I waited on her hand and foot earlier this week because she has a bad cold (as I had and to some extent still have). I loved her and cared for her and I was worried about her. But the following day was a different story.
It's been difficult for a month or more because of a change in her medication. First of all, she went off of the Lexapro and on to a different medication that was supposed to treat her depressive condition without the weight-unfriendly side effect of Lexapro. The new medication was a disaster. It made her mean and nasty. She screamed at both me and her mother. This all during renovation of our new apartment. Also in front of the workmen we had fixing up the place. How embarrassing. The seemingly endless fit of invective directed towards me in the company of one of the workmen was so terrible that she scared him off. He no longer answers telephone calls. It is clear that he no longer wants to work in our apartment.
I couldn't understand where these fits of anger were coming from. I finally put one and one together and realized that it was the new medication she was taking that lay at the root of the problem. I finally got her to realize this and told her that she should return to Lexapro. She had lost a few pounds after ditching Lexapro and was reticent about taking it again. She did agree to gradually reduce the new medication to get it out of her system. This seemed to work--she returned to "normal". Although not taking anything at all for her depressive ailment she nevertheless seemed to show an improvement in her behavior.
This happy situation didn't last forever. She spewed invective aimed towards me the morning after (as I have mentioned) I had waited on her hand and foot. I was confused and hurt as I have often been during these fits. I went to therapy later that morning and after I had returned was so tired that I decided to take a nap. I had become cold and distant from her earlier that day before therapy and this mood hadn't changed when I came home. She sensed this of course and made several efforts to reach out which I rebuffed. She became worried that she had gone too far. I ignored these half-hearted attempt to patch things up. I am so sick and tired of forgiving her for abuse that I just didn't want her to get away with it. Besides, my feelings were pretty badly hurt, too. This exacerbated the situation.
I got up at around 6:00PM still groggy and still angry at the way I had been so badly treated. I needed to distance myself from her and the terrible experience of the morning. I left the bedroom and went in to sit alone in peace and quiet in the living room. I needed to collect myself. Some time around 7:00PM she came waddling in, clutching her teddy bear, and tearfully accused me of not caring and being unfairly cold and distant. I've been down this road so many times I've lost count--not that I ever kept count. Earlier in my therapy session I was advised to calmly set up a dialogue about our relationship and what we each needed to consider and bring to the it. I proceeded to try and do this. On retrospect, the timing was a mistake. Things had already gotten out of hand. But, somewhat blind to the possible consequences I nevertheless tried to reach out.
The result was a disaster. I suggested that she ask herself what she could bring to the relationship and to confront her feelings about it and deal with them. What a monumental mistake. She flew off the handle. She completely misunderstood my meaning and instead interpreted the "confront" part to mean that she should confront me, which she certainly did. She wailed that I was uncaring and stupid and out of touch with her and, for that matter, my feelings, too. I cannot now recollect all of what transpired because it was such a blur and I was shocked at her reaction. I was speechless which infuriated her even more. I think I may have tried to get a logical (alas, what a mistake) word in edgewise but I can't remember for sure.
She stormed off shouting into the bedroom. She was screaming, "I've got to get away, I have to get away from here!" at the top of her lungs. She was throwing things into a bag while all the time screaming this and invective towards me. I stayed in the living room. She called her mother on the telephone and from what I could gather wailed her problems to her. He mother told her to calm down which infuriated her (I'm retelling all this from the bits and pieces I could catch from the living room). Her mother then called me and told me that she was very upset ("News Flash!") and that I should go in and try to hug and kiss her and otherwise comfort her. I personally thought this would be useless but tried it anyway. I tried that submissive soothing I always do when she throws a fit. But it didn't work, of course.
She screamed at me that I couldn't help her because I was too stupid and unable to care for anyone else but myself. I didn't understand. I couldn't tell that she needed help. Why wasn't helping her to pack? Where was she going? She needed to go to the hospital. Oh. She needed her stuff. Why was I standing there like an idiot?
And on and on.
I returned to the living room. I called her mother and told her that our dear little one was totally out of control. Dear little one stormed out of the bedroom, clothed but still wearing her bathrobe and still screaming at me. The rest is a bit blurry. I remember her saying something about going to the psychiatric ward and that I obviously couldn't or didn't want to help. The rest is a jumble of pure, unadulterated and hateful vomit. I was stunned. Never in my life have I been so ill treated. Never in my life has so much dreadful hatred been directed at me. Washed over me. Struck to the heart of me. Struck at my heart. Never before in my life.
I guess she must have called her mother again to have her drive her to the hospital. I was still reeling from the experience but shortly after her departure decided to call her anyway to see how she was doing. She sarcastically replied in a mockery of my call, "Oh hi honey, how are you doing?" "like you care" "I'm smoking waiting for my mother who is parking the car." There was something else in there, too, which I now forget, and then she hung up on me.
She returned later that night sedated. The attending physician had told her that psychiatric wards nowadays mostly dispense medicine and offer no therapy or intake of persons in mental distress. I asked her how she was. She moodily threw her stuff to the bedroom floor and said, "OK." She went to bed. I returned to the living room and shortly thereafter went to bed myself.
Something has changed in me. I am no longer bewildered by her and I no longer feel submissive. I cannot tolerate this hate. Instead, I hate her. What a dreadful way to treat a person. What an unheard way to treat your lover. I need to reevaluate the circumstances in which I now find myself.
She is a little freak of nature. Oblivious to the feelings of those around her. Hateful to all those who love her and want to support her. Mean. A freak. I cannot stand her now.
It's been difficult for a month or more because of a change in her medication. First of all, she went off of the Lexapro and on to a different medication that was supposed to treat her depressive condition without the weight-unfriendly side effect of Lexapro. The new medication was a disaster. It made her mean and nasty. She screamed at both me and her mother. This all during renovation of our new apartment. Also in front of the workmen we had fixing up the place. How embarrassing. The seemingly endless fit of invective directed towards me in the company of one of the workmen was so terrible that she scared him off. He no longer answers telephone calls. It is clear that he no longer wants to work in our apartment.
I couldn't understand where these fits of anger were coming from. I finally put one and one together and realized that it was the new medication she was taking that lay at the root of the problem. I finally got her to realize this and told her that she should return to Lexapro. She had lost a few pounds after ditching Lexapro and was reticent about taking it again. She did agree to gradually reduce the new medication to get it out of her system. This seemed to work--she returned to "normal". Although not taking anything at all for her depressive ailment she nevertheless seemed to show an improvement in her behavior.
This happy situation didn't last forever. She spewed invective aimed towards me the morning after (as I have mentioned) I had waited on her hand and foot. I was confused and hurt as I have often been during these fits. I went to therapy later that morning and after I had returned was so tired that I decided to take a nap. I had become cold and distant from her earlier that day before therapy and this mood hadn't changed when I came home. She sensed this of course and made several efforts to reach out which I rebuffed. She became worried that she had gone too far. I ignored these half-hearted attempt to patch things up. I am so sick and tired of forgiving her for abuse that I just didn't want her to get away with it. Besides, my feelings were pretty badly hurt, too. This exacerbated the situation.
I got up at around 6:00PM still groggy and still angry at the way I had been so badly treated. I needed to distance myself from her and the terrible experience of the morning. I left the bedroom and went in to sit alone in peace and quiet in the living room. I needed to collect myself. Some time around 7:00PM she came waddling in, clutching her teddy bear, and tearfully accused me of not caring and being unfairly cold and distant. I've been down this road so many times I've lost count--not that I ever kept count. Earlier in my therapy session I was advised to calmly set up a dialogue about our relationship and what we each needed to consider and bring to the it. I proceeded to try and do this. On retrospect, the timing was a mistake. Things had already gotten out of hand. But, somewhat blind to the possible consequences I nevertheless tried to reach out.
The result was a disaster. I suggested that she ask herself what she could bring to the relationship and to confront her feelings about it and deal with them. What a monumental mistake. She flew off the handle. She completely misunderstood my meaning and instead interpreted the "confront" part to mean that she should confront me, which she certainly did. She wailed that I was uncaring and stupid and out of touch with her and, for that matter, my feelings, too. I cannot now recollect all of what transpired because it was such a blur and I was shocked at her reaction. I was speechless which infuriated her even more. I think I may have tried to get a logical (alas, what a mistake) word in edgewise but I can't remember for sure.
She stormed off shouting into the bedroom. She was screaming, "I've got to get away, I have to get away from here!" at the top of her lungs. She was throwing things into a bag while all the time screaming this and invective towards me. I stayed in the living room. She called her mother on the telephone and from what I could gather wailed her problems to her. He mother told her to calm down which infuriated her (I'm retelling all this from the bits and pieces I could catch from the living room). Her mother then called me and told me that she was very upset ("News Flash!") and that I should go in and try to hug and kiss her and otherwise comfort her. I personally thought this would be useless but tried it anyway. I tried that submissive soothing I always do when she throws a fit. But it didn't work, of course.
She screamed at me that I couldn't help her because I was too stupid and unable to care for anyone else but myself. I didn't understand. I couldn't tell that she needed help. Why wasn't helping her to pack? Where was she going? She needed to go to the hospital. Oh. She needed her stuff. Why was I standing there like an idiot?
And on and on.
I returned to the living room. I called her mother and told her that our dear little one was totally out of control. Dear little one stormed out of the bedroom, clothed but still wearing her bathrobe and still screaming at me. The rest is a bit blurry. I remember her saying something about going to the psychiatric ward and that I obviously couldn't or didn't want to help. The rest is a jumble of pure, unadulterated and hateful vomit. I was stunned. Never in my life have I been so ill treated. Never in my life has so much dreadful hatred been directed at me. Washed over me. Struck to the heart of me. Struck at my heart. Never before in my life.
I guess she must have called her mother again to have her drive her to the hospital. I was still reeling from the experience but shortly after her departure decided to call her anyway to see how she was doing. She sarcastically replied in a mockery of my call, "Oh hi honey, how are you doing?" "like you care" "I'm smoking waiting for my mother who is parking the car." There was something else in there, too, which I now forget, and then she hung up on me.
She returned later that night sedated. The attending physician had told her that psychiatric wards nowadays mostly dispense medicine and offer no therapy or intake of persons in mental distress. I asked her how she was. She moodily threw her stuff to the bedroom floor and said, "OK." She went to bed. I returned to the living room and shortly thereafter went to bed myself.
Something has changed in me. I am no longer bewildered by her and I no longer feel submissive. I cannot tolerate this hate. Instead, I hate her. What a dreadful way to treat a person. What an unheard way to treat your lover. I need to reevaluate the circumstances in which I now find myself.
She is a little freak of nature. Oblivious to the feelings of those around her. Hateful to all those who love her and want to support her. Mean. A freak. I cannot stand her now.
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