Evening with my husband

I was very anxious about going home. Husband will also very anxious about me coming home. We hugged but neither of us were certain how to be with the other. The dog was very pleased to see me!

After recapping our week and our various feelings, we managed to get onto the subject of “am I autistic?”. He sees that all the symptoms that I mentioned to him are often perfectly normal. I point out in one’s or twos they probably are but in clusters of thirty they’re probably not. He’s more concerned that I’m looking for excuses to duck out of responsibility for my past behaviours. Actually, there are a few specific problems that I want to understand in my behaviour and what I can do about them. How I manage these things will depend on whether they are nature or nurture. He even got cross when I said that my brother and I feel that ASD runs in the family, accusing me and my brother of diagnosing people.

All the while I kept thinking “I want to go home”, which was a hugely unexpected thought. But I guess it’s something to watch out for – hopefully it’ll ease up over time.

He remains hugely skeptical.

The conversation got even more difficult at one point. He mentioned that somebody who he’s been chatting with online had agreed to connect on WhatsApp rather than Tinder. My husband then showed some pictures of his face and the guy blocked him!

“What are bastard!” I said.

My husband then said he was hoping for a more compassionate response. Which left me feeling dumb that I’d got it wrong again.

My husband commented that I appeared sad. I said that I felt disappointed that I’d got the conversation wrong again. And then he told me I was making about myself rather than focusing on what he had said.

I felt awkward: I didn’t know what was happening with the conversation. Was he going to say something else? Did I need to say something else? Was it my turn to speak? Could I change the subject? In effect, was that part of the conversation over?

Hubby had cooked quiche, sweetcorn, and jacket potatoes, which was the first meal he ever cooked me. As ever, it was, but he questioned why he’d done it. I saw it as wonderfully evocative of our first times together. I appreciated the effort.

Afterwards, I walked the dog, which was ok lovely and I’d had missed doing.

The whole time there was an atmosphere. It wasn’t relaxed. Had things gotten too heavy too soon? I know there’s other stuff he wants to talk about. He said that he felt anxious and wondered why I was there. I didn’t understand the question (simple though the words used were). He said conversations require two people. I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t talking, I thought I had been talking; I also thought that we were going to take this evening as a relaxed evening … except that it wasn’t.

I really felt uncomfortable. He was telling me that he was. I asked whether he wanted me to leave. He didn’t say, but asked me why I was there again, saying that I never share anything of myself. I felt pressured and confused. I said that I didn’t want to run away to the flat, but nothing was feeling good. He said that I hadn’t been present since I got there. I suppose anxiety will do that to a person.

I went upstairs to get some space for a minute. Should I leave? Is that what he wanted? Was that what I wanted? I know that I wanted to go back to the flat earlier, but I’d gotten changed into pajama shorts and was curling up on the sofa. I found that I was having thoughts of self-harm – of taking another overdose. I put my day clothes back on and went downstairs and said goodbye.

That broke me and I cried in the car before I drove back to the flat.

I felt unwelcome and unwanted in what had once been my home. I don’t think it will ever be my home again.

Tonight I am feeling wrecked, but I feel safer in my own space. I’m not going to self-harm.

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The next day

I had a very rough night. Feeling anxious and having hot flushes, which were so strong that they kept me awake even though I’d had a sleep aid. I did not want to get up, and a migraine is coming.

Based on all that and the things he’d said yesterday, I don’t think there’s any point going back to see him today.

I am feeling quite shit.

When I think about it, my husband had set some expectations as to what the evening would be. It deviated quite significantly from those expectations – if I were in some level ASD, then I might be expected to struggle with that change. If.

I’ve messaged him a couple of times today; he’s not responded. If I’ve not heard by 6pm I will have to go round to check on him.

In the meantime, I’ve been chatting online with friends and I am going out for a coffee!

I’ve messaged him a couple of times, he’s not replied. I’ve phoned him and he’s not picked up. I have now gone round. He’s in a bad way (depression and drink). He says that he’s called an ambulance. I said that is wait on the street and make sure that he’s seen to.

Five minutes later he calls me to ask me to find some way to look after the dog. I day there’s nothing that can be done until tomorrow, but if he feeds her, I’ll walk her tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call the doggy hotel.

There’s an uncharitable part of myself that wonders if he’s doing this on purpose to punish me for running off to the flat last night. That’s me just seeing him doing the worst, rather than the man that is angry and suffering.

Having him all but throw the poor dog at me and then slam the door underlines that it is no longer my home. That hurts.

I just don’t have the energy for this – it’s going to be a long night.