Hmmm - he wouldn't consider counselling for one minute because there's nothing wrong with him. He's absolutely perfect - couldn't be more perfect.
He's on antibiotics at the moment for a chest infection and the GP also prescribed carbocysteine again.
I've just been to wake him as he's been asleep for the past few hours (he gets angry if I leave him downstairs and 'creep off to bed') and he started shouting at me for waking him up. I can't do right for doing wrong. He picks fault with every single thing - I'm trying my best to avoid him. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got home today and his car wasn't on the drive - but then I just sat anxiously anticipating him coming back and starting another blazing argument. He twists everything I say and turns everything into a nasty, vindictive battle. We go around in circles for half an hour. I say so what is it that you want me to change - we go around the houses again, he starts to realise he's an unreasonable arsehole and he says 'nothing' - and on it goes.
Then he carries on as normal/as if he hasn't called me all the names under the sun whilst I'm still stewing in the juices.
If I walk away and say I'm not playing this game he follows me and becomes even more incensed.
I dread getting out of bed now because I've no idea which battles I'll be facing. I think that when your mental health is on the downward slide your physical health suffers. I'm waiting for an MRI scan - which is on my mind. I feel like I just want to crawl into a corner and cry, howl, scream, collapse in a heap and never get back up again. Stop the world, I want to get off.
I'm conscious that all the pain and angst is reflected in my face (which is usually a good impression of a resting bitch face) but it's now magnified by this weight of hopelessness which has turned me into a miserable, utter wretch. I can't bear to catch sight of my reflection - I don't recognise the ugliness. He's turned me into something ugly.
I think I'm masking my new sham life adequately and then I'll spot myself in a window or shiny surface and I think that all my secrets are clear for everyone to see - just as I see them so clearly glaring back at me.
My children can accept that their father has changed but I can't - I don't know why I can't. But we do put it down to some sort of brain change and wonder if this is as good as it gets (one of my fave films).
One small bonus is that we are still in separate bedrooms - my little piece of calm where I seem to spending more and more time.
I feel bad because I know I should be 'on cloud nine' (whatever that is but it sounds positive) I have a lot to be thankful for. My son and daughters hold me up and keep me going, my grandchildren are just the best little characters. They are joyful - I love being with them, laughing with them - but I'm frightened that there's a point when I will no longer be able to laugh.
I'm worried that there will be a point when I'll just come to a stop. I feel like that point is rushing towards me. And I worry how that will affect my children.
I'm dreading this weekend. It could be fantastic or something completely .... I don't know any more. I can't think - my head hurts.