Venom on His Lips

Posted by meli on Tuesday, March 08, 2011 in doctors, marriage, mental heath, military/retirement | 3 comments

Contrary to what this post is about to depict; I'm doing fine. That is, of course, assuming everyone else uses the widely acceptable vague and bending boundaries of the word "fine". Yea, I'm fine. In day to day life; I'm fine. In parenting (even amidst one of my children's understandable and justified behavior of acting out); I'm fine. In not blaming myself (too much); I'm fine. In outward appearances (aside from the sleep deprived circles under my eyes); I'm fine. Even taking a look inside; I'm fine (read ... I could be a whole helluva lot worse). But I feel this bubble inside of me starting to churn. It's angry and frothing at the mouth to escape. I figure my blog is as good a place as any, right? I mean, it's going to have to come out if my "fine" is going to be able to go on.

Sooo, a supremely bitter, resentful, venge-filled rant is about to be spilled all over this place ... you've been warned!

Where the FUCK is everyone? I mean, seriously ... Where.The.Fuck!?!?!

I know he pushed and he pushed and he pushed, but where the hell is your compassion? Your understanding? Your loyalty in family or friendship? Really that easy to turn your backs? "Ahh, well, we tried, he obviously wants nothing to do with us", and wash your hands? No real effort there with your "trying", either, maybe a phone call or two. When they went unreturned ... "Oh well".

Even after learning of his diagnosis'. Even after learning of the trauma, both physical and emotional/mental that he endured and has been attempting to work through. Even after learning how alone, and scared, and helpless, and useless, and broken he feels. Even after learning how self destructive and harmful he gets. Even after learning he's been suicidal and locked up in a mental ward. Even after learning ... xyz ... still, nothing! Your family. Your friend. He's not worth your effort? He pushed you away, so fuck him?

He has needed support. More support that I am capable of offering. I'm usually his target. His enemy. The one he has to fight off. He's needed outside support to help him through his demons. WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!???  When he sees me as his target, and the only people in his life are other injured soldiers going through the same things, it's really fucking easy to feed off of each others destruction. There's a whole lot of justification and "camaraderie" in staying down in that hole (here, have another beer, that'll help. fuck your wife. fuck your children. they could never understand anyway). There's no help. There's no support. There's no slap back into reality. That's what you're supposed to be here for!!!

One of the things he's lost is his short term memory. Not to the extreme of it being completely non-existant anymore ... but it's severe enough that it landed him a 70% TBI disability rating. Why am I talking about memory and %'s ... because he has been forgetting to take his medication. His anti-depressants as well as his thyroid replacement hormone (the tyroid is a huge contributor to help level out his emotions, his moods ... so that he can relate to the world in a humane way ... being calm, rational, nice even. And the anti-depressants, since he DOES take them, need to be taken consistently for those same reasons). He hasn't forgotten all together to take them, he's just very inconsistent with it... which in my opinion is even worse then not taking them at all! The constant up and down, peaks and dives of hormones in his body are a prescription for disaster. The body can't tolerate it.  Just recently, for example... about two weeks ago he went a whole week before remembering he wasn't taking them, and then just last week another few days went by before he remembered. He's so defensive about not being capable of doing certain things anymore (like remembering to take a pill) ... he doesn't like to admit he can't do something, so he hides it, and doesn't let me in to help.

He was growing more and more angry during this time. More impatient. More accusatory. Acting more shady and secretive.

And whaddya know ... he's gone, again. Walked out, again. Last week. Coincidently the very day that he remembered about his medication, and downed a couple of them on the spot.

Yea, coincidence? Fuck that!
More like the "erratic behavior" side effect that comes from not consistently taking your prescription. Yea, that sounds more like it.

For the record ... I'm not in favor of anti-depressants (mood altering pills all together) in any way, shape, or form, but if someone WERE taking them already anyway, it's fucking crucial that they do so in an extremely consistent manner.

He walked away on a Wednesday. Just walked away; from inside our garage where we were arguing (about me asking him not to fix our cars brakes when he was so fucking upset). Got so pissed off at my lack of trust (like that's some big shock) that away he went. Didn't bother to grab his wallet. Or his phone. Or any clothes. Or ... his medication! Just screamed at me, and off he went. I finally tracked him down on Friday with a bag of his things (phone, wallet, work clothes, MEDICATION). Even though he was pissed off at me, and blaming me for every goddamn thing wrong in his life, I still made myself go to the effort of getting him his meds ... knowing his seams were popping because of the lack of control he felt over his emotions by not consistently taking them in the first place. It wasn't going to do anyone any good if he continued not taking them. And the thanks I got was more yelling, more accusations, more venom dripping from his lips and shooting from his eyes then I'd ever seen him throw at me. And him refusing, flat out fucking refusing to give a shit about our children.

I can rationally sit here and tell myself everything that I have in the past ... everything that I just said up there to those of you who turn a blind eye to this man going through the biggest struggle of his life. But emotionally, the words mean nothing to me anymore. I can't be his scapegoat anymore. I can't be his target. His enemy. I'm clearly not the person he wants or needs to help him through this awful phase in his life. And since he has NO ONE ELSE who truly cares about him, no one who will help talk him through his latest scene of destruction, lend him a hand, and an ear so he can clear his head and pick himself back up ... I suspect he'll stay filled with rage, and anger, and hate when it comes to me until - who knows when. In the end; no one wins ... and our children suffer most of all because of it.

But please, by all means ... return to your dinner like none of this fucking matters to you! Just like you have for years!