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Kick the bucket

13 December, 2013

“You know where the door is”

I want to kick a bucket. Cry a load of tears. Shake off this cloud. Climb out of this hole.

I know I should be putting myself into a safe place – that being a place of people and laughter. Instead I want to hide. To retreat. To make the dumb mistake of reaching out to a “stranger” because of one “nice” response, because of one seemingly understanding echo.

Instead I brood. It’s been two hours since the cutting remark and I feel like I’ve been encompassed by black sticky goo (like Riker in Star Trek).

Hubby had tried to be nice to me this morning. The usual, “Are you getting up?” as I was half asleep on the third “snooze”. He had put his arm around my waist threatening cold hands tickling me out of bed as he shunted behind me minimising my space. He didn’t count on me poking him which sent him backwards allowing me to sit up rather than fall out of the bed.

So we were up early. I swear I was still half asleep making my coffee as he ran around looking for shoe polish at the last minute. I swallowed my magnesium, grabbed my coffee and went out to the car feeling ill with a handful of vitamins and a glass of orangey drink sloshing around in my stomach.

When I opened the front passenger door I looked in dazed disbelief and moving super slow (me), watched as a huntsman (spider with long legs and purple toes) the size of a coffee mug round was sitting on the foot well of my seat and it slowly (but too fast for my even slower reflexes) walked forwards and up under the dashboard. Yay!

I considered jumping (ok, moving slowly) to the back seat but it was out of sight. I put my bag down (praying the huntsman wouldn’t go into my bag or come back down into the foot well. When hubby was informed of the spider he became very twitchy and nervous closing off vents around him and jumping when either I waved my hands around or the eldest, behind him, tickled him.

There was some talk in the car and nearing our destination somehow the subject of me waking up came into the conversation and how I apparently go straight to Facebook in the mornings. When I countered back that hubby is on his iPad last thing at night and first thing every morning he denied it and responded with the quip, “You know where the door is”.

Silence reigned from me as our eldest tried to make light of it and opened his car door. I got out of the car and hubby drove off sending me a final text, “Go and see the doctor”. As if he’s not in any way shape or form responsible for how he makes me feel.

So I considered “the door”. I considered that tonight I am alone for a couple of hours. I considered that my bike, which hasn’t been ridden in three months and I was ready to take out for a spin again and some much needed escape, needed to be registered (and anything can happen on a bike). Great, the black clouds stealing that pleasure from me again!

I considered going out to my motorbike group’s social pasta and drinks night but I’ve no money and what’s the point? And that means more potential time with this “stranger” (a fellow bike rider, and colleague) getting to know him and that could be dangerous with an already damaged relationship.

I considered emptying the bank account when we get paid and disappearing but I want to be with my kids. I enjoy my kids. It’s just hubby and his bullying comments that pull me down that I want to escape from. So I stay…

The eldest is sick of being caught in the middle and understandably so but then I don’t have a safe place to unload, process, get some balance back into my head (and I know my child shouldn’t be that sounding board) and move on. So I write.

When I got the understanding response from the “stranger”, I wanted to text back “Don’t be nice! Don’t be nice to me, please!” I’ll just lap it up like a sponge! He’s been hurt in a relationship before. He’s got kids. I’ve got kids. It’s just a bad move on my part to be attracted to the “nice” in the midst of the “not nice”.

The thing is that I want some “nice”. I want to be cherished. I want to be free to be me. Free to have my own circle of friends that I had found in the middle of depression and that hubby had clashed with (they are hot headed too).

Then lack of money throws a damp squib onto the whole mess of things and makes me feel trapped when the positive could be a walk on the beach with the dogs, chocolate without hiding it and cuddles on the couch watching a DVD (because there’s nothing on tv) or reading my book.

Fur baby time would be good therapy


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