Just Beneath the Surface

“What fixation feeds this fever?”(Weir). Fuck… Tuesday night I had another rage episode.  Some of the elements.  Exhaustion.  I got home around 8:45 pm Randall was watching TV.  What happened?  We are scheduled for couple’s therapy on Friday. She asked if was necessary because things are going well.  I said, “That’s true but there are things we can’t talk about because the conversations don’t go anywhere.” “Like what?” She asked. “Like our taxes…” I stated.  She then went on to say, “I told you and your family I’m not talking about that.”  I fucking lost it.  I stormed out of the apartment kicking both of the exit doors hard.  My heart was racing.  I sent her a text saying, “If you do not go to therapy on Friday we are separating.”  She did not get it.  She doesn’t get it. I don’t give a fuck about the taxes.  I can’t live with the emotional power struggle around money.  I can’t live with what feel like unreasonable expectations.  I can’t live with the resentment I have created through years of codependency and enabling.  It’s just beneath the surface.  Dry tinder with a little kerosene.  No match needed.  Just enough heat.  Rage, rage, rage.  What the hell is going on?  I want to know.  I’m no longer interested in blaming her sense of entitlement.  Knowing I’m right is not helping.  I/ we need a real healing solution that goes beyond being right to being able to be two adults in marriage. We are not there and cannot do it alone. We have blind spots the size of Missouri.  I am ready to heal.  I her to want it too.  This is another item on the ever growing list of things I am powerless over.  I am not powerless over my quest for emotional sobriety...The final frontier...