I had a rather impressive emotional meltdown last night. We needed to get the garage cleaned up for an inspection, and it turned into one of our oldest arguments. In the past few years, my arguments have gotten less emotional and more to the point as I have gradually felt less and less emotion for my husband. As a result, his arguments have escalated into yelling and throwing objects out of frustration that I'm not responding to his tactics. Our age-old discussion relates to my purchasing, finding or collecting what he calls trash. He also seems to believe that I am hoarding stuff. I believe I talked about my house decorating in a previous post, mentioning that I use antique things as I find them and often in ways that they weren't intended to be used. I also use these same things in creating art. For example, I have a wall assemblage that includes a window frame, tin roofing, and a shredded curtain still on the rod, all of which came out of my abandoned grandparents' home. Much of what is in the garage is from their home, and needless to say, I will never get rid of it regardless of whether I ever use it or not. What isn't from my grandparents' home is still interesting, and I may want to use it in a project. He thinks if I haven't done anything with it in a year that it should be tossed. He doesn't get that inspiration doesn't have a deadline.
I calmly left the garage to go get ready for bed but decided I would apologize for something I said that was rather nasty. However, as I tried to lead up to my apology, he went off on several tangents and avoided answering questions as usual. Or his answers actually proved what I had said. I finally reached my last straw in trying to make him at least see my point of view. He didn't have to like it, just see it. Well, my emotional dam burst, and I kind of went hysterical. I actually scared him. Somehow, amidst the heavy sobbing, I told him that I had been rejected, pushed away and gotten rid of so many times that I was simply afraid for it to happen again. I said that my heart had been wounded so many times that it wasn't mending and that one more heartbreaking incident might just do me in. I said that I wanted to go somewhere that no one, not even him, could hurt me. He said that I wasn't being realistic, that there was no place I could go that there wouldn't be any people. Is it me or is he not listening? I told him about the things he had said and done to push me away, which he remembered but didn't seem to think were hurtful. I have never told anyone everything that has happened over the last 20 years with my family, my husband or jobs and even a bible study. He thought I was upset because I was holding in too much anger and should demand apologies. I am not holding in any anger, and I tried to make him see that apologies wouldn't change how I feel about what happened. I tried to make him understand that hurtful words can't be taken back or attitudes changed. What was said was said and my heart broke. Period. My hurt is not the same thing as anger. He argued that I seemed fine most of the time and that even when I was with my family I seemed okay. Although I've tried to tell him many times that I am putting on a "smiling face" and really am not doing well, he obviously doesn't listen or believe me. In the end, I'm not really sure he understood what I was saying. That he hadn't understood had been one of my earlier points of discussion. For all that we have been married for almost 25 years, he doesn't really know me.
And that, for me, is the saddest thing of all. There isn't anyone close to me who knows the real me, and there aren't many people close to me. The thing that scares me is that if they do know me and pushed me away, there must be something really bad or wrong with me. If that's the case, I don't want anyone else to know me.
(Image used in this post is found at digitaljunkies.net, a company providing freelance digital art and design, and is entitled "Hysteria.")
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