Tuesday, March 19, 2002

Downward Spiral

I can always tell when I’m getting ready to crash.  It starts out slow and then when the pace picks up, everything gets so out of control.  Sometimes I can catch myself, cling to that edge of sanity for long enough to build my strength back up and climb back up to the top, but not always.

It’s been a rough past few days.  I’m not sure whether this has to do with the additional strain of buying a house (which actually seems to be going very well, knock on wood) or if it’s something altogether different.  Whatever it has been, it really has me broken down and beat.

It started with me begging my husband to stay home several days in a row.  He refused each time.  Understandable, I guess, but I needed him.  I knew I was headed for a crash.  But I don’t know how to tell him that.  I never tell those I’m close with because I can’t find the words and it sounds so stupid.  “Well, what’s wrong?“ they want to know.  And honestly, I have no answer.  I just know that I’m coming to the brink of what I can handle and I start to shut down mentally and emotionally.  Once I’m set on automatic shut down, nothing short of a miracle can bring me back.

It’s hard writing about all this now, but I feel I have to.  Maybe this is the miracle I’m looking for.

After him refusing to stay home, I started snapping at the kids.  Just bitter little words like, “Hush!“  or “Stop it, that’s annoying!“  Then it turns to full blown screaming and frustration.  Then I clutch the blankets over my head in the mornings and pray that I will be electrocuted on my way to the bathroom, or that I’ll wake up from the nightmare and be full of energy and life again.  Never happens.

The cycle continues.  Eventually, I start picking fights with the one person who offers some stability to my life.  My husband catches the brunt of my anger, frustration and sorrow and of course is at a loss as to how to deal with it.  We scream and fight and words and books get thrown until someone inevitably ends up in tears or leaves or both.  The train zooms by and I know it’s going to wreck but I can’t stop it.

Then things get really scary.  I get really desperate.  I sincerely think about hurting myself.  I sincerely think about scratching the insides of my wrists.  I used to pull my hair out, but scratching hurts more and leaves a more visible impression.  The pain soothes me.  The blood reminds me I’m alive.  If things get really, really bad, I sometimes cut my wrists.  Just tiny shallow cuts that barely bring blood, but they feel good.  The itch of the blood seeping out and then after the pain of the damage feels real and tolerable.  It’s an ache I understand.  It’s a pain I know will go away.  The emotional and mental torment isn’t so easy to deal with, nor does it heal so quickly.

Last night we hit the throwing bitter, angry, hateful words.  Neither of us have slept.  Two of three kids were sick throwing up and I knew he’d leave me alone to deal with it today.  He did, too.  He left at 6 o’clock this morning at a time when I needed to have help and support.  It’s a scar that will never heal, I can promise that.  Every time he chooses his job over me, over our family, I hate him more.  Well, maybe not hate.  But definitely, the resentment builds up and I don’t forget.  I never forget.  It’s fodder for another breakdown, another fight, another day, week, or month of torment.  I see these things.  I know what’s going on, and yet I feel helpless to stop this cycle.

Today I will spend my day cleaning up throwup and diarrhea and crying hateful, angry, tears of betrayal and abandonment.  I’ll think melodramatic thoughts and wear myself out.  And if the gods are good, he will come home and leave me alone to sleep and tomorrow will be a better day.  If the gods choose to display their sick sense of humor, things may not go so well and the downward spiral will continue.

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