The explosion...

We survived Sunday. Best friends but visibly hurting. Raw and vulnerable.
Sunday night I was sitting staring out the window and he came into our room and said he had done nothing wrong at breakfast. I remember saying OK because I didn't want to fight. I was too sensitive.
So I don't even know how it all went wrong but it went SO VERY WRONG.


We went to watch a movie and I was crying because he had shouted at me. He told me to come over to him and I did but I said something about having feelings, or needing him, or getting to say my side. Either way it was a bad move because he freaked out. At some point I said I'm sick of never getting a turn and that I have feelings too. It was wrong for it all to come out like that and it happens too often in the heat of an argument. He threw things and slammed things and threw my phone at me and told me to get lost. I raised my voice and he screamed. He shouted that he had asked for forgiveness, I shouted that I didn't feel me meant it because he was cold and mean again just 15 mins afterwards and three times since then in the space of the day. I told him I need him and it can't be all one way. He was too far gone, red faced and spilling over with anger. I was scared. He called me smarmy and I called him crazy.


He screamed some more and I said how it feels to have those names on my mind every day, knowing my husband, my greatest support, thinks that's who I am. He took my journal and tore it to shreds. I told him that I write down every positive thing he says and try to remember them. 


He walked out. I cried. It all went so wrong. It all came out so wrong. Did I mean those things about how I feel? Yes. Did he mean what he said? Yes. But it was all so very wrong and our poor neighbours got yet another noisy intrusion.