Notes, Vicodin, and Wounds


Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I excused myself to “put Trent down for a nap”. And I curled up in the bathroom, blanket wrapped tightly around me. A safe cocoon. A straight jacket.

The intrusive thoughts came in the silence. At first, they were indistinguishable from the rest of the noise. Then, one came out very plainly, rolling as a hardly audiable murmur from my lips.

“Why?” the sobs welled in my throat as the tears poured down my face. I smalled the sobs for as long as I could.

“I am so alone,” I whispered. My face contorted. My jaw tightened as my top teeth extended out. An enormous sob was lodged in my throat. With all of the power of will that remained, I silenced it.

“He doesn’t love you. If he loved you, he would have tried.”

“Your marriage has failed.”

The voices barraged me relentlessly with intrusive thought that had no real evidence. But the absence, the distance, was enough for me to formulate theories.

I was no longer slow dancing in the burning room. I sat at the piano, alone, playing out the most sour of melodies. This had been evacuated a long time ago. I took in a lungful of dark, black smoke, and now I was choking on it.

“You should runaway. Leave your phone and just hide. It doesnt matter that it’s 30F and raining. Leave this place.”

“I won’t give up my son.”

“Break shit. Starting with dishes and glasses.”

“And then take more of a shit storm than I can handle.”

“Take handfuls of pills to make you numb.”

The crying ceased, and besides the stirring, turning wheel in my head, I was tapped out.

Desperate, as people get before they die in a tragedy, I slinked back up the stairs and into the room. The house was silent, heavy with slumber. I reached into the back of the drawer. I took a vicodin, the drug that almost killed me the last time. I didn’t care. Come what may.

Grey suicide.

After I let the drugs settle in, I started the note. i explained the fundamental problems. No affection, save for the verbal foreplay. Disinterest and dismissal. Isolation and alienation. A communication block. Walking on eggshells to keep him happy and sane. Oppressive states of living, impossible expectations. All of the things I could never say to his face.

And that was only an overview.

I decided to move forward with my impulse to leave. I planned on leaving my phone and hiding away at the trestle. Alone. A place of refuge where no one would think to look. Save for Chris, who would be unlikely to consider it.

I went into the bathroom donning only a bathrobe. It was warm. I discovered a boxcutter I had hidden nearly a year ago. the temptation was irresistible. It was the only way to make these thoughts go away. To make it all disappear and usher in the empty mind born only from numbess.

To my dismay, it was dull. I had to tear at the flesh on my still shishy hip. Five lines. One for each year we have been together. I could have kept going. I stared at the bleeding cuts, satisfied with the pain and the amount of blood I had drawn.

And I looked up into the mirror at the red nosed, disheveled girl with the wild look in her eyes. Something primal existed there. That girl wasn’t me. I was staring at a loathsome stranger.

I got up, ready to sear my skin with the hottest water I could withstand. I was ready to shave every inch of my body. I scrapped and scratched away the flesh staining me. I wanted to wash this day away.

It didn’t end there. I returned to the upstairs to find him awake. I questioned, “Have you read my note?”

“No, I’ll read it later.”

“You really should consider reading it now.”

Another excuse, “I have to make dinner,” while he continued to surf Facebook.

“It’s really important,” I pressed.

“Not right now,” he protested.

I was pushing now, “Then when?”

“I don’t know. Later,” he dismissed some more.

“A later that will never come.” I thought of all of the unread emails I had sent that went straight to archive. Not even remotely close to a priority.

“Because I don’t want to ruin my Sunday. The only time I have to relax before I have to go back to working 50 hours a week!”

In my mind, I said, “Which you *CHOOSE* to do.”

“Fine. If you do not care enough about our marriage enough to take time to read this, then I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. it can’t go on like this.”

“If you want me to read this so fucking badly, then I will.”

“No, just X it out. I’m done.” I meant it. I was finished with this marriage.

He did read it, mocking some parts of it, as I expected. I knew it wouldn’t be well received. If I spoke these words aloud, I’d suffer more dismissal and rationalizations. I’d suffer more pain through his outrage, pointing out my selfishness, neediness, clinginess, and what he considered to be my inability to see beyond myself.

We fought some more downstairs. Not tearing out throats this time. But in a heated argument. He quoted, “regarded coldy like a business associate”.

“Yes. Not even as basic as friendship. I am not a part of your personal life. I am never let in. In fact, I am pushed away, even physically.”

“I was sick, you know, after drinking more than half a bottle of tequila.”

“You’re always sick. Headache, stomach ache, body ache, anything that can hurt does.”

Sarcastically, he said, “What am I supposed to do. Go to the doctor and say, ‘My wife is pissed that I have pains’?”

“Yes, something. No more excuses. I will not except them.”

“How is it that one of us is perfectly happy? i am completely content.”

“Because the other person bends over backwards to make the other one is happy! I walk on eggshells to take your feelings into consideration and not upset you. It’s suffocating!”

He paused to think. Apparently, I had touched on something.

I know he’s going through something. But, this is no excuse. I don’t deserve this isolation. I do everything to satisfy. I don’t ask for anything out of the question.

I just want to be shown love. Satisfaction. I want him to want me. All of me. To recognize my efforts. To be delighted by my displays. To feel warm.

We reconciled. But, it’s Monday. Back to business as usual. No emails, texts. I didnt want to talk to him after work. I wanted him to suffer. To question if I was alright.

I’m not.

I thought it could be made up. I’m sure another disappointing date is upon us. He did take the time to set something up, likely out of guilt that he didn’t in advance. I wanted to spend some time on the sofa. And I was asked to sit on the floor in proximity to the sofa he laid on.

Daggers. I expected it. I wasn’t devestated. I was despondent. i warned him I was close to shutting down, just a day earlier. When I shut down, it’s over. i’ve given up. It would only be a matter of time before someone calls it quits.

Once a person is out, they are out. A wall will go up, impenetrable. And i will spend my time doing what I want, without any regard for his wants or needs. he violated mine. I may end up done with all of that.

Two more days. I’ll give him by the end of Thursday, the actual day of our wedding anniversary. After that, he’s on his own.

No more threats. Action.

I cannot suffer many more disappointments and rejections.

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14 thoughts on “Notes, Vicodin, and Wounds

    • I never thought they would.

      I’m playing this by ear. I’m inching out. Not answering my phone. Not responding to texts. I’m pulling back for the great escape. I warned him. I told him that I was going to shut down on him if he didn’t do something. And when I shut down, it’s over. There’s nothing that will open me back up.

      This is me, Lulu, shutting down.

      There is progress. Minimal. Still playing it by ear. He has a deadline. Monday morning. If I wake up unhappy on Monday morning after the weekend, then it’s done. A separation has to happen.

      • I hope that is the plan you stick with. Please no more plans of overdosing on vicoden even though I love that stuff lol. No really, promise me you wont harm yourself anymore ok? You are the one already hurting. You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore. I know though that it is a way of dealing with inner pain, but it is a dangerous way in a lot of ways. Focus on what you need to do to make yourself happy.

        • It is dangerous. The urge was overwhelming. I wasn’t really planning to overdose, it was just a fleeting thought. In that case, I needed something that was going to bring me down from that frenzy. It did the trick mostly. That’s not an all the time thing. Let’s put it this way. I’ve had three doses since my surgery, one was for my surgery, one was for a tooth infection, and the other was for this.

          I can’t promise. Because, I don’t want to break my promise to you one day. But, I can promise that I will try to send out an SOS when I’m in a bad spot. That’s really all I can do.

          I am so happy to have a friend like you, Carla. I really am. When I think of all of the awful things, I really think how many people would be affected by it. Your support, advice, and everything else mean a lot to me.

  1. I understand that, I really do. There was a time that I took everything I could get my hands on just to escape from what I was going through. I just ended up throwing up all night. I am trying to be your friend. Sometimes I think that you think I am weird online and getting so much into your business. I am the kind of person that cares to deeply with some people. That is one reason I stay away because It hurts when you put so much into someone and then they casually dump you when the crisis is over lol. But Im not like this with everyone online. Actually you are the one worrying me above anyone else. I know Im not a big supporter of “stay together no matter what” but I have been through and helped other women through a lot of things and the odds are not good. I don’t want to get all Godish on you and try and get you to pray lol but I think this situation might take a miracle to get to where this man Chris can put enough effort into it to make you happy. So anyway, I am here, and I hope I never give you adive that makes it worse. hugs

    • In no way do I think you are “weird”. Do you know what I see you as? A friend that really cares. A war buddy sometimes, you know. We’re going through our lives tormented by some similar things.

      I like that you understand and don’t judge. I’ve had to face unfair judgements and cruel scrutiny my whole life. I’ve been put up against someone else’s impossible standards, just set up so someone else could have the satisfaction of watching me fail. (This is what I’m coming to believe about my mother.)

      You know what he needs? I realized it this morning. I was doing early morning yoga before anyone gets up. He came downstairs a little later, my phone in his hand, bitching, “What the hell are you doing down here. Your alarm has been going off and work me up!” His alarm was already going off.

      I growled at him. “I’m doing my yoga. You know, before anyone is awake. And your alarm is going off anyway, so shut the hell up.”

      He needs his ass handed back to him. Not in an obvious way, and not in a deliberately malicious way. In a scolding a child, putting my foot down way. Apparently, I haven’t been defending myself. So, I guess by not showing him that it is unacceptable to regard me in certain ways, and talk to me with disrespect, I was accidentally negatively reinforcing the bad behavior.

      You know, I’m a behaviorist and I don’t know why I didn’t consider that.

      So, anyway, he got up and asked me to get some coffee. I grumbled something. He didn’t hear me, so he asked again politely. I told him I would. And I did.

      After his shower, he came up and sincerely asked me to help pick out an outfit. This is pretty important, because he’s colorblind, and the corporate bosses are in today. After, he thanked me and admitted that he needed help, because he wasn’t sure if the colors matched up right.

      We talked on the way to work. He made it a point to sneak out while corporate was touring to call to say hi and have a little bit of a cigarette. I almost never get calls like that. It’s been years since I would get those extra effort calls.

      It seems as if I have to set a bar. So, I suppose we were both making bad assumptions. He figures I should already know he loves me. I figure he should know how to regard me. We both thought wrong.

      I’m not saying it’s fixed. Far from. But, I figured out the key. Treat him like a little boy.

        • The dynamic changes.

          I’m not a typical mother. Since I’m pretty much a single parent, I am my son’s nurturing as well as a disciplinarian. I have a very fatherly approach to discipline most of the time. Man up, kiddo. Life is hard. But, when he’s hurt, sick, or sad, I’m Mommy.

          Now, I haven’t always been this way with my husband. We started out as equal partners. Then, he became my caretaker. When he stopped playing that role, we kind of became independent of one another. Various roles played out. But, Mommy has never been one of them.

          So, it’s become clear to me that we’re in the midst of redefining our marriage. I have realized that he has recently attempted to take some kind of father role, which stirs something awful in me.

          My father and I get along as adults and friends. We can laugh together and hang out. But, we don’t have a typical father-daughter relationship. The only way he fulfills his role as a father is his need to protect me.

          When we were force into a parent-child relationship, because I was a child, he was a dictator. I’ve always been a free thinker and considered rebellious. I just wanted some space to find myself and figure life out. He wasn’t having it. I was very oppressed and stifled in my parent’s house.

          My father was verbally abusive. I think that’s what makes it hard for me to know when someone has crossed the line.

          Now, I don’t know what prompted him to attempt to parent me. Maybe, he’s trying to overcompensate for his parental deficiencies. I don’t know. And that’s where the bulk of the bad feeling and resentment comes from. I am not a child. I hated being a child. I am an equal. I demand to be treated as such, and given enough space and respect to be me.

          Thanks Carla. I have now nailed down exactly the problem. My discontentment grew with the parent (Daddy) dynamic shifted. Now, that’s the struggle. I am finally pissed off enough to stop letting this abusive father thing continue.

          So, I put my foot down, kind of like a child does when they’re so fed up with their parents. But, what I really needed to do was give it back to him. He seems to only learn through someone mirroring his actions externally.

          Bring on the scolding. Don’t worry, my parenting doesn’t usually involve any reactive, impulsive actions. My son feeds off provoking me. Natural consequences, reinforcing good behavior, and correcting misbehavior through revoking privileges and mirroring.

          Now, it will go more like this. He snaps at me. I snap back, and then scold, pointing out the misbehavior in a subtle way.

          He’s not dumb. In fact, he’s quite clever. One day, he will wake up and realize that I’ve been treating him like our kid. And he might be pissed, but it’ll have to be at himself. He might try to make a power grab, but not without being obvious.

          That will be another make or break point. By then, he will put it against himself, because he’d rather die than being accused of being a hypocrite, and he’ll see it. By then, he’ll have to figure it out. It won’t be mine anymore.

    • Tough spots toughen people up. It’s hard to see the forest through the trees. So, I don’t often see the rhyme or the reason. But, I always know there is one.

      As I’m moving along, working through this, I see that not only is this character building, but it is a make or break point in my marriage. Yeah, I’m scared as hell that it will break after all. But, I’ve accepted that I can’t go on like this, and I need to lay down the law. If it breaks, life will go on.

      I will find my way back to a clearing.

  2. Hi. I was thinking and wondering how you have been. Cleaning and laundry in the wee hours and your name came to mind. I finally checked my e-mail. I am glad you have done what you have done. I have gotten stronger, but then go weak again, tired of the whole thing. Stand your ground. I was too tired to fight and do the battle anymore. I have been told by some to stay away, but what message have I sent by running. I needed to stay and fight it out. I am going back to fight it out, to stake my claim, and give the ultimatum. To replant my flag. Thanks for your strength. I am sorry you were in such pain that lead to the state you were in. I understand. Don’t sweat the promises. I nearly caved but just kept calling the crises lines, talking and talking, etc.

  3. Pingback: I’m Going To Give All My Secrets Away « As the Pendulum Swings

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