My house is a mess right now. For real. I have not put clothes away for about two months. My suitcase from Miami is still sitting in the bedroom. My shoes sit in a pile that could double as a small child's fort. Today I noticed the cobwebs that coat the dining room chandelier have taken over the ceiling. The entire kitchen is sticky. I'm not even going to address the bathroom -- I'm tempted to just board it up and say "Bathroom? What bathroom? The McDonald's down the street has a nice one" when anyone asks to use it.
It's not easy living with someone like me.
I leave wet towels on the floor and forget to unplug appliances. I get too dizzy to put dishes away and I can't be trusted around sharp objects or the medicine cabinet. I can't get out of bed without actual physical pushing, pulling and/or dragging. I want to sleep all the time and feel about as sexual as a sleepy garden slug. I won't answer the phone or check my voice mail and I complain a lot.
(You might have noticed that last one.)
Jason cleans. Jason vacuums. Jason makes dinner. Jason sends flowers and buys me little gifts. Jason checks in on me every hour or so to see if I'm okay and if I'm maybe sort of ready to start thinking about getting up and dressed because it's almost noon already. Jason rubs my head when I have a headache.
About a month ago, though it seems longer than that, I lashed out at him. I said awful things that I can never take back. I threatened to leave. I told him I didn't love him. I hurt him because I was hurting in a way that I couldn't articulate and didn't understand. Which is no excuse. But there it is.
I hurt him. Deeply and truly. He's still licking his wounds and he has every right to be angry with me still. He should have left. He should have kicked me out. I was practically daring him to. I pushed and pushed and then freaked out when it actually came down to an ultimatum. I cried and hiccuped and begged for forgiveness. And then I did it all again a few days later.
In short, I was an absolute fucking nightmare of a human being.
Last night, he curled up on the kitchen floor with me as I gasped for breath as panic ripped through my body. He held me close and whispered, "I love you. I love you. I love you."
This morning, before the sun came up, he held me close again as I twitched and kicked and sobbed in despair. He whispered again, "I love you. I love you. You are everything to me. You always will be. I love you."
I usually can only answer back with, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Jason. Thank you for being the man you are. You are my rock, my soulmate, my everything. You always will be.
I love you. I love you. And I love you.