Monday, March 11, 2013

relapse, or, being freakisly good (at being very, very bad)

It's funny the way that anger can feel like a drug.

The sordid truth is that after writing last week's blog post, I relapsed right back into that unfortunate little addiction.

I had been counting weeks but now I am back to counting days. Again. (Before yesterday morning it was in increments of hours, so I suppose there's that.)

It felt like such a coming out, that writing of last Monday night, and I got such wonderfully sweet feedback (thank you Abby, thank you Tracy, thank you Ari and Connie and Katrin) that was in itself a rush.  Evan and I joked that night about how, given past patterns, I had jinxed us by acknowledging that things were getting better. We joked and laughed together before succumbing to a bitter week of frustration and disappointment, almost entirely (it must be confessed) at my hands.

The morning after one of my nights of rage I apologized to my poor boy and he, with a heartbreakingly wounded look in his eyes, said tiredly, "You're freakishly good at it. Fighting, I mean."

So I am back to counting hours (and now, thankfully, days) of loving calm, minutes of straining to find the peace of my own breath. I am back to trying to remember that though anger is enticing (oh, the power and cold and quick-witted intelligence I feel in the midst of a bout of fury), it always feels completely and utterly shitty the next day.

I have quit worse things. Shocking how difficult it seems, some days, to quit this.

1 comment:

One Spicy Matzah Ball said...

Thank you for making me see that we are not the only fighting couple in the world and that fighting doesn't mean it's not meant to be. <3