Why Why Why

Why Why Why

My husband has been having a tough time lately. What with working away a lot, so getting up early and getting to bed late due to travelling; coming home and been thrown two small creatures to deal with; added to this his wife going slightly crazy on him, weeping if she drops a spoon on the floor and generally breaking down in front of his eyes, it’s easy to see why.

So after my usually laid back man biting my head off for no apparent reason on several occasions, we sat down and had a chat and decided he needed some time to himself. Just a couple of days and nights where he could reclaim his sanity, have time to think, drink and play GTA.

Yesterday was the first of those days and as it happened I was down in London and his mum looked after the children, so all was fine. However today was another story. I didn’t get home until midnight last night due to train problems so today’s plan to be out at a training course was blown in the water. Although it may only seem a minor stress to most, my poorly brain couldn’t handle six hours sleep then thinking all day. This was demonstrated by the fact I slept for four hours when I got home this morning.

Anyway, once I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs I found my husband, slightly hungover, playing GTA, as he had planned. I think he may have grunted a hello, but I got little other contact from him. Fine, it was his day, I told myself. I grabbed some food and went to the front room to watch Downton, then planning on some housework and blog work. However as the minutes passed with him in one room, me in another and no interaction, I could feel myself getting anxious. I just wanted to talk to him, to be with him. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but the ignorance was making me anxious. I asked him if he could take a break so we could have a chat – and by this I genuinely just meant a catch up. However, as it always does, it turned into me.

Me being upset. Him getting mad because he had done nothing wrong yet felt I was having a go. Me getting more upset. Me hating myself for being upset and for ruining his time to himself. Me then worrying that by ruining his time to himself, he would still be stressed out. Me worrying further that because he was stressed he would be snappy and short and not able to be there for me. More worry how I could manage with my loving and supporting husband. Me hating more myself for all this. Me trying not to smash my head into the wall.

Me wondering why. Why. Why. Why.

It seems this monster is holding on tight.

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