I don’t know what happened tonight. It was as if a different person appeared out of thin air. I know my husband has DID, but it’s never been this severe in any of the documented cases that I’ve read in medical journals or on the web. I’ve never read anything like what I’m experiencing. It started out innocently enough. After James’ show, we went to the mail box because I have friends who told me they were mailing me out things for my birthday. There was one package, and Dennis took it from me and shook it. “Is it a tape?” he asked. I shrugged. “I dunno. It’s packaged like one, so probably. We’ll have to dig the VCR out of storage and copy it onto a DVD,” I replied.
He then asked a series of goofy questions about it. “Is it porn?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is it Hot Cherry Pies 3?”
“I hope not.”
“Well what is it????”
“I don’t know!”
“Open it!”
“It’s for my birthday!”
“Oh.”
He was clearly disappointed. But that was fine with me. We could see what was in the package on Sunday. Going home, we discussed our kids a little. He said he wished he’d stayed with DW’s mother. I almost slammed on the breaks right there on the freeway. W….T….F?! How could he say something like that to me? All the way home I got to hear how wonderful she was. It wasn’t sex or because of the package. I only brought up the package because it seems like the transition happened right then. I can’t tell what triggers the transitions. Once we got home, he brought up the past. He wants me to destroy my Costas Mandylor ticket–I’d do it if I loved him. Or so he hammered into my head. I’d do lots of other things if I “really loved him”. It’s bullshit.
The fighting escalated tonight. It got so bad that I loaded the three kids up and drove south. I made it all the way to Purcell until I checked my phone and the battery was so weak I couldn’t get a signal out there. I couldn’t call the person I was headed for and they might not want company. I couldn’t call home. I didn’t have any money, since I’d accidentally grabbed the defunct card on my way out, and the gas tank was low. There was no where to go but home. Or hell. Whatever one chooses to call it.
I don’t understand why someone would stay with someone else, voluntarily, if they made them so miserable? It doesn’t add up at all. But it sure breaks my heart right in two.