I have been so hard on my husband lately, I feel like I need to talk about some of the good. Because there really is so much of it – in all honesty, that’s what makes the bad so hard.
Because I know
it’s not him —
His body is just so warm against mine. When we lay there at night, and I push his tank-top to the side with my face, I would give anything to lay there forever with my cheek pressed against his bare skin. His body is just so perfectly mine.
When he is clearly himself, he would do anything to please me. All day long he works to put food on the table and a roof over my head – sure, there are times when he messes up horribly; he is absolutely terrible with money. But the work, the effort, the blood and sweat – it’s all there.
it is all there
for me —
He never makes me feel bad about my mistakes or insecurities. Yes, when he has an episode, things are said. By both of us. But when he is all himself, he is all about me. He makes me feel good when I feel horrible. He makes me feel loved when I feel lost. Through all of his awful mistakes, I know, even with my ingrained fear of abandonment, he would never, ever leave me. No matter what I do to that man, he will never abandon me.
I have shared so much with this man that I cannot even explain. The experiences, the situations, the travels, the love, the hate, the passion, the arguments, the growth, the confusion, the fear – the madness. I say this now with a clear head, no external influence, no sentimental longing:
my other half —
He knew me not even a month when he paid my rent my last month on my own in Italy because, otherwise, I didn’t know what to do. He brought me, shortly thereafter, to live with his family while I figured out what to do with my life. He was there to catch me when I lost direction and dropped out of university. He took me to Spain to live. He followed me to the States…back to Italy, then back here. He risked his life and freedom for me. He lost friends for me.
He was on my side
when I accidentally
punched his friend,
in the face —
My man believes in me. He thinks I’m the smartest person he’s ever met. I mean, I’m not advocating that that is a truthful statement (haha), but it’s still nice for your man to think that of you.
My man thinks I can do anything. Anything. Anything I want to do. Not only is my husband right there behind me, believing in me, rooting for me, he trusts I will be successful. Writing, music, art, computers, language – any passion that impulsively crosses my mind and heart, he believes I can do it. If I woke up tomorrow and wanted to be a figure skater, he would trust that I would make it happen.
My man cooks for me. I mean, sure, it goes without saying that I’m the better cook (haha) and cook more often (because I absolutely love to cook), but anything I want, my husband will make it happen. He loves to create for me and to see me smile.
As much as it drives me crazy, I love his silliness. As much as I sometimes want to strangle him, the laughter always pushes through my frustration.
He talks prolifically as he sleeps. In Italian, in Spanish, in English – in words that make no sense.
Sometimes he sings me those songs from the 1950’s, the ones with women’s names in them – you know the ones I’m talking about. I actually like his voice – he could have been a singer. He just doesn’t have the personality.
I love how every once in a while he wakes me up with dark chocolate covered strawberries from the chocolate shop around the corner –
it all sounds
There’s just something that’s not right. There’s just something that ruins it all. There is a Monster that lives inside and all around my husband that, at times, pulls him down to the depths of Hell. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This is the issue I take with deeming my husband a “narcissist.” Because he’s just not. He is a beautiful soul. He is so very giving.
Until it all goes wrong.
And then it goes right again.