Wife Swap (?)

I realize that I owe you all an update (yes, I actually AM aware of the passing of time in this crazy life of mine) but instead I am writing this in response to Kristle's recent SpouseBuzz article about Wife Swap (read her post HERE).

Having never actually watched an entire episode of Wife Swap, it is tough for me to say whether or not I would be willing to do this show (I am guessing NOT....and it is a moot point because Jarhead would NEVER agree to this!!!) however, even if I was willing to swap, and even if hubby agreed to it, I know for a fact that the show's producers could NEVER find anyone willing to take on my insane life for any period of time.

The manual I would have to leave for anyone so crazy would probably go something like this:


"Welcome to our insane asylum. If you did not bring your own meds, well sorry - you'll wish you had. If you feel the need to 'borrow' some, borrow mine, they're the BEST.  But they always run out, so good luck with that.  In an emergency, you can borrow my 'backup meds':

As you will notice when you enter our home, dust is a NOUN here, not a verb.  (it is something that is HERE, not something I DO)  If this bothers you, feel free to waste your time constantly shifting the never-ending supply of dust from one surface to another.  I prefer to spend my time tending to the needs of all the men in my life:




This is Jarhead.

He is always right. Don't question it, just know that he IS always right. He has a charming mix of Bi-polar symptoms and O.C.D., with A.D.D. tendencies and some violent anger outbursts thrown in for fun. I am pretty sure this is actually undiagnosed PTSD, unless maybe he is taking asshole pills behind my back.  DON'T POKE THIS BEAR.  He doesn't regularly take any meds, much to my dismay.  Your best bet is to provide timely meals that are at least a little appealing, with plenty of salt and cold Coke Zero.  Desserts help, too.  Serve with a remote control on the side, and stay out of his line of sight.  Do NOT, under any circumstances, make fun of his incessant channel surfing.  He is only home 3 out of every seven days, so just keep the peace while he's home, and you can breathe easier and stop walking on eggshells for four straight days.




This is Bonehead. 

He will be 18 in 149 days, but who's counting? He is ridiculously funny, but even more ridiculously inappropriate.  If you are easily offended, bring ear plugs or an iPod so you can ignore him.  99.9% of everything that comes out of his mouth is a meaningless joke, anyway.  He can be trusted to babysit the toddler for a few hours at a time, but be prepared to come home to this scene if you take advantage of this:

(yes, that is a baby asleep in a laundry hamper)

Bonehead can also be very violent if provoked, and stands a full 6' 4" so don't poke THIS bear, either.  His primary trigger is anyone mentioning his Asperger's Syndrome, or anything that he perceives to be a reference to this.  One recent meltdown started with me saying, "you would be good at X" because he assumed that my reason for thinking he would be good at it was because of his Asperger's.  Just give him something constructive to do each day, and give very clear & concise instructions. If you leave room for interpretation, YOU WILL GET his interpretation (and it won't match anything you could ever come up with on your own).  Ask him to show you his speed-solving skills with his Rubik's Cube - this is phenomenal to see, and he is always happy to show off.




This is Knucklehead.

He is our 'perfect child'.  Or was, until he hit middle school. Now he occasionally brings out a teenage attitude, but generally uses this to go pout in solitude.  He can be trusted to watch the toddler, but is not great about changing diapers - so limit your errands to 2 hours or less, if you leave Knucklehead in charge.  He will spend his free time playing videogames, shooting hoops at the park down the street, or playing with his little brother.  He is low-maintenance, but don't forget to give him some attention or you'll see that attitude I mentioned above.




This is Bobblehead.

He loves eggs and hates being told what to do.  He knows he is cute, so beware! He will use those dimples against you if he can.  He naps pretty well (finally!) and sleeps through the night, but is very dependent on certain routines and comfort items to make this happen.  See the 'sleep manual' provided in a separate volume. He wiggles during diaper changes, as he seems to think his purpose in life is to streak around the house naked.  He throws a mean tantrum, but can usually be distracted from a fit with a ball; any ball will work, but basketballs are his favorite. He also loves splashing in water... ANY kind of water (keep bathrooms off limits or he will play in the toilet)

His language has been a little slow to develop, but is now picking up, so you can expect him to learn hundreds of new words during your stay here.  Please don't teach him any four-letter-words, as I have worked very hard to curb my own swearing to keep him from repeating anything that might embarrass me, say, at church.  Or at the Christian Preschool where I teach (that's another whole manual there).  Bobblehead gives the BEST cuddles, so if there are no 'meds' or 'backup meds' in the house, his snuggly hugs and kisses should get you through the rough days.  They certainly do for me."

What would you put in your manual, if you went on Wife Swap? Post in the comments below, or better yet make a blog post about this and put the link in a comment below :)

As always, THANKS SO MUCH for reading!


   

did i say that out loud???

Just a warning right from the start - this post might piss a lot of people off.  That is NOT my intention, however, human nature being what it is, I know that it is a likely result.

My intention in sharing this is actually twofold - I need to get some negative crap off my chest, and I want to bring awareness to the struggle that so many other spouses like me are going through RIGHT NOW.  Maybe you know one, and maybe you'll approach her differently after you read this (?)  Or maybe you'll just sit down and write me a nasty email for being honest.

So, you know that scene in Jerry Maguire, where he basically has a nervous breakdown & then a manic episode, during which he writes his mission statement (the title is something like, 'the things we think but do not say') and he makes sure that EVERYONE in his company gets a copy........then he wakes up, realizes that he wants to take back EVERY WORD, and then realizes it is too late?  Yeah, THAT moment.  Have you ever felt like that?  I have a feeling I will feel that way within about 15 seconds after I click "PUBLISH POST" but I am posting this anyway, knowing that it actually NEEDS to be said.  My integrity won't let me delete this post for the sake of being politically correct, or for the sake of looking like the dutiful, obedient mil-spouse I am supposed to be.

FUCK THAT.  Oh yeah, sorry, language advisory. *AHEM*

Anyway, the thought that has sprung into my head at least a couple of times in the past 14 months, the one that will probably make you want to slap me, is one that I really can't SPEAK OUT LOUD.  I'm actually shaking as I type this, because even putting it out in the blogosphere is so very taboo.  The horrible thought is this little tiny voice in the back of my head, that I can barely hear over the wails of despair over a particularly rough day/night/week dealing with my (invisibly)wounded hubby.....the voice is mine, and whispers, "why couldn't he have just DIED over there?"

Before you rush off to write me hate mail for saying this, please read the rest of this post!

I absolutely do NOT wish that my hubby was dead!  Nor do the other thousands of women who are the primary caregiver/support to a wounded warrior - whether his wounds are visible or not, treatable or not. These men return home but are no longer themselves, and we, their wives, girlfriends, or mothers, take on the daunting task of helping them figure out WHO they are now, and how that new man fits into society, into our families, into our LIVES.

In my case, my hubby has refused to get help for what I am now certain is PTSD.  Some days I would swear he is bi-polar, other days schizophrenic, other days BOTH.....and some days, very very rarely, I would say he is HIMSELF, the same man who left here in May 2010, kissing my pregnant belly goodbye.  Those rare 'good days' are such a gift, but at the same time they leave me hurting SO MUCH MORE.  Those days are part of what makes me subconsciously 'jealous' of the brave war widows I know.  Not really jealous, but I can't come up with a better word.  You see, a widow has to endure an entire life without ever seeing her love again.  She KNOWS he is gone, and is never coming back.  She can grieve publicly and privately, and move forward with whatever new life she's able to make for herself.  She gets to cherish the memories of her hero as she last saw him.....maybe he even kissed HER pregnant belly goodbye.

For me, the random glimpses of my husband's old self - his REAL self, are just such a merciless tease.  Those moments make me think that maybe he really IS coming back to me, completely whole.  And when he slips farther away from me, having a terrifying blowup, or meltdown, or just plain shutting down altogether, I GRIEVE all over again.  Hate me for saying this if you must, but emotionally, it is as though he has DIED several times just in the past six months.  Every time, I go through the cycles of grief all alone, in private, and if I get to that lowest of low points and hear that little voice whispering 'why didn't he just DIE over there'....then I go through days, weeks, or even months of GUILT just for having that thought.

Again, it's not that I WANT him dead, but when this burden becomes so heavy, I secretly steal a glance at one of my amazing widow friends (you know who you are!) and wish I could trade my load for hers.

Any wife of a Wounded Warrior will admit to having this very thought at least ONCE.  If she denies it, she is either lying, or hasn't walked this road far enough yet.....she'll get there, I promise.


The important thing, of course, is when we DO get there, when we hit our emotional rock bottom, we have to learn to BOUNCE.  And I think the first step is to talk about what 'rock bottom' actually looks like, feels like, and sounds like.  Even if it is just a little whisper that we don't want to acknowledge, much less say OUT LOUD.

more running to stand still

I've been trying to sit down and blog for the past few days, but just don't know what to say.  I even missed Amber's music linkup for the first time EVER. This week has just sucked SO BAD.  I posted earlier in the week about some of the struggles we're dealing with as a family, but can't even really put into words what I'm actually going through right now.

Bonehead came home yesterday, but has been a complete jerk since he got here.  I feel like I'm bending over backward to please everyone and all it gets me is kicked in the teeth.  I seriously think that I will soon be the mother of a HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT.  Sad thing is, this kid is such a genius! He's throwing so much away right now.  I did make it clear to him that I am on his side, and that is exactly WHY his last day to live here will be Nov 24 (his 18th birthday).  Seems I'm good at kicking people out, huh? :(

Speaking of which, I finally talked to my hubby for a few minutes on the phone yesterday - first contact we've had since I asked him to leave last Monday following his meltdown.  He is still very angry about pretty much everything, mostly just mad at ME at the moment for making him go.  It's not like he left me any choice, the way he blew up here!  I'm a little bit scared that he'll blow up like that at work, where he carries a gun.....the consequences could be SO MUCH WORSE than just having to go stay with his grandmother for awhile.  Not scared enough to actually call his supervisors to warn them or anything, but still it's a little nagging worry in the back of my mind.  I'm also a little scared that he will retaliate financially against me & the kids - you know, stop paying the mortgage, etc. I have a new job starting this week, but it will basically only be enough to feed us & that's it - I can't pay any of the other household expenses with the little bit of money I'll be making.  And, when I look at this honestly, I am still scared that he could come back here to confront me, try to force his way into the house, etc, and this time really hurt someone.  If I was not physically afraid of him, I would not have asked him to leave to begin with.

I keep waiting for him to call and actually APOLOGIZE to me.  Not a weak, "I'm sorry your feelings were hurt" kind of thing, but a true, "I'm sorry, can you forgive me?" kind of thing.  Maybe with flowers, I guess, I don't know.  But he's not anywhere near even recognizing how far he went this time, and even if he does recognize that he crossed a line, he won't admit that to anyone else.

I reach for my phone several times a day to call or text him, but I always manage to talk myself out of it, knowing he really needs some time and some space to figure things out right now.  It is SO HARD for me to just leave it be....but I know in my heart that I HAVE TO leave it, for now at least.  So I keep busy instead, and by the time I even have TIME to call or text him, it's well past bedtime.  He turns his phone off when he goes to bed, so at least that normally keeps me from acting on the urge to at least CHECK on him.  Last night after a glass (or 3) of wine, I finally did send him a sappy text about how I will always love him, even if it has to be from a distance.  He didn't even get the text until late this morning, and of course now that I am sober I'm kicking myself for sending it.

MUST. RESIST. TEMPTATION.

:/

This is one of the hardest things I have ever done, but now I have to look at this as though I am the parent and Hubby is the child here (because psychologically, he kind of IS....or at least is acting like a child!)  If I give in and let him come home WITHOUT getting help, he'll never get help.  On top of that, he'll never take me seriously again, which would then be setting me up for a lifetime of abuse.  I CAN'T live that way, and I sure as hell don't want my boys to grow up seeing that example of how to treat a woman!  I put my foot down, and now I have to stand by my word.....he can NOT come home until he has gotten some help - at least counseling, preferably coupled with some pysch meds.  The meds part is not a deal breaker for me, but I know he could be so much more functional/content/HAPPY with a llittle chemical help right now.

*sigh* Well, off to do a little more running nowhere - literally this time, on a treadmill.  Then I'll run around and stay busy the rest of the day so I won't follow up that text with a 'please come home' text.  I really do miss him, but even when he is HERE, he's not really himself anyway - not since Afghanistan.  I want my REAL hubby back!  The one I would never have needed to be AFRAID of.  The one who used to laugh and play and LIVE his life.  OUR life, together.   I'm pretty sure THAT man is never coming back, and the grief over that is overwhelming.

prayer request

I don't usually do this, but am asking you all to please say a prayer for my family tonight.  Last week my teenager, AKA "Bonehead" ran away - he is safe at a friend's house for now, but needs to come home and handle things here......he's risking throwing away his last opportunity to graduate this year, and therefore losing his best opportunity to get into the military.

On top of the teenager issues, my marriage is in trouble, AND my hubby is struggling with more mental health issues (which he STILL has not gotten help for).... this morning he lost his temper to the point that he got physical.  No one was hurt, but he scared the crap out of all of us.  I had to ask him to leave.  It breaks my heart to be the one who is 'kicking him out' when he so clearly needs a LOT of love and patience right now, but I can't risk him hurting me or the kids in a blind rage.  I'm seriously hoping and praying that this will be the final straw for him, the one thing that will MAKE him go and get help.

He has gone to a few counseling sessions in the past year, but I know he is not being honest with the therapist - so how is she supposed to help him?  He's been referred to a psychiatrist, and WOW, if anyone needs psych meds right now, it's my husband - but he "doesn't have time" to go see the psychiatrist. I pray that he will now MAKE time, and will take his mental health as seriously as he's always taken his physical health.

I truly hate to air our dirty laundry here like this, but you already all know how much we've struggled with his mental health issues (and MINE) since he returned from deployment 14 months ago.  The 'reintegration' ugliness is mostly over, but if he doesn't find a way to heal his mind, it won't matter.

Please, just say a prayer for peace and health for my whole family.

THANKS.

weathering life's storms

Ever since I said I was going to be more honest on here about what my life has been like dealing with hubby's PTSD "issues" I feel like I have had total writer's block.

It's just, I don't know where to begin!  There are these crazy emotional storms, if you will.  Sometimes I can't tell if the storms originate from HIM, or from ME, but either way I never know if they'll be gentle like a spring rain, or sudden but short like a summer thunderstorm, or downright deadly like Hurricane Irene.

Like, a few weeks ago in one of our more bizarre arguments, he actually accused me of stealing/hiding his logo t-shirts.  (regular t-shirts with a logo on them, mostly surf/skate types like O'Neil or Quicksilver, even though he has never surfed OR skated). He has always worn these t-shirts, and when he got home from this deployment he started buying new ones compulsively.  Shopping compulsions are not new for him, but have always been tied to some sort of emotional distress, so I should have seen that as a cry for help way back in Dec/Jan, at least. 

We have issues already with fitting our clothes into our drawers/closets, so by about March I got fed up and said something to him.  We were in Costco and he was looking at the shirts there, excited by the great price, I guess...and I snapped and said, "PLEASE don't buy any more t-shirts until you get rid of some of your old ones!" So he claimed he couldn't FIND any of his white logo t-shirts, and then made a point to complain about this again several more times over the following weeks, usually while buying more shirts. Of course I went home and checked his drawers to make sure I wasn't imagining the t-shirt surplus, and I started having HIM put his clean t-shirts away after I washed and folded them, so he would at least see what I meant about not having room for any more of them. 

I didn't mention it again until I saw him wearing YET ANOTHER new logo shirt, and I asked him if he finally got rid of some of the old shirts.  He completely LOST IT, yelling at me for stealing/hiding his clothes or something, because he can only find 2 white logo t-shirts.  This man has always been incredibly organized, to a point that they probably put HIS picture next to the phrase "anal retentive" in the dictionary....but the day he blew up about the shirts, he had t-shirts in four different drawers (all full, of course...I counted 17 clean white logo t-shirts, plus all the grey, blue, etc and that's not even counting the 7 or 8 that were cycling through the laundry at that point!) and he had only checked one drawer before he panicked that they were all "missing".  That by itself was a serious short-circuit in his usually precise brain, but the delusional stuff.....the idea that I would for some reason sabotage his efforts to freaking GET DRESSED - that only hints at our biggest problem: he thinks I am the enemy.  He is so convinced that I am somehow out to get him, it is no wonder he can't fully trust me, or open up to me, or CONNECT with me.  Why would he want to connect with the enemy?

I can't even begin to describe how painful that is, in and of itself....knowing that he sees me that way.  There are times that I can really tell he is trying, and that maybe he even understands that those views are, in fact, delusional.  But he still treats me as the enemy most of the time.

The craziest part of this is the calm between the storms.  We probably have one major blowup a week (sometimes a fight, sometimes just one-sided yelling) and then 3 to 5 small ones.  Considering his work has him gone for 4 days straight every week and home for a max of 3 days, that's a LOT of storms (especially since we don't even have make-up sex any more). But in between fights, it's almost like nothing is wrong - at least to anyone observing us.  I don't know if we just keep up appearances for the kids' sake, or if maybe we cling to those moments of normalcy, wondering when the next storm will hit and how severe it will be?

Right now another storm is brewing, and I can't tell if I should find a shelter somewhere, or stand there shaking my fist at it, daring it to do it's worst.  I do know that I am strong and prepared and capable, but am so afraid of the BIG STORM coming someday.....the one that no amount of preparedness/prayer/strength/luck can possibly stand up to.  The one that will end me, maybe end us both.

In the meantime, all I can do is try to enjoy this little bit of calm before the storm - these precious few moments that allow me to actually blog about it all.  At 2:30 in the freaking morning.