Stuck in Marriage Hell
Men can do asshole things at times. With that said, I’m not a man and I do asshole things at times. I’m not certain where to begin the story on my current status of living in marriage hell. Should I start with the honeymoon he went on without me, my broken foot or the psychiatric meds? It’s important to know all three of these events have led to this exact moment in time I’m assuming I was intended to experience.
My husband worked a disgustingly high paying job at a disgustingly huge corporation. You know, the kind of thing America is all about. His life was his job. The disgustingly large paycheck didn’t come without selling his soul. As a for instance, on his day off his boss demanded he come in and write a report. He went and I was bitter but only because he left my side at the hospital after having surgery and beginning treatment for Immature Ovarian Teratoma.
I justify nothing, but I will say in his defense that we didn’t get married until he was almost 50. I was banking on the fact that he lived alone for so long he just didn’t know any better.
He took a four day weekend from work for our wedding. We traveled across country and had a small wedding of 60 people with a potluck and Busch Light reception. We ate really bizarre and random food while drinking it down with piss beer. He hadn’t enough time away from work for a honeymoon.
Two years later we changed our lifestyle completely. We moved to a small town where he began a new, less demanding job. One that afforded him the luxury of actually using his paid vacation time to go on vacation. “We can go to Alaska next summer for our honeymoon,” he said to me. “I’ll have paid vacation time after a year.”
As his one year approached in August I said to him, “Should we start making reservations for Alaska?”
That’s when he told me he already made plans to go to Germany in October with one of his guy friends. “We can go to Alaska next summer,” he said. I feel confident that any female reading this is gasping for air and any male is thinking dick move, bro.
I was torn. I wanted to choke him, scream or possibly throw all his personal belongings out our bedroom window, but I also didn’t want to ruin his trip to Germany because it’s Germany and that would be shitty of me to do. He left this morning.
My Broken Foot
Three weeks ago my knee hurt. It’s normal for my knee to hurt. It’s a fairly regular thing. As we get older we get rickety. I see a chiropractor for aches such as this and that morning I’d done the stretches he showed me. As always, my knee felt better, but a few hours later my foot was killing me. I assumed I pulled a muscle while stretching.
Five days passed and my foot had grown enormously swollen and was now purple. I went to the doctor, a Podiatrist to be exact who told me I was bit by a tick. He gave me steroids and antibiotics to take for a month and tested me for Lyme’s Disease. He said my foot would be fine by the weekend and to schedule a follow up appointment for three weeks.
Except the pain wasn’t going away. The weekend had passed and my foot was still purple and swollen. I called and scheduled another appointment. He told me the medication I’m taking should have made significant improvement by now. “I gave you the top shelf of what I prescribe,” he said. That’s fabulous and all but my foot still hurts like hell so either he’s wrong or I’m crazy. He was ready to settle it at that but I was like dude, for real tho?
“I’ll send you for an MRI and see if there’s anything I’m missing.”
That was two days ago. Yesterday morning the nurse at his office called with the MRI results. My foot is broken due to I don’t know what happened. I went to the clinic to have a fiberglass cast and boot put on. I’m reclining in my chair right now starving to death and dying of thirst.
Shitty luck. The day before my husband leaves the continent I discover my foot is broken, but that’s not all.
The Psychiatric Medications
I was sleeping this morning when my husband left for the airport. Scorned women who have a challenging time falling asleep with an aching foot don’t get up to see their husbands off (hence the part where I do asshole things too).
A few hours later I ate breakfast. I still needed to take my psych meds. I experience Bipolar disorder. I lean more toward the manic side. The side where I can stay up for days doing so many things but in reality nothing gets accomplished. The side that’s taught me to give fair warning when I feel the monster deep inside of me attempting to break free.
Through counseling, medication therapy and exercise I’m 95%-ish stable. Uh, about 40%-ish without the meds and about 20%-ish with neither meds or regular exercise.
My meds are stashed in my husband’s boot (that he never wears) in the bottom of our closet. The reason they’re stashed is a story for another day but I will give a bit of background. When one family member lives with addiction the entire family lives with addiction.
When I went to get my meds I stumbled upon a question I may never have an answer to. Why would my husband pack the only pair of boots he never wears? Oh wait, there was another question. How many days do I think I can make it without my meds before I have a breakdown? At the moment hours feel near impossible let alone days.
That’s right, My husband and psychiatric medications are on their way to Germany while I’m here with a broken foot, and soon to be in a state of irrational mania while spending my honeymoon at home alone.
As I sit here and think about it (more like stewing over it), there’s a bit of a comic eminence.
When we got married I took a vow to love him for better or for worse (I do hope it doesn’t get any worse) and I married him because I’m in love with him. I love that he’s compassionate, sensitive, funny and emotionally stable (all the things I’m not) and an idiot sometimes (also something I’m not).
I have my flaws too and those flaws have created memories in our marriage I’d rather just forget although I can’t think of a single one right now. Maybe I’ve already forgotten.
Things won’t always be perfect, I kind of think it’s because neither of us are perfect and a part of marriage is climbing uphill and not just sliding down all gleeful and shit. The reality is, if I truly love him, if we truly love each other that means there will be times when we’ll have to love what we hate.