dreaming of a white christmas

didn't sleep much.
the omeprazole patched up my stomach for a while but now it feels like it's been ripped wide open.

about a week ago, he was pestering me to watch some stupid Christmas movie with him and when I said I didn't want to, he got mad and started yelling at me, demanding to know why I have to be like this.
I didn't want to say it, I wanted to spare him but he fucking asked for it so I told him, "well you know Christmas is hard for me after what happened four years ago. you were in the freaking room when I was diagnosed with PTSD over it."
he got mad. I knew he would. that's why I hadn't said anything all these years.
he's only mad because he's at fault. he's mad because he's the reason why I got diagnosed with PTSD, the reason why I have a hole in my stomach.
he's just mad at himself.

oh, the irony of it all. he got mad, he told me to get the fuck over it, and here we are a week later (at Christmastime, no less) and, hey, look, I can't get over it because he won't LET me get over it because here we are again and he's shoving pills down his throat and those fucking nightmares and flashbacks are right in front of my face yet again.
Audrey was trying to say something to him and he suddenly just zoned out, it was like he was looking at her but he wasn't and one of his eyelids was sagging and it was just creepy. she kept saying, "hey. hey. HEY," and he wouldn't respond, wouldn't even flinch as an indication that he heard her, and she shook him and he fucking fell over and she had to catch him even though he's twice her size. he just stared up at us but not really looking at us, not blinking, it was like he was asleep with his eyes open or maybe dead and we just started screaming and shaking him because it was too fucking familiar but still received no response whatsoever.
I don't know how long we screamed at him. my throat hurts from it, so I guess it must have been several minutes. right when I was about to grab the phone and call 911, he suddenly blinked and started talking again like no span of time had passed and then he saw the looks on our faces and wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with us ("and why the hell is Audrey holding me up?"). I noticed the handful of pills clenched in his fist and I told him, "don't you dare take those, you've been strung out all week and now you're suddenly blacking out, don't take those freaking pills," and as if just to spite me, he responded with, "oh I'm taking them" and swallowed the whole fucking handful.
fucking bastard.

he's mad at himself this morning.
he feels bad. guilty.
I don't care. he can suffer with it. all the guilt in the world isn't enough to amount to what he deserves for continuing to put Audrey and me through this bullshit.

I thought he was dead. I really did.