Grilled. Now Toast.

I’m sorry to say it, but the people in my life, especially the men in my life, don’t get a fair deal. They are all victims of what I refer to as – my marriage PTSD.

For years I let my husband play emotional ping pong with my head. I was grilled, examined, cross examined, every statement dissected, every intention extrapolated, while I attempted to respond with the patience of a saint.
Which I was not.

Eventually I exploded.
But that’s a story for another time.

Now I lash out at every innocuous question. An eye for an eye, and lets throw in a few extra limbs for shits and giggles.

Just today someone asked me, “Why do you never message me?”

“I’m messaging you right now.”

“But that is only because I messaged you first.”

“We are too old for this conversation.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not yet, but I will be soon. Stop grilling me.”

“All that I’m saying is that you could reach out first once in a way. I’m not grilling you.”

“Feels like grilling.”

“We are friends. Friends have expectations.”

“I don’t do expectations. My friend should know that I have marriage PTSD.”

Yup! I have actually convinced them that this is a legit excuse.

It’s not fair on them. I know. It’s not healthy for me either. I know. I’m working on it.

Step one – accept the problem.

Step two – find someone else to blame 😉

Nah.

Bear with me. Work in progress here.

Triggered by the Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday “grill.”