It takes two people to fight

Yesterday was OK, but Ron has been positively awful to me today. 

I don't want to be understanding.  I don't want to say "Well, Ron's leg is bothering him a lot so he snaps at me".  No, he is choosing to be cruel. 

It was just one thing after another today, it got so bad I actually cried at work (no one was around).  I have - I won't say I have never done that but if I have, it's been a very long time. 

What did I do today?  Let's look at that.  I got up with a bad headache, took something (aspirin didn't touch it, today), went to Sam's, got a whole flatbed full of stuff, heavy drinks mainly.  Then I put them in the truck, took them to work, unloaded.  The sun was in my eyes as I unloaded, which was pretty miserable.  Then I put them in the fridge. 

The whole time Ron is yelling at me, criticizing, cursing me, negative talk, etc.  Headache got worse.  I stocked.  I helped customers. 

One in particular, sticks out.  She is one of the new, temporary, hires for Christmas.  They will work her 12 hour days, 6 days a week, for 5-6 weeks and then lay her off.   They do this every year.  They may keep a couple of the really hard workers with good attitudes. 

First she wanted change for a $5.  I gave her that.  I watched as she bought a soda from the bottle vendor to make sure she had a good experience. 

Then she wanted a spork.  Fine. 

Then she wanted a fork.  I told her all I had were sporks, she wanted another one.  OK. 

Lastly, she asked me if she could "Get a soda now and pay for it after payday".  Payday isn't for a month, most temp workers don't get their pay until after they have turned in their badge.  I laughed and told her no, my "Husband would have my head on a stick". 

I am glad she is temporary.  Some customers are just a lot more demanding.  But I did all of this, with a proto-migraine, Ron shouting at me everytime he knew I was around, etc. 

It was pretty difficult. 

Yesterday was better; a customer complimented me on my decor, twice, and asked me to keep wearing my santa hat.  Some people today did like my Santa hat so I am glad I'm wearing it. 

I bought $60 worth of candy (snickers full size, and assorted bagged candy) to do up more Driver Candy.  It was hard to get it all home, I had so much.  I put it on the Bible bookcase, it's evangelism.  I used $20 of donations (a lady sends me some now and then), and the rest of "my" money to do them.  I ordered more booklets.  I just need to get more bags at the store next time I go. 

Back to Ron, when he has been like this at various hospitals, usually the nurse/helper is very understanding, but firm.  She "understands" without accepting it, or taking it personally.  I wish I could be that person, but maybe - [sigh] I don't know.   If I had to pay $1000 to get a pill that would help me do it, I would. 

I don't want to do the whole "My heart is too tender for this kind of abuse" although it feels that way.  I may just need to grow a thicker hide.  I'm tougher than I used to be, Ron used to be so awful to me I would end up crying in public, which angered him to no end.  He felt I was humiliating him with my tears.  He would be yelling at me to stop crying and I would cry harder. 

He wonders why I don't cry so easy, anymore.  Those days are long gone, before I would let myself be that vulnerable with him again.  He says he misses the old me.  I bet.  I would be totally destroyed if he looked at me wrong, and some of my diary entries make me absolutely nauseous.  "Oh, I upset him!  I am the worst person!" 

Ugh.  But I don't want to be a cold hearted, stone hearted, bitch, either.  There's a happy place where I am protected, God is happy, and I can live with myself.  I haven't found that yet.  I don't want to be another victim of caregiver burnout but it would be so easy.  It's not that I could side into it, I actively have to fight caregiver burnout everyday and saying "I don't care anymore" and just stop caring altogether.  It is very hard to fight.  Sometimes I don't want to. 

It says in the Bible that Jesus didn't answer back when they attacked him, right before they crucified him.  They had him in a house and tortured him for several hours.  He only said he was the Christ because they made him swear by "The Living God". 

So I try to emulate Him.  I don't respond when Ron makes personal attacks.  1.  It makes Ron mad and 2.  I don't have to crawl around in the mud with him, even though he wants it. 

Today he accused me of trying to sabotage his business.  See, he opened the fridge and we didn't have  a Sprite.  Somehow that is my fault.  I told him he must not have told me when he stocked it, because I always replace a drink I remove from the fridge.  He didn't much like hearing that.  He yelled at me, off and on, for an hour. 

Now, back in the old days, I would have retorted, with sarcasm, when Ron made that crack about me trying to ruin his business.  But I didn't.  I just kept stocking the munchie mix.  It takes two people to fight, and I wasn't fighting. 

I know, when I am hurting to some degree (not, never, with a migraine, I just want to crawl off and die), I get cranky.  I tried to understand that.  Ron is hurting today. 

But he doesn't have to take it out on me.  I don't pour alcohol down his throat.  I didn't run over him.  Why is he angry at me?  Like I tell him "I'm the only one you've got". 

"Oh, he's mean to you because he knows you won't leave".  He'd better not assume that.  Sometimes he talks about going to live in assisted living.  And I am tempted to let him go, and rot, especially when he is so terrible to me when he knew I had a migraine. 

Then I see him with my cat, or his, and he's so sweet.  The old Ron is still there (before you start yelling at the screen, hang in there).  But he needs to make a priority to treat me at least as well as he treats the cats.  Providing for my needs, changing my litterbox, so to speak, is not enough.  I require respect, courtesy, and consideration.  He doesn't even have to spend a lot of time with me but it has to be a good quality.  I don't need stuff, or things.  I don't need him to set the thermostat at 80 or take me out to dinner every night. 

It's what I need him not to do: verbal abuse. 

I don't want him to be sorry.  I don't want apologies.  I don't want excuses.  I don't want to hear about all the forces, the vodka, the pain, that "drove" you to be ugly.  I just want you to respect me. 

Sometimes I think that is an impossibility with my husband. 

I can't help but think, I am a terrible housekeeper (not that excuses verbal abuse).  A lot of men wouldn't understand that.  Ron does.  He does try to accommodate my eccentricities. 

But please, no name calling, no cursing.  No personal attacks. 

I never fight like that.  Worst thing I do is relate what he did during a blackout, and half the time he talks about that on his own, anyway.  He is still talking about the time he fell off the walker and split the back of his head open.  He thinks it is funny to relate how I found a huge pool of blood, with a blood trail, going to his room. How I went in his room and found blood all over Ron, the pillow, and the bedding. 

How is that ever funny?  That's truly awful.  The photos were so bad I never even put them up.  They look like a murder scene.  I keep them to "prove" Ron had a history of self-abusive blackouts.  I don't want to end up on legal charges with Ron hurt one day. 

"He was abusive".  Yes, he was.  But he did this to himself.  One of many reasons I keep this blog.  Evidence this has been doing on a long time, Ron making self-destructive choices and hurting himself. 

I just got up to use the bathroom.  Ron's asleep, crossways, on his bed, his head next to Torbie, who seems pretty happy with him.  When he gets up he will treat them. 

Biscuit is hovering, trying to get some dinner out of me.  Ooooh.  My ear is ringing.  Lithium side effect.  It faded.  I do feel a little lightheaded, though. 

I hate migraines.