Fuck That.

We argued today, he and I. It doesnt much matter what it was about. Only that I suggested he try something, he told me he didn’t think it would work, and I pointed out that his statement was wrong, that he was, perhaps over thinking it.

He didn’t want to listen and so he offered his opinion again. I thought about it, turned it over in my head and came to the same conclusion. Tried to explain it a different way. We both became frustrated. The worst part is that he always ends up angry, emotional. I always turn into the bad guy. If I tell him that I feel he is completely discounting my knowledge and my opinion, even patronizing me, he will tell me that I do nothing but tell him he’s wrong. That all I ever do is ask him his opinion, just so I can shoot it down. I told him during this argument that he was wrong. Not in a horrible, nasty way. Not as a means of putting him down, it was more just matter of fact.  “Oh, no- that’s wrong, actually it’s this.” That sort of thing.

For this I was punished. He ended up sobbing on the couch, head in hands. Accused me of being “uppity”, and then said “Well, if I wasn’t suicidal before, after talking to you I sure am now!” I don’t know why this hurt me so much. This is fairly standard stuff with him. He is passive aggressive and can’t deal with any confrontation, so whenever things get tense, he turns into a ball of tears that simply lashes out.

But, these words hurt. He said that talking to me made him feel suicidal. He called me uppity.  I’m not uppity. But, I was badly bullied as a kid. I’m terrified of people, and so I don’t make friends easily. When I do make friends, I usually screw it up because I am so awkward and never know what to say or do.  I use “big words”, and it puts people off, I like to talk about politics and books and interesting stuff and it seems that nobody else wants to talk about this stuff.  So, I am as terrified of being seen as uppity as I am of just talking to people. It just seemed like a really mean thing to say. I won’t even get into the suicidal stuff. Can you just imagine being told that by your spouse, who professes their love for you regularly?

I’m not mean to him. I get frustrated and I have said things once or twice that I’ve regretted. But, I am never just so flat out mean to him. He destroyed me. I’ve got a social services planning meeting next week, with all those fucking important people, who know the worst possible secret you could have, and some see me every day.  People who look at me and judge me, because of what he did and my decision to stay married to him. People who are just waiting for me to fuck up, waiting for me to just fall apart completely so they can snatch my children away. I still cry over what he did. Not just occasionally, frequently. He destroyed me, but yet I spent the better part of a year, being there for him, comforting him, sorting things out for him.

And he calls me uppity? Says that shit about suicide? Because I pointed out that his assessment was incorrect. How is that right? How is that fair? I don’t deserve that kind of bullshit. Do you know what, though? I didn’t cry. I wanted to, I thought for sure I was going to, but I didn’t. I just felt really angry instead. Remember what I said about being bullied as a kid? Well, that instilled in me a tremendous amount of self doubt. Which means that every time we have one of these arguments, and he starts laying all this shit on me about not wanting to hear his opinion, etc. I immediately worry that I have been a jerk, that maybe I really have discounted his viewpoint. To the point that even when I’m fairly sure I havent done anything wrong, if I find anything I could have done better, I apologize to him.

I don’t get that same respect. Ever. Fuck that. I was angry. I’m sick of crying because he hurts me. Sometimes I almost wish that he would hurt me physically as well, because at least then it would be real. Not this fake nicey nicey shit he feeds me.  One minute he’s tucking me into bed and fetching me drinks and slobbering all over my tits and the next he’s telling me I’m fucking uppity and talking to me makes him feel suicidal? Fuck that. Be a scumbag or be a sweetheart, you can’t be both.

Fuck That. Fuck That. Fuck That.

penny drop

I’m so sick of crying. I seem to spend most of my time either worrying or crying or snapping at the children because I’m exhausted after spending the majority of the day worrying or crying.

I was laying in bed masturbating and listening to this song and fantasising about laying naked on a hot sandy beach with only the sea for company and not a single person for hundreds of miles around me.  Once I had finished and my hand fell away and my leg slid back down onto the bed, I found myself staring at my husbands cd collection. I started to think about that beach. How one day I would finally be successful and rich and I would simply say to my children (who will be grown by then, I’m sure) “I’m off on holiday! Here is the number of the hotel I will be staying at.” And I will give my husband many dollars/pounds/euros whatever and tell him to go on holiday wherever he’d like because I was going on holiday by myself. Also, I am always skinny in these fantasies.

This was such a lovely, perfect thought. Until I sadly realized that I am the only one who would like this. I would hop on a plane, fly to Jamaica and spend two weeks lying  on a beach, drinking cocktails and being pampered. He would drive to some campground and spend a week in a tent, probably being miserable. Additionally, he would be deeply hurt that I would not want to be with him, because he would only want to go on holiday with me.

This made me cry. For a new reason. Not for anger at what he’d done, not out of fear of the future, not out of frustration or pain. I cried because I’ve lost that. The person I loved, the person who I wanted to always be with, who I would never have wanted to go anywhere without, he is gone to me now. I cried because I no longer have love. It seems so silly and stupid given everything else, but in that moment, it was such a cold, empty feeling. He may love me, he may always love me, but I have no love left for him. That is heartbreaking to me. I loved him so much, people.  He was quirky and difficult but he was funny and creative and put me on a pedestal and nothing made me happier, more comforted, more safe than enveloping myself into his arms, into his self and being part of him.  Now, that is the last place I ever want to be. And I grieve for it, I suppose.

Hate & Loathing, and me without any drugs.

I used to love him. He is much older than me, but that never bothered me. He went grey long before I met him, early, in his twenties. That never bothered me, either. I loved his hair, I thought it suited him. I’ve never talked about his attractiveness with anyone else, but I always thought he was very handsome. I still do. His blue eyes are like icicles and their coolness melts me.  He has the most wonderful cheekbones, and I have always loved his arms, of all things.

I didn’t know how I felt about him anymore, only that out of necessity I was not divorcing him, not out of love. Did that mean I no longer loved him? As he spends more time with us, gearing up toward coming home permanently, I find that more and more I think “I hate him”.  I hate his dishevelled hair that he never brushes, and only cuts when I insist and do it for him. I hate how trying to correct a simple misunderstanding, or ask a simple question becomes a task on par with climbing everest with no guide and no oxygen.  I hate how he kept secrets from me, that I only ever knew about because I had stumbled upon them at first and later went looking for. I hate how when all I want is simple sex, love making if you will, he needs me to cater for some stupid fetish that disgusts me. I hate how he crawls into the bed that has been mine alone for over a year and takes over the majority of it, unintentionally confining me to a small pocket with half my ass hanging over the side. I hate how he sweats profusely at night, soaking the pillows and making the whole room smell of it. I hate how he will bitch if the dishes don’t get washed for three days in a row- yet for three days in a row he will sit on his ass watching tv after dinner, not washing dishes. I hate how I do a million things every day, and still don’t get through everything and feel guilty, yet he can hardly manage a 5 item to do list and even then it’s only with me hassling him about it.  All I can think is “I hate, I hate”, when previously these things were barely on my radar, with the worst being a slight annoyance. I loved him before and perhaps that made up for his flaws? Or did it simply mean I couldn’t see his them?

He is still the same devoted husband, but now he is less my loyal prince and more a desperate, needy puppy dog. One that I want to kick. (And I’d never kick a puppy.) I find myself snapping at him constantly, hardly able to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. I wonder how long I will be able to keep this act up? How many times will I be able to say “I love you, don’t worry”, when he is feeling sad and miserable for himself? If he had not lost his job, and were still able to support the family financially, would I feel the same way as I do, now?

 

Taking matters into my own hands

When I was forced to leave my job last year because of my husbands insanely stupid actions, I turned to the public purse to help me support my children. That’s why it’s there isn’t it? I tried not to feel guilty, but never quite got there. I’ve been working full time since I was 14 year old, after all. Even though I knew I wasn’t wrong to accept welfare, that I’d paid my dues and my reasons were legitimate, I still felt like trash.

My husband moved out, I left my job and then the shit storm hit and it was bad, very very bad. I cried and ate and cried.  Eventually I had to start working on course work again, and I started painting the inside of my house and we got through it. Being here for my kids, day in and day out was the only way we could have gotten through it. They had constant love and support and their school work never suffered, their friendships never suffered, they continued with their after school activities and did wonderfully. I wish the same were true for me, but they were the ones who mattered the most.

In December the police investigation finished. My husband was cautioned and put on the register, but not charged with anything. Social Services gave us the all clear to bring him home, slowly but surely. I was relieved that all this was going to finally be over. Except it isn’t. The whole time I spent supporting the kids, and supporting my husband, who at one point was threatening suicide regularly, I never got the chance to support me. I became fat from comfort eating in an effort to simply push the feelings away and in my heart, resentful.  What I thought was going to be the end of the whole miserable affair, turned out to be just another chapter.

My husband lost his job. Then I had to reapply for some of my benefits. I made a mistake on the application and they flagged it, and requested I send in documents. The day I got their letter, I overnighted the documents. I had to wait a week for the letter, even though by calling to check on the application, I knew the letter had been sent only a day or so after they had sent it. Nonetheless I had to wait for it, they wouldn’t tell me over the phone what they needed or where to send it. Now I wait for them to process it. It has been a week since they received the documents, and I call every day to check the status. They never tell me anything new, only that it is “pending” and they have no idea how long it will be. I tell them I can’t pay my rent, that I could be evicted. Still, nothing. The landlord has sent a letter about reknewing the lease, putting a note on the bottom about it can only be renewed if there are no rent arrears. Effectively telling me to pay up within 7 days or get out. I don’t think it’s right, or fair, I’ve never struggled with paying the rent before and I will call up tomorrow to complain. But, at the same time, it scares me.

But all I can do is wait. On someone else, the state, to get through the red tape just so I can pay my rent.

I am tired. Money is the first thing on my mind when I wake up, the last thing to slip out of it when I fall asleep at night. I spend most of my days worrying about it. I think about going back to work, and I wonder- what would I do? Work in a shop? Making minimum wage? How would I work around getting the kids to and from school? My husband hasn’t moved back in yet, and he’s not even allowed on the grounds of my youngest child’s school.

I see it as this, I need to pay my rent, I need to put food on the table, my children need clothes, they also need decent furniture for their rooms,I need to be able to fund my expensive studies, I need to be able to buy gas, keep the electricity and heating on. My kids rightfully expect to be able to continue with their extracurriculars. I expect to be able to buy them birthday and christmas gifts and taken them places and do things with them. Yet, I won’t even be able pay the rent each month on a crappy minimum wage job.

But what if I were making more than that? What if I were making £150 an hour? Working hours that I choose? What then? Is it possible? Is sure seems that way. There are thousands of women doing it in this country alone. Making ends meet and even plowing a bit into savings at the end of the month. Is it time I take off the rose coloured glasses? Accept the harsh realities? Welfare isn’t saving me, and until I get that degree and get into a career, work isn’t going to save me either.  If I rely on either of those options, I’m going to see my family on the fucking streets.

I told my husband in bed one evening, I was facing away from him, we’d had some small talk and were close to drifting off. I tried not to sound weak when I said it, tried not to let my voice break.  “I’m thinking of becoming an escort.”

There was no outrage, not even any questions. Mostly silence as he tried to work it through. After some tense discussion, in which he admitted having the desire to give me his wedding band and telling me to do what ever I wanted, he agreed he could see no other options and  finally asked what he could do to support me. I told him I’d need pictures for a website, and he was best placed to do them. He  agreed, and after a few seconds, asked if I thought he could use it as a way of getting more photography jobs from web designers.

 

resentment

We are out of money again. I am expecting some money to come in soon, well, desperately hoping is probably better than “expecting”. But, until then, every day I log into online banking and my stomach sinks as I see the balance has dropped further into the red. Whats worse is that our bank was recently swallowed up by a big greed mega bank, and gone are the days of simply being charged 5 a day for being overdrawn. We are now charged 25 for anything that’s paid while overdrawn and 25 for any unpaid, as well as 5 per day. I’m facing something around 200 in bank charges next month.

Whats actually bothering me though, besides the fairly usual and mundane money crisis, is that I’m struggling not to blame my husband for this. I seem to have fallen into this trap of unconsciously blaming him for everything that goes wrong. It’s his fault the house is a mess. His fault we have no money. His fault I’m stressed and worried all the time. His fault I’m on the verge of failing out of my degree program. HIS FAULT.

I guess for awhile, a lot of it was his fault. But, whats done is done. It’s been a year since my discovery, our separation. The police have finished their investigation and elected not to file formal charges and social services have decreed that he may come home once again.

Maybe that is the problem. Instead of being the bad guy in all this, he seems to be coming home like a bloody conquering hero. The kids greet him with open arms every time he comes through the door, and the baby cries when daddy isn’t here and I suppose I’m bitter about this. He moved back in with his parents for a year! I was forced to become a single mother, endure the humiliation of the schools knowing exactly what was happening and still having to do the school run and chat to teachers and principles like normal, as well as having social services in my home twice a month. And I didn’t do anything wrong!

I know I’m possibly being unfair. Being away from me and the kids was hell for him. His parents didn’t want him there, and now he’s on the register and lost his job. So, the whole vicious cycle starts again, I feel bad for blaming him for everything, then I think- “wait a minute!”….

What to do? What to do.

I am home all the time, so really- it’s my fault the house is a mess. I manage the money (not happily and under protest), and I’m historically bad with money, so it’s probably my fault we have no money. I am in control of my own feelings, so if I’m anxious or worried, that’s my fault as well. And of course, it’s my degree and nobody’s fault but my own if I’m failing.

All of that makes sense, right? But, when I take all that on and acknowledge it, it leaves me feeling more alone and bitter than ever. HE did this awful thing and it just about destroyed me. Yet, I’m paying the price for it. Still. I didn’t even get  a proper separation because he couldn’t be alone with the kids. I wasn’t going to refuse to let him see the kids (even social services said they wouldn’t like that), so even when we were supposed to be separated, it never even felt like we were. Not to mention he used my address, the same joint account and wore his ring the entire time.

I guess I know that not every stupid crappy thing that happens is his fault. But, just knowing that isn’t enough. I am angry and bitter and  even though it seems like the right time to just forgive and move on.. I’m not sure I can. I want to hate him. I want to cry and hit him and rip that engraved wedding ring off his finger and throw him out in the street and never see him again.

But I can’t do any of those things. So, instead I just harbour the resentment and blame inside me. For how long? I don’t know, forever perhaps. How long can a marriage like that last? And, what is it doing to me? Will having money fix it?