I’m married. We have a beautiful child together whom we both love and adore. As parents, as a unit, we work seamlessly together. I go to therapy with you, since you suffer from PTSD from deployment, and Bipolar Disorder, which for you is heredity. I defend you when you overreact or embarrass me with your outbursts/irrational behavior around my family. They don’t have a clue what it’s like to be doing your dream job, only to watch your friends get blown to pieces, and then have to come home and tell wives their husbands have died. Oh, and then have to do funeral detail! You came from a working parent household, and you were a latchkey kid. I even think one of your siblings was verbally and physically abusive with you, but you’re not ready to talk about it yet.
I didn’t have the same childhood. That is until my parents divorced when I was much older, but we’ve only scratched the surface of my childhood. I’ve spent a majority of my time listening to you, patiently, because I’m the only other person besides a licensed therapist you’ve ever opened up to. You said you had insecurity about me not working, and draining our accounts after our son was born. So I worked on getting a steady job as quickly as possible, all the while not spending an unnecessary cent on myself. We’ve gained trust, but you’re not the same person every day, so sometimes we have to start over. It’s not that you’ve ever been physically abusive with me, even though both of my own parents were. I’m not afraid when you blackout and go into a blind rage. I know my own strength, and I know you could break me like a board. So I wait until you’re done, which usually results in you crying at my feet, even though you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong except break a dish, or yell at me. You work away from home, and you’re only home less than one week a month, or a stray day here and there. I feel like a single parent. It pays the bills though. I get it.
My mother was Bipolar, so I understand a lot of things going on, even though your military issued therapist looks at me like I’m an idiot. I hate to break it to you, but she’s coddling you, and I think it’s because she wants to f87k you. No counselor should touch your arm that many times during a session, especially someone with boundary issues. I have two friends who are therapists, and that’s like rule #1. It’s like the cardinal hooker rule of being a therapist! I mean, I want to too, and all the time.
I understand why it’s easier to have the job you have and still have a family at home. It’s because you can only take us in doses. I love you, but you’re so stressed out you can’t get it up anymore. You say you want more kids, but you’ve gained weight, possibly from the meds. And not that I couldn’t lose a few myself, but yours is directly effecting your ability to get it up. Your meds currently, are the best they’ll probably ever be, because your lows and highs are tolerable now. The doctor that prescribes your meds is so proud of both of us, and I’m proud that I’ve stuck it out with you to see the other side.
I still see you looking at yourself in the mirror after sex, or judging me when I eat a salad, despite knowing that of course it’s easier to hit a drive-thru because that’s what you do at work. Again, I’m not complaining. You’re so sweet and better at other things when you know you can’t get it together. I’m not dissatisfied sexually. I will fight for this because deep down I know you love me. I love you! I know we love our child. I feel guilty when I go out with my friends, on my only days off, and they can just leave and go home with random people.
Trust me, I’ve had offers, but nothing makes me feel better than coming home to you! I have no desire to get attached to some 20 year old with no direction, even though he could probably get me pregnant with his eyes closed from 30 meters away, and I could just close my eyes. But I don’t need that added to my plate. I have a child, a job, and a household to run. Right now though, I feel like I’m drowning. I’m not suicidal or anything, and I’m not meaning that ironically either. I just feel alone, and I can’t tell anyone because I’m so good at pretending our home life is perfect. It’s not though, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I can’t make a baby when you’re not home, and then you can’t get it up when you’re here. I’m trying dude, but I just can’t keep doing it all by myself. I just can’t.