The aftermath

I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the crash last night and this morning.

It was all going well. Laughing and filling out the bits of conversation we never got round to with the therapist. Then the penny dropped.

Ive been putting myself down.

I’ve been telling myself:

He’s so good to put up with me

He’s got a lot on, he must be stressed

I’m the weird one with the random habits, it’s got to be my fault

I’ve got pmt, adhd, depression, stress…

What the fuck is wrong with me, im bending over backwards here to keep us going and when he can’t be arsed or has a strop it’s all my fault and he’s a Saint?

I don’t bloody think so!

So this morning, after 1.5 hrs of sleep, I told him: at the moment I can’t see he will ever be able to change, its him not me with the issues.

He’s the one that locks himself away all day long in the office, he’s not working on anything, he’s not helping out with the kids or house and he’s expecting food ready on cue. Meanwhile I’m keeping the house running, kids entertained, and trying to get some work done too. It no fucking surprise I give up and decide to work when they’ve all gone to bed-its the only time I can get some peace.

Months of this and I’m expected to be able to hold it together and think rationally. It’s no wonder im fucked in the head.

As angry as I am today, I have a strange feeling that I might feel differently in a day or 2. The counsellor did say its going to feel like being on a small boat in the storm. And she did recommend we don’t continue talking about things in between sessions. Maybe we should have listened.

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