Dear Husband,

I am so angry at you. Do you even hear what you are saying? Do the words that come out of your mouth ever register in your brain? Do you think I am so callous/lazy/or whatever words you are thinking about me right now don’t have an effect on me?

I am SORRY that I fucked up your life and fell on the ice and got a traumatic brain injury. I have had moments that I wish I would have just died and be done with it - the continuing vomiting of words you speak out loud, that I’m not even sure you actually hear inside your own head.

Thank you for walking the dog every day. Thank you for taking care of most of the cooking. Thank you for buying the sturdy bath chair so I could shower safely.  But, with that being said, you say a gazillion things each day that I take personally at first before I say “fuck you” in my head.

Now, I know I don’t look sick on the outside.  I know you have not yet learned that there is such a thing as having a hidden disability. But, while I do my best to get better as quickly as I can, you are giving me death by a thousand cuts.  It really doesn’t help when you get angry, and grumble because you think I haven’t done enough around the house.  I really do wish I could vacuum the carpet, groom the dog, start supper. I’m happy today, for example that I actually made the bed. That took a great deal of effort, believe me! And, I did get up and feed the critters this morning because these last three weeks I’ve realized that the dog doesn’t eat for you because your energy is so impatient in the mornings that I would rather get up, feed her patiently and with love so she feels good about it, then go back to bed if I need to.  She got used to sleeping in the bedroom with me all those years I worked overnights.

I know you don’t always believe there’s something wrong with me. I know that because of the things you say. I know that when you say angry things like you think I’m deaf; things like, “I worked all day, didn’t take a break, haven’t eaten anything and then have to do all these things when I get home. I want to get done with my chores and just sit down and do nothing...” and I can hear the unsaid words....”like you have been doing...” or mutter, “I hope you get over all this shit pretty soon....”

I’m well aware that we’ve grown apart. You don’t understand that I kept growing up and outward when you began diminishing yourself by not reading, making friends, finding things to do to nourish yourself, instead finding solace is berating me for imagined faults because I didn’t meet your expectations in sex, in politics, in how I kept house...I am too much of an elitist, too much of a thinker, just too much of whatever doesn’t fit your ideal.  You don’t understand that other married people make plans to do things the other wants...they go out for coffee, they take care of the grandkids, they plan vacations, and enjoy life together. Instead, your expectations of me were to watch you watch football and Faux News and spout what lying bastards the Democrats are, and thinking it’s okay for rich men to grab pussies, lock kids in cages just because they crossed some invisible line.  There is still good in you...just not toward me.  And, we are both losing.  And miserable. And that’s all I want to say about it right now.