My husband is diagnosed bipolar - I'm not sure of the specifics - and an addict. But, he's not ADHD, to my knowledge. I'm here because a google search on "I get angry with my husband and he turns it around on me" brought me here. There is a post by someone who wrote pretty much what I'm experiencing and feeling. I have to vent. I need to talk. I have a couple of friends, but they're having their own issues. I can also talk to my daughter, but that's so unfair to her because she also has her own issues. SO, I apologize for what I know full well is going to turn into a venting session or three... ::weak smile:: And I apologize for my wordiness... ::another weak smile:: Thanks for listening!
We just had another big fight. I'm frustrated, anxious, and I'm sick, so nauseated and have a headache. I want to say, "Maybe it's me," but I know it's not, really. I know that I certainly play a part, but the issues we're having, I understand co-dependency, I understand enabling, all that. I've even been to therapy alone, by myself, because the last time we had a big fight, he told me, "Maybe you should go to therapy and find out what's bothering you."
::Deep sigh:: So here we are again. I know I'm here because our fights are never resolved. I know I'm here because I never feel cared for, valued, or heard. This time, the fight was over cranberry sauce... I know my husband likes cranberry sauce, so when I cooked for Thanksgiving, I bought four cans. I went to bed on Wednesday, and when I got up Thursday, there were THREE cans left. He'd eaten a can overnight as if it were Jello. So, I was irritated, but I kept telling myself, "He's such a boy. That's so cute. Well, you knew he was going to do that, that's why you got four cans." I stuffed it. Then, with dinner, I opened and put two cans on the plate and in the back of my head I heard myself say, "There should be two cans for tonight, and two for leftovers tomorrow, but because he decided to have a can..." and then I left off, because I reminded myself that I thought it was so cute and boyish, and then I told myself to let it go. And I tried.
Backing up now to Wednesday, when my addicted husband went out and got at least five bottles of wine that I distinctly recall, and possibly more. Never mind all the times he has said he wouldn't drink wine anymore, and made all the vague promises of an addict about the wine... The last promise was, "If you get me wine, I'll never ask you again." And I enabled him by getting it, giving him and myself the excuse that he'd just had his second hip replacement in three months, and he wasn't taking opiates, and he needs something to dull the pain... This time, he didn't even ask me, he just got it on his own. Anyway, the reason I can't count for certainty is because of the way my husband "shares" or "metes out" the wine. He was already drinking by the time I'd gotten home from work, of course, so I don't know how much was consumed. Then, when I got home, he poured me half a glass and refreshed his glass. He "shared" the rest by waiting until he'd finished a full glass and I'd finished half of mine. Then, he'd refill my glass to the halfway mark, i.e., a quarter of a glass, and he'd refill his completely, i.e., half a glass. This went on until the night when I would go to bed, and he would continue drinking, sharing the wine as described. Why all the detail? Because it was like the cranberry sauce; most for me and a little for you.
Backing up now to a couple of weeks ago, and the promise he made about the wine... He asked for beer instead. When I reminded him of his promise, he said, "I promised not to ask you for wine." He smiled in such a boyish and charming way, and reminded me of his suffering, and told me that beer doesn't really get him high, anyway, but it takes the edge off the pain. So I indulged him. I got him some beer and I got myself Twisted Tea. When he finished his six pack, he asked me for some of my TT and said if I really loved him, I would share. Now, I like to have my beverages and space them out over the DAY. He finished his beer within two hours, maybe less. So, like the wine and like the stuffing, I caved and stuffed my feelings about it.
Finishing up this post, I promise... SO, back to my years before meeting my husband. I was a single mother for most of my daughter's life. Her father, who is also bipolar and an addict, was so out of control that I finally had to divorce him. Many of the years with my daughter and I were lean, and so I sacrificed MANY THINGS so that she could have a few things. I mostly sacrificed FOOD. I gave her the bigger portions. I sent her to school with lunch, and I went without. I'm not complaining about that AT ALL; besides, I was probably in the best shape of my life then. Anyway, the point is the sharing and sacrificing I did for her I find myself doing with my husband, but UNWILLINGLY. What do I mean? Well, we'd go to dinner, we would bring home doggy bags, and he would eat his AND mine. He wouldn't even ask, he would just eat it, and say, "if you snooze, you lose." Or we'd order out, and I'd order something I really liked so I could take it for lunch, and he would eat it during the night, saying, "Finders, keepers!" When I told him that bothered me, he would do things like call me at work and ask if he could have my leftovers for lunch, or before I went to bed, he would ask me if he could eat my leftovers if he got hungry in the night. AND I ALWAYS SAID YES... and I stuffed it. Then one day I got angry and blew up about it, and I explained why I felt the way I did. I told him I wanted to be in a place where I could just have my leftovers, or just have something to myself, after so many years of sacrificing for my daughter. He stopped eating my leftovers without asking and stopped asking for my food for a while, but it started up again. It finally got to the point the other day when he sent me a text that the dog drank one of my beers - yep, diffusion by humor tactics. So I stuffed it... And then the cranberry sauce happened.
It's such a small thing. I mean, rationally, I know it's a small thing. Except it's not - there's the bigger underlying issue that he's not even attempting to understand. And to make matters worse, this minor cranberry incident ended with me blowing up like a harridan, a harpy, a fishmonger's wife (all things that my mother used to call me - boom, more underlying issues), giving my husband an excuse to get angry and me for getting angry at him, with the end result that he's now freezing me out, refusing to talk to me, telling me that he can't forgive all the things I said to him, and that he needs space.
And, we've had these fights before, which are NEVER resolved, because fights always end one of three ways: He apologizes (about 60% of the time), hugs me and says "You know I love you, right?"; Or, I tell him what's bothering me, being very careful not to imply that he's at fault and telling him that I feel like I'm stuffing my feelings and we really need to go to therapy so that we can both talk about how we're feeling with a neutral third party (about 20% of the time); Or, I blow up (about 10% of the time) because I've been sublimating, I try not to call names, but I do throw MANY accusations at him, including telling him he's being passive-aggressive with me, or that he's being a shit then telling him that we never really resolve things and we keep on ending up HERE because we never really resolve things because he keeps avoiding discussions that involve emotions, especially his.
And so, here we are, again, and he told me this morning to make an appointment for therapy and he would be there.
Thanks for "listening"! Wish us luck. Provide any insights you feel apply; I will consider any and all.