WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...



This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Thursday, February 27, 2014

The Sounds Of Silence



Silence. Sometimes nothing speaks louder than silence.

My spouse spent most of his day in/on the bed with his computer in the bedroom after having his coffee this morning. He didn't get up until after 8am. That is the latest he has slept in that I can remember. When he took his morning coffee, once again, the unsigned tax forms sat in a neat pile on the coffee table. I asked him twice if there was something wrong, and he assured me there wasn't.

He came out of the bedroom around 4.30pm to scavenge around in the kitchen. He ate a bowl of cereal while waiting for his microwaved potato to cook. I offered him some of the fruit I was eating, but he declined. Instead, he grabbed the remote, and switched the tv over to the usual cartoons: American Dad, Family Guy, and The Simpsons. He tossed the remote on top of the unsigned tax forms when he was done with it. 

It's all too often the same. Cartoons and a laptop. Barely a word, if any, to me. Silence.

Is he playing the passive-aggressive game again? Is there something he wants to say about the taxes, but is too chickenshit or something to directly confront me? I'm all about direct confrontation. Get shit out of the way and try and move on. He likes to hold grudges for days, punish with silence and hiding out in the bedroom for days, or going out for a few drinks with someone else.

There are 3 working pens on the table, and the only person that's been using them has been me, for paying bills and rent. I'm beginning to think that he's going to "accidentally" spill tea on the forms. He cannot bring himself to confront me with whatever revelation he's had or what issue he has now about the tax forms. I knew his attitude would change once the buzz wore off, once he'd had a lot of time to himself to think, once he'd had a lot of sleep and naps.

But he remains silent. I think Frankie the cat spoke more to me today than he did.

Silence can wound. Silence can kill.