This morning I was in the back yard working in my garden.  I’m not a great gardner – that is to say I can’t walk through my garden and name all the flowers, plants and shrubs there – but I have managed to take our once rather shabby back yard and turn it into a reasonably pleasant garden.  I have lots of cone flowers, daiseys and flowers with that sort of “wild flower” look.  Suffice to say I stopped – long ago – hoping, wanting, waiting for and/or expecting any sort of recognition or appreciation from my husband.  Just once, I used to think to myself, I wish he would say “wow, this looks great…”

This morning while I was in my happy place, he happened to walk out.  That alone is an anonomly because rarely does my husband come search me out for anything but he did today.  As he walked past the corner of the house where a “herd” of yellow jackets have decided to burrow into the brick, he swats at the insects, saying, “fucking bees.”

“What’s wrong?”  I asked, a question far deeper than it seemed.

“I”m just sick of these fucking bees.  I hate the fuckers.”

Well let’s start with the obvious.  Why the “fucking” bees are still there.  Because my husband tried one way of erradicating them but when that didn’t work, he tried…

Yeah, he never got back to trying anything else.  So there is the obvious issue of the “bees” still being there because he hasn’t followed up with the issue.  But even more, worse, sadder than that is I realized there are probably lots (LOTS!) of households where a husband’s Saturday morning greeting to his wife does not include the adjective/noun/verb “fuck” in any manner what so ever!

Nope.

Nadda.

Nothing.

None.

Not even a teeny bit.

I know.

Sounds strange but I hear it is indeed quite TRUE!

These are the things that erode you when you are married to an alcoholic.

That you become “used” to.

Expect you don’t.

Because who could?

What you do is you become “used” to your reaction to them.

You become less aware of how your body, mind and spirit recoil.

A little bit numb to the jolt to your soul.

You stopped really noticing the sting.

How this sort of language and “innocuous” interaction permeates your entire life and being and existence.

Except not completely.

You’re never totally numb.  Unaware.  Indifferent.

Every once in awhile you feel it…

And it’s hard to wrap your head around how truly destructive it is.

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