Hate & Loathing, and me without any drugs.

I used to love him. He is much older than me, but that never bothered me. He went grey long before I met him, early, in his twenties. That never bothered me, either. I loved his hair, I thought it suited him. I’ve never talked about his attractiveness with anyone else, but I always thought he was very handsome. I still do. His blue eyes are like icicles and their coolness melts me.  He has the most wonderful cheekbones, and I have always loved his arms, of all things.

I didn’t know how I felt about him anymore, only that out of necessity I was not divorcing him, not out of love. Did that mean I no longer loved him? As he spends more time with us, gearing up toward coming home permanently, I find that more and more I think “I hate him”.  I hate his dishevelled hair that he never brushes, and only cuts when I insist and do it for him. I hate how trying to correct a simple misunderstanding, or ask a simple question becomes a task on par with climbing everest with no guide and no oxygen.  I hate how he kept secrets from me, that I only ever knew about because I had stumbled upon them at first and later went looking for. I hate how when all I want is simple sex, love making if you will, he needs me to cater for some stupid fetish that disgusts me. I hate how he crawls into the bed that has been mine alone for over a year and takes over the majority of it, unintentionally confining me to a small pocket with half my ass hanging over the side. I hate how he sweats profusely at night, soaking the pillows and making the whole room smell of it. I hate how he will bitch if the dishes don’t get washed for three days in a row- yet for three days in a row he will sit on his ass watching tv after dinner, not washing dishes. I hate how I do a million things every day, and still don’t get through everything and feel guilty, yet he can hardly manage a 5 item to do list and even then it’s only with me hassling him about it.  All I can think is “I hate, I hate”, when previously these things were barely on my radar, with the worst being a slight annoyance. I loved him before and perhaps that made up for his flaws? Or did it simply mean I couldn’t see his them?

He is still the same devoted husband, but now he is less my loyal prince and more a desperate, needy puppy dog. One that I want to kick. (And I’d never kick a puppy.) I find myself snapping at him constantly, hardly able to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. I wonder how long I will be able to keep this act up? How many times will I be able to say “I love you, don’t worry”, when he is feeling sad and miserable for himself? If he had not lost his job, and were still able to support the family financially, would I feel the same way as I do, now?