More games, but no sex

I am at the point now that I dread going home after work. I have no idea what fresh hell awaits me, but I know that I have to take it until my moving plans can be finalized. There is really no other way unless I just drop everything and leave with the clothes on my back. I’m not yet desperate enough to do that, but I admit that it sounds more appealing every day.

So. I arrive “home” and he’s sitting on the couch reading. He did not greet me, did not even look up. Fine. I walked right on by to put my bag away and right back by into the kitchen to put on the kettle. That prompted him to yell, “HI!” at me.

I sat down on the couch and asked him why I always had to be the first to greet him while he never greets me.

And we’re off.

I allow that I was already angry and hurt and ready to tear his throat out with my bare teeth before I even got into my car, and I only got angrier when I saw how the evening was scheduled to proceed.

Once again we had the “talk” where he tells me all the things that are wrong with our relationship and all the things that I need to “take responsibility for” and the things I have to agree to “work on” before we can “begin healing.”

And I lost control and started yelling. I did not accuse him of anything, I simply pointed out, again, what I see as the “issues” with our relationship –

“When you yell at me, it hurts my feelings and makes me angry and I can not complete the job we’re trying to “do together.”

“When you yell at me and make threatening gestures, stand over me, force me to stand in front of you like a child being punished, it makes me scared and angry and I can not continue the conversation.”

“When you behave in a threatening manner, it makes me panic and I freeze up and can not continue with the conversation or project.”

“You would not speak like that to a female co-worker. I’ve seen and heard to be respectful to people you don’t live with and I demand that same respect.”

“If you tell me to go fuck myself, the conversation is over.”

He made some flip comments about how I need to get over my issues and then he started lecturing about how I can’t seem to get a handle on this, that and the other.

I said (over and over, actually) “Why do you think we can’t work together?”

“Why do you think I don’t want to be involved with your project?”

“Why do you think that is?” every time he pointed out my reluctance to kiss his hairy ass.

As soon as the finger was pointed back at his behavior, he changed the subject. I pointed out that he changed the subject. “It’s all the same subject!” he yelled.

I shut down. He seethed. I didn’t care.

He said that we both need to accept blame for our problems and work towards solving them. I agreed, just to shut him up.

He went to bed early, saying his foot was hurting. I sat up reading until I was ready to go to bed. He started quietly sobbing, hoping for some compassion from me. I rolled over and went to sleep.

This morning he made a sexual overture. I did not respond. He snapped away from me and said, “are you saying no?”

Damn straight I’m saying no. And fuck you, too. And I wish you would just leave for three days and you would never see me again. And a bunch of other things that I probably shouldn’t repeat outside my head.

After I got up, he was all soft words, chit chat, non-threatening conversation until I had to go to work.

I know it’s all bullshit. I know that it will only last until I “give in” and he thinks things are fine between us, until he believes he has me back under his thumb and feeling like shit. Sex would put him back on top of the world, confirm that he’s the Top Dog, but this time I’m not going to suffer in silence, be his sperm receptacle, his 6-minute diversion.

It’s just him and his hand tonight!

 

After the Yelling

I drove off to meet my knitting friends last night in a towering rage. I spent the three hours that should have been easy and fun venting to them about the asshole I live with. They were properly horrified and I am grateful they let me get it out and I apologize for making their evening so grim. I also had a wicked headache from the gaping hole in my tooth, so I’m sure I was a proper savage companion. I furiously typed out the last two blog posts so that they wouldn’t eat me from the inside out.

It’s funny that the best part of my day so far has been the moment the dentist jabbed a big-ass needle into my tender gums. I have a huge problem with needles in general and with dentists especially, which is unfortunate as I inherited bad teeth from both sides of my family*. The feeling of that needle going in was so easy this time – so much easier than waking up next to that man again. He was still breathing. I was disappointed.

Silent treatment last night. When I arrived home he was in bed, covers pulled up over his ears, unresponsive. I said, “I’m back.” “Good,” was his only reply. Fine with me. I had a cup of tea, took something for my pain and sat in a chair for a delightful hour of reading.

His only other words to me were, “Are you ever going to share the Kindle with me?”

He is referring to my volunteering to show him where he can find free books online and how to search Amazon for free classics. He’s an intelligent man, he should have figured it out by now, but he wants me to walk him through it. I said that I would be happy to send him some links and that was it.

Took a long time to fall asleep, but I think I got a couple of hours before the alarm went off. Not a peep from him. I dressed, the dog got loose, and I left. I had no time to deal with the dog, so I hope she came back in one piece – he hasn’t called to say one way or the other, and even though I know I’m supposed to call, I refuse.**

As promised, here’s some of the transcript of what was said after I yelled back at M yesterday –

HIM: You say, you say, when I come in and I say I’d like to move this stuff so I can get that wood out of there. Do I have permission to move your stuff. You say, Let’s work on that together. I will come and help you and we can work on that together.

ME: So it has to be my decision…

HIM: It does!

ME: I have to volunteer…

HIM: Yes!

ME: I have to change the entire language of the entire conversation to me helping you.

HIM: No! You aren’t helping me. We’re doing it together.

ME: So I have to take your project and instantly make it my own and go and assist you so that we can work as a team.

HIM: It’s your project. For starters, it’s in your space. Entirely in your space.

ME: So anything that happens in my space, I need to involve myself and make it my project…

HIM: Yes. It happens that our entire existence here is your space, too. There’s other things that go on here that you think have nothing to do with you, too, but they actually do. Because, you know, they’re ours. You don’t think in terms of OURS.

ME: So instead of asking me if this would be a good time, to do some stuff in “my space,” you had to create all of this?

HIM: I don’t feel that I created this, I think that you did.

ME: By using the wrong language, by not jumping up to come and help you, instead I asked if I could help instead of making this my project so we could work on it as a team, even though maybe it’s not really convenient for me at the moment because I was in the middle of some number stuff…

HIM: Well, certainly, if you came and asked me…if you said to me, “you need to get that saddle down…” I’d jump right up and help with that because it’s something that would take two people and, you know, my stuff is all over it. So obviously you’re going to have some hassles dealing with my stuff so I wouldn’t even hesitate. I’m there.

ME: So why are you so offended when I say, “can I help you” …

HIM: Because…

ME: You could have just said, yeah, I need some help…

HIM: Do you want me to answer that question or not?

ME: Sure, go ahead.

HIM: What should have been so pitifully obvious is that you’re setting it up so I can say no.

ME: Why can’t you say yes?

HIM: I did say yes.

ME: No, you did not. You said you wanted to move the plywood. I asked if you needed any help. You said no. So how am I supposed to interpret that? Instead of asking if you need help I should have just jumped up, come out here and we would have done this thing together and then everything would have been fine. Is that what you’re telling me?

HIM: Why wouldn’t you do that? That’s what I’m wondering.

ME: I just told you because I was in the middle of trying to get some numbers right. If I could have had five more minutes I would have come out here, but now we have this thing.

HIM: I didn’t hear you say that.

ME: No, because when I asked you if you needed help you said no. So I assumed A – you were going to do something else first or B – you’re going to do it yourself because I am busy. When I ask somebody else if they need my help, there’s no judgement in it, its simply, can I assist you in any way?

HIM: What are you so busy with that you can’t help me?

Let’s skip ahead a bit –

ME: I don’t see why you’re so offended if I ask you if you need my assistance

HIM: Because…You’re not helping me at all!

ME: Right, I’m helping US. I get it. My thought process is off here. But it seems that my thought process is always off and we have this thing.

HIM: it’s this particular thing. This is it. Do you see the repetition in it?

ME: Yes, I do see the repetition and it really pisses me off.

HIM: Well, it pisses me off even more!

ME: Yeah? Well, I don’t understand that if I tell you, if I say to you, I’m offering you whatever assistance, how ever I can be of help why you’re so offended by that. I have to use the exact language that you…

HIM: Because you never take the lead.

ME: When I take the lead, you change how things are going.

HIM: Well, of course.

ME: Why should I take the lead then?

HIM: Why should I take the lead?

ME: Because you are the one who decides how the project goes in the end.

HIM: In the end YOU determine how things happen around here, in all things. Don’t give me that shit! It’s a very passive aggressive command form. That’s what I’m objecting to! Years and years of it!

When I ask him if I can help with a task that we’ve done together many times, that’s a passive aggressive question. WTF?

It just gets more confusing from there and I’m getting pissed off listening to it again, so I will just stop, save the file to disk and leave it alone.

* The tooth is fixed, I almost have all feeling back in my face and will shortly indulge in my once-weekly treat of a BLT from the lovely shop next door.

** Don’t get me wrong – I love my dog. I know that she will come back just fine, hopefully without pissing off any of the neighbors or eating any chickens or cats. I wonder how much of her badness is due to the constant tension between her people?

 

More Insanity

He woke up in a bad mood today. I knew by the silence and his stiff posture in bed. Whatever. I got up and took the dog out, made breakfast and joined him on the couch where he was sniffling and obviously wanting to talk. An apology was not on his agenda, and I knew it.

He asked me if I could schedule some time to help him take down a couple of trees so the wood could season for next year. I responded with my work schedule and said that I would be happy to help.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me your schedule,” he responded.

You’re kidding, right? “Well…it takes most of the day to take down a tree and clean up the mess, so I thought it would be helpful for you to know what days I have other obligations.”

“No – it’s all dependent on the weather, you know – there needs to be no wind and doing it on a day that’s not raining would be best.”

Right. Okay. So I am expected to schedule the next tree falling date? Give me a break!

He was being all pitiful, waiting for me to soothe his poor frayed nerves, but I had work to do so I booted up my computer and got started.

Half an hour later he comes into the room. “I want to move the plywood in the back room. Do I have your permission to move your stuff out of the way?”

“Sure. Do you need any help?”

“NO.” Whatever.

I went on with my work.* He was back a few minutes later. “Some of the things need two people to move.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

This all lead to a huge row. Seems that it’s “humiliating” for him to ask for my assistance. I should be willing and eager to “work as a team” on a project that is for “both of us.”

First off, that fucking plywood is for boat building. I have absolutely nothing to do with that plywood or the boat is will be used for. It has nothing to do with me except that it is stored in what he said would be my space when I agreed to move in with him. Moving it is in no way MY project.

According to him, there shouldn’t be My projects and His projects – it’s all supposed to be a teamwork effort towards a common goal. And on and on.

I was out of line when I asked if he wanted my help. I’m not using the “correct language” and my mind set is all wrong – I should be eager to jump up and take on any “project” that he’s involved with, I should know exactly what needs to happen and work to make it happen seamlessly. I am not “helping” him, so I shouldn’t be using that word.

“Fine. What words would you like me to use to express my willingness to join you in doing a job that requires two people?”

“You need to figure that out for yourself.”

“Obviously I am not figuring it out for myself, so maybe you could help me out here and share with me the “correct” language?”

What a can of worms I opened there. He sat down and started lecturing. I cut him off with, “I really don’t have the time or desire to have this circular argument right now. Could we just move this plywood and move on to something else?”

Nope. I kept insisting until he got agitated at my ignorance and inability to “internalize” these important issues. Finally, when he wasn’t getting anything but me looking at the floor, he said, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?!?” He said it twice. I left the room.

He came after me, calling me a “petulant, self-righteous child” and demanded that I respond to him.

“You told me to go fuck myself, so I left the room. I deserve more respect than that!” WTF I was doing standing up for myself I don’t know, but I had had enough.

He started to berate me, to explain why I deserved to be talked to any way he wanted to, and each time he got out three words, I yelled, “You told me to go fuck myself! You told me to go fuck myself!” Over and over again, pointing my finger at his chest and getting louder with each repetition.

And then it happened. He put his hands up like he was going to take hold of me. Oh, yes he did. I took a big step back. The look on his face became predatory.

“Go ahead, slap me,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

“Oh, no, I’m not going to touch you,” I snarled back.

“We need to sit down and talk about this,” he said.

And that’s when I turned on the recorder. Time is running out for blogging tonight, so I will try to transcribe what was said tomorrow.

* Work that pays very well and requires a certain amount of concentration.

 

Tortillas

M went to town to run errands. He did not share with me why he was going, which will be relevant in just a minute.

He called about 6:00 to let me know he was on his boat and would be heading home shortly. He was spoiling for a fight and made several comments about what I might have been doing when he called and that after living with me for years, he has learned that things will get done or not, it’s all up to me, and he can’t count on me to do anything he needs me to do, but he is letting it go, not worrying about all the things that he insists are important, and blah, blah, blah.

I said I would get dinner started. I do all of the grocery shopping and the majority of the cooking, so I tend to keep track of what groceries we might need to plan the week’s menu. I pointed out the grocery list (it sits on the kitchen table, alongside a pen for convenience) and asked M to add anything he thought we were running short of. I asked again on Sunday if he could think of anything I should pick up at the grocery store on my way home from work. His answer was no.

I got out the ingredients for burritos (the standard Tuesday meal so he can have easy leftovers for Wednesday when I go knitting with the gals) and discovered that there were only two tortillas left from a package of 10. I called M on his cell phone to see if he has passed the grocery store yet. No answer, so I knew he was close to home.

Now, M likes to have two or three burritos for this particular meal. I had to make a decision about the tortillas.*

M sat right down at his computer. I patted him on the shoulder and said, “I’ve got some bad news about dinner.” In answer to his quizzical look I said, “there are only two tortillas left, so we each get only one burrito and if you want more you’ll have to eat the filling straight up.” I thought there was no problem.

As we were eating, M brought up the subject of tortillas and whose responsibility it was to make sure we had enough for the meal. According to M, since I have “taken over” all kitchen, menu and grocery duties (in spite of his protests) it is my job t make sure the ingredients are present for whatever meal I chose to make. He has nothing to do with it.

“So, if you are eating the tortillas and notice that there are only two left, you are under no obligation to let me know that we need more?”

Nope.

“Even when I ask if we are low on anything before I go to the store?”

Nope.

In fact, it’s a huge hardship for him to have to think about something that is not his responsibility and I have no right to ask him to keep track.

“How often do I cook a meal that involves tortillas?” I asked.

“How would I know.” He’s annoyed now, but I just can’t help myself.

“Okay, how often do you eat a meal that I have prepared for you that involves tortillas?”

Blank look, frowning face, he’s trying to decide where this is going.

“The answer is once a week, on Tuesday for the last couple of months so you can have easy leftovers when I go knitting. If we are running low on tortillas, the adult thing to do would be to say something before I go to the grocery store, don’t you agree?”

And we’re off. He came home in a bad mood, ready to start a fight and he was determined to make it my fault.

He went into town with a sheaf of papers to “beg for benefits” at the local health clinic. He took the paperwork with him so that the lady at the desk could help him fill it out to be sure it was all correct and he could get disability benefits. I am a horrible person for not being supportive to him in his hour of need. I reminded him that I offered to help or to completely fill out any paperwork that he was “confused**” by, but he does  not remember me offering any kind of support – he is out here on his own with no support, emotional, financial or otherwise. I have no compassion or empathy for him at all. I do nothing but tear him down and blame him for trivial shit like insufficient tortilla supply.

And on and on. I tried very hard to look at the floor and not respond. He made a comment about how the “10,000 pounds of obligations are all on [his] shoulders” and I don’t take on any responsibilities at all and that is very sad for him. He asked me what I thought of what he was saying.

“I think that all the weight you talk about being on your shoulders is largely a product of your imagination.”

Insert crickets here.

He got up and left the room without responding. I put on a movie, which he watched almost to the end and then went in a laid on the bed. Whatever.

After the movie and walking the dog, I got undressed to take a shower and he started in with the pity party. When I told him that I had bad news, he instantly got upset, thinking it was about one of the rabbits, or something worse and so he was upset. And then when I “hammered” him about the tortilla shortage, well, it was just too much on top of a really trying day and I owed him an apology and some compassion. Of course I did to keep the peace.

Laying in bed he starts crying. “I could really use a hug right now. I’m feeling very low and you have no empathy for my situation.” I  complied in the hope of getting some sleep.***

Poor baby. I rolled away from him when he started to snore and watched the numbers click over on the clock. Fun times!

* Insane? Yes. What kind of bullshit is this? Why do I let myself get crazy over this trivial shit?

** Total bullshit! The man is sharp as a tack and able to work any minimum wage job if he wanted to, but it’s “humiliating” to work for so much less than what he’s worth. It’s perfectly fine for me to work two part-time minimum wage jobs.

*** I’ve had a headache for well over a week and have not been sleeping well. Turns out I have a cavity that finally ate through enough of my tooth to leave a gaping hole. Dentist Thursday AM, but until then I am in pain and feeling mean as a snake.

 

Wrong. Again.

More dinner stuff. Surprised? I’m not. It was about  hamburgers again. Surprised? I’m not. Same shit, different day.

I asked him last night if he would like a burger or Texas hash for dinner. I bought half a pound of burger but I didn’t want to “force” a hamburger sandwich on him after the last time – almost on the high end of normal cholesterol levels are something to be concerned about, after all. /sarcasm

He wanted a sandwich, but said that I should make the hash so we could get more meals out of the meat. Okie-dokie! I made the hash.

He was outside working on something. I fed the animals first, as just last week he said that preparing a meal for us before feeding the animals was cruel. WTF?!? Anyway, he came in around 7:00, saying, “I waited and waited but you didn’t tell me that food was ready and now I’m starving!”

Oh, wait! There are no burger patties frying on the stove! “I thought you were making burgers?” WTF?!?

“No, we decided to stretch the meat with hash.”

“I didn’t agree!”*

Great! He’s going to start another fight. Nope, not this time.

“This is dinner. Eat it or not.” And I left the room.

Not surprisingly, he did not protest. You see, he has another large sewing project that he wants me to do for him, as well as copying a couple of his favorite shirts. He expects that I will do this for him as a Christmas present that he can enjoy as soon as they are done. He will then guilt trip me for more presents while I receive (if anything) another box of chocolates. And let’s not forget that none of the projects will be up to his standards and he will be sure to tell me over and over again how I should have done them.

I have to say, I am not in the mood for this shit. If I didn’t have so many irons in the fire I might even be able to muster the energy to give a shit about what he thinks, but I just don’t. And I don’t care about my bad attitude, either, which is not a good thing.

Just keep cool. One more round of sex won’t kill me. I can even pretend to be present for the six minutes it takes. I can fake a smile. It will all be over soon.

* He ate the whole pan of hash, negating his wish to stretch the meat over two meals. Asshole.

 

Silent Treatment. Again.

I walked in the door last night and smelled the crap from the night before re-heating in the oven. Gak! My stomach was already churning while my brain tried to figure out what his mood would be. You see, my period started on T-day morning*, so it’s been three whole days since he’s had sex, and that is always a recipe for a blow-up.

He was sitting in “his” chair, reading a magazine, cat on his lap. I received a package in the mail and so I said, “I should send her a note and let her know the package arrived so she doesn’t worry,” and walked into the computer room. As soon as I sat down (my chair is rather noisy) he asked me if I was going to turn dinner on.

“I thought by the smell it was already on,” I replied, walking back into the living room (because he claims not to be able to hear me if I’m not standing right in front of him like a naughty child.)

“I had it on for awhile, but you should check it to see if it’s hot enough.”

Whatever. I checked, turned back on as it wasn’t yet hot, told him I had done so and sat back in front of my computer. I wrote one note and spent a grand total of 15 minutes in there before turning off my computer (it was plain that it was not to be a computer night, but not yet clear what kind of hell it was going to be.)

I heard him in the kitchen, dishing up his meal. He did not tell me it was ready, did not set out a plate and fork for me, did not say that he was going to eat now, nothing. Great. Silent Treatment Night. “Oh! I see you came up for air!” he declared when I came into the kitchen. Whatever.

Now, just so we’re on the same page, he insists that I let him know 10 minutes beforehand that dinner is ready. He also likes a 5-minute warning. It’s a little ritual he has trained me to perform and it fills me with anxiety. When he cooks, OTOH, he makes no announcements, but fills his plate and starts to eat when he’s ready, or he will leave the food on the stove until it’s burned because he “thought [I] wasn’t ready to eat yet. Now it’s ruined but we will eat it anyway because wasting food is sacrilege.” When I pointed out to him, years ago, that it was rather unfair to not let anyone know when food is ready (speaking mostly for my son who had an upstairs bedroom at the time. Oh, the door had to be closed at all times to keep the heat on the lower floor.) he said, “if people want to eat, they should pay attention to what’s going on and show up in time for the meal.” So many games!

Anyway. I choked down my allotted portion while reading my Kindle and watching him out of the corner of my eye as he continued to read his magazine. Nothing. He decided he wanted some ice cream (did not offer me any, if it matters) and when he opened the container, it was too hard to easily spoon into a bowl. The container came from my work** and said “peppermint candy” on the lid as it had been used before, washed and used again (reduce, reuse, recycle, dontcha know) and he thought that the pink ice cream inside was “candy” and was already pissed about that. He asked what he should do.

“In my professional opinion, you should let it sit on the counter for a few minutes.”

He flopped down onto the chair and said in a little-boy petulant voice, “I have no patience. I hate to wait.”

God! I asked what he had in mind and he said that he didn’t want any of the “candy” in the container, only the vanilla. Like an exasperated mother, I explained that the pink ice cream was strawberry, his favorite, and I would never bring home “candy” ice cream because I know he doesn’t like it.

He asked why the lid said “peppermint candy” if it wasn’t.

I sound crazy right here, don’t I? Welcome to the Fun House!

I turned on the TV. He joined me on the couch. Barely a word was spoken. I walked the dog, got undressed and into bed with my Kindle***.

He made one final check of his e-mail, typing out a long note to someone before coming to bed. It took a long time for me to fall asleep, but at least there were no nightmares.

Another day, another guess about what it brings from him. More silent treatment! Yay! He got out of bed, showered, dressed and started breakfast, which is always oatmeal and tea for him, the same for me with the addition of toast. Since he is incapable of making tea, that job falls to me, but this rambling post is not about that.

After eating, he was sitting at the table reading his magazine. He had not spoken more than three words to me yet.

“What are your plans for the day?” I asked. The sun is shining today, which means outside work of some kind, probably doing some job he imagines I have let go and he will be angry by the time I get home, so it’s good to know in advance.

“Beat my meat.”

“All day long?” I asked.

“Probably. I have to entertain myself. There’s no one else here.” Said with a flat tone and an accusing look.

“I’m sitting right here,” I replied with the same flat tone.

There followed some rather rude (and now irritating beyond belief) tongue gestures (sorry, A!) as he tried to “entice” me into…something. I tell you what, I am just so repulsed by what used to be a joke between us that I can’t even fake it any more.

I reminded him that I was going to stop at the grocery store on the way home, kissed him on the cheek and left early for work.

God! I am going to lose my mind before this is all over.

* TMI? It’s my blog and I think it matters, so buck up or skip the parts you are uncomfortable with 🙂

** That’s right – after 20+ years working in the architecture/engineering industry I have now become so “specialized” that I can’t get an office job any-fucking-where and so I scoop ice cream in a cute little shop for minimum wage. I am trying not to be bitter, as the job is mindless, I have a great Boss, and no stress to bring home to add to what’s already there. Oh, and we have wifi and a netbook so that I can blog to my heart’s content. Yes, the Boss knows I am blogging about my situation, but he has not asked and I have not shared the address with him.

*** I LOVE my Kindle. I also love to collect old books, but they take up a lot of space, so I have been downloading those that are free onto the Kindle and putting the rest onto my Amazon wishlist for later purchase as I get rid of extra things that will not fit into my new life. I don’t know how much of that I want to share here because sooner or later this blog will be found or made public and I don’t want the Narc to be able to easily see what I’m up to, but if you “friend” Sofia Leo on FB or follow Narc-B-Gone you can catch a glimpse of my plans. He has been blocked forever from those accounts and I will be very careful of who I let in. I’m eager to see what you all think, though.

 

He made dinner last night

Stuffed zucchini. I could smell the garlic before I walked in the door. It was crap. I ate what I could, thanked him three times (because once isn’t enough for him, but it’s too many for me) and left the room. You would think he would offer to make a meal more often, especially on those nights I don’t get home until 7:30 PM, but no, I do the shopping and almost all the food prep. He is not thankful, but I need to eat, too. I’ve given up.

I tried to read some blogs and look for library books for my Kindle, but he was having none of it. I heard him rummaging around behind me for something, but refused to turn and ask what he needed. He finally asked where we keep the packing tape. I reached over and plucked it out of the box where it has been kept for well over a year (at his suggestion, because putting it on an open shelf looks “sloppy” and “cluttered”) and silently handed it to him.

“Well, that’s a good way to make me look stupid every time,” he snarled. I made no reply and he carried on with whatever it was he was doing.

He was his usual self, interrupting and trying to get my attention, but I really didn’t feel like indulging him so I turned off my computer and left the room.

Undaunted, he followed me and asked me to turn on the TV. Fine. We watched an episode of Downton Abbey while he regaled me with tales of the dog getting loose and running around the neighborhood and asked questions about the show – he refused to put on his glasses so he could see clearly.

I was so relieved when it was time to walk the dog for the last time and go to bed. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about that man. I think he knows that something is up, but he would never attribute my lethargy to anything he has done.

There’s sure to be a blow-up soon because of my “behavior” my “lack of enthusiasm” my disinterest in sex. Whatever. If he initiates our breakup I may have a better chance of a clean break, so I’m not really all that concerned with placating him. Let’s see what happens if I refuse to play his game…

 

 

For Lee

Last week Lee left a lengthy and insightful comment on my About Me page. Thank you for taking the time to read through this little blog from the beginning. You don’t have insomnia, do you? 🙂

The part that really got my attention was this:

Fact is, an abusive man really doesn’t give a damn what “his woman” says. All he cares about is whether she is still there, available for use, and under his sway. You can cuss him out, accuse him, tell him what a @#$% loser he is, and stomp around the house screaming, yelling, and slamming doors. But if you sleep with him that night and let him have sex with you, it’s all good as far as he’s concerned. His woman is still his woman (though he’ll likely think and say it in more colorful language). In fact, he *enjoys* it if you’re angry and yelling and telling him what a SOB he is. That means he’s gotten under your skin and is in control of–and superior to–his “emotional, hysterical, immature” woman.

I’ve been thinking about this for the last week and scratching my head in disbelief. So, if I have sex with him, in his mind everything is fine, all is forgiven, I am back in my place? That is so fucked up on every level. First off, “let” is really open to interpretation, but I’m guessing that if his dick gets wet from any part of me, no matter how “into it” I am, that’s a win for him, right? It doesn’t matter if I’m crying or using every bit of willpower to not puke, he still “wins?” What the fuck kind of twisted thinking is that? Don’t answer – I really do know, but it is still infuriating.

I guess I hadn’t really internalized the equation – sex = he wins. No matter what.

I have been conditioned to give sex to stop an argument, to appease his damaged ego, as a sign of “love” for him after he says I have “mistreated” him, because he is tired and needs to sleep, because he “has to have” it, just to get him to shut the fuck up, and the list goes on and on.

All this time I have been giving away the key to making him finally admit that there is something very, very wrong with our relationship?

See, I pride myself on being smart. I don’t use  my “feminine wiles” to get my way. I am insulted when women stroke a man’s ego to get ahead in the workplace or for social reasons. I refuse to engage in those games. But it seems that I have been doing the same thing all along, using my body to smooth over situations that have become unbearable in my relationship.

I can’t tell you how angry this insight has made me. I can’t explain to anyone who has not been in this situation how hard it is to refuse this man sex. He makes my life miserable if he doesn’t get what he wants, and sex is #1 on that list.

Also –

As close as I’ll get to giving “advice” is to suggest that you drop any plans for revenge. Yes, you want to hurt him for everything he’s done for you. And yes, he deserves it.

The problem with revenge is that it keeps you emotionally tied to him. It prevents you from living your own life free from his influence. As long as you’re trying to get back at him, you’re not free from him. He will play that game with you as long as you want. As long as you’re still engaging in cat-fights with him, he knows he’s still got his claws in you. That’s what he wants.

He will suffer for everything he’s done to you. But he’ll bring that suffering upon himself. You don’t have to do it.

I have moved beyond thoughts of revenge and will update my About Me page to reflect that. I no longer care what happens to him. I don’t care if our mutual friends believe him – if they do, well, they weren’t paying attention and I no longer care about convincing them of anything. I don’t even know if I will out him here – he has a pretty big internet following, and I’ve thought about sharing his identity here, but really, what will that do for ME? Nothing but make me look bitter and vengeful. While I am bitter, I don’t like to think of myself as a vengeful person. As you say, he will bring suffering upon himself without my help. All I can do is take care of me and let him get on with his life and go live the dream that I’m holding him back from.

All I want is a clean break, and I know he will not give that to me willingly. I keep thinking that the best way is to leave when he goes out of town on his next trip, or to catch him at something that he can’t deny or defend himself against and get out as quickly as possible, before he decides that I drove him to commit whatever relationship crime he’s now planning.

I don’t know yet which way it will go, but I am prepared to take action at the earliest opportunity.

 

Best Behavior

It was a hard slog for me, but Turkey Day was as good as it could have been.

The three hour car ride into The Big City went fine, dry weather and I did my best to keep conversation light despite M’s efforts to find something to complain about.

We met up with my son, H and his Best Pal, B, to deliver the four of us to a buffet restaurant across town. The conversation on the way was fab – B really made an effort to be nice to M after many years of abuse whenever B and H were together – the two of them were a real handful as teens and were often the victims of M’s harsh tongue. Happily, they both seem to have let enough of it go to at least fake cheerfulness while in M’s presence. I am so proud of my boy! He has every reason to hate M forever, and probably does, but for his mom’s sake he behaved like a real trooper.

The buffet place was crowded beyond belief! I hate to be in crowds of people and I really don’t like to eat food that has been breathed upon and fondled by complete strangers of dubious cleanliness. Gak! I did manage to eat and chat with everyone.

There was only one “incident” when my Mom* said something about who was driving home and I told her that M always drove – my driving makes him nervous, so it’s just easier for him to drive. Comments were made about controlling men and that women can drive just fine, blah, blah. It’s a bit of a standing joke with the women in my family – we women haven’t had accidents or gotten tickets, every one of the men has, yet they insist that they are the better drivers and we women know that’s a pack of bullshit and occasionally call them on it. Really, I thought nothing of it, but M did and “set me straight” about the “facts” on the way home.

It seems that my driving is just fine. In fact, it has improved so much since M has been “instructing” me that he is no longer nervous to ride in the passenger seat. He would be happy to have me drive. In fact, he sees his driving as becoming more hesitant and “old man-like” and is a bit afraid to drive now. Well, huh. Doesn’t stop him from offering “advice” whenever I’m behind the wheel, or criticism about everything he can think of from how I position my rear view mirror to whether or not the dog is properly secured in the back seat. Quite a turn-around there! I blew it all off as a Family Joke and he (surprisingly) let it go.

We spent a couple of hours at his sister’s house, ate some calorie-overloaded food and watched football until I was about to crawl out of my skin. His nephew was actually conscious and functional, keeping up a very funny commentary about Holidays, football, consumerism and idiocy just quiet enough that his dad couldn’t hear. The niece was her typical selfish self, and left right after eating with her new boyfriend with hardly a backward glance. His sister actually kept her hands to herself and the men were quiet, barely acknowledging that we were there. Whew! Not too bad.

We got home late, but M headed right into the computer room to check his email. I’m sure his “old lover (who [he] still cares[s] for)” was waiting for a happy message. He has been guarding his cell phone very closely recently, which is quite unusual as for years and years he barely turns the thing on and often forgets it when he goes out. Not so the last couple of months – it’s always in his pocket and he checks the screen often throughout the day. Wonder what he’s hiding? Do I care? Meh.  Sometimes, maybe, but mostly, no.

* Kudos to Mom for being able to look M in the eye and act like he’s not a piece of shit after I told her some of the crap he pulls during a long phone call a couple of months ago. Pretty sure she understands the situation, but she would never make waves that would make my life more difficult. If I were to call her up and ask her to bring me a truck, she would be there in a hot second, and I know it. If I never say another word about what an asshole M is, she would never bring it up again, accepting my choice to stay with him.

 

He is such a fucking child!

I may have mentioned the financial situation around here a time or two.

To recap: the Narc is “retired” and has no money. I work a part-time minimum wage job in a tourist town because that is all I can get hired for after having been “too specialized” for the last 20+ years. I work occasionally from home for Real Money, telecommuting to an engineering office 70 miles away. I have taken over paying the bills because the Narc was so goddamned abusive about it that I couldn’t take it any more. I have paid the property taxes ($2200 because he “forgot” to pay them last year,) one year of moorage for his boat (his Dream House $840,) a questionable credit card bill (his – I have no idea what the charges were for and he wouldn’t tell me $250,) registration for two of his boats ($113 and $62,) and all of the “shared” bills for the last three months. In total, he has “given” me $500 cash, but only after several lectures and continued verbal abuse because I should not  have “needed” the money.

For the last three days I have had Real Work to do but have been unable to concentrate due to M’s continued childish antics. We have separate computers in a small room, where we sit back-to-back (he has the window, of course) at our desks. He likes to talk to me in a very low voice, not turning towards me so I can hear him, often while playing music quite loudly from his computer speakers. I am expected not only to hear him, but to respond quickly, getting up or turning to answer him in quick-time. If I don’t he claims that I am “neglecting” him and starts to whine or get angry.

I am trying to decipher the work that I’ve been given, trying to make a few extra bucks to ease my anxiety, and he is playing games with my emotions because he can’t stand not being the center of attention for a few hours.

His reasons for disturbing me:

He wants me to help him sort out options for a new rain jacket. Because I sew, I am an “expert” but also wrong about everything, so why bother to ask? Oh, right, so he can tell me, again, how stupid I am.

He wants my opinion on which inflatable kayak to purchase to replace the one he already has that gets used once a year but suddenly seems to have all sorts of problems.

He wants to show me some great gifts that I could buy for him for Christmas.

To set up his Amazon wishlist.

“Read this letter and tell me what it means.”

“What do you think of this picture?”

“Isn’t this blog great?”

“Oh, D found just the boat trailer that we need. Only $200! I’ll tell  him to go pick it up!”

And on and on.

The rain jacket was charged to his credit card, which I will be obliged to pay. He also bought new tires for his truck (charged again!) to the tune of $600.

I don’t think he bought the inflatable kayak, but he might have.

Before he made the tire purchase, he asked “you can make a couple of payments on a credit card?” Well, duh, credit cards don’t have to be paid off totally every month. After he left, I realized that he was asking if I could make a couple of payments to pay off the damned card.

Where the fuck was he when I had to shell out $1500 for a new head gasket for my car? Or get new tires? Or new shocks and struts? He has never paid for anything that needed to be done for any of my cars, but all of a sudden he is helpless and needs me to take care of business.

I am beyond pissed.

Distractions to keep me from working, veiled demands for New Stuff that I can’t afford, and whining about how crap his life is.

Lord, give me the strength to keep my hands off his throat and away from his gun…