Torn in Turmoil

I’ve spent most of today (at work, in between customers) writing pages and pages about my current issue (according to the writing, though, there are a couple issues).  And it didn’t change anything.  Well, ok, maybe a little, since I DID come home afterall.  The worst thing about this particular issue is I know it is not blown out of proportion by hormones (which would usually be the case).

Of course, the problem could be (is likely) me, myself.  The way I deal with things is sometimes overly emotional and maybe even a little immature.  But just being aware of these things does not make it any easier to spot, stop and control my reactions at the time of implosion.  Perhaps it is the chemicals in my brain again, meaning I need to go get some pills to fix it.  But maybe this turmoil is something that can’t be cured with a pill.  Or maybe it can.  It worked last time.  For like 12 months, the pills sorted the brain chemicals and I felt normal.  No freak outs, no over-reactions to things (aside from the normal hormonal issues I have every month anyway), that was, until about a month after I stopped taking them (thinking I was much better).  And now that I think about it, it might be the right thing to do to go back on the pills.

Because, no matter how much I wrote today (and it was a LOT!), I seemed to be going round and round in circles.  Backwards and forwards over the same things.   And always coming to the same conclusion.  The best course of action (and least troubling for everyone involved – and this was before I thought about the pills) is to suck it up.  Compromise and make the necessary sacrifices that everyone else has to make in order for relationships to work.

It doesn’t seem so hard.  Except it is.  Because I’m a selfish, self-centred person who wants to have everything my own way to feel happy with my life.  Because my life is disappointing.  Not going anywhere.  Aww shit.

The boy

I told Mr today that I didn’t want to go home.  (I am at home now, just so you know).  But when I said it, I meant it.  I’m tired and unsatisfied and unsettled and I have been all these things on and off for some time now, but it all came to a head last night. 

The boy came home late last night (he IS 21, so that’s not the problem!!) and, being blind rotten drunk*, bashed the back door in to get inside.  It frightened the shit out of me, especially considering his history with alcohol/drug induced ‘episodes’.  And my personal fear of violent drunks (actually, it’s more like a fear of anyone who is extremely drunk because they might become violent).

*Now, to be fair, he says he only had a few drinks and it appears that one of his drinks may have been spiked.  He’s not feeling terribly well today (erratic heart rate, sweats, nausea and whatnot) and he went to the doc for some tests, so we will know more about that early next week.

The thing is, though, the boy has a problem with alcohol.  At least, that’s my opinion.  Not that something memorable happens every time he drinks, but there have been a number of occasions where he has been very scary.  And he doesn’t remember anything of any of these ‘episodes’.  He once called home for someone to pick him up in such a state, and, not recognising either me or his girlfriend when we arrived, he freaked out and ran the other direction, screaming obscenities at us.  His mates brought him home during another episode, after he had physically attacked one of them in a blind rage.  One of his best mates – and he didn’t remember it. 

I can’t begin to describe how traumatic it is to watch him in that state.  And how scary it is to be anywhere near him at that time.  Because he doesn’t actually know what he is doing (and he won’t remember it later), and because I genuinely feel he is capable of seriously hurting someone while he is in the grips of an episode.

Look, it doesn’t happen every time he drinks.  In fact, I have only seen him like that a handful of times within the last 12 months or so.  But I told him about my fear of violent drunks just recently and he seemed to understand and respect my feelings.  But lately, there has been just a little more alcohol in the house.  Just a few more nights out on the piss. 

And when he came home like that last night, and broke in the back door, I was scared.  Irrational though it might be, I lay awake for some time, wondering how bad he really was (because I was told to stay in bed, I didn’t see him) – was he bad enough that he might come into our bedroom and hurt us?  The normal boy wouldn’t (and he didn’t), but I just don’t know what the episode boy is capable of.

So when I woke up this morning, after a fitful sleep, I was all kinds of messed up.  In the head, I mean.  I wanted out.  Out of the house, out of the family, away from everything.  By myself.  And I couldn’t explain any of this to Mr (because I also have issues with communication) to help him understand why I didn’t want to come home, so all I told him was that I was scared of the boy and I didn’t want to go home.

But I never want to hurt Mr.  Especially not with my selfishness.  And so I came home.  Logically, I knew there was nothing to be scared of about coming home tonight to Mr and the boy (now sobered up and feeling quite ill).  But I also know that it’s only good until the next time he comes home drunk.

Of course, recognising that I already had ongoing issues (tired and unsatisfied and unsettled), I was already a bomb waiting to go off.  But is this all a trigger or just an excuse to act out?

About Inner Turmoil

This particular brand of inner turmoil comes from being unable to speak openly when agitated. 

It’s taken years of feeling what I (still) call ‘psycho’, to realise the agitation is born of frustration with self-censuring.  Oh, of course, there are other causes, effects and over-reactions, but, well, you get the point.  And if not, I’m sure, if you read for long enough, you will.

Instead of speaking, and on the occasions where I can’t internalise any more, I write.  There are countless ‘diaries’ and ‘journals’ I have written in (longhand, no less) over the years, detailing over-analysing thoughts and silent outbursts during any given mini-meltdown.  And perhaps some of those entries might find their way here someday.  Until then, this is my new venting place.

It’s the way of the future right?