WillyKat
Diamond Member
I feel really alone today. Over the weekend, my wife saw me venting anger the way I do when I'm alone sometimes.
She gave me the "you're crazy and dangerous" look. I'm sure you all know that one. She later questioned that I was making any progress in therapy and hinted that maybe I should stop. Some background here: she doesn't believe in therapy. It's a family thing, see therapists "tell you you're crazy and then you're done." I won't bore you with all the details; let's just say that her parents grew up in a fascist, backward country, retained a lot of that kind of thinking, and passed in on to her as effectively as genetic code. And my wife just can't modernize her perspectives on things.
Once I collected my bearings, I told her that while it may not seem like it, I am making progress. At least the anger is coming out and not going inward. Of course, it's like talking to a turnip. If its more complex than black and white, she can't deal with it.
So do I excuse my little rages I have when alone? No. I loathe them, I wish they would go away, they don't make me feel any better. They are utterly worthless except that they at least aren't self-hate. I've been a lot better lately at managing them. But some days the absurdity of this "life" I have gets to me and I have to vent. I don't think anyone other than my wife has ever noticed it because I keep it so hidden.
More background: my wife I'm pretty sure is obsessive compulsive. I would not be surprised if she too had a bit of PTSD. She didn't have a good childhood. And while I try to feel compassion, right now I can't because I'm blinded by her stubborness and...let's be honest...stupidity.a
This morning in the shower I started to cry. I just feel abandoned, like it was when I was six (or five or WTF) and so completely alone. Now it's two hours later and I don't feel much better, except that I know I'm not alone. I have this forum, some close friends, and my shrink.
But damnit why is it that the one person that took a vow to be there for me can't even pick up the PTSD book I asked her to read? Why does it have to be that she questions the very idea of therapy? Why in Hell is it that she can get close to tears hearing about an abused child on the news, but not give a rat's ass about the one she lives with?
Sorry for the incoherent rant. I'm on this forum and responding to posts trying to be helpful. And much of the time I'm just pretending that I don't need it myself, that somehow I'm in a position to help others when I'm so damn weak.
She gave me the "you're crazy and dangerous" look. I'm sure you all know that one. She later questioned that I was making any progress in therapy and hinted that maybe I should stop. Some background here: she doesn't believe in therapy. It's a family thing, see therapists "tell you you're crazy and then you're done." I won't bore you with all the details; let's just say that her parents grew up in a fascist, backward country, retained a lot of that kind of thinking, and passed in on to her as effectively as genetic code. And my wife just can't modernize her perspectives on things.
Once I collected my bearings, I told her that while it may not seem like it, I am making progress. At least the anger is coming out and not going inward. Of course, it's like talking to a turnip. If its more complex than black and white, she can't deal with it.
So do I excuse my little rages I have when alone? No. I loathe them, I wish they would go away, they don't make me feel any better. They are utterly worthless except that they at least aren't self-hate. I've been a lot better lately at managing them. But some days the absurdity of this "life" I have gets to me and I have to vent. I don't think anyone other than my wife has ever noticed it because I keep it so hidden.
More background: my wife I'm pretty sure is obsessive compulsive. I would not be surprised if she too had a bit of PTSD. She didn't have a good childhood. And while I try to feel compassion, right now I can't because I'm blinded by her stubborness and...let's be honest...stupidity.a
This morning in the shower I started to cry. I just feel abandoned, like it was when I was six (or five or WTF) and so completely alone. Now it's two hours later and I don't feel much better, except that I know I'm not alone. I have this forum, some close friends, and my shrink.
But damnit why is it that the one person that took a vow to be there for me can't even pick up the PTSD book I asked her to read? Why does it have to be that she questions the very idea of therapy? Why in Hell is it that she can get close to tears hearing about an abused child on the news, but not give a rat's ass about the one she lives with?
Sorry for the incoherent rant. I'm on this forum and responding to posts trying to be helpful. And much of the time I'm just pretending that I don't need it myself, that somehow I'm in a position to help others when I'm so damn weak.