Feeling so much…

I almost broke down in the greeting card aisle two days ago. However, I managed to make it back to the car before the flood.

My youngest lost her great grandma. She still isn’t speaking to me. My middle and I want to send her and the family a card, so I went looking for one. As I started reading the encouragement cards…I began thinking of my husband and how I wish I could encourage him. I didn’t find one with exactly the right sentiment, so I moved on to the love cards. Huge mistakes. All the love cards said things that I can’t say to my husband. They said things like how good he is too me…except he isn’t good to me at all right now…and it’s a crap shoot any other time.

Don’t get me wrong. He is my Luke Danes. He is grumpy, fussy and un-Luke-like in that he can behave evil when unbalanced…but he is endearing, charming and thoughtful as well.

I didn’t want him at first. I fought liking him. I fought falling for him. Yet…I did. I believed him when he comforted me, and when he showed me kindness. He is so much fun sometimes. However, he can only sustain his kindness for so long.

He recently called me a b$#^&. Followed by f!@# off and die.

He shouldn’t get away with this. Husbands shouldn’t speak to their wives like this. Yet, he does…and he doesn’t act like he regrets it. He tells me later he regrets it…sometimes. Not this time. He hasn’t apologized for any of the things he has said or done this episode.

It makes me sad and angry. I know I paint a really crappy picture of him…and it is all true. Mental health disorders can cause irrationality and behaviors that are incomprehensible. Yet, his stable self is amazing. During those stable times h has taught me so much, and he is honestly the answer to my prayers. Even in his most irrational state…he teaches me.

Damn it…I miss him. Not the evilness, but the goodness in him.

I’m feeling sooo many emotions…it’s hard to think and breathe.

I just want to wake up to find out it was all a dream/nightmare…especially if I have to live without him anyway.

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