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no more blue mondays
My husband's father tried to kill himself. Again. Sent him a casual email like, oh yeah, when you called me on my birthday I had already taken a bottle of pills and ended up in a psych ward for a week. “It was fun,” he said.
Seriously. How fucked is that. What a needy bitchy cry for attention!
He's tried to kill himself dozens of times. I can't believe this is still going on. I am so angry that my husband has to be like some sort of father to his own father. Or like some kind of lapsed drug buddy. His childhood was so fucked up because this guy is so fucked up. My husband's mom left when he was 3 and from then on it was just him and his trans-gender schizoaffective drug addict drug dealing dad. Having to move between Alaska and Minnesota every two years. Having to hitch-hike there and back. Only being able to take what he could carry in a backpack. Living in abandoned horse barns. Or, when there was a place to live inside, being surrounded by degenerate drug addicts and alcoholics. Living off welfare and free government food. Not exactly normal.
All my husband could say to his dad was “Suicide isn't supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be effective.” I am glad he finally stood up for himself. I really don't give two shits if this asshole kills himself or not, I am just upset at how upset it makes my husband.
Recently I had to un-friend his dad on facebook because he only contacted me when he was fucked up. So fucked up the words made no sense. I told him I was in recovery, and if he couldn't contact me when he was sober, then I couldn't be his friend anymore. He came back at me with anger and attacking me, saying I was dumping my shit on him and he could do whatever he wanted and blah blah blah. So yeah, he's a real winner.
So, because of the stress, my husband got dissociative and went out to “get some beer” and was gone for over two hours. He didn't take his cell phone and it was getting dark and I was worried. He ended up sitting in the woods watching the ducks. He seems to remember going out and coming home, so I guess it could always be worse.
This episode wasn't so bad. Having a compulsion to walk a long distance and get into nature is pretty low on the scale of things people do to handle stress. He said he just had to “go see things how they really are.” I am not sure what that means. I know what it means, but I can't interpret what that means to him. And I suppose it doesn't matter.
His father always triggers him and he wanders off into the woods. Usually he “wakes up” when he's out in the middle of them and gets lost. He doesn't remember going out, he doesn't remember how he got there, and sometimes he can't remember how to get home.
And there's nothing I can do about it. If I try to go with him he just gets psychotic and it makes everything worse. He starts chain smoking and swearing about nothing and having entire conversations with no one I can see. He's not a violent person. He's just psychotic. There is a difference.
At least he's not walking to another town and starting a new life with a new wife and shit. They say people with dissociative fugue disorder do things like that.
These are just the joys of living in a schizophrenic household. The anti-psychotic drugs didn't really stop this from happening, either. He just slept 12 hours a day, did nothing creative, and then when he got stressed, he'd be out in the woods anyway.
The saddest part is, at his final appointment with his shrink, he told him that he had been off the drugs for some time, that they didn't help, and he was thankful for the assistance he had gotten. Then the doctor starts crying and gives my husband the address of a holistic health center on the north side of town. I expected the usual threats of telling social security he was non-compliant and how if he's not medicated he'll end up in the hospital, but I guess this doctor is having an existential crisis of his own. Or, just all shrinks are crazy.
My husband's father is a trained psychologist, by the way. He is a master manipulator. He knows how to crawl inside your head and drain all the life out of you. He is a parasite. I hope my husband takes my advice and just blanks him for awhile. Don't read the emails. Don't take the phone calls. Just blank.
So, now we are recovering from that. I had to break down and have some booze. My husband did bring back some beer, so I had some. I just can't handle the psychotic breaks very well. Something triggers my husband, it makes me upset, and usually makes me go a little manic. It's better to just sedate myself and little and let it pass.
And, in the winter I tend to get eczema on my back and arms. I have to avoid taking showers that are too hot because that can just irritate my skin more. But I was stressed and took a really hot shower and just scratched the hell out of all my sores. I look down and my hands are bloody and there are scabs under my nails and I think well fuck now I have to deal with this kind of shit now too?
1:26 PM - Monday, Mar. 19, 2018
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