My Husband Got Sick and I Cannot Feel Anything (Part 1)

I think it will require a few postings to empty myself of all this sadness.  So in my fuzzy-brained state, I am trying to measure just how depressed I am and all I can come up with is more than usual.  A lot more than usual.  And I know exactly what got me here, but I cannot tell how deep into the sadness I am.  So I’ve called this posting Part 1 because I’m pretty sure they’ll at least be a Part 2.  And maybe more

I wrote in prior posts that my husband has had to put up with a lot being married to me with all my mental health crap.  But it was a give and a take and I’ve carried my share of the burdens of building this family despite all of that.  It was a good partnership overall.  Not perfect, nothing is.  But good.  And the kids are healthy and happy and decent people.  So it seemed good.  But something happened last year.  I know in hindsight now he was probably starting to become ill, but I didn’t know then that his surly disposition and nasty temper were symptoms of anything but him being tired of me.  And so that’s what I convinced myself of and once that happens, well then things really start to disintegrate.  The respect, the caring, the sharing and then even the love are just so easy to toss over the side of the sinking ship.  Almost 17 years of marriage and in 9 months it appears to have gone to shit.  That’s all it took.

In January he started falling down from dizziness.  It took weeks to figure out he needed a triple bypass and now he’s been home recuperating for the last two months.  And the last thing we needed was to be thrown together 24/7 when we were already not getting along.  And I could be wrong.  Maybe he did just tire of being married to me.  And then I got ticked and made myself feel nothing for him.  But he did start it.  Before we learned he was ill, he said the meanest things he’d ever said to me in the 20 years I know him.  It could have all been the disease, or he could just not like me anymore.  But I cannot forget the words he said.  I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him, but I cannot forget. Never.  Because he knows that as a Mom with Depression and PTSD from a messed up childhood, I have a few achilles heels.  There are things he knows he can’t say, yet he said them…

He told me I was being a bad mother for spending too much time in bed.  He said I was harsh and overly critical to the children.  He said I was cold.  He said I was turning into my mother.  Now I know these are things that would greatly piss off any woman, but with me he would’ve been better off shooting me that saying those words.  Those words are burned into my skin like a brand.  I can’t shake them.  And I cannot stop thinking about them every time he is here with me and the kids.  I have started to resent him watching me or trying to take over the parenting.  I am always certain he’s judging me.  And this is after only years of praise.  He never said anything unkind like this before. He was so supportive.  But then he did become unkind and at first I became despondent….and he got so mad.  At me!  Because I was making him feel bad for hurting me.  Then I got angry and he stormed out.  He told me I was being too dramatic.  Then I grew silent and he said I was being spiteful.  And this cycle of my behaving and his responding has been going on like this for months.  I am no longer allowed to have any of my feelings because they are wrong.  By his judgment they are wrong so I just have to shut up and have no feelings.

And that’s why I broke.  The spell broke.  The notion that we would be together for the rest of our days started to appear unlikely.  From certain to unlikely in just months.  And it’s gotten worse after his surgery.  We sit here for hours on end not speaking to one another because I don’t want to have any feelings.  I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.  And I don’t know what at all to do.  I am so lost.