Let me grab some rosin and fire up that bow...
so I can play some pity party music.
The man in the basement wants to work things out....so...
I told him how he hurt me.
He lied.
A lot.
He promised me I could continue with school when I let him put that fake diamond on my hand.
He promised me that I could work.
I trusted him when we married and put his name on my bank accounts. I was actually attacked by a wasp as I sat in the bank. In retrospect, I think the spirits were trying to get me out of there before I ruined my life.
His control started off slowly. His mother wanted to see us every weekend. Then she wanted every holiday. Then she wanted to visit the house we rented whenever she felt like it.
Then she wanted us to own our own home because that's what good providers do. Then she told him that what was mine was his and what was his was his (and by extension of this..what is his belongs to his mother and father).
He bought a house in a dangerous part of town with my life savings. I begged. I pleaded. He ignored me. Besides, it was too late as he had but every dime I had on it anyway as earnest money.
My security was shaken. I tried to get out of it but I would have lost all of the money.
I grew up in poverty. I was orphaned and sent to live with a rich uncle who was too busy jettsetting to take care of a teenager. I got a job and bought everything I needed (except rent) because my uncle was never around. He fell in love. His girlfriend wanted me out, so I left home with a garbage bag of clothes at the age seventeen. I was luckier than most people in my situation. I made it through college. I never did drugs. I never got stuck on welfare.
I learned early on that one always has to have a back up plan. One always has to live near public transportation or have a car in good repair. The house in the boonies was nowhere near a bus line.
One week after we moved in the house, he told me that the brakes on his car were out and that his transmission wasn't working. He needed my car. I told him 'no' and he got violent. I was out of a car for three months.
I did get the permission of my boss to come in late everyday as I had to hitch a ride with a neighbor but my former boss (to this very day, 15 years later) tells me that it was proof that marriage made me lazy. I hate running into him. He's not a good reference.
I ended up leaving that job and trying to do everything from home. I want to say that this doesn't continue to happen...but....it does. What is mine is his and what is his is his.
Everything I do has to be on my own. I don't know how to explain it but he will admit to sabotaging the vehicles and the house to keep me home.
Now, if I try to talk to him....he ignores me.
That's what hurts.
He IGNORES me.
Not with the little stuff....
it's the big things!!!
He'll ignore me on the important things.
The biggest blow-outs were during my ninth months of pregnancy when I had to arrange a ride to the hospital and childcare for the other kids while I'm in labor.
I wish I were joking.
I'd ask if he would help and he'd ignore me and tell me to babysit the kids while birthing or drive myself.
When I get on his nerves his famous retort is along the lines of "[my] mother is stupid. My sister is stupid. They are both women. You're a woman. You are stupid. I don't have to listen to you!!" before spinning on his heels and walking away.
It doesn't matter what the topic is.
I was offered a paid position in a Ph.D. program studying computer science and psychology...the same thing happened.
Job offers....internships....opportunities....
help around the house....car repairs...lawn work....
He doesn't want to help me because when he was little his mother made him do that. He doesn't want to talk to me because when he was little his mother made him do that. I can't have needs because his mother made him attend to hers...and so on....and so on....
It gets old paying for the sins of someone else's mother and sister.
Yesterday, I lost it.
I was bad.
I was dysfunctional. I told him why I burned my childhood diary.
I mean, what in the world is he thinking....for 15 years, he thought he could 'out crazy' a woman.
No insane man is crazier than a sane woman. We can make anything crazy!
I told him about my Step-father, the disabled veteran with PTSD, who acted out war crimes with my pet animals. When he was sober, he was tolerable. When he was drunk, everyday was World War II.
This is the guy who shot my kitten in the head in the bathtub in front of me one Thanksgiving despite my screams to the contrary; everytime I see a huge chip in a filthy bathtub it reminds me of that horrible day. This idiot gutted kittens in the front yard when he was drunk.
Now, to be fair, I don't know why he did those things. The official story was that the cat broke her back (not sure about that) or that the kittens were dying (not sure). The man lost his marbles when he drank.
My step-father died when he was playing Russian Roullette with my thirteen year old baby sister. He's lucky he died that day. If my sister would have died during her turn (that bastard had her go first), I or a member of my maternal family would probably be in prision for his murder.
So, it can be said that I have step-daddy issues even though I spent very little time with the monster when he was drinking.
If my ex wants to stay with me and wants permission to act out every little revenge fantasy he has with his mommy on me...
I want to know when it is my turn to get freaky on him.
Not really, this is the reason why I had so much therapy before getting laid or hitched. Psychology, quite sadly, has consumed much of my life in some form or another.
As of this morning, my ex has been very quiet. He also promised to repair the chips he put in the tub.
Maybe I've been going about this all wrong?
Maybe I need to treat him as he treats me.
Sadly, I wish I were lying about gutting the cats. In the seventies, our parents and grandparents likely grew up in rural areas and were familiar with death. They saw animals as property, not pets. It was a different world back then.
As for now, we all have trauma. What I endured is a walk in the park compared to the stories I hear from many of my clients. I was lucky, I only had a few snippets of hell, most people never had relatives take them away from their abusers.
Our parents did the best with what they had. What we consider horrific child abuse today passed for discipline in the last generation. My parents lived through three wars. Their parents starved through the great depression and won World War II. Many of my friends became afraid of allowing their kids to be emotionally neglected in the same manner their working Boomer parents did: many of us learned that gadgets and excess are no substitute for guidance. Generation Y considers technology to be an intricate part of life and I often see their children playing with phones that would intimidate me!
In context, my experience doesn't freak me out too much. It probably explains why I can't stand blood or meat. My ex should consider buying a condo or something without a lawn and hiring a maid.
We all have baggage; we shouldn't make other people carry it for us too far.
As far as my relationship, I don't know. If he stops comparing me to his mother... and he tells me the truth about our finances....stops lying about the money he makes.....stops hiding the money and making me beg to buy a loaf of bread...works with me so I can hold a job.... maybe I can stay for the sake of the kids.
I don't think it's going to happen though.
One of two things happened yesterday. Either I scared him and he knows he lost control of me -or- he thinks I'm vulnerable and will try to be with me again. We'll see what he wants.
Don't dwell in your past. Don't criticize your parents too much. Don't let something you can't control intimidate you into failing to live today. Overcome it and move on.
Love,
S.
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