Garbage Woman

So....

Yesterday he checked out my car and said it was fine.  It still runs rough and stalls but I'll try driving it.

The oven element caught fire.  He ordered a new one. 

I thought maybe he cared. 

He doesn't. 

I went to the grocery store late last night to buy oranges.  I've been trying to feed him healthy food, to minimize his risks of keeling over.  I've been packing him salads and fruit for lunch. 

I ran into a funny bald guy with blue eyes. 

Oh...he looked just like my friend Brad.

Those eyes remind me of Brad. 

The way he turns his nose up at rancid fish reminds me of Brad.

The way he brushes the dust off the shelf reminds me of Brad.

Oh, crap.  I think I have a crush on Brad.  Now, I can't see him for a year.  It'll be a cold day in he!! before I rebound on a friend. 

I began to miss having a crush on my old flame.  It's far easier to have a crush on someone who lives 500 miles away and knows why it won't work with you than it is to have a crush on someone available to you.


I go home in a daze. 

Mike is there waiting for me. 

He tells me I'm cute. 

I was wearing my ugly girl costume.  I wore blue jeans with rolled up cuffs.  A t-shirt with an over sized hoodie, huge brown tortoiseshell glasses and a ponytail.  I combed out my bangs, but with my curly hair the humidity makes them look uneven.  The makeup was minimal as I only wore enough to cover my latest scar right between the eyes. 

I show him my scar. 

How'd you get that?

Well....I was crying a lot and woke up with a wrinkle. 

I thought it made me look ugly, so I put acid on it (like I usually do).  This time, though, the acid ate through the skin and left me with a little deep scar.  I'm going to try to even it out. 

I feel so ugly. 

I feel so broken.

I start to hold back tears. 

I express my confusion.  I don't know what to do. 

I know he stopped listening to me twelve years ago when his family was harassing me because I was a grad student.  That's when he got violent and that's when I first started contemplating a divorce.  I spent a lot of time in therapy. 

Four years ago, he stopped talking to me completely; this was the time when he was being bullied by his boss at the city.  In my research pertaining to workplace bullying, I am finding out that this is common.  The bullied worker withdrawals and stops communicating not only with co-workers but other people in their life. 

Most marriages will experience strain if one spouse works in a hostile workplace.  The longer the marriage the less strain. So far in my research, 6% of these marriages dissolve.  31% are estranged.  61% report strain. 

This is why I'm mad at Donnielle, Robin and the lawyers at the city.  I have had one respondent who worked for the city.....one.  She was set up the same way Mike was and given an impossible quota to fulfill.  A city car followed her.  They stalked her.  They were seen taking photos of her daughter outside of her home.  They harassed her.  She gained fifty pounds.  She considered suicide until she finally found enough money to move into another city.  The harassment didn't quite stop but it subsided. 

Someone at the city sent me an email claiming that Mike was fired for being fat.  The woman was told that she was fired for being too pretty.  It seems to me that someone has an issue with her appearance.

Her stories mirrors ours.  I share that with Mike.  I beg him to get help. 

I start to cry. 

I couldn't help it.  I mean, women who go four years without intimacy feel broken.  I must be broken.  I must be ugly.  I must be gross.  My hygiene must be lacking.  There must be something wrong with me.  

Maybe I need to do more kegels.  Maybe I need to go out and buy a tens machine.  Maybe I'm defective somehow. 

Maybe I need to sear all the wrinkles off my face. 

Maybe I'm just not good enough. 

He tells me that it's not me, it's him.  He wants me to stay to work on our relationship. 

I ask when he wants to do that?  Next week? Eighteen months from now?  Never?  I'd like to have sex sometime before I hit menopause and it dries out. 
I start to cry harder.   I don't know what to do.  Do I try harder? 

If I stay, I fear what he'll do.  If I go, I fear for what he'll do. 

He makes a lot of executive decisions that destroy my reputation.  My credit is ruined now.  I'm unsure how I'm going to find a job. 
I'm in pain. 

He looks at me, spins on his heels and walks down the stairs and into the basement, leaving me alone with the groceries and my tears. 

This is my marriage.  We've been estranged for four years.  It's been dead for twelve. 

I feel like garbage. 

I pray to find a way to leave this house in a way that does the least harm. 

Love,

S.