Somedays, I really don't mind having a conspiracy theorist husband. He makes me laugh, and we agree to disagree on certain things.
However, when he gets terrified over something that the rational part of my brain is saying is completely untrue? When there's not one shred of credible evidence to back up his fears?
Maybe I'm too logical. Maybe I need to understand him better. Hell, who am I to talk about irrational fears? I'm afraid of fish for fuck's sake!
But, goddamnit, my dad just died.
I can't even pretend to think about your possible apocalypse. My world has fallen apart. All of my family's worlds have fallen apart. You may think I'm fine, and maybe that's my fault. Hell, it's probably my fault. I sure don't act like I feel most of the time.
The thing is, even when I'm smiling, and laughing, and trying to be the same me... There's a part of me in my head that's curled up in a ball, rocking and sobbing.
I should tell him this. I know. It's just... Marriage isn't easy. And I've never been good at being completely honest about my feelings.
I miss my daddy. I miss how he was 18 months ago, before the stroke. Hell, even to see his confused, lopsided smile again while reminding him who I am like it was the last few weeks before he died... I'd give almost anything.
Fuck.