I was trying to make dinner when my husband noticed my zombie-like state. He asked me if I was okay, then realized that I had drank alcohol and taken a muscle relaxer at pretty much the same time. He asked me
if I was okay to continue cooking, to which I replied "Yes, I think so." At least that's what I thought I said. Apparently he must've heard something different because a few minutes later I was told that I needed to go to bed. I knew he was right, of course. I was just trying to tough it out like I usually do. There are lots of times that I am really exhausted or in a lot of pain and don't feel like cooking and cleaning, but I do my best anyway most of the time. Plus, I loathe admitting to his face that he is right, especially because it happens so often (him being right). I don't know why this is, it truly baffles me. Frustrating, and to top it off, it is a frustration of my own making. If only I didn't automatically want to do the opposite of everything he says!
Anyway, I'm off topic now. Going back to the point, I was sent to bed right then. I didn't get any dinner because it wasn't ready yet, and I really wasn't that hungry so I didn't push the issue. However, the indignity of being sent to bed at 6:45 without dinner rankled me a little bit. Not the actuality of it, as I wanted nothing more than to go to bed, it was just the idea of my husband being the one to tell me that's what I was going to do. So as I was getting to the stairs, my husband
So on I went upstairs to bed, and in a moment of defiance I ended up taking a half of a sleeping pill after laying in bed for 20 minutes. A few minutes later my dear HOH, being the sweet man that he is, came up to check on me. He saw that I was awake and lay next to me for a minute. "You know why I had to send you up to bed, right?" He asked. I nodded. "And you aren't upset, right?" he added. I told him "No, just tired." He kissed me goodnight again and left me to sleep. I felt kind of guilty because I knew I shouldn't have disobeyed, but I really didn't want a spanking and/or lecture on top of what was already going on.
The next day I meant to tell him about the sleeping pill, (mostly) but "forgot", meaning I lost my courage each time I thought about it. I wasn't afraid of him or of his reaction, I just hate admitting when I've done something monumentally stupid.
So today, Friday, I told him. I asked him to get his belt as I told him what I had done. After he had already spanked me with the plastic brush. I really didn't think about it until then, but I knew I had to tell. He was understandably upset, and pointed out that it was dangerous, and I could have died in my sleep. Those were things I knew, that I had been told by my neurologist too.
I explained what I was thinking (or rather, not thinking) at the time and told him how sorry I was. He understood, I think. I could tell I had disappointed him in the way he swung the belt. I didn't cry, surprisingly. I usually end up in tears almost every time I get spanked, just due to the pain and the lack of control over the situation, but not today. I was still very sorry for disobeying him though, and I will do my best to make him proud of me.
Reading this, you might think I resent his involvement in overseeing my well-being, but I really don't. I crave it. At the time he's making me do something I don't want to do, or chastising, I don't like it. But in the big picture it makes me feel loved and protected. In fact if he didn't take care of me the way he does I would certainly think he stopped caring. So thank you my wonderful husband, for being who you are so I can be who I am.