This is where I am and where I have been for some time now. Lost. All over the place. Flitting from indecisive to firmly decided and back again. And then it hits…the belly-churning fear. How will dear husband react to being served papers? What level of rage will he hit when he realizes where the money came from for such service? Will he try to throw me out of
our the house? How much harder will life be once the decision is FINALLY made?
And then my mind drifts to how life will be after the deed is done. Calm. Peaceful. Happy. Healthy. A life of MY choosing: what we eat, where we go, who we see and what color the comforter will be on my bed. A life well lived; no longer hidden out of shame and fear.
Am I strong enough to move forward? To get myself un-stuck? To finally break free from the madness that is him – the arbitrary rules that change daily and never knowing if it’s Jekyll or Hyde I will wake up with each day. God, I hope so.
I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I wish I was wrong. I wish I could wake up tomorrow and be back in that warm, fuzzy, denial ridden but deeply-in-love place that was cocooned around me 16 months ago. That place where I felt I had finally met the man of my dreams…my soulmate. The one who made all those who came before him look like amateurs.
The totality of this situation hits me a little more each day. It’s over. 3 years of work and worry and heartbreak and compromise and hopes dashed (all of those mine) seemingly for nothing. It feels like a death and I guess it should be mourned as such. The death of my hope that things could get better, the death of thinking that he would eventually see how much he was hurting me (wounding me actually) and that he would understand that marriage was about compromise and love and sharing.
What a joke! It’s his way or the highway and has always been. He’s just calmly and patiently waiting for me to “come back to my senses” and see him for the Lord of his Domain that he has always been. What his narcissistic mind can’t wrap itself around is that I’ve changed. And I am going to continue to change. I am angry and this second stage of grief feels GOOD. I’m not putting up with his shit (or his son’s) anymore and I won’t be a doormat any longer.
So while I continue to wish in one hand – I have mentally shaken the shit out of my other hand. Now, I just need to tell him.
I had a rather revealing conversation yesterday with someone who used to be my “bestie”. We did everything together and then slowly, for reasons that I won’t expound on, her company became less and less desirable. Up until about a month ago, I hadn’t spoken to her in over a year. When I did try to rekindle the flame all of the reasons for my no-contact came rushing back at me. However, a comment she made last night really smacked me in the face and made me cherish the fact that we used to be friends. Her comment was, “and I know you don’t really have anyone to talk to”. Right there, in black and white…I have no friends. I have spent my entire life taking care of other people and being responsive to their needs and paying their way and I have NOTHING to show for it. I tend to be socially inept and can’t seem to keep a conversation going to save my ass. But hand me a checkbook (or some lube) and I will take care of ALL of your needs.
Psychologists would say I am codependent and I believe that assumption to be correct. I was raised to be one by my abusive, narcissistic mother who hit me if I sighed in a manner that was less than pleasing. And I left her to marry my first narcissistic husband (a somatic) only to leave him and fall in with my second narcissistic husband (a cerebral).
God, if I survive this education, I promise to stay in therapy until I am FIXED!!
Things are currently in a lull; he is on his “best” behaviour and I’m a shakey wreck waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am doing my best to educate my self on this disorder and have come to the realization that my ex-H exhibits many of the symptoms of another form of the same disorder. This scares me to no end because it tells me that I am mentally unhealthy myself. My extensive reading tells me that failing to heal properly after the first narcissistic relationship leaves me open to falling prey to another narcissist. And another. And another. Looks like I’ve proven that research to be true.
It hurts my heart to even consider life without dear hubby but I’ve come to realize that the “man” I love isn’t really there. He was a projection of what dear hubby thought I wanted in a man. And he was unfortunately right up to and including the new baby who is the light of my life. Thinking of her spending weekends alone with him and demon spawn is enough to give me nightmares.
That’s another realization I have come to during my reading – I believe demon spawn is in the beginning stages of his own mental illness. The kid suffered so much abuse/neglect, has so many developmental delays and at the same time displays some pathological behaviours which are far-advanced for his years. I don’t like even being in the same room with him anymore as it has become that pervasive.
I am left holding a bag full of regret and bad decisions and facing the reality that I should have taken better care of myself. I allowed dear hubby to systematically take my entire life away from me until I am left with no money, no friends and no where to turn. Except to myself.
After a wonderful, awesome, amazing weekend spent entirely with my bio kids (as dear hubby and evil spawn were gone) today seems to be such a disappointment. Intellectually, I understand dear hubby’s narcissistic personality disorder is the reason/cause/excuse for the way he treats me. I know it and I accept that he is never going to improve/seek help/love me. But in my heart, I have a broken weeping area for what could have been. Opportunity lost to the hands of a disorder that is rooted in his awful childhood. And there is nothing I can do about it. Me, the fixer, the righter of wrongs, the mom, the amazing me just can’t.fix.him. And according to everything I have read, the chances of him ever fixing himself (even with psychotherapy) are about as remote as pigs flying.
So, this leaves me feeling like an outcast in an office full of roses and chocolates. My co-workers talk excitedly as I type this, comparing their v-day plans for the evening and looking forward to time spent with their “other half”. Mine acted as if this were just another day and barely gave me a peck on the cheek as I went out the door.
I doubt he even remembers what day this is.
No, not a sexy blog in any way, shape or form. I’m talking about abuse at the hands of a “loved one”. It could be physical or verbal or emotional or sexual – abuse is abuse is abuse.
This morning I had a co-worker of mine stop by my desk when no one else was around. She knows about my situation (she’s one of my safety nets should things go horribly wrong at 1 a.m.) and she was inquiring as to how I was doing. Hmmm, lemme think about it. Awful. Horrible. Depressed. Sad. Anxious. Overwhelmed. Despairing. What did I share with her? “I’m alright – lots of stress right now” and her sympathetic nod as if she understood. That’s the problem. No one, unless they have stood in my shoes, can truly understand what it’s like to be afraid of the man you love. Afraid that you may no longer have a place to live when he finally follows through on his threat to “kick your ass out”. Afraid that your children’s father will find out and sue for sole custody based on the fact that you’re not providing a safe home for them. And truly afraid when a verbal altercation can leave you shaking and scared for an hour after it’s done and over with – then something has gone horribly, horribly wrong in your relationship.
I understand she doesn’t understand.. She can sympathize, she can offer me a shoulder to cry on – heck, she may even think about me after we’ve gone home for the night. But she can’t feel the knot in the pit of my stomach on my drive home every.single.night. And she can’t feel the tension building in my home as we wait for “Daddy”. Or my feeling that I’m “Sleeping with the Enemy” that leaves me an insomniac.
And her final, parting comment confirmed my belief that she truly doesn’t get the jist of what verbal and emotional abuse can do to a person. “Well, at least he’s not doing that physical stuff”.
This past weekend was my second unsuccessful attempt to leave my husband. The first time, he wasn’t yet my husband and we didn’t have our baby daughter. I wish I would have had the balls to do it then.
Thursday we got into a knock-down drag-out fight before I left for work and he told me ,”you know where the door is…either you make the decision or I will”. I cried on my way to work and shook for two hours after I got there. The same thoughts kept running through my mind – “i’ve got to get out, it’s the 4th time he’s threatened this, my marriage is eating me alive, he is an abuser”. This treatment has been going on for almost a year and has gotten progressively worse in the past month. I never know what is going to set him off and it makes my stomach burn like fire each time we argue.
So I took the step of telling my office manager about my nightmare and she offered to let me stay with her (which she later recanted – so much for support). I also went and looked at an apartment over my lunch and decided I’d rather move there. My company offered me the deposit and rent money and money to pay daycare for a month. It felt like a dream come true and took a huge weight off my shoulders. I smiled and felt happy in a way I hadn’t in months – finally, I had options.
Then doubt crept in. I worked out my budget and grim reality stared me in the face…with my existing bills, new bills, truck payment and daycare I would have no money left for groceries, gas or paying back my company for the loan. I had to stay.
I confronted my abuser in the early pre-dawn hours as we both lay in the bed our daughter was conceived in. He denied and got angry and finally agreed to go to counseling. We had several long, angry talks about where this marriage has gone wrong. He found the lease and was livid but also shook up that I had made such a concrete decision. Finally last night, the ever present burning in my stomach eased back to a dull ache.
This morning, it’s back again – the searing pain of regret burning brightly in my belly. We got into another argument and more blaming ensued. I called him on my way to work in tears and he ended up hanging up on me. I hate this life and I hate that my spouse can treat me like crap and it’s just supposed to just be ok because he isn’t hitting me.