A Short Fuse and a Large Chip on His Shoulder

Hear that? That's the sound of the other shoe dropping. Or the sound of people clapping, if you think I haven't been punished for my actions (I know my sister's out there!) If you read through my last couple of blogs, I know you were thinking it was all too good to be true. I mean, there's a man shortage, according to all the women's magazines, and men go for younger women, etc., etc. For a while, when I was feeling smugly superior (as loving and being loved as a tendency to do to us), I would have told you, "Well, it's because of my attitude---that's what attracts men---a positive, enthusiastic attitude." Or, if I were feeling mushier, I'd have said that it was sheer dumb luck that brought Steve and me together, but we were the people that were meant to be together---soul mates. And I guess I would still say that. But let me tell you, it hasn't all been a bed of roses.

So what's the problem? Well, one of the bigger problems is Steve's temper. Or lack of tolerance. Or both. Here's an example: the reason I haven't posted over the last several days is because the Internet connection was down. These things happen. It was a pain in the butt for me, because I had a deadline yesterday and ended up going to Panera (they have free wifi, thank heavens) during a two-hour break in my day and rushing through the stuff I had to send. Steve is really good about trying to fix things when they break, but sometimes he works on them for too long when it becomes obvious we're going to need outside help. So he went and got a new wireless router, because he thought that might be the problem, and it turned out not to be. We ended up having to call Comcast and I had to wait home for them yesterday. No big deal, as long as my deadline was met. And for Steve, it meant checking his e-mails over the weekend on his iPhone and then going to work on Monday and using the wifi there. Really no big deal. But he gets frustrated and then reminds me of a two-year-old having a temper tantrum. Nothing is right. So, he did that and then had trouble with a light fixture (that was, admittedly, poorly installed by our corner-cutting landlord). The combination was enough to send him into a frenzy. I watched and said, "Sorry" a bunch of times. Here's the conversation:

"This shoddy construction bothers me, but it doesn't seem to bother you!

"You're right, it is shoddy, I just don't think there's anything we can do about it!"

"I've had enough---I'm going to the pub!" (Funny that the minute an Englishman wants to storm out, he reverts to going to the pub, even though we don't actually have one.)

"Can I come with you?"

"I thought you were working." (The deadline to which I was referring.)

"Yeah, but I'm almost done---I could go." (My mistake.)

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't be very good company."

"OK, then, go. No problem." He storms out. He's gone for a few minutes. He storms back in.

"I figure if I'm going to sit outside someplace, it may as well be here." He takes the paper and goes outside. I continue working. Now when I said I was "almost finished," I had maybe an hour of work left to do. I knew I'd be able to get it done by Tuesday (this was Sunday). The big problem was going to be coordinating waiting for the Comcast guy and going to Panera to send stuff in.

So about twenty minutes later, Steve came back in from the patio and says, "I thought you said you were almost finished! How long are you going to be? I've been waiting for you!" Remember, he wasn't waiting for me---at least as far as I know. He'd told me I wasn't welcome.

All this probably seems like no big deal to you, and I admit, I am overly sensitive about being yelled at, but if this is where it ended, it would be no big deal. Instead, after a bunch of back-and-forth good mood/bad mood episodes, by the time we go to bed, Steve has worked himself up into a frenzy and the belief that absolutely everything is my fault. And this is where it starts to get really, really frustrating. We repeat patterns, they say, and the way I act when Steve gets into these moods is the way I acted as a child with my mother. The reason for that is they both do the same thing. I remember my mother saying to me one time, "I'm sorry, Katherine." As I started to say, "That's OK, Mom," she continued, "I'm sorry Katherine, but I just don't like you."

Steve, that night, said, "I'm sorry, Kate." I thought he was apologizing for his bad mood until he continued,"This (our relationship) is no good. It's not working out." As he veers from mood to mood, I walk around on tiptoes. Until I get so frustrated I start calling him names. (I didn't do that with my mother.) He becomes more and more generally hurtful. I am stupid, superior-acting, incompetent, "No wonder Mark didn't like you," etc., etc. I crumble under these attacks, which just makes it worse. Here are some of the results of the last couple of years: He got mad at something minor in a restaurant and started saying such nasty things to me I started crying. We left the restaurant with him even more nasty and mad, and he backed his car into someone else's car in the parking lot. Hard. That was an expensive tantrum. Another time, he kept yelling at me---Oh, not yelling. He accuses me of yelling and says he never does---reprimanding me and it was getting worse and worse, so I went upstairs. He followed so I locked myself in Tom's room and he broke down the door so he could keep yelling at---oops, reprimanding---me.

So I can be annoying. My whiny "don't yell at me" attitude is probably hard to live with when you're spoiling for a fight. But Steve is impossible. The fact that I am an innocent bystander to his frustration and I end up being the person responsible for all his dissatisfaction drives me crazy. And women are supposed to be the ones who bring up the kitchen sink in arguments, so why is it that, when I argue with Steve, something that starts out with the Internet not working ends up with a discussion of my shortcomings? The problem is, I'd like to fight back, but I am cowed. I forgive almost before the end of an argument.

Disclaimer: Steve and I have been discussing this, and while I feel cowed, his take on it is that he doesn't like to bring things up because of my "attacks of vitriol." What I see is that after he goes at me for quite a while, if I don't start crying, I start fighting back. And once I get into that mode, I am pretty cutting. I do say things that are vitriolic on those occasions. But I think that's been between four and six times since we've been together. Most of the time, I know he's starting to get mad and I start to try to make him happy. It's just the way I am; I can barely remember what made me mad. But Steve nurses his grudges. He can be completely unreasonable and mad at the world in general and taking it out on me, but the next morning, when I try to act as if nothing happened, he is the one who is still mad. I absolutely hate this cycle, because I am back to my childhood, trying to keep both my parents from getting mad because it is so unpleasant. But I don't know how to make everything more balanced. Any suggestions?