So, I think I’ve mentioned that I’m working two part-time jobs at the moment with occasional work from my “real” job that gets shoe-horned in around the edges. The Real Job has picked up and I have no “free” time to do anything fun or even relaxing. Sleep is my only break. Needless to say I’m tired and short-tempered.
Last night M made a comment about me “looking pregnant.” I have put on a few pounds, but I don’t look pregnant by anyone’s standards. One comment might have been bearable, but he went on for a good 10 minutes about how when he rubs my belly at night he thinks of is as “our daughter” and on and on. Was I pissed? You betcha! I said nothing, but went to bed furious and hurt.
This morning I got up early to wash my hair* and try to get some work done for the Real Job before leaving for work. When I got back into the bedroom he made a comment about me jumping out of bed and not wanting him any more. I exploded, telling him that if he’s going to insult me and tell me I look pregnant, there is no way he is going to get sex as a reward for hurting my feelings. I told him that when he yells at me or lectures me it is a total turn off and I’m not interested.
That earned me a lecture about how he has a lifelong aversion to fat people, who he believes “get that way deliberately.” His mother was obese due to various health issues (real or imagined, I really don’t know) and he does not want to have to care for an obease person when health issues start to crop up, and on and on, justifying his comments. He also reminded me that we agreed to lose some weight back in the Spring and I was not living up to my part of the bargain (I have a vague memory of some conversation about eating healthier, but no bargain) by gaining weight. I was “so hot 20 pounds ago!”
I kept repeating over and over that if he’s going to insult me he will not be getting sex. Period. I’m not interested in That Guy.
More blah, blah, blah. Fine, whatever. I left for work, having done no Real Work but in a fine state to serve the public in a shop where I have to paste on a smile and make tourists happy. Not.
Later – I admit that I came home pissed off and loaded for bear. He was sulking on the porch. His first words were, “are you leaving?” I said that I have no plans to leave.
I asked him if he lashed out at me because he was in pain and had to scream at someone and I was the only person available. If that’s the case, I told him, then I can blow it off and ignore it as him venting and would just tune him out and not be hurt by it.
On the other hand, if it’s personal and he has to hurt me to make himself feel better or to bring me down to his level of pain, then it is another matter and I won’t stand for it any more.
Decide. One or the other.
More blah, blah, blah – he had a very hard day, his life has fallen apart over the last 10 years (the time he has known me – coincidence?!?) and he feels really low right now.
“Define success for me so I can understand what it will take for you to feel “good” I said.
That sent him into a rage. He clammed up. I said that I needed to do a couple of chores and try to get some Real Work done. He flipped me off. I said “fine” and went into the house.
He stormed after me and demanded to know if I was seeing anyone else or had any plans to.** He got a full-on attitude for that as I yelled that not only was I not seeing anyone or even planning to go looking, but that I had made a promise to him years ago that if he and I didn’t work out I was done with men forever and I still very much mean it.
More yelling ensued. He accused me of having “an attitude” all the time, of being “full of pride with no humility” and out to “kick him when he’s down” just to punish him. More blah, blah, blah. More of me citing examples of his hurtful behavior, some of it from years ago, unable to help myself. I recorded the whole thing, but haven’t been able to listen to more than a few minutes of it.
Went to bed miserable, no Real Work done.
* When I was 15 I accidentally got a pixie haircut. I hated it for about a week and then fell in love with it – it’s cute with my face shape, easy to take care of and always looks great. Every man in my life has insisted that it makes me look like a boy and that I should grow my hair out. I have let them convince me to let it grow and at the moment it is below my shoulders and I hate every inch of it. It takes forever to wash and dry and never looks good without a lot of work that I just don’t want to do. Call me Butch, say that short hair is a Boner Killer, I don’t care – I think we should all be able to have our hair the way WE like it the best because when we feel good about ourselves, don’t we look good, too?
** The other day he called me over to his computer to look at some pictures. His e-mail was open in the background and he was quick to close it, but not before I saw notes from “Josephine.” I said nothing at the time but asked about it the next evening. “Who is Josephine?” were the words which set him off. Turns out it’s a woman who is a fan of his blog and they occasionally exchange notes about sailing (she is sailing around the world with a group of people he “knows” online and he admires her greatly. If she crooked her finger at him, he would go with no apologies and he and I both know it) and he could have laughed it off, but he made a big issue of it, telling me that he’s tired of me falsely accusing him of infidelity (!?!?!) and he doesn’t have to put up with it. Blah, blah, blah. I reminded him that I have every right to be suspicious (he still hasn’t admitted he is in contact with his “old lover (who I still care about)) and ask who the people are that he “talks” with every day. I said that since I’m gone from home so much I have every right to feel insecure and to ask questions. I told him that he is welcome to look at my e-mail whenever he likes, no question. Are we partners, or what?