Enough is enough is enough...

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If you've had enough, don't put up with his stuff  

Don't you do it  

Now if you've had your fill, get the check, pay the bill  

You can do it
 

Tell him to just get out  

Nothing left to talk about  

Pack his raincoat, show him out 

Just look him in the eye and simply shout
 

Enough is enough is enough I can't go on, 

I can't go on no more, no 

Enough is enough is enough I want him out, 

I want him out that door now

- Donna Summer, Enough is Enough (No More Tears)

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Dear Arthur,

Enough is enough.  At this time of peace and goodwill towards all men, I find myself remembering that you are not a cantankerous child, and in fact a right difficult diagnosis, or inanimate/invisible disease. 

You are testing me right now, Arthur.  You have tested me many times before, and I've no doubt you will continue to do so long into our less-than-loving relationship.  I compromise for you daily, and during times like these where I must make the tough decisions for my own long-term health (which usually involve a short-term nightmare where you are concerned), you test me with greater challenges and try my patience even  more than usual.

So much of you reminds me of a boyfriend I had once upon a time.  I chose to see only his good points, where everyone around me could see his volatile temper, and the many other traits that ultimately resulted in his demise.  But, for the sake of my mental and physical health, I ended it.  Unfortunately our relationship is not so easily terminated, Arthur.  I am stuck with you, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer but inevitably poorer, for as long as we both shall live.

Worse still is that despite it all, our relationship affects the relationships I have with the people I love.  Cancelling plans because you have robbed me of all semblance of energy, or you have decided to throw one of your catastrophic tantrums which has left me with too much pain/too much inflammation/not enough resolve to function.  Not being able to do the spontaneous things - like change the plans from takeaway and a relaxing night in, to dinner at a restaurant.  I can't handle these things, because you rob me of my reserves daily, and leave me with no energy, no emotional safety net, no sense of humour to truly enjoy myself.  When you are being selfish, the invitations dry up, because my friends know how much it devastates me to have to say no, or cancel at the last minute.  I try to put on my brave face and pretend that it doesn't matter, but it hurts.

You hurt me.  On days like today when it takes every ounce of courage and resilience I have to get up, dress up and show up; you continue to strip me of any energy I thought I had.  According to my pedometer, I have walked more steps today than I have in months.  Yet here I am, exhausted and broken.  Too sore to make myself anything for dinner.  In too much pain to find a comfortable position in which to get some sleep.  Too exhausted to contemplate the less than 12-hours until I have to do it all over again.   Yet I will.   Because though you may leave me battered and bruised, limping and frail, with less energy than most would deem minimum for basic functions; you cannot break me.  Because my body is broken, it makes my mind stronger, my will more impenetrable, and my resolve more stubborn than ever before.  

So to you, Arthur - Merry Christmas.  And I would imagine Santa will leave you on the 'naughty list' for good; because heaven knows you are unlikely to ever behave yourself long enough to graduate to the nice list!