drive, keep an immaculate house, etc.  I realized, a long time ago, Ron doesn't want a normal woman.  Normal would never have him.  He "had" to "settle" for more flawed women who would accomodate and/or feed his personality issues.  And boy, he let them know their each and every flaw at exhaustive length, and every opportunity. 

I know two, at least, tried to kill him.  He told me all about it.  One tried to push him off a cliff, one tried to drown him.  That should get you thinking - if you're the kind of man the woman wants to kill - willing to go to jail for it - you really need to rethink how you're interacting with "your" woman. 

One of Ron's friends told me, a couple years ago "With your history (of childhood neglect and abuse, and your diagnosed mental illness), you could kill Ron and get away with it."  WHY would you ever tell me that?

No, I have no desire to kill him, but I do think about leaving him.  Ron told me, a while back, during an affectionate phase "Don't ever leave me".

"I wouldn't" I told him "Unless you are hurting me, or yourself, to the point I can't watch it anymore."  He knew I was talking about his alcohol abuse and swore it would never get that bad.  

I wonder what he would think, and do, if God were somehow able to impute my frame of mind to him.  The utter frustration.  The contempt (at times).  The desperate feeling of a trapped animal.  The pain from the verbal abuse.  The nostalgia for the days when he didn't drink his dinner - when he didn't schedule his dinner to happen after the Big Drink, so he could get drunker, faster.

I think, either Ron would reform immediately, or he would end the marriage.  I don't know.  I do know I can't tell him anything - no one can.  

I did manage to redeem part of my horrible day, by using my new Lucky Stripe Bill Acceptor cleaning cards.  They performed just as I'd hoped (I used 2), and scrubbed all kinds of grime off my heads. 

Good, I read a dirty bill acceptor will start ripping people off.  That's the last thing I want. 

I also want them to have a good vending experience.  I really enjoy my work. 

I had a series of small dramas, including a meatball sub fell out of the food machine, all over the floor, mozzarella cheese shreds everywhere.  I borrowed a broom and dustpan from a kindly custodian (I'm not going to make HER do it!), and cleaned up the mess. 

I also dealt with a repairman and a delivery, put all the carts away, etc.  I got Ron loaded onto his walker and pushed him out. 

He was very stiff today, which is why I find his pain denials baffling. 

The machines were 95% stocked, a good thing, as the union (one of them) came in and shopped.  Eek.  They seemed happy when I left. 

Glad I used those cleaners. 

We went to the bank.  Ron shouted at me some more and tried to play manipulative head games.  I asked him if he wanted help.  He said "Oh, I don't want to bother you, that kind of crap".  So I ignored him for a while and asked him again, when he did say yes he could use help. 

We did our transaction.  I had a veteran employee I like and respect. 

Our driver was on time and a nice guy.  He took us to the mall - which I didn't expect.  Ron had told me we were going HOME, then the mall.  I was exhausted and really had to pee. 

It was a straight trip, so I was OK.  We got there.  I spent most of the time getting Ron's various orders.  Taco Bell.  And the Teriyaki place. 

And just now, he was whining that I "get all the money".  No, I don't waste mine.  I just got a bowl of mac and cheese, and, later, a cookie (with my own money). 

He ate, the same driver picked us up again, and we went home.  I took my medication (if I'd known I'd be out for my big meal, I'd have brought it) and took a nap.  One of the cats, I think Gravy, slept on me. 

I find a cat better than any drug.  Yes, I probably desperately need an anti anxiety prescription, but how much of that is just due to a crappy life?  If Ron were sober, devoted, and respectful - and I STILL felt this way, I might consider something, but the way things are it's impossible to tell.   I also have a dread, understandable, terror, of addiction. 

But - cats are great.  They just love.  The way things are, I need some unconditional love. 

I have just been wracked with depression and anxiety, of late - even outside my marriage.  [sigh]

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