Kleenex

9:56

As I said, K is hard.  That title is part ironic, part not. A Syrian refugee who survived being gassed and tortured was just in our home to visit (he is a friend of Daniel’s — you didn’t suspect that about Daniel, did you? He’s magnificent in many ways. That is what is so hard about him.) I understand that suffering is relative. I understand that my pains, amidst money in the bank, good health, and a safe place to sleep for me, my child, and the people I love, are not world-ranking pains. But they are my pains, nonetheless, and while they are not everything, they are not nothing.

Today has been one of the worst days of my life.

It is hard to live with and face — literally look in the face — someone you have hurt. Shame is that powerful.

Why is it that the offenses that I cause, the annoyances, the bitchiness, even, have to be rebuked with such vigor — the death penalty for jaywalking — while Daniel’s appalling behavior must be forgiven and forgotten instantly, and no trace of a wound is allowed? We come back to that every time. My resentment is making me insane.

I apologized to him for genuinely being bitchy and tried to explain, tried to ask for understanding, tried to say, “It’s just important to me, and I want you to see it,” and got more rebuke, piled on. More explanations of why I can’t feel what I feel and want what I want (a clean kitchen to come home to when I’ve been away. A washed pot. A cared-for dog. It’s not so much is it? Either to do without or to do.) And then he rebuked me for not asking him how he was doing. It’s like a maze, and I can’t live in it anymore. I literally didn’t want to look at him, I felt so bad, and I can’t tell whether it’s about him or me.

The stakes are impossibly high. Neither of us can forgive or stand down. Daniel is being sweet today. I’m thinking of self-harm, and trying not to cry all day.

And then I think I deserve it, because in the past I have told him that he can’t have what he wants, because there is dinner to be made, and laundry to be done. I haven’t taken his needs more seriously than my own. That’s what he said last night that killed me: “I put your feelings ahead of my own.” Which is true in this instance. Not true when he’s telling other women he loves them, but in those cases my feelings can’t matter. And he goes on and on about fairness.

I’m about to lose my job because the money isn’t coming in fast enough and there are significant hurdles to big grants.

Milo is cracking under our strain. He wants to know that we are not getting divorced. It is hard to reassure your child that you are not getting divorced when every cell in your body is screaming for an escape from a marriage that is untenable.

I need help. I need someone to send help, and there is no help forthcoming. My friends are busy. God is hard to interpret. I need help right now.

If Daniel saw me crying right now, he would lose it. A Syrian refugee was just in our home, and I am crying over…what? I don’t deserve to cry over an unloaded dishwasher and a badly behaved dog and an unwashed pot. And a broken broken broken heart.

I think I’m too damaged for anyone to love again. I have to remind myself that divorce is not merit-based. I do not have to prove that he is worse and I am blameless or perfect. Nor do I have to be blameless or perfect to be loved, except sometimes in my house by my husband. I just have to say that I am sad and I have been sad for years and I don’t want to be sad anymore. “just” “just”

I will feel better, sooner than I think. I feel so bad now it’s hard to get my mind around it. I need help, and there is no help forthcoming.