“Hoovering” is a term that describes the way a Narc (or similar) abuser tries to bring the victim back into the fold, make them feel sorry for the Narc, or heap obligations onto them until they are vacuumed right back into the abusive situation. I’ve been familiar with this term for the last few months and I have let myself be drawn back into the abuse in the hope that if I had the knowledge to call him on his bullshit I could fight back and he would see what was happening and understand that he needed to change if we were to stay together.
Obviously, he is not interested in my feelings or what I need to live a fulfilled life – it’s all about HIS needs and wants and I am nothing more than a means to that end.
Today went pretty well, considering how it started. Since I was already up, I put on some thermal bibs and (after Awana and I took the dog to the dog park for a much needed romp) headed outside (it wasn’t much warmer inside anyway) and put insulation on the water hose and attempted to hook up the drain hose. Yep. I need more drain hose. It wasn’t even close. The box may say the hose is ten feet long, but it won’t stretch that far and it has to be loose to drain properly.
I gave up and went to work where it was (obviously) slow enough to allow me to blog. I did a final e-mail check because I planned to make a quick trip to Fred Meyer in the hope that they carry more drain hose and then I wanted to come home and veg in front of the TV with a silly movie and just not move or think until early tomorrow. I am tired. So very tired after so many short nights in a row. Fatigue has caught up with me and I need some serious Z’s for the next two very busy days.
This toxic missive was waiting in my inbox. The subject line is “furniture” so I knew I should open it. (Bold are my comments):
When you come on Thursday, I don’t know what you intend to take, so I thought I’d make a list of what I’d like to keep and one of things we own in common that you might want.
Bed not a chance I want that
Old cedar chest (my clothes box) His
Recliner chair from D His
Coffee table (TV table) His
Can I have the old Pfaff sewing machine? It’s the only machine that will sew heavy canvas goods and I could use it to make money. It was given to me by a mutual friend and I really want it. What say you?
You are welcome to the treadle, if you want it. Not a chance – it’s a POS and I have no room for anything that is not useful
The rugs are yours (I assume you don’t want the old rag in the bedroom.) Really? He bought them. I think this is a ploy to see how much space I have
If you have room for the dining room table, please take it. Glass top. I hate it – it always looks dirty and it’s his
You are welcome to the coat rack next to my desk, if you want it. Again, not a chance. It’s his.
Please chose any lamps you want, but please leave me a couple, one for the bedroom and one for the living room (if you like the old lamp you fixed, please take it) There are a grand total of three floor lamps in the whole place. I did buy two of them, but neither is a prize and I have plenty of light thanks to all the built-in lights in Towanda. No thanks
The foam pad you covered was much too big for the boat, so I brought it back and it’s yours Manky old foam, even if it is covered in nice fabric is still manky old foam good for nothing here
The antique dresser and mirror next to the bed is yours Nope. He has a great story of how he acquired it to store for a friend who is now dead. I hate it as the drawers are all messed up and hard to open and close
The big leather chair and ottoman are yours, if you want Not a chance, even if they would fit through Towanda’s door
You are welcome to the old rocker, please take it. Again, nope – it belonged to his grandmother and is so uncomfortable that no one can sit in it for more than three minutes
The armoir -or portable closet, don’t know what it’s called 😉 is yours, I’ll empty it. It’s a wardrobe, dickwad, and we’ve both called it a wardrobe since you bought it. While it is nice, it will not fit through the door here, so nope, not interested.
I miss you so much it hurts deep. You are all I had to live for. All else is just fluff and filler. I told you a couple weeks ago I would do anything (and quit doing others), anything to make you happy and make up for what I’ve done and I meant it. Whatever. So very many promises, so very many lies. I’m done. Furniture will not lure me back, nor will even more promises that you never intend to keep.
My physical reaction was immediate and violent – nausea. I nearly hurled onto the shop floor. My gut squirmed and I had such a strong feeling of revulsion you would think I had just swallowed mayonnaise. I detest mayo. And eggs. This was eggs covered in mayo and forced into my mouth and down my throat. Harshed my mellow, Itellyouwhat.
I closed the shop, heart heavy, a cloud of gloom hanging over me. I knew it was just a knee-jerk reaction that he has trained me to have, so I began to talk myself into a better place. I am just so tired today.
Dragged myself to the store for hose and Awana (A from here on out) called. Just what I needed. That girl can heap abuse on a man 🙂 I feel loads better now, but very tired.
I will answer his note tomorrow and cancel Thursday. I will reschedule for next week and send a list of the things that I want, which are all mine, no question. I don’t want his shit, material or psychic.
My reaction to his e-mail tells me that I am not ready to face him even if it means his next contact might be to tell me he’s burning my stuff in the yard. I can let it go with no pain. I’m out, I’m whole and I’m not going to be hoovered back by that asshole. Ain’t gonna happen.
And three people said they loved my hair, so, yeah, I still rock! 🙂