Valentine’s Day Interrobang (not as dirty as it sounds…)

Valentine’s Day Interrobang (not as dirty as it sounds…)

February 13, 2013

“I can’t wait to see what you have planned for tomorrow night!” says my husband excitedly from across the room. We’re both putting away laundry and tidying our bedroom before bed. My blood runs cold and I feel like I am losing my mind.  

“What are you talking about? Don’t you remember ranting the other day about what a bullshit holiday Valentine’s Day is and how you refuse to buy me something just because some asshole decided that you had to on that particular day? I’m doing nothing for you, because I thought that’s what you said you wanted!”

I hold my breath and await his response. This can’t be good. He was so furious the other day, and now his mood is up in a way I can not comprehend. 

“Well you’re wrapping up chocolate hearts and candy for your dad and for River, so I figured you must be doing something for me.” he mutters in the sulky manner he has which is enough to control my every thought and move. 

“Garrett, you were so angry about the holiday the other day that I thought I was doing what you wanted by doing nothing. I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to disappoint you.” It appears as though I thought wrong. 

He is glaring at the wall, looking furious and hurt. 

“Well, YOU don’t think it’s a bullshit holiday, so YOU should be doing something for me. You make me feel like I don’t matter to you at all.” He is very angry, and very hurt. 

What?! I am so numb to the spurts of adrenaline that shoot through my body when I have an interrobang moment these days that I barely even feel it. I am trying so hard to be a good wife so that he will finally be able to be happy, but nothing I do seems to please him. 

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. That’s never the right move, but neither is trying to explain my thought processes. That gets me accused of being argumentative, when I am attempting to explain that I do love him, and that I am trying my best to be in this relationship. 

“Well, would you like to do something tomorrow?” I venture…

“NO.”

Maybe an apology will help, although I really did think I was doing the right thing by doing nothing. It doesn’t. In fact, it makes things worse. 

“You always apologize and then your behaviour doesn’t change! I can’t believe anything that you say! I don’t think you actually care about me at all! Being in a relationship with you has destroyed me!”

I don’t understand how I always get things so wrong. My stomach feels sick and I just feel completely numb. Like I’m not even in my body. I know that I need to find a way to make him feel better so that he won’t stomp around and be mean to our son and my Dad, who is staying with us for a few months. The attempt to keep the emotional climate of our house happy or calm is a losing battle, and I worry incessantly about the effect this constant stream of seething hatred for me is having on the mental health of our child. 

The first time he had an affair, when River was 1, he said that I had tricked him into marrying me, that I had pretended to be this amazing person but really I was an awful, negative, horrible, frigid person. He told me to get myself into therapy and fix myself. I did get into therapy, but it was difficult to make headway because I had no ability to trust my emotions or intuition. I just wanted to do what I had to do to appease him. He said that he had to get away from me to save himself. 

The second time he had an affair, when River was seven, he told me I was crazy for pointing out the exact parallels between the first affair and the things that were happening in the present moment. Again, it was my fault for being a horrible person. Never mind that he had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder II and I was seeing signs of hypomania, the exact signs that he had previously told me he lies to his psychiatrist about because he loves the way it feels. 

Never mind that when River was seven, family services had gotten involved when a psychologist called in a report after watching River and I in a therapy session from behind a mirror. His abuse of our child was my fault, because I was such a horrible parent that our child was out of control and he had to step in. 

“How can they let you teach other people’s kids when you can’t even control your own?!” Interrobang.

“When River grows up to be an out of control criminal it will be your fault because you won’t let me correct his behaviour with systematic use of corporal punishment!” Interrobang me hard.

“Doctors don’t know what they’re talking about! I could have this kid cured if you would let me spank him every time his pull up is dirty!” The fact that I won’t “let” him doesn’t stop him from doing it. Interrobang me hard, baby. 

This child who is five has paralyzed inner sphincters and GI disorders that are so out of control that he leaks poop and is still in pull ups. That’s my fault too. 

I know that in this present moment, the day before Valentine’s Day 2013, I have no choice but to try and calm things down because I can not leave him. I can not leave my child alone with him for a week at a time if we have joint custody, and he has said in the past that if I ever left him he would take River out of spite. I can not let myself feel the fear in my heart or it will consume me, so I spend most of my time holding my breath and walking on eggshells to keep the peace. The way I thought I would be keeping the peace by not participating in Valentine’s Day due to his intense hatred of it. 

“You don’t think that Valentine’s Day is bullshit, so you should be doing something for me.” he repeats. 

“I don’t know what is wrong with me, that I keep getting things so wrong.” I say, and then I beg him to tell me what I can do to make things right. 

“Nothing. You’ve just proven that you don’t love me at all.”

After hours of going in circles and me not being able to understand what I have done wrong, which infuriates him even more, I apologize again and he goes to bed. I go downstairs to clean up from the day and get River into his PJs and do bedtime stories. I am not really present, because my mind can’t stop spinning and I am looking for some way to understand how I constantly mess up and make my husband feel alienated and worthless. 

I feel worthless. I feel like a complete failure as a wife and mother. I feel like I am going crazy. Like I might actually lose my mind and as a result, lose my child when he convinces a court that I am insane and he has to take full custody. I feel… rage. 

This brief moment of rage gives me a moment of clarity. He specifically said that Valentine’s Day is bullshit. Why would I do something special for him if he would think it was bullshit? He would have been angry with me for wasting money and not respecting his wishes. A tiny piece of me that has been buried surfaces and says This is insanity. You thought you were doing the right thing. You WERE doing the right thing! Don’t let him make him feel crazy all the time! You are NOT crazy. This is no way to live. 

The next day, Valentine’s Day 2013, I make a promise to myself and seal it with a gift. If my husband isn’t going to get me anything for this bullshit holiday, I’ll get something for myself. I find a small booth at a convention I am attending where a teen has made some cool steampunk jewelry and I find a piece called “Key to my Heart” which reminds me that I hold the key to my own heart, and therefore my mind. My heart has been locked for decades in an attempt to survive. My mind is fighting hard to find solutions, to change my behaviour in such a way that everyone around me will be OK. My locked heart has resulted in the lockdown of many areas of my mind. The two are intertwined, no matter how desperately I attempt to keep them as far away from one other as possible.

I know that I am being horribly emotionally abused. I know that my husband has horrible mental health struggles and I feel guilty because I can’t seem to make him feel better. I also feel guilty because he has told me that being in a relationship with me MADE him bipolar, because I am such a terrible person. 

I know that I am barely holding on in an attempt to give my child a decent upbringing and keep some semblance of peace at home. I can not acknowledge this most of the time, otherwise I would not be able to function, and that is not an option. For a brief moment, in this very public place, I sob. I haven’t cried in years. I didn’t think I actually COULD cry anymore. I promise myself that one day I will figure out how to relate to people emotionally without damaging them. My child is not OK, my husband is not OK, and it is clearly my fault even if it isn’t, because I have not been able to find a way to fix my child’s chronic health issues nor have I been able to find a way to help my husband navigate his mental illness. 

I hold the key to my own  heart. I vow to keep it safe by remembering that I am not insane, that I am doing everything I can, and that I have to be able to protect my child from the emotional trauma of living in our home. I make myself a promise that I will become whole, no matter how much he tries to break me. 

Epilogue

I was single for nearly a decade after he finally moved out. Thirteen years later, I have panic attacks when my boyfriend is nice to me, I still second guess any intuition I have, and I have panic attacks when I feel any sort of intense emotion, even happiness or hope or joy. I assume that I am constantly being lied to by my boyfriend, which is a terrible feeling because I know that all of these lingering effects probably make me a terrible person to try and have a relationship with and one day he will realize that I am not worth the effort.

Love is complicated. Love is beautiful. Love should never hurt, nor should it make you question your sanity or character or worth. Love yourself. Love whoever is around to be loved. Happy Valentine’s Day.