Delayed

I can't bring myself to write a beautiful letter to my sweet angel this month, when things are crumbling.

I thought we were doing better. He's hiding something, some fear, or hurt, or anger, and I can't do anything about it because I don't know what it is. Maybe his way of dealing is to take care of my physical needs, and neglect my soul, but it's driving us apart and right now, I don't have the energy to change the dynamic.

I'm pretty sure it will be okay. I'm not positive, but I can't sacrifice myself, my mental health, my pregnancy or my daughter's happiness to heal him. I can't do all those things a wife "should" do, hoping it will make him happy, because beneath it all, there is still something I can't reach. There is something in him that will always make him miserable, and I'm not the one to fix it. I can't.

He can't be healed until he is ready to ask for help. He is spiraling downward, and my fear of him hitting rock bottom comes out in flashes of anger and spite. I don't hate him, I hate his inaction, his self-medicating, and his insistence on being close to me in a way that I can't reciprocate when I am hurting too. I'm scared what this means for us in the long run. It was bad a few years ago, and it's getting steadily worse. We have our reprieves, many weeks and months have been great, but I can't figure out the trigger that causes it all to come rushing back.

He agrees with my brother that I am weak for believing in God and studying psychology. They all think they are the masters of their own universes, but they are all fucked up in the head and can't see past their own BS. At least I am working on my issues, and I feel like I'm improving, but it's hard to maintain those changes under the stress of dealing with someone steeped in denial. I've found myself reacting to him lately, and I hate it. I hate letting him get to me, letting him hurt me, then punishing him for it. I'm not in a great state of mind now, and I don't want to subject my unborn child to these rushes of hormones and anger and hurt.

I don't want to take a step back and watch him drown himself. But I can't be so close and feeling so helpless and manipulated. Both sides of the fence have shriveled up crab grass, so I'm trying to balance on it, making my way South, or maybe North, somewhere else, anywhere else, until things get better. I'm not depressed, just stuck and scared, and waiting for the last stone to crumble so we can pick up the pieces and rebuild a life together.