He’d called an ambulance for himself. I sat on the kerb outside, not able to go into the house. I sat there as the temperature dropped, I saw them go in; I told them who I was, they went in. I sat there for nearly three hours as the temperature dropped. When they came out, they wouldn’t, couldn’t tell me anything. I didn’t know what to do. I was messaging a friend, so I had some kind of company. I decided to go back to the flat and let him settle. I’d get changed into something warmer, then return and let them dog out. If I went in now, I think that I’d stimulate my husband and he wouldn’t settle down.
After getting changed into a pair of warm jogging bottoms and a hoody, I headed back to the house. I unlocked the door and crept in. My husband was sat in the sofa, the end of a cigarette in his hand, asleep. I walked quietly to the back of the house where the kitchen is, stepped over the child gate that stopped the dog from going where she pleased, and opened the back door. The dog followed me into the garden. I sat there wondering what to do next. Should I creep upstairs and sleep in the house so that I could keep an eye on him. I didn’t want to. I don’t feel safe around him when he’s like that. Too many times in the past have I been verbally abused by his illness.
Again I was paralysed with indecision.
This isn’t my home.
I crept out of the house and drove back to the flat – to my home.
It might only be a temporary place, but for now I do think of it as my home.
After watching some trash TV on the tablet, I went to bed. That was about four hours ago.
My head has been replaying every conversation, every choice I’ve made, trying to work out what I did wrong, trying to work out what I might have said instead, just beating me up.
I feel guilty for ruining away to my own safe space.
I feel angry that this time apart is at least as stressful as our time together.
My body’s temperature won’t settle. I feel itchy all the time.
I am glad that I haven’t booked leave from work yet. I need to know my husband is ok and that I can relax and stay relaxed – that there is no crisis imminent from him.
I am so tired.
In the morning I need to go to the house, feed the dog and let her out. Then return to the flat to try to work with a flat emotional and mental batteries.
Oh, of course, my bloody brain is thinking of ASD symptoms and how to sort and categorise then for the doctor. I’m bloody hyperfixated on analysing myself for ASD – how bloody ASD is that?!
I do some hypnosis. As soon as I turn the track off I’m back to tidying and turning and my head doing cartwheels.
I look at my phone. 5am. I see there’s a message from a friend, so I start chatting. They suggest I get up and start the day anyway. I realise that I might be able to take a nap later, or maybe finish work earlier, so I get up.
I’ve been working for five hours, I’ve finally sorted out the electricity and gas for the flat (is been putting it off because I’d have to speak to people), and I’ve arranged for the dog to stay a few nights in the doggy hotel (no pets allowed in the flat).
On the middle of my work morning, I drive across to the house to let the dog out and give her her breakfast. Asi approached the house I saw her on the street outside. She’s a beagle and not very good at recall, however she came after a few times of calling her – phew!
The front door was locked, so he’s simply put her out onto the street. I’m not angry – he is quite ill – bit she could have been killed, or worse.
Once inside, I gave her breakfast and let her out.
Husband gave me a “fuck off”.
I managed another few hours of work on my mangled brain.
Then I get a distress call from the husband saying in a tiny voice “help me, please help me”. I straight away say that I’m on my way. I lock the computer but I think I’ve forgotten to shut the windows (bad: I’m on a ground floor flat), and dash over.
He’s pretty much forgotten that he phoned me, but at least he didn’t tell me to fuck off. He did say that I did what I always did and left him. I did. I couldn’t cope on Saturday, he wasn’t coping, I didn’t feel welcome so I left. Sunday night I got told to fuck off, so I did.
He fell asleep again after about half an hour.
I feel like screaming and throwing things: in my head my voice is screaming what it has screamed on and off for nearly quarter of a century: “I can’t do this”.
I do want to run away. I cannot cope. I never have been able to. There are three ways I’ve dealt with these situations, run away, shutdown, or meltdown – the meltdowns I hate most because I can say and do horrible, horrible things.
After dropping the dog off at the doggy hotel (she loves it: long walks in the countryside), I go back and do another couple of hours. I am absolutely hanging!
I’m going for a nap.
Hurrah for working from home!
Eunuchorn 
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