Last night was the worst night in history.
Daytime was fun. He even picked me up from work. We went to the store to buy groceries. We planned to have dinner instead of going to the movies.
The idea that we postponed our movie theater date night again already put a sigh in my heart.
Dinner making with the husband is a roller coaster event. I love cooking by myself. With him, it's supposedly fun but anxiety raises.
When he intervenes with my preparations it drives me insane. Point being, it feels like my efforts are not enough.
But to analyze it, all he did was sear the meat and add a few spices. I hate it when he adds salt. It gets too salty. I hate it when he adds all the possible spices in the world. It ruins the entire meal. I just want a regular pot roast. How hard is that? But picture that; the argument started with stupid ideas and I gave into frustration and then in anger.
Words were bitterly exchanged. He says he's not sure why he's still in this family. I asked him why he's still here.
Threats of throwing away the whole pot of uncooked meal.
He said he doesn't want to live anymore.
Frustrated, I started grunting like a kid and screaming "I hate this life," running upstairs snotting on my bed like a little baby, asking him (calmly) to leave me alone for a few minutes.
We watched the same show on two different TVs.
A few minutes later, we were alright. I went back downstairs to watch TV with him, he cooked the dinner steak while I assisted. We had a happy meal.
But why do I have to make it worse for him? What's with the stupid attitude? The rage, yelling, screaming "I'm never enough for you" and the bitter exchange of whatever words can cut like knives.
I don't remember what happened to the other arguments we've had but I know the same feeling and the same outcome. I know how guilty I am afterwards. What's the point? Why me? What did I do wrong? Why did I raise my level of anxiety to utter hatred?
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