Entry 42: Shift

S. was great 99% of the time; calm, warm, funny and thoughtful. But the 1% left me reeling, making it hard to reconcile our relationship. He hadn't been the same as my first husband, who'd been unable to have intelligent conversations and was angry all the time. But when it came to actual fights, S. was much worse. However, the one commonality they both had was father issues; one dad who was absent and the other a bully.

"I never want to end up like my Dad," S. said one day, as he told me stories of his childhood. His older brother had looked up to his father, and had shared similar interests. But S. had been different, and instead of his father trying to understand him and find commonality, he relentlessly picked on him.

The one thing I'd tried not to be in a relationship was critical, especially after having witnessed the after effects of this within my own parent's relationship. I wanted S. to feel like he could always be himself, and aspire to be anything he wanted to, and for the most part I think I did that. But in any relationship no one is perfect, and there were times when I felt irritable, disappointed and upset, and though I attempted to mask my feelings, sometimes they still got out, triggering a defense mechanism in S. From there a fight would erupt, and my head would spin with confusion, while I found myself carrying all the blame. There'd been enough of them that they'd altered me, and I knew I didn't quite shine as bright as I had in the beginning of our relationship. Yet, I continued to push forward in hopes that things would improve.

But then one night, I found myself standing in a hotel room with S., as he screamed at me. It had been my corporate weekend away, that the company hosted each year for its staff and partners, and I'd been the organizer of it. We were a close team, and when we came together for this year-end event, it was usually full of laughter and unlimited alcohol, which many of us consumed too much of by the end of a night. But this year, S. had drunk far too much too quickly, and he wasn't stopping, as he brought trays of shooters back to our dinner table where my boss and his wife sat. The glasses slid across the tray, as liquid ran down S.'s hands and splashed on co-workers as he passed by. And as for my boss' wife, she'd look utterly unimpressed each time S. placed another drink in front of her husband, who happily consumed it, and was now drunk himself.

"Come on," I said to S. after dinner. "Let's go up to the room and relax for a bit." I linked my arm in his and guided him through the hotel back to our room, as he could barely walk. "Here, why don't you lay down on the bed for a bit," I said, as he kicked off his shoes and laid on top of the covers. Normally when he got this drunk, he'd quickly pass out, and I was hoping this would be the case so he'd sober up a bit, before joining us for the next leg. When he'd gotten settled in, I got up from the chair next to the bed, and grabbed my purse.

"Wait, where you are going?" he said, slurring.

"I actually have to get back for dessert, so why don't you just rest for a little while, as you've had a lot to drink, and I'll come back and get you for bowling."

Suddenly, he began screaming at the top of his lungs, in a hotel with paper thin walls. "You f#cking bitch! Get out of my f#cking life, you f#cking bitch," over and over. I couldn't believe what he was saying to me, and I couldn't believe how loud he was saying it. "Shhh," I said, trying to diffuse the situation, "people can hear you." But he just continued until I couldn't take it anymore, running out of the room as fast as I could, and into my co-worker's room. As I sat on her bed, telling her what had just happened with S., I felt my whole body shake uncontrollably.

"You can stay with me tonight if you like," she said, as I began to cry. She'd been one of my best friend's for years, and had been aware of my challenges with S. "He's a Manchild," she said one day, as I described his behaviour. I'd heard that term before, but wasn't sure quite what it meant. So, I went home and googled it, and there on the page was a description of my husband to a T. After that, each time we fought, that's all I could see.

Now, no matter how shaken up I was by this fight, I knew I had to pull it together and return to the event, while pretending I hadn't just been verbally attacked. "Oh, he's just taking a nap, as the alcohol went straight to his head," I said, letting out a fake laugh. Staff had disappeared at these events before due to them accidentally drinking too much, and usually we all laughed about it the next day, with little to no judgement. We were a laid back office, so fortunately it was one less thing I had to worry about.

I didn't check on S. for the rest of the night, as I was too scared to. And he hadn't come down, so I assumed he'd fallen asleep and likely wouldn't wake up till morning. Though I wanted to stay with my best friend in her room, I didn't want to chance anyone seeing me come out of it in the morning and start to ask questions. So, I slipped back into the room around 1:00 am, and listened for the deep breaths of S. as he slept. It appeared I was safe, for the moment anyway, as I slipped in next to him and closed my eyes, falling into a fitful sleep. The next morning, I woke up feeling both cold and distant. S. wasn't saying much, and I couldn't tell he even remembered what had happened, so I asked him. "Yes I remember," he said, not elaborating.

"Okay, and do you remember what you said to me?" I asked, repeating the awful words back to him. "Yes," he said, not apologizing, seemingly angry with me. I was scared to talk about it with him in the hotel in case another fight erupted, so I headed down to breakfast, leaving him in the room to sulk, as I told everyone he had too much of a hangover to come down. Once again they laughed, as many of us had missed the breakfast before, due to the same issue. But underneath, I knew that none of what I'd just experienced was a laughing matter, and just maybe it was time to make an exit plan.

Entry 43: Shadows