It’s been exactly one year since he came home. Things have changed. Things are the same.
I’m still anxious. I’m better than I have been in recent years, but there are periods where I totally freak out about everything that’s happened. Sometimes, I feel like everything is collapsing around me. I’ll be having a good day and something might set me off. Maybe it’s a topic on tv, like last week. Those are predictable. Sometimes, it’s just a word. One word, and I’m right back at ground zero again. Thankfully, those times are fewer and farther between, and the emotional reaction that used to last for days after has been reduced to usually just the remainder of the day.
He’s open about smoking. I know it seems completely fucked up his lies about smoking – of all things he lied about – smoking is the one that I focus on the most. I think it’s because it was the one that hurt the most, it’s the one that went on the longest.
Most of the time, he’s open about his feelings and his thoughts. A lot of the time, when I ask how he’s doing, he’s worried about me. While he might not offer up anything on his own, he’s honest when I question him. He’s never tried to minimalize my feelings when something is upsetting me. My biggest fear is that he’s lying again, and that I’m just convincing myself that what he says is truthful because I can’t handle the reality.
But the reality is, 365 days later, I don’t regret getting him out that night.
