Anyways. Completely besides the point, I guess.
It's been a while. In November I got this really great idea to go off my anti-depressants. Things were going okay at, Jeff and I were never better, money felt reasonable, life was good. I figured if there was ever a time to do it, that was then. Turns out I couldn't possibly have been more wrong.
I didn't tell him at first. Not that I didn't want him to know so much as I didn't want every mood, feeling and issue to be chalked up to 'she's a nut bag' and ignored. He found out by mistake, I don't really remember how. But, shock of all shocks, he was quite supportive. At first.
It didn't take long before he was doing exactly what I didn't want. And I was in a rage all the time. I felt so out of control and out on the edge. I remember feeling that way pre-Wellbutrin but it was a million times worse. Back then I didn't know how to express my feelings and kept everything bottled up. Well, seeing as I just spent five long years teaching myself to get things out, I was a complete and total nut bag. Okay, not complete and total.
I wonder how things would have gone if he didn't fly off the handle at me that night. Somewhat before that and completely after he acted like a dick. Just mean and cold. He said things to me that still bring tears to my eyes. Maybe I am a lightweight and I'm supposed to be able to take shit like that. Doesn't matter - it was uncalled for and unnecessary and so beyond unsupportive. Did I tell you he grabbed me while we were fighting? I had a bruise on my neck for a couple of weeks.
I honestly considered leaving him then. I told him I wouldn't make any decision until Christmas was over but I was pretty sure I was gone. And then Christmas was over and I wanted to go even more. So fucking inconsiderate and self-fucking-centered. But aren't we all? Probably me more than most.
I'm still here. We are getting along fine now. He had a meltdown when his ex didn't bring the little gem last week and I was supportive and helped him get through it and somehow it fixed what our problem was.
You see, the thing is... that's all fine and dandy but what about the next time it happens? And the next time? I told him there won't be a next time. He asked me to give him six months to prove that he can change, that he won't act like that again. I told him I would give him forever, but if he touched me -or even attempted to touch me- in anger again, it was over. No discussion, no chance, no way.
That all went down about a month ago. On his way down melt-down lane last week he started getting on with his bullshit and I warned him. I will go. And he stopped. Which is something, I guess.
The fact is, even though I sometimes don't want to be here, there is nowhere else I want to be. I love the mother-fucker. Even if it kills me? No. But we'll see.
