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Category Archives: Intimacy

What he calls using my past against me

“Relax” Part Whatever

Thankfully The Flood has abated. Who knew telling 900+ people all about the workings of my Lady Bits would shut the faucet off? Obviously I need to be telling y’all every little thing – maybe shit would start to happen 🙂

Before we get to my scheduled post, just let me relate one more work-related irritation. On Friday, the server went down at the office. No problem – I saved my drawings to my hard drive. When the problem hadn’t been fixed by 11:30 and my work was done, I left. I saw The Boss’ truck parked in front of the office on Sunday but didn’t have time to stop by to tell him the latest drawings were on my hard drive because I had somewhere more interesting to be. I don’t keep his cell phone number in my phone, so I didn’t bother to call, either. WTF he was doing at the office on a Sunday defies all logic anyway.

So I came in to work this morning and went immediately into his office (before the weekly staff/planning meeting I am no longer invited to) to ask if he’d changed the drawings and to explain the situation. Turns out he HAD made changes to the drawings and appeared a bit irritated that I hadn’t let him know I’d saved the files on my hard drive. BUT the architect changed his floor plan (again – surprise!) necessitating a bunch of changes that voided all the work I’d done on Friday. Of course, The Boss asked me what I’d done on Friday (your redlines, duh!) and was not happy about the situation, but in the end no harm, no foul.

No biggie, right? Well…no, it’s just fine with me to get paid to do the exact same work over and over again, but the $ doesn’t make up for the irritation and frustration my job makes me feel. I gotta get something more stimulating going on or I will lose my mind.

Ahem. Okay. Where was I? Oh, yes. The Thing I haven’t written about at all. For awhile there was A Boy. No, that’s not a misnomer – he turned out to be nothing more than a lying little child. No, he’s not the cause of any of my stress (which is considerably diminished thanks to getting it all out there on the blog) but now he’s gone I have a little less.

Let me explain. We met online. He seemed normal enough, a bit quirky, but in a good way. He gave off none of the Red Flag vibes I’m hyper aware of. I figured, why not have a fling? We’re all adults here and I can do what I want, right? So long as we’re both on the same page it’s all good, right?

He lives 90 minutes North of me, so I drove to see him. I never invited him to see me because Towanda is a Penis-Free Zone (until now, what with The Kid living there and all, but it’s different, right?) and I didn’t want to go there anyway.

I introduced myself to him as Sofia and somehow I neglected to tell him my real name until it became awkward to do so. He was a bit shocked, but by that time he’d been telling me little white lies for awhile and I refused to be upset by it. Even his mother said, “that boy was born with a Tall Tale on his lips!” And therein lies the reason I’m no longer seeing him – he’s a compulsive liar. About everything. Oh, it’s not all malicious, but we had agreed early on to be honest with each other, and I had been. Maybe even a little bit mean if he asked for my opinion.

Anyway. It was fun. Then it wasn’t. I was done in January after we went to Las Vegas to stay at one of his timeshares. I’d never been and he talked like we were going to have a great five days. It would be an adventure! I paid $250 for Sabu to go to Sleep-Away Camp and drove up to his place. When I arrived he was in bed. He had “thrown out [his] back” and needed to go to the chiropractor before we left for the airport. Fine. I drove. He was obviously in pain. I offered to cancel the trip but he insisted that he would be fine once his back was fixed – this had happened before.

We got to the chiropractor’s office. He did not have an appointment but they take walk-ins. The receptionist asked to see his insurance card. He claimed to have forgotten his wallet (I had seen him put it in his pocket) and told her he would call her with the info as soon as he got home. He also lied about where he worked (he was laid off at the time) and gave some other false info. Uh-huh. The Doc took him into another building and I got creeped out by the looks I was getting in the waiting room so I went to wait by the car. I kept an eye out so I could tell him I wasn’t in the waiting room when he came out and when he saw me, he came directly to the car and did not check back in with the receptionist. Since the info he gave her was false, he just got himself a free chiropractor appointment. I was livid, but he was in pain and pain can make people do odd things.

So. The trip should have been cancelled, but we went and he basically slept the whole time. When he was awake, he was a dick to everyone we encountered. We had a war over the thermostat in the room (he wanted it cranked all the way up with the tub filled with boiling hot water – it was like a sauna and I couldn’t breathe) he refused to go out for food but we did to the “Party Weekend” dinner and show* and he dragged me on the rides at the top of the Stratosphere (just to laugh at me, I’m convinced) but otherwise he was asleep. He hadn’t packed any clean clothes or underwear (who does that?!?) It was just awful. I understand he was not feeling well, but he should have cancelled the trip instead of being such a dick. He should have gone to a doctor like I asked, but he’s a grown man, right? I couldn’t force him to seek treatment so I kept my mouth shut.

Anyway. I didn’t hear much from him the following week and went up to see how he was feeling on the following Saturday. He was not awake. At 11:00 in the morning. He knew I was coming and he couldn’t be bothered to be awake? I figured he must be really ill and set off the house alarm so he’d be forced to get up. Long story about the alarm. He stumbled out, let me in and apologized about the mess. I won’t even go there. He was obviously drugged to the gills. He couldn’t stay awake and refused to go to the emergency room. He said all he needed was sleep. The house was a wreck and I was pissed, so I left. Sad texts from him later so I lied and said that he told me to leave. I told him to text me when he was feeling better and that, I thought, was that.

The following week I get a text from him saying that he’s in hospital and has been for five days. WTF? He didn’t seem that bad off when I saw him last. Or is this another lie to get sympathy? You see, the stories he told should have been verifiable online (they were that big) and they were not, so I questioned everything he’d ever said. I asked what hospital, etc. and called to make sure he was indeed there. He was. Well, crap. Now I felt bad. I promised to go up the next weekend and see him.

The next weekend arrived and I drove up. He was in the ICU – his bowels had quit working and they’d done emergency surgery the night before. I met his step-dad and got the whole sad story. I thought maybe having a near-death experience would change him. He said he felt like he was getting a second chance and that he wanted to be a better person, etc. etc. etc. So I visited regularly during his hospital stay and even drove three hours (each way) to visit him at his parent’s house. They are nice people, but not really my kind of people. I felt obligated, though.

He was finally cleared to go home and take care of himself and I went to see him. He was asleep when I got there. He slept most of the time I was there but I spent the night because it was too late to drive home (I don’t like driving in the dark for any long distance.) Next weekend, wash, rinse, repeat. I suffered through one more weekend so I could use his power tools to make a pair of sawhorses. Hey, I’m no dummy and he owed me, dammit!

He was cleared to start work and took a job for a “friend” who has an old house that needed some plumbing repairs. The Boy is a bit of a Jack-of-all-Trades and could not yet resume full time work. He told me that this guy, Jerry, has a 1920’s shower that needed a new faucet-gizmo. He gave The Boy $150 and instructions to order it from a specialty restoration company. The Boy went on eBay and found “the same part” for one third the price and pocketed the money. He was bragging when he told this story.

I was aghast. I said, “you’re cheating this guy and it’s gonna come back to bite you on the ass…”

“No, it won’t! I do this stuff all the time! If people are stupid enough to pay stupid-high prices when they could shop eBay, they deserve to lose their money.” He was proud of himself!

I was all done feeling bad for The Boy at this point, but curious to see how this little farce would play out, so I found reasons not to visit the next few weeks but stayed in touch via text. And then the lies came home to roost.

Via text –

Him: Once again I made a mistake and misread a person.

Me: What’s up?

Him: The guy I’m working for refused to pay me. Since it’s under the table I have no license, bond, insurance. I’m not the leg breaking kind of guy so he gets off scott free. I should have known better.

Me: Are you telling me the whole story? Surely there’s more to it than that?

Him: Nope. Everything was fine yesterday and now today he won’t pay me.

Me: Did he give a reason?

Him: No. He just kept saying ‘get off my property, you’re trespassing’ over and over again.

Me: Ah! Is this the plumbing job?

Him: Yes.

Me: Well…you cheated him. You went on eBay and found “the same part” and kept the extra money. Where else did you cut corners?

Him: True. Karma?

Me: Ah…yeah. You fucked this one up all by yourself.

Him: So I can’t play the victim part here, huh?

Me: No, not with me. Surely this has happened to you before?

Him: No. This is the first time.

Me: You’re splitting hairs. You’ve done this sort of shit before and been caught. You’re denying it to make yourself look good and I don’t buy it.

Him: True. Guess I need to get my head on straight…

And nothing else for a couple of days. Then I get a text saying he wants to tell me something but he can’t do it via text. It’s a phone conversation. Fine. Whatevs. I didn’t care and was still fuming over him thinking I’m gonna give him sympathy about his little cheating scam.

He scheduled the call three evenings in a row but failed to call at the appointed time. Always had an excuse via text. I really didn’t care.

Finally he called, late, but he did call. He started in about “misjudging people” and how something else had happend and OMG life is so hard, blah, blah, blah, again and I just lost it.

“I don’t even care about that,” I said. “I need to go back to the plumbing job. We need to talk about that.”

He was plainly not prepared to shower me with lies about that. “Uh…okay…”

I repeated the story as I knew it. “Is that right?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but you make it sound so bad…I don’t even know what to say here…”

“Right. That whole mess is a deal-breaker for me. I don’t have people in my life who think it’s okay to cheat people that way. Good bye.” And I hung up.

He didn’t even have the wits to apologize. For anything. It was fun for awhile, but damn am I glad I’m still single!

There were many more instances that should have ended it for me, but I was curious to see where he would go when I started to call him on his bullshit. I mean, honesty was our bargain in the beginning and I kept to my part no matter what, which felt really great, I have to say, but he couldn’t tell the truth about anything, even stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. I refuse to have that kind of crap in my life. Unless it’s related by blood, apparently, because The Kid is still on my couch.

So I gave The Kid his ultimatum on Thursday evening when I was sure he was sober. August 3 is his move-out date unless he’s working and paying me $200 per month rent. Six months is long enough for anyone to find some kind of paying work if they apply themselves and I’m soooo done with this Mom Gig. I told him I would drive him back to The Big City and drop him off or he could just walk out the door but he would no longer be welcome to live with me. He hid his panic pretty well and I haven’t mentioned it since. If he thinks I’ve forgotten he’ll get a very rude awakening come August 3 when I show him the door. Let’s see if this lights a fire under his ass 🙂

*Jeff Dunham. Fantastic!

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The 13 Commandments

Last year I printed up what I call M’s 13 Commandments –

SANY3047

I kept the list taped to the inside of my planner, looking at it most days, trying to internalize the contents. M was so adamant that if I could only master these things our relationship would be Perfect. If only I would bend and not be so stubborn, he could love me. If only I would do these trifling things, I would be worthy to share his life. If only I would grow up and see that Real People live by these rules and are so much better than I could ever be – these are things to aspire to! Tenets that he lives his life by that I should adopt in the hope of improving my life and our relationship.

Let’s take a closer look, shall we? I abbreviated on the typed list, so I’ll expound here –

1. Symbiosis/Partnership – this means that we should operate as one unit – two bodies, one soul, always in sync, always in tune and working together. The problem is, HE is in control and what he really wants is for me to follow along in his wake, keeping things tidy and picking up the slack of HIS projects and adventures. All this with no instruction, warning, assistance, praise, thanks or gratitude. I am supposed to fit myself seamlessly into his life with no thought about who or what I was before him. My inability to do this is one of the biggest problems in our relationship.

2. Being able to receive and give gifts graciously – I’ve written about this before. I never get it right.

3. Give budget to receive itinerary – M refuses to tell me when and where he is going unless I give him a detailed budget.  It’s a totally bullshit exercise he uses to control me that was posted here and here.

4. Communication/Connectivity/Compromise – This is the category that means I should tell him everything that goes on in my head so he can better control me. I should be totally connected to his needs, moods and desires and compromise my own principles to keep him happy, no matter the cost.

5. Share something (sailing) and work towards that goal – this is where I take on his favorite hobby/lifestyle and adopt it as my own philosophy. He does not have to reciprocate in any way – it is a one way street.

6. Show interest and mean it. Retain info. Do private research – I should devote myself to his hobbies, remember everything he tells me (even if he contradicts himself constantly) about those hobbies and do independent research to fill in the gaps that he just doesn’t have the time or patience to share with me. He claims that he can’t even remember what it’s like to be a total beginner at anything and he just can’t lower himself to my level to explain something that he learned at his Grandfather’s knee. Nor should he have to – it is my responsibility to research and learn everything I can on my own so his precious time is never wasted.

7. Plans for the future & relationship – this is where I constantly update my 20-year plan and have a separate plan for each and every eventuality that may occur from freak storms to hangnails. I should have a set amount of money in the bank and three back-up options for anything that could possibly go wrong. I have been instructed to include him in my plans as if he is unable to do anything for himself and as if I could lose everything at any minute. It’s a ploy to keep me in a state of low level panic every minute of every day so that he can better control me.

8. Get first job done – too many commitments – If I have a project that I want to do for myself, it must be done as quickly as possible with minimum disturbance for him. I should be ready at an moment to begin, resume or finish a project that is for him, regardless of what else I might be doing at the time. I should be “on call” for him 24/7 because his needs are more important than my own.

9. Pride in home ownership – the grass must be cut as soon as it’s 1/2″ taller than he likes, the yard constantly maintained, nothing out of place that could cause the neighbors to gossip in a negative way. The outward facade must be perfect at all costs. Letting any outside job get “out of hand” is a sure sign that there is something fundamentally wrong with my wiring – that I don’t jump at the first sign of a drooping limb on a bush outside is a symptom of my “renter’s mentality” and we all know that Renters are the lowest form of life on the planet.

10. Listen to and remember the important stuff – this is basically anything that comes out of his mouth. Unless it contradicts what he’s saying right now. Or if it proves a point that I’m trying to make. Or it exposes his lies. Or he later says he never said it. This one is a moving target.

11. Notice personal changes/Pride in appearance – I should Dress to Impress. Him, not anyone else. If I leave the house in clothes that he considers “nice” I must be going to meet another man. If I wear grubby clothes to work in the yard, well, I’m just being a slob and he complains that I’m not wearing nice clothes for him. My dress is always inappropriate to the task at hand. The fact that I refuse to wear makeup or spend an hour styling my hair is an insult aimed at him because, after all, he is the one who has to look at me all day! I should notice if he shaves the second he steps out of the bathroom. I should notice that he cut his hair and it’s now 1/16″ shorter than it was yesterday, even if he’s wearing a hat. He wants daily praise about his appearance – he acts like a 16-year-old girl about it some days.

12. Have an opinion/Share feelings – he wants me to express what I feel, to tell him my opinions, but he then pokes holes in any independent thought that I share and uses my feelings against me. This rule is only about giving him more ammunition to hurt me – it has nothing to do with helping me become a more mature person, as he claims.

13. Money talk does not have to be emotional – for him. He will berate, criticize, lecture, and demean me in any way he sees fit over money matters while protesting that a Responsible Adult can talk about money without emotion and I need to grow up and learn to be Responsible.

I tossed the list into the garbage after finishing this post. There will be no more rules for me except those that I write!

 

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Whores Get Paid

Let’s talk about sex, shall we?

M is a twice-a-day kinda guy and he mourns the “passionate beginning” of our relationship. Can’t get it off his mind, in fact. It’s a huge problem. He feels unfulfilled. Lonely. Out Here on his own. Unloved.

He says that sex with me isn’t fulfilling because I’m not “enthusiastic.” Because I don’t “beg for it.”

I’ve explained on numerous occasions that if I don’t feel good about myself there will be no desire for him. That if he yells at me, while it makes him feel like King of the Mountain it leaves me feeling like a doormat and that is not sexy.

He refuses to do anything to spark my desire. He is a typical Narc – tearing me down to make himself feel good and then pressuring me for sex as the icing on his Narc cake. I should be panting hot for him just because he took off his clothes, right? He can’t understand why I’m not. Or so he says.

I’ll be honest here and tell you that I generally give in. There’s no bonus in it for me to refuse him – he just escalates his other abuses and his episodes last longer. It’s easier to pretend and let him get it over with. Frankly, I don’t think he cares if I’m even in the room – it’s all about him.

So, I’ve been keeping track of just how much sex he’s been getting – from me, at least – if he has someone else or helps himself I don’t care.

Since May 19, when I started keeping detailed records, he has had an orgasm with me 75 times. That’s 170 days, minus the two weeks he was away sailing and the five days he was out of town, for a total of 156 days when he slept in the bed we call “ours.” Divide by 75 and you get 2.013333333.  That number does not take into account those nights when we had company sleeping over.

So, basically he’s “getting his” every other day. How many times did I “get mine?” Eight. He wasn’t in the room every time, and he wasn’t in my mind any of those times. That speaks volumes, doesn’t it?

Does that make me a whore? You betcha! If I had charged $50.00 each time I would have $3750 in my bank account. And, of course, I wouldn’t also be housekeeper, cook, psychiatrist, etc. I can’t help but think it would have been an easier career choice.

 

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It’s all the little things…

…that show how little he cares for me.

There are a hundred little things I do for M every day that go unremarked. Things like hang up his bath towel on the rod so it dries out, folding and putting away the laundry, vacuuming the house, making his breakfast tea just the way he likes it and bringing it to his computer so he doesn’t have to get up, keeping the kitchen counters clear, agreeing with him that his music is so much better than mine, cooking meals that he especially likes or has asked for, doing the shopping (which he hates) and buying the products he prefers, even if they cost a little more or are not what I particularly like, watching TV only when he’s in the mood, and only shows that he approves of. You know, all those things that make up the constant daily battle that is living with another person.

We don’t have a lot of money, so I do these little things for him because I feel that they are important everyday reminders that you care for your partner. He would probably prefer gifts, but you all know how I feel about that!

In return, he leaves my bath towel on the peg – where it never dries without smelling musty.

He runs the washing machine and dryer – filling both too full, resulting in dingy, damp clothes that have to be dealt with by someone. Not him, obviously.

He claims (after 11 years of watching me) that he has no idea how to make me a cup of tea and doesn’t even try. Not after a long week of work, not as a special treat, not ever. Ever.

Any time I play music, whether it’s recorded or on my violin, he complains endlessly about the quality of my speakers, the content, the artist, the genre, the inferiority of the recording, etc, etc, etc. When I play he brings up YouTube videos of famous fiddlers and asks why I can’t “play like her.” The answer is that “she” studied at Julliard and has been playing for over 30 years. Duh. Never a kind word or comment on my improvement. Well, occasionally I do get a backhanded compliment, but that hardly counts, right?

He never (and I do mean never) says Thank You after he has eaten a meal that I’ve prepared.* He does critique it, letting me know how I can improve it next time, which is probably, in his twisted mind, the same thing. Or even better.

He never helps me unload the groceries from the car and put them away. In fact, he never comes to greet me when I come home, but I am expected to run out to his truck and ask if I can carry anything inside for him. He’s tired, after all.

If I dare to watch a favorite show on TV he keeps up a very loud running commentary, “You would think the writers could come up with better lines! You call that acting! What is this show supposed to be about, anyway?” From.the.next.room. It doesn’t stop until I turn the TV off. Oh, and knitting while watching TV is not allowed as the “nervous fiddling” is distracting and “rude.”

I’ve been noticing these little things more and more in recent months and can’t help reflecting that it says a lot about the health of a relationship.

* He once told me (sorry if I’ve mentioned this before, but it really sticks in my craw) that he is very careful to dole out compliments and thanks to people who work for him so that they will treasure them and work harder to get more. He said it with a gleam in his eye that I should have taken more notice of. He will say something nice about my cooking if we have company for the meal, and he never hesitates to say something if a conversation with friends veers off into cooking. But that’s all about his Image, isn’t it? Asshole.

 

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Husband #1

When M first started asking me about former lovers, he said it was so he would know “what not to do,” and would bring us closer. I had my doubts from the beginning as I’ve learned that men do not want to know who came before. I gave in to his demands, reluctantly, and nothing good has come of my compliance.

One of the chapters of my narrative concerns my first husband, Mark. I have no fear of sharing his name or his mother’s name as neither of them would ever dream of touching a computer so I have no fear of them reading this. The whole chapter can be found here.

The short version is this – Mark was a Bad Boy. I was desperate to free myself from the clutches of my father and Mark was the perfect lever to use. He was tall, blond with blue eyes, muscular with not an ounce of fat on him (I would later learn that was because he was shooting crank every day) and he had a really Bad Attitude. In short, he was perfect for a naive teenager looking for a way out of her boring little life. I fell hard and stayed down for five years. We had a son together who I ended up raising alone. Surprisingly, H has grown into a good man who is a joy to be around. There were some rough years – a story for another day.

Anyway. Here’s the chapter on my first husband. Please leave a comment if you can (or can’t) relate.

 
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Posted by on May 20, 2012 in History, Intimacy, Secrets

 

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Fooling Myself

Not sure if all this introspection is a good thing. I don’t usually read over my old journals because I’ve always viewed them as tidy boxes to put my pain into and shut tightly and forget.

Here’s an entry dated December 18, 2006 –

New book, almost a new year. I really want this book to reflect some happy times. My journals all seem to be about sadness and pain. This first entry will seem to be more of the same, but I’ll try to start every entry with something positive about my relationship.

M is the most loving person I’ve ever met.*

I know he loves me in ways that no one ever has, or ever will.** I wish I could make him see that I love him the same way, but there’s this wall inside me that won’t let the words out. Sometimes the words do come out, but it’s never at the right time and so their meaning is negated. If I could just get it right it would mean the world to M.***

We’re having sexual issues. Have been for some time, actually. His desire is much more than mine and it’s making him crazy. He doesn’t understand that my needs have changed – his have not. He mourns the loss of hot passion in all of his relationships. He feels it’s the beginning of the end – that I need a new dick. He can’t understand that what I need is his love, demonstrated, focused on something other than my body. He needs to understand that my sex drive is based on how good I feel about myself, not him.**** I love him and don’t want anyone else – not even in a wild dream.

I can’t find the words to make him believe me. He’s convinced that I lie to him constantly, but whenever I tell him something totally truthfully, he turns it into an insult against himself. He has such low self-esteem that I have no hope of convincing him how much he means to me, and at the same time, he digs at me constantly, insulting me and badgering me about things that just don’t matter. If I’m honest, he gets mad. If I refuse to answer, he gets mad. I don’t think I should have to slant the truth to spare his feelings, but that’s what I end up doing, just so I won’t have to spend the next week apologizing and feeling terrible about giving him what he says he wants. It’s a no-win situation for me; one I’m afraid I made myself and now there’s no going back.*****

I really want for us to overcome this rough patch. I don’t believe that people who love each other have to torture each other to have a good relationship. I don’t believe that people who love each other have to struggle so hard to keep it together.

Where’s the support and love?

* That was bullshit when I wrote it and I knew it. I was trying to wish it into existence. Never happened.

** More bullshit. I was still trying to turn my relationship into the Ideal Romance, what he claimed he had always wanted from a woman and never got.

*** Now I know better – I will never get it right because there is no “right.” He will always find fault and has designed his little game to ensure that I am always on the defensive, never sure what the “correct” answer is, forever apprehensive – a classic verbal abuser.

**** His mantra is, “when you don’t love yourself, love the one you love,” which is ridiculous, IMHO. Maybe that works for men, but it doesn’t work for women. If you ask me, there would be fewer unhappy women in sexless relationships if the men simply took their heads out of their asses and quit expecting the women to put out at the drop of a man’s hat – maybe a little foreplay would be nice, maybe a little ego-boosting? Goddess knows we women are trained from birth to cater to men’s egos – where does our support come from? Oh, yeah, it doesn’t. We’re supposed to stroke the man’s ego with one hand and his dick with the other and be ready when he wants to fuck (and love it!), no matter what else might be going on.

***** How sad is this whole entry? Classic verbal abuser and victim. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to get a grip on what the real problem is – I might have saved myself eight years of unhappiness. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2012 in Gaslighting, History, Intimacy, Verbal Abuse

 

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The Punishment Phase

This is the phase where he punishes me for “making him blow-up.” It consists of stonewalling me except to say things like, “I’m just too evil to speak my mind so I won’t say anything, but that doesn’t work for me so maybe I should consider moving out” with many, many variations, followed by things like, “All I ever wanted was someone to love and support me and I never get it.”

This is pure bullshit. Last night is a prime example – I got home from work and went looking for him, as I always do. He came up the back yard with the dog, saying, “I set you up to be the hero, are you going to feed this dog?” To which I replied that I would feed the bunnies first, as I always do. “Fine!” he replied and went stomping into the house and back out again without the dog. Short answers and stomping are popular ways to punish me.

I went out to find him once more and ask how he felt about what I was planning to make for dinner. “Whatever you want – you know I never disagree with what you want. You are The Queen! You are The One! We all just wait for our marching orders!” It went on in this vein for awhile until I was so disgusted that I kissed him on the cheek and said, “Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes if you would like to join me.” “Oh?” he says, “I have a choice?” I walked away.

He came inside some time later, ignored my attempts at conversation, ate his dinner and sat on the couch. I went into the next room to check my e-mail (and his) and spent an hour browsing the ‘net. I know that we have a serious problem, but I refused to fall into the usual trap and beg him to go back to being his normal, abusive self, to tell me what I did wrong so I can be better in future. This, of course, enraged him.

He continued with the silent treatment. He went in and laid on the bed when I took the dogs out for their last walk of the evening. I showered and settled into bed next to him with a book. I rubbed his back in a soothing manner, but he continued to face away from me and be silent. After about an hour he undressed, got under the covers, turned away from me and went to sleep. Fine.

I did not sleep much (the alarm was set for 5:00AM so he could get up in time to meet a client who is coming over to talk about a project) and he made no effort to talk to or touch me. This is also part of the punishment. I am supposed to curl myself around him to soothe his jangled nerves and reassure him that I still love him, and I did not do that today.

His parting shot before leaving the house this morning was about packing up to leave, that he can’t just be silent, that he deserves love and support. He is quite fond of the parting shot and has, in the past, called me at work to bring up something so that I’ll be upset all day and come home in tears.

Now, what I want to know is this: how did I become the villain? Wasn’t it he who was “amusing himself on the internet” with another woman? Doesn’t he want me to express my emotions (in this case anger)? Aren’t I doing exactly what he asked me to do? I think I have every right to be angry for a good, solid week after discovering that he’s cheating* on me with an online “stalker.”

And what about the “old lover (that I still care about)”? Honesty, indeed!

* Cheating by his own definition, but it appears that his “rules” about communication with the opposite sex only apply to me.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on May 11, 2012 in Intimacy, Red Flags, Today, Verbal Abuse

 

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