I was driving back to work from lunch today considering my strange marriage.

 

I've been married 24 years. I got married at 19 and had a baby before I was 20, not by coincidence.

 

The first few years were rough. My husband did not want to be married. He felt hemmed in. He had several "affairs" before and after we were married. In fact the week before we were to be wed, we were having sex and I noticed sand in his bed. He said he'd had sex with a tourist on the beach. We live near the Gulf of Mexico.

 

My relationship with him has always been turbulent.

 

My growing up life was relatively normal. Relative because there is no way to describe normal.  I've never heard of a person who doesn't live in a dysfunctional family to some degree or another.  I always thought my sisters were relatively normal until we had to "Baker Act" my dad.  In Florida, that means my mom and I went to the county courthouse and filled out paperwork to have my dad committed to the nut ward in the local hospital because he was threatening her with bodily harm and suicide. 

 

That is what I mean by relatively normal.  I grew up in a family with no divorce.  We went to church every Sunday.  Mom stayed at home.  Mom and Dad were both scout leaders, active as volunteers in church.  Dad had been the city manager in the town where we lived.  Us kids were good students... relatively. 

 

So I meet this guy when I'm 15, fall head over heels in love, as much as a 15 year old can.  Have this turbulent relationship through out high school.  End up marrying him.  Have a kid our first year of marriage. 

 

His family was completely opposite of ours.  Although we grew up in the same upscale beach community, his was a broken family with whole siblings, half siblings, and step siblings.  Hubby was what I like to call a Creaster.  His family went to church on Christmas and Easter.  His two step sisters grew up in a nudist colony and were smoking pot by the time they were 10 years old.  Hubby's mom used to supply us with pot when we were dating.

 

So, to the point. 

 

I'm not dissing hubby's family.  Well, I take that back.  His dad and step dad were/are a blight on this earth, which in part has made him who he is.

 

Because he lived such a soap operatic life, it is something he has never been able to shake. 

 

No matter how good our life is at the moment, Hubby always has to look at the dark side.  He is afraid if he gets to feeling too good about where we are at, something will go wrong. In fact, I think sometimes he forces things to go wrong. 

 

For example, if our car insurance payment is one day late, we get an electronic call from the insurance company informing us our payment is late.  Hubby freaks.  The house is in trauma.  He runs around like a chicken with his head cut off tossing papers aside looking for the bill, looking for the check book, etc.  I used to feed into this and get upset, too.

 

The other thing is that no matter how hard I try to be the perfect wife to him, I can never achieve his standard.  Every single day of my life he finds fault with me whether it is a big thing or a little thing.  For a long time I thought something was wrong with me.  Why could I never make him happy?  Why was our life in constant upheaval, never on an even keel?

 

Then I began to realize I rarely find fault with him.  Let me revise that statement.  It drives me crazy when he uses every pan in the house to cook dinner.  You see, I cook, I clean.  He cooks, I clean.  I hate how he hums when he is working on projects.  I hate when he leaves the toilet seat up.  I hate that I can never watch the television programs I want to watch. 

 

In the scheme of things, I consider these complaints minor.  If hubby gambled, or was still having affairs, or was addicted to drugs, or addicted to expensive, fast cars, I might take issue. 

 

Hubby is a good man.  He has a good job, with a killer retirement.  We have a nice home, live five minutes from the beach, have raised our kids in the best school zone in our county.  Our son (23) just recently started teaching at the local naval academy.  Our daughter is in her first year of college.  We have a relatively new camper and have been indulging in our passion of traveling.  We both have good vehicles, one paid for. 

 

So I've been pondering why it is that he finds fault with life all the time.  This fault finding injects constant turmoil into our lives.  After a long period of depression, I finally went to counseling.  I learned how to stick up for myself.  Basically now I just tell him to shut up.  I mean literally I tell him to shut up, because subtlety does not work.

 

So he has turned his fault finding on our daughter.

 

I've mentioned to him on several occasions that I want our lives to be peaceful.  I asked him if he thought other people lived like us, always in turmoil. 

 

I've asked him to get counseling. 

 

I honestly believe that despite the fact I sacrificed my career to raise my kids, and make half of what he makes annually, I'd be happier without him.  I'd rather live a simple life, then be berated every day.  Often he wakes me up at 6:00 AM, complaining about something. 

 

If I were a terrible wife, I'd understand.  I've been a good wife to him and a good mother to our children.  I don't gamble, I don't do drugs.  I've volunteered in the community.  I took care of his ailing grandmother, invited her into our home.  I really can't figure out why he has made it his life's mission to complain.

 

To sum it up, nothing I do is ever good enough. 

 

I think subconsciously he couldn't handle a bucolic life.  He likes the drama.  He thrives on the adrenaline of things not being right.