My husband said he is starting to understand a lot about my life before he met me. It wasn't that he didn't believe me; it was just that what I have described has been so foreign to him, it was too abstract for him to be able get any real grasp.
Yeah.
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My husband didn't understand the things I told him about my family, either. I was late coming home from work on the day that my husband first met my family. They came to our house and my husband kept paging me and calling me over and over because he was freaked out by the crazy people and needed me to hurry and get home as quickly as possible.
Most people think my mother is lovely. My husband thinks she's a pain in the ass. This time, though, he really paid attention and he realized how much had gone by him unnoticed before.
Among other things, my mother is unabashedly bored by any discussion about my current health issues, the issues that color so much of my life. There was no sympathy about my terrible exhaustion, and no consideration for my sleep troubles. Mostly, though, Frank was appalled by the insensitive talk that comes out of my mother's mouth.
Frank likes to quote an email my mother sent to me in 2007 when I was suicidal and hopeless. In his mind, it says everything he needs to know about her compassion and concern for others: You're spending all this money on doctors and taking all these drugs, but you're more screwed up than ever. Oh, gee, those kind and gentle words helped me tremendously.
Later I need to write about how at one point this weekend I shut her down cold when she complained about something regarding my father's funeral. For now, I need to go to bed.
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