cinnamon rolls I had made, and the mess I had to clean up. Yep, no longer feeling guilty.
I make myself scrambled eggs and toast, washing them down with milk. Then I go back into our room to turn off my alarm before getting ready for work like normal. This morning, I put on make-up. Not much, just concealer under my eyes and mascara. I also braid my hair instead of pulling it back into my usual tight bun. I want to feel good about myself again. It amazes me how now, even though I am no longer taking extreme care to be quiet, that Jon has not said one word. All of those times he had railed at me in the past seem to be a lie now.
On my drive into work, I spend more time thinking about Jon's behavior over the last year. It’s almost clear to me that he was trying to make me feel bad about myself. Did it have something to do with control? I just cannot understand the thought process behind doing that to someone you loved. For so long I had absolved Jon of any responsibility in my unhappiness. Now I wonder if he is the main cause of it.
At work, I do my best to remain calm with everyone I work with. It‘s easier than the day before even though there are some close moments where I think about snapping. Once is at lunch. I’m reading a book as I sit in the break room. Two of the nurses who work in my office hover in the doorway and gossip. Can’t they see I am on break? And reading? How inconsiderate. The counting backwards by ones is not working so I start counting backwards, this time by sevens. One hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-eight, no, nine, seventy-two…
This way, I avoid having any reasons to talk to human resources. I need this job and am not going to let my bad mood affect it. I have never been this angry for this long, and I’m not certain how to make the feeling go away. I assumed laying into Jon would have worked, but if anything, now that I’ve unleashed on him a couple times, it’s made it harder not to do that every time I’m around him. There is no way I want to emulate the way he has treated me so I do my best to keep most of my possible outbursts to myself.
I’m not successful all of the time. One weekend morning, after Jon finishes his breakfast, he puts the plate and silverware in the sink without washing them. I am sitting on the sofa watching TV when I see him do this and explode. I ask if he assumed that I am his maid and that he had another thing coming if he actually thinks I will clean up after him ever again. In fact, I go on that he should be cleaning up after me as a way to pull his own weight. Once he is done with his dishes, he can go ahead and take care of the laundry. Downstairs, of course. I still do not trust Jon with my car keys.
Even though there is an improvement in our relationship, it seems false. When I get home from work, Jon tells me about all of the places he applied. I never check, but I always wonder if he is lying, or at the least exaggerating. A few times, Jon attempts to initiate intimacy between us. I kiss him but nothing more. I cannot get that image of him in our front room with his shoulders shrugged inward out of my mind. It repulsed me then and still does now. Jon does not press me, though, which I am grateful for and concerned about all at the same time.
I'm still angry. I have counted backwards by sevens so many times I now have the numbers memorized and need to start using a different number: eleven. I become hyper aware of wherever Jon is in relation to me in our apartment. If we are both in the front room watching TV, I can feel myself becoming annoyed at the way he is breathing. Why does he have to breathe so loudly? Is he congested? God, that noise! Why doesn’t he just blow his nose? And the way he walks around the apartment. Does he have to walk on his heels? Yet, if he walks quietly, I get equally annoyed, wondering if he’s doing it on purpose to sneak up on me.
While Jon is no longer snapping at me, I feel no renewed affection for
I make myself scrambled eggs and toast, washing them down with milk. Then I go back into our room to turn off my alarm before getting ready for work like normal. This morning, I put on make-up. Not much, just concealer under my eyes and mascara. I also braid my hair instead of pulling it back into my usual tight bun. I want to feel good about myself again. It amazes me how now, even though I am no longer taking extreme care to be quiet, that Jon has not said one word. All of those times he had railed at me in the past seem to be a lie now.
On my drive into work, I spend more time thinking about Jon's behavior over the last year. It’s almost clear to me that he was trying to make me feel bad about myself. Did it have something to do with control? I just cannot understand the thought process behind doing that to someone you loved. For so long I had absolved Jon of any responsibility in my unhappiness. Now I wonder if he is the main cause of it.
At work, I do my best to remain calm with everyone I work with. It‘s easier than the day before even though there are some close moments where I think about snapping. Once is at lunch. I’m reading a book as I sit in the break room. Two of the nurses who work in my office hover in the doorway and gossip. Can’t they see I am on break? And reading? How inconsiderate. The counting backwards by ones is not working so I start counting backwards, this time by sevens. One hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-eight, no, nine, seventy-two…
This way, I avoid having any reasons to talk to human resources. I need this job and am not going to let my bad mood affect it. I have never been this angry for this long, and I’m not certain how to make the feeling go away. I assumed laying into Jon would have worked, but if anything, now that I’ve unleashed on him a couple times, it’s made it harder not to do that every time I’m around him. There is no way I want to emulate the way he has treated me so I do my best to keep most of my possible outbursts to myself.
I’m not successful all of the time. One weekend morning, after Jon finishes his breakfast, he puts the plate and silverware in the sink without washing them. I am sitting on the sofa watching TV when I see him do this and explode. I ask if he assumed that I am his maid and that he had another thing coming if he actually thinks I will clean up after him ever again. In fact, I go on that he should be cleaning up after me as a way to pull his own weight. Once he is done with his dishes, he can go ahead and take care of the laundry. Downstairs, of course. I still do not trust Jon with my car keys.
Even though there is an improvement in our relationship, it seems false. When I get home from work, Jon tells me about all of the places he applied. I never check, but I always wonder if he is lying, or at the least exaggerating. A few times, Jon attempts to initiate intimacy between us. I kiss him but nothing more. I cannot get that image of him in our front room with his shoulders shrugged inward out of my mind. It repulsed me then and still does now. Jon does not press me, though, which I am grateful for and concerned about all at the same time.
I'm still angry. I have counted backwards by sevens so many times I now have the numbers memorized and need to start using a different number: eleven. I become hyper aware of wherever Jon is in relation to me in our apartment. If we are both in the front room watching TV, I can feel myself becoming annoyed at the way he is breathing. Why does he have to breathe so loudly? Is he congested? God, that noise! Why doesn’t he just blow his nose? And the way he walks around the apartment. Does he have to walk on his heels? Yet, if he walks quietly, I get equally annoyed, wondering if he’s doing it on purpose to sneak up on me.
While Jon is no longer snapping at me, I feel no renewed affection for
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