They call me at 6.00am to tell me he’s been admitted to the Psychiatric ward. I am so relieved, yet terrified at the same time.

Jen and I had gone home at 4.30am and I’d fallen asleep for an hour or so and then woke in fright when the phone rang.

“Bloody men!” Jen said when she saw my eyes open, and I laughed until the crying started again.

My stomach keeps churning and I’m crying constantly. I still can’t believe all this is happening. When the phone woke me, I thought it had been a dream. You know that feeling of relief, when you wake from a nightmare, and that feeling of relieve when you realise that it’s just that. Yeah, that didn’t happen. Yesterday morning it was Christmas and today I wake, and I’m in some never imagined hell. I can’t get your face out of my mind.

That look of hatred in your eyes last night made my stomach turn and I wanted to vomit. When the nurse asked me to retell what had happened and whether you agreed with what I said, you said, “what do you want me to say?” “Yes or no?” said the nurse, “Do you agree?” “Well, yes, I suppose so,” you said, and your eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

Yes, she wouldn’t let me help in the kitchen; (cause you always cook and I wanted to do it for my family for a change);

Yes, I was getting drunker by the second.

Yes, I made my daughter cry and the others were concerned.

Yes, you tried to diffuse the intensity of my conversations with my daughter and I told you “you, you are creating the problem.”

Yes, I went for a drunken walk to see the Christmas lights, even though the idea of the walk with the others was to break up the conversation and give your children some breathing space, but you went with them.

Apparently you stumbled along the street and veered into gardens a bit. Your children were embarrassed. I didn’t know at the time.

Yes, you came home and I told you to go to bed cause you were drunk and had already made your daughter cry, and “tears on Christmas day were not appropriate”.

But no, you beckoned her with your finger, and she followed you and you started talking at her again, outside her room; standing in the hallway, in the dark.

You put your face close to hers and started talking. Your teeth would have been dark from the red wine.

You didn’t know that my son was in his room, and he heard every word.

The conversation was harmless he said, all about you, and your little girl stood there in the dark, listening to her father and knowing that he was drunk, again.

But she couldn’t and wouldn’t escape. She began to cry again, and when I again came to see what was going on, you again told me I was ‘the problem’ and to go away.

So I returned to the kitchen and the pile of dirty dishes from our Christmas lunch.

I figured sooner or later you’d want to lie down. Eventually, I went and sat outside, alone, annoyed that instead of being able to enjoy a drink and relax after a long busy Christmas day, I was battling a drunken situation, again, as I’d done several times before.

If I could have foreseen the next few hours, I would of course have just gone to bed and left conversations for the morning. But I didn’t know what was about to happen.

You walked out to the front garden and I think at this stage all five children had gone to bed. You had changed the mood of the house and we had all had enough.

We had dealt with it before, but today, of all days, we’d had enough.

I heard you bring in the garden waste bin from the street and put it in the carport. Odd? You then came around to the back garden and walked straight past me.

You saw me, but obviously the fury had set in by then. I heard you go through the house and out the front door to the verandah again.

I decided to follow you and try to get you to bed, but I also want to confront you.

You had ruined my Christmas and I was so pissed off at you!

As I approached, you looked at me with such hatred. I was shocked. I’d not seen that look from you before. I asked you what the problem was and you told me ‘I’ was the problem. Once more I asked what did you mean, what had I done?

You began to tell me how I had been nasty to you in the kitchen earlier that day and how I had snapped at you, but you said it with such venom, I could sense that the conversation was pointless.

You started to walk down the garden path, so I asked again what you were doing, and then said, “you are drunk, everybody could see that! You are drunk and your behaviour has just been horrendous this afternoon. Your parents saw it, my family saw it and that is why my brother and family left earlier than expected, you were being aggressive towards them so they left.”

I suggested that if you wouldn’t go to bed, then you should go for a walk – I was too angry with you by then – “a long walk and don’t come home until you can be nice to everyone. I’ve had enough of this, really enough. I’m done dealing with you now.”

I came inside and went to our bedroom. I locked the door. I really had had enough and I didn’t want the argument that I knew was coming, so I locked the door to our bedroom.

I tried to relax but my mind was spinning and going over the events of the day.

Had I really been that nasty? I was stressed yes, because I was putting on lunch for 17 people and my first big Christmas lunch at that. I’d spent three days in the kitchen already, preparing the food and planning the menu, doing the shopping for it all, as well as trying to buy all the Christmas presents, clean the house, help you with sorting out the pergola area. So, yes, I might have been a bit snappy, so what? My girls understood. They helped me; they plated things up and listened to what I asked them to do.

You, meanwhile, carved the Turkey with a surgeon’s precision, in slow motion.

You always need to do things meticulously and precisely, so the slower you went the more agitated I was getting. The vegetables and everything else, including your mood, were getting cold.

How many times had we waited until 10pm for dinner, while you were in the kitchen?

How many times had you drunk yourself through a Friday night, insisting on cooking dinner with hungry, anxious children waiting to be fed?

And I had let this happen? You had always been so nasty on those nights. I didn’t challenge you then. My children always hated those nights but yours, yours were more tolerant. I guess they were used to your behaviour. They only came here every second weekend.

But why did I let that happen for years?

You finally handed me a platter of Turkey, but I then asked you to do the same with the ham. Why did I do that?

You took what seemed like a lifetime, so yes, I guess I was snappy with you, but any other husband would have brushed that off and known that I was under stress and not taken it to heart.

You see, I’m nearly always pleasant to you; I rarely speak harshly to you, because you take such objection to it and sulk like a child if I do. And I can’t stand that behaviour in a grown man.

You behave as if I am your mother sometimes, telling you off, as if you have never grown up, I know this, so I try to be pleasant and maintain some of the niceness of an early relationship, some of the kindness. I do love you, so I don’t like upsetting you.

When lunch is finally on the table outdoors, I say grace, but turn it more into a ‘proud of your achievements’ speech about all the assembled family. I leave you til last, but I thank you for always being by my side, supporting me every day and helping me with preparing for this day. Inside I am furious, but we have a reasonable chat in public. I’m gone past wanting to eat after all the stress of getting dinner on the table and feel sick with exhaustion.

You take a photo for Mum of us all assembled at the long table and we all look at you and smile our fake smiles. You don’t want to be in the photo, happy to be excluded and on the outer as usual.

We decide to do ‘presents’ after lunch as the day is getting away from me.

Everyone gathers in the lounge room and Jas hands out the gifts. You take a present, but don’t open it and put it to one side. You don’t join in the laughter or fun or sense of awe with the gifts. You sit in the ‘back row’ and appear to be bored. But at all times you have a drink in your hand.

Your parents arrive and join in the present giving. It’s the first time they have been here on Christmas day, and I’m happy to see them. I presume you got them a drink, the room is so crowded, we are all sitting around in a circle and it’s getting hot.

There is much confusion, and wrapping paper going in all directions. I have little conversations with everyone here and there; it’s a nice time. But I know you are on the outside, not by me, but I’m happy your parents are here and you can now talk to your Dad. You get other presents, but I don’t see much of your joy?

We move outside again and replenish drinks. You are distant, but that’s okay.

You are relaxing and enjoying the company, finally, I think. You are talking to my brother, but your voice sounds strained. You are getting agitated talking to him about fishing and his reluctance to make time to go with you – but I’m in the kitchen and only hear snippets.

I drift in and out of the garden and conversations and all the time you are drinking.

I try to sit and relax with the others, but there is pudding to serve and then tea for the parents and then I sit down.

You have given me a speaker system for Christmas, so I finally get a chance to enjoy it. It runs through my iPhone, so I can play music and the radio and control it from my device. But while I’ve been occupied with our guests, you have also downloaded the app to yours and your daughter’s phone. So when I play a song you change it, and when I turn up the volume, your daughter turns it down. You put other songs on, so eventually I get fed up and say ‘you might as well have just given it to your children, cause I’m obviously not allow to play with my own gift’.

It irritates me, and I know that if it was the other way round, if I was allowing my children to interfere with anything of yours, there would be hell to pay.

You do not relate well to my children. Perhaps that’s when you decided you hated me? I know you love me, but sometimes you get confused and begin to hate me, or what you think I think of you. You are hard work!

People begin to leave and I’m sitting outside finally, trying to relax. We talk to Pete and Gina, the kids are all around us and everyone is just chilling.

I don’t remember what we spoke about, but I do remember Pete and I trying to play music and him choosing songs I once loved. You interrupt with some inappropriate conversation and Pete decides it’s time to go.

I’m disappointed, as it’s been a long day and I was looking forward to some time with my brother, but you have ruined the mood with your darkness. And that’s where the night begins.