It’s the waiting.
Lying in bed because my attempts to help aren’t accepted.
Waiting for the sigh, the sigh mixing your pain and your release.
It’s only then that you reach out for me. Only then are you able to cry help.
I pray our beautiful, loving baby doesn’t wake. I hope that another morning of “daddy needs to rest” doesn’t start to send her down the road of the black dog.
All the time I’m trying to be strong. Trying to act like nothing is wrong. Pretending your angry words as you drink to prepare yourself for the pain don’t hurt me. Pretending I’m ok with being told I’m the one in the wrong. Just because I’ve tried to get you to come to bed instead. Pretending the emotional toil is manageable. Hiding what is actually going on with you has taken its toll on me.
The black dog is pressing against the door. If it gets much stronger then I’ve lost. Our baby forces me to get up, to continue, to smile and play and remember how happy we can be. I push the door shut again. Hoping to hold on for another day. Counselling beckons… but how do I get time to do that? Between work and our child and you… The house is already in need of a cleaner.
Worst of all, you don’t notice. You go out while I’m at work. You get upset if you have to collect me. You’ll help friends till midnight on days when my day at work was hard and horrible and left me upset. I’m no longer loved. I’m here for sex and to make sure you get your arm stitched.
I’ll wait. Patiently. I’ll try to keep going. I’ll try to give you the space and comfort you need. One day you’ll come back to me without the big black dog. You’ll come back with the puppy instead. You’ll start to hug me again, not just my boobs but me. You’ll notice that the weight I’ve lost has gone too quickly in too shorter time. You’ll get me chocolate. In my dreams, you apologise for how you were, for what you said when you had to externalise your anger.
While your brain tomments you and tries to goade mine into doing the same, I still love you. Despite what you some times say, and most likely think.
I still feel a pain in my heart everytime you take the bottle and tell me you need space. I still lie awake, knowing that I’ll be lucky to get 3 hours sleep before the baby wakes up and needs me. I’ll listen to you pacing downstairs.
It’s the waiting. Waiting for my cue that I can help you. While I’m waiting, I think of your smile when our baby kisses you. The gleam in your eye as you play with her. The way she admires you. While I’m waiting I start through the infinite reasons I love you.
I’m waiting; I’ll never just walk away.