Crumbs in the Butter

 I did not buy any tubbed butter until I was married to Andrew.  He bought some one day, and when I opened it, I noticed some crumbs and had to sit down because my heart was pounding and I felt like I was going to throw up.

I have PTSD from crumbs being in the butter.

And yes, this is an actual diagnosed thing that I have - I didn’t just label myself with it.  I’ve been in therapy since 2018 and it has been tremendously helpful.  I still have flash backs and panic attacks, but it's a lot better than it used to be.

I think you know why that particular thing upsets me.

You actually started it as just a nice gesture.  But then I accidentally forgot one day.  It turned into me getting punished for a few crumbs I couldn’t get out without wasting butter.  It turned into me never eating bread because bread involved butter and I was scared to use butter in front of him, or to even eat bread in front of him without butter because if I had bread he’d assume it had been buttered and I was then liable for any of the crumbs in the butter.

I don’t think you realized how constantly stressed I was in that house.  I am that way now too - I’m just now realizing it.  I notice I get really upset and irritable when I feel torn between two things like that - either getting crumbs in the butter or wasting some and knowing they’re both equally “wrong”.  Equal potential for a traumatic and disproportionate punishment.  I felt like I could never do anything right, and I still feel that way.  Andrew has a hard time wrapping his head around why little things like that cause me so much stress, and when I explain things like the butter story he holds me and says he's so sorry.

I still remember sobbing about that stupid butter with the crumbs.  “I don’t know how it got in there!  I thought I got them all out!  It’s really hard to get every single one!” I still don’t know how to not get crumbs in it.  I still don’t eat toast or buy tubbed butter.  I still don’t understand why that was ever something to punish a kid for.  I don’t understand why he felt the need to attack my character for doing it, or make accusations that I was selfish or ungrateful.

You probably didn’t realize how much trauma he inflicted on me.  I hid it well because I was terrified of him ever knowing anything about me.  I know you remember I was scared to talk to him.  You teased me for it.  By the end of middle school, I was pretty much keeping everything I truly liked a secret from him so he couldn’t attack it or take it away when the wind blew across him the wrong way and he figured out a way that the wind was my fault.  Or he found a crumb in the butter and decided I left it there.  It couldn’t possibly have been him or you or just an accident.

I just wanted some fucking toast.