Is love enough?

I haven’t written in a few days. Not because I haven’t wanted to but because I haven’t had anytime alone in 3 days. Dales mood has been blunt this weekend, well this week infact. He never wants to talk to me. I can talk the ear off anyone who will listen but I know Dale doesn’t listen and isn’t particually interested which leaves me in silence. Or if I do try I get a one word reply, never a response that is a question and therefore it will never lead into a converstaion. Will it always be like this? Yesterday he kicked my make up bag out of the way and when I asked him not to the reply was ‘shut up’. Somedays I wonder, is this Dale or is this PTSD? In the early stages of his diagnosis and returning home from the army for good, he was nasty. Angry and nasty. The answer to most questions were ‘whatever’ or he would taunt me with derogitory words but to him it was nothing. I felt emotionally battered, questioning myself. Does he think its nothing because hes never hit me? Maybe thats how the lads acted at camp, but he wasn’t at camp. He was at home and had a pregnant wife who quite frankly expected more.. and still does. PTSD should not be make it excusable for you to be a dick. To be rude to the people you love and belittle them so they in turn feel damaged by what you are going through. For the past year I have supported a man who has been very ill and I am doing all I can to continue as normal when things aren’t normal. So when Dale is disrespectful and talks to me like hes a 14 year old and I am his nagging mother, I can’t hellp but think I make no difference at all and maybe he will never change from this attitude. I never understood why his mother stayed with his father in the first 4 years of our relationship. His father talks to his mother exactly how Dale does to me at times. Like she is unimportant and belittles her in public. I used to be embarrassed by it. She would act like she didn’t care but you have to care surely.

How can the person that is meant to be you best friend, the mother of your child, the one person you love most of all, treat you like you mean the least? I will never undertsand and having wanted to leave 3 times in 2 years I would’ve thought it’d be enough. But it still continues….

Long old week

It’s Thursday today. I didn’t write last night as I had my lovely neighbour round for a glass of wine… or two! Rude not to midweek. So I arrive at my computer at 7.06am whilst Lennox watches Peppa Pig next to me. Dale went to football last night, its the best thing he has joined a local football club, he probably doesn’t know it yet! He trains on a Wednesday and turns up on a Saturday to watch or play the match. All men, no women. I think thats what he misses most of all about the army, men, banter, togetherness. I get it. I used to joke about him now living with only me, before Lennox arrived. He went from living in a block full of men to living with a pregnant woman in his ready made home. You see I was 5 months pregnant when Dale came out of the army, luckily for him as before he came back in March I was a tired mess. I had no sickness in pregnancy but could barely keep my eyes open before 17 weeks. Then we lived in a lovely little 3 story, 3 bedroom house. I would walk through the front door from work and begin undressing myself up the stairs as I made my way to bed. I could literally sleep for 12 hours a night. I remember begining to feel ‘normal’ by 17 weeks. It’s strange isn’t it, I mean the most normal thing to us ‘civvy’s’ is living with our partner and raising our children together. Yet in reality my husband has strggled with just that. 4 years living with people he could trust his life with, been to war with, drank far too much with, spent summers together and travelled to foreign lands on adventure training together. Sometimes I feel I could never come close to those experiences… the army. I know it is different and after all it was Dales decision to leave the army and begin his family back in Cheltenham with me but can you imagine living with a man who never forgot his ex? Some days it feels like that, especially in the early stages of his PTSD worming its way out. And now in turn, he is haunted by the things he has seen whilst his time in Afghanistan. But the army regardless to how he feels now is hands down his most favourable memories in his life, he is ammensely proud of his time in the army as we all are. He will always be a squaddie and will forever where his medals with pride. A veteran. As a mother, I hope to see him wear his son on his arm as proudly as the medals on his chest.

the Tuesday that felt like a Monday

Sitting in the living room I can smell bonfire, winter is coming and the smell of burning wood seeps through the closed windows from the allotments behind our house. Today has been an odd day. The weekend seems such a long way a way. Lennox woke up at 6am screaming. Since the mornings got darker he seems to be waking up earlier. Yesterday he threw himself over his cot in the dark and bust his nose. He is currently jumping off the sofa behind me as I type, fearless child so unaware of everything going on. Lucky. Thankfully, he will never remember the bad times. We play fo a minute before he watches the sun go down and the clouds drift in the sky. Work was ok today, some days my mind drifts. I begin to look for exoctic holidays where we can live peacefully for 10 days on a beach, where I can drink from coconuts and eat delicious food that makes me gain no weight. Then I realise I am at work, I have a job to do whilst making sure my husband is ok home alone and what the possibilities are for dinner this evening (which isn’t very interesting at current due to the bank balance being nearly non exsistant) Dales been off sick now for 7 weeks. At this point I could begin to moan, this often happens but today I have a 2 year old jumping on my back so that I can judo wrestle him to the floor whilst he shouts ‘whhaaww’. It dawned on me this earlier, well it has before now but I had this great feeling of failure, failure as a friend. I’ve become so consumed of being mother, wife and carer. Although I don’t class myself as a carer and would find it strange if someone refered to me as one but I guess I am, that is what I am doing afterall. I have barely made a great effort to see any of my closest friends this year. I just haven’t had the energy and when we do meet I end up talking about the situation and I’m fed up of hearing myself. I have one best friend that just had a baby, Theo, he is rather amazing as is she and one getting married next year, which I am bridesmaid and Dale best man. I haven’t been a great listener, but have expected them to listen to me any hour of the day. Which I am thankful that they have. It’s weighs heavy on my heart, I hope they feel I have been unapproachable about these most important time in their lives. Another friend that I used to see daily I now see three times a month if that, she lives only 1 mile away. You see I can’t seem to plan any thing little, an unexpected catch up, even a planned evening because I never quite know how Dale will be on that day. I don’t blame him. I think I blame myself for not making the plans in the first place, its as if I’m worried if I feel I have to cancel if Dale isn’t great that day and even if I’m home saying nothing at least I am home with him. Today isn’t a good day for Dale. He’s slept most of the afternoon which has left him feeling tired but restless. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t concentrate but he struggles doing nothing. So normal for someone with his condition yet something I haven’t experienced personally. Maybe it thats anxious feeling in your tummy where you can’t sit still on results day, then again I knew I was going to fail or pass before I ever collected any of my results. I hated most subjects in school and only liked  art… which I passed in (just) Never the less this evening whilst our son jumped on my back and I tried to write Dale took himself off to the gym, which is great. Even if he didn’t enjoy it, he went which is good. Tonight we plan to eat cheese and crackers… I can’t be arsed to cook and I would like to eat my weight in peanut M&Ms whilst watching junk on TV. And a wine would go down a treat but we have none, so hot water it will be. Good night.

the start.. of my blog

I felt it is time to start a blog. Like a diary. I hope not to moan to much, that is not my intention but sometimes things happen in life I cannot control and cannot simply do much about. I hate it when people say that, of course you can do something about everything but when the person you love is going through something you can barely understand life begins to feel abit out of hand. Like you can’t control it and you can’t do much about it but hope it ends. Hope… I lost hope a little while ago. It was June, I was ready to throw the towel in and run off to Devon, leave everything. Our home, my job, our life together and just go. Take our son, move back in with my parents and do nothing. Nothing seemed perfect, I was mentally exhausted by the last year. Helping someone through a mental illness is the hardest thing I have ever faced. It has showed my strength as a person, a mother and a wife. To protect my family, my small little family. I can’t wait for 2015. I never wish away time, thats not what I’m trying to do. I just hope 2015 brings more joy and stability that this year has. 4 is my lucky number, I don’t know why, I just like it but 2014 has not been my lucky year. It has been the most testing, turbulant year of my life… Ever. I’m going to try and write daily, although sometimes a little hard with (like every mother) a job to work, a child to look after, a dog to walk, dinner to be made and my nails to paint. I feel it will be important to document the next few months of our lives, possibly years… who knows. My husband is a 28 year old ex infantry soldier and suffering with PTSD. It has taken over our life.