In the winding up toward utter hysteria I tend not to think before I speak. Even without the fear and panic, I often lack that all too important edit button. I don’t usually like what ends up on my tongue though I rarely check my words. Unfortunately my partner bares the brunt of the crap. She will often snap at me or go on a rant about why am I beating her up when it isn’t her fault. Sadly this only pisses me off more. I think to myself, why the fuck is she being so sensitive? When I know my words could have taken the paint off the siding. It has been awful in this endless state of panic. She takes a lot of that. Not that she hasn’t had her moments. She has been crabby and difficult since quitting smoking. Least she has a good excuse. Well…guess I have one too. It just feels my excoriating lambasts of her go well past what is okay or decent. so than why can I not check them? Why torment her? Is it that wrong for her emotions and actions not to mirror mine? What good would it do us if we were both to panic? It wouldn’t. Though it just feels so lonely, always does. Why must I always be the one crawling along desperately trying to find another day. One more day. My life lived in tiny blocks, no future, only containing the terror of the life in the present. I am pulled tight against the world, everything around me moving a million miles an hour. Life beyond this gate hurling along. Me, braced against the oncoming disaster, absolutely paralyzed to change it. In this immobile spot I seem powerless to stop my angry assault on the person closest to me. The one trying hardest to keep this world spinning. Without her none of this would be here. I cannot lie and say it is me, no, she has fought for this farm. In the moments when I was completely lost and not functioning she picked up the slack and moved forward with purpose. Never once pausing to panic and wring her hands. She never did that. Least never in my presence. Though I highly doubt she ever did, it isn’t her. No, she doesn’t do panic. In those predawn moments when I crawled soaking wet and frozen into our home making no sense. She stripped my wet clothes off and wrapped me in blankets. Stood in the kitchen making coffee for the police officer writing notes. Not exactly the moment for a coffee, but it is what she did. that is just a small example of her ability to adapt and react. How can I possibly push her away? I can’t think of anyone else who could contend with all I have thrown at her. Alone would not be okay. I think to go this road alone would put that last nail in my coffin. Is that what I want? Is that why I viciously snipe at her? Is alone what I want? It is a question I can’t answer, though I do know I will end up alone if I don’t find a way to check my tongue. She deserves none of what I throw at her. She has stood beside me even when most people would pull up stakes and head for the hills. She hasn’t. I know we love each other. We do. I don’t think we ever counted on it being this difficult. I do not know where this anger toward her is coming from. I guess it may well be anger at the powerlessness of the situation being redirected at her. I have so far exceeded the redline on my anger at this situation, this may well just be the overflow finding the path of least resistance. She is just at the wrong place right now. I just wish I wasn’t so mean. So much like my father it scares me.