My Nervous Breakdown
Letemdangle
Published
11/14/2011
My wife and I held a one income household until our four boys were in full time school. It was a period of about thirteen years where I worked long hours and most days to meet financial obligations. Usually, I could make enough money to pay the bills and keep things together. Every once and a while, appliances would breakdown, car payments were not met and someones birthday or Christmas was coming and we had little money.
One winter, with about twenty dollars to my name, I needed one hundred dollars for groceries and diapers. There was an ice storm coming within twenty four hours so I bought ten bags of sand salt mix at two dollars a piece. I went door to door and sold them for five dollars a bag as the storm hit. By midnight I made enough to get us through one more day. This type of situation occurred more often than my wife and I cared for. At times we were so overcome with exhaustion, she would cry herself to sleep and I would lay awake trying to find ways to provide my family a more secure life. As tough as those times were, my wife and I are appreciative that we were able to bring up our children in the way we believed was best for them.
It was just a matter of time before my wife had to go back to work. One of my last jobs before that transition took place was a kind of ironic situation. The customer was a cheerful throwback to the 1950's. A Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days, with an apron, a friendly smile and a plate of oatmeal cookies as I arrived each morning. She was considerate, amiable and compliable. I was always second guessing myself, wondering if wasn't taking advantage of her vulnerable nature.
Her husband was a dark haired South American psychiatrist. He always wore sunglasses, avoided the sunny side of the home and was usually found napping with curtains drawn under heavy blankets. His various resting areas were littered with empty vials of Demerol, self prescribed.
I did my best to not disturb him, as such, my progress was hindered. When it came time to receive a payment from him, about one month of labour and material, we sat at the kitchen table to discuss the bill. This upset him and I did my best to console him and explain the situation. At one point he lit into his wife with unjustified complaints. He had some kind of physical manifestation where by he stood straight up, hands in air, yelling as loud as he could, " I have served Kings and Queens, I have helped the greatest and most powerful people on Earth and yet my pathetic wife cannot manage a simple household? How could you let this go on, I do not have the money to pay this man. You are a poor excuse for a wife."
She left the rooms in tears, a broken women, and from my observations, many times over. I became enraged and told the Doctor that he had no right to treat his wife so badly. I left the home angry and frustrated by what I saw.
The next night his son and daughter arrived at my door with a cheque. They asked for the house key and complained my work was good but took too long to complete. I tried to explain to them that the work was delayed due to their fathers habit of falling asleep in various rooms stalling my progress. They dismissed my explanation. I went on about the problems their father had with narcotics and the hurtful way he treated their mother. They totally ignored my observations. It was heart breaking to me.
I sat down on the couch next to my wife, rehashed the entire situation in my head and began to cry my eyes out. Literally shaking uncontrollably for about ten minutes. This had never happened to me before and since, but it was a powerful release of emotion. At the end of it my wife and I were laughing at what had occurred and felt blessed that we raised our children with our love, respect and strength still intact.
One winter, with about twenty dollars to my name, I needed one hundred dollars for groceries and diapers. There was an ice storm coming within twenty four hours so I bought ten bags of sand salt mix at two dollars a piece. I went door to door and sold them for five dollars a bag as the storm hit. By midnight I made enough to get us through one more day. This type of situation occurred more often than my wife and I cared for. At times we were so overcome with exhaustion, she would cry herself to sleep and I would lay awake trying to find ways to provide my family a more secure life. As tough as those times were, my wife and I are appreciative that we were able to bring up our children in the way we believed was best for them.
It was just a matter of time before my wife had to go back to work. One of my last jobs before that transition took place was a kind of ironic situation. The customer was a cheerful throwback to the 1950's. A Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days, with an apron, a friendly smile and a plate of oatmeal cookies as I arrived each morning. She was considerate, amiable and compliable. I was always second guessing myself, wondering if wasn't taking advantage of her vulnerable nature.
Her husband was a dark haired South American psychiatrist. He always wore sunglasses, avoided the sunny side of the home and was usually found napping with curtains drawn under heavy blankets. His various resting areas were littered with empty vials of Demerol, self prescribed.
I did my best to not disturb him, as such, my progress was hindered. When it came time to receive a payment from him, about one month of labour and material, we sat at the kitchen table to discuss the bill. This upset him and I did my best to console him and explain the situation. At one point he lit into his wife with unjustified complaints. He had some kind of physical manifestation where by he stood straight up, hands in air, yelling as loud as he could, " I have served Kings and Queens, I have helped the greatest and most powerful people on Earth and yet my pathetic wife cannot manage a simple household? How could you let this go on, I do not have the money to pay this man. You are a poor excuse for a wife."
She left the rooms in tears, a broken women, and from my observations, many times over. I became enraged and told the Doctor that he had no right to treat his wife so badly. I left the home angry and frustrated by what I saw.
The next night his son and daughter arrived at my door with a cheque. They asked for the house key and complained my work was good but took too long to complete. I tried to explain to them that the work was delayed due to their fathers habit of falling asleep in various rooms stalling my progress. They dismissed my explanation. I went on about the problems their father had with narcotics and the hurtful way he treated their mother. They totally ignored my observations. It was heart breaking to me.
I sat down on the couch next to my wife, rehashed the entire situation in my head and began to cry my eyes out. Literally shaking uncontrollably for about ten minutes. This had never happened to me before and since, but it was a powerful release of emotion. At the end of it my wife and I were laughing at what had occurred and felt blessed that we raised our children with our love, respect and strength still intact.
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