You Are Mistaken

Every time, and I mean every single time over the 21 years we were together, whenever I would ask ex not to yell at me or the kids, he'd launch into a diatribe about how he wasn't yelling, totally ignoring my request, and telling me I was too sensitive.

New and Ugly?

A friend asked me a while back, "Did something new and ugly happen, or is this just processing the last 21 years?", about starting the blog. I said, "Mostly processing...and a lot of people's reactions when I talk to them about what's been going on. People's jaws have been hitting the floor."

It made me realize just how fucked up my thinking was when I was in the middle of it. I didn't even realize I'd been abused until I filed for divorce, he moved out, and I started to look at it from a distance.

And when I started talking to other people about what had been happening.

I just knew I had to get out. My hairdresser (and friend) said we can't see it when we're in the middle of it, whether it's a marriage, friendship or coworkers.

I thought for a minute when I read my friend's email and realized that something DID happen. People's reactions happened. They took me by surprise. They were/are shocked. Their mouths make O's. Their eyes open wide.

"He did WHAT?!"

Wow. How could I have thought that was an ok way to live?

White vs. Black

I saw a movie once (or was it a book I read?) where two women were talking about the main two fantasies that woman have: The White Fantasy (getting married) and The Black Fantasy (becoming a widow).

I used to fantasize about getting married. Living in a house I owned, having children, dogs, and a husband that adored me. I was sure that this would make me happy and I'd live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, after about 10 years of marriage, my white fantasy turned into the black fantasy. I was married for 21 years.

Don't get me wrong: I never wanted ex to die. I never wanted my children to lose their father. I didn't want anyone hurt. I didn't really want to lose my husband, though I already had. (He wasn't the man I hoped he was when I chose him.) Being a widow seemed like the least frightening way to find eventual happiness.

I read The New Fantasyland and it reminded me about what I used to fantasize about. I fantasized about being able to choose for myself. Do what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. Go out with friends, choose the products at the stores that I wanted, eat what I wanted to eat, be friends with the people I chose, and talk to my family on the phone without fear of being overhead and 'punished'. I wanted someone who would thank me for cooking, instead of telling me what I should do next time to make it better, or just spitting it out on the plate in disgust and pushing the plate away. (All of this in full view of our children who were starting to follow in his footsteps in more than just at table. The horror when I realized that my son might grow up thinking this is how you treat women was another straw that broke the camel's back...another post to write.) I wanted someone who didn't storm away in anger if I said something he didn't want to hear. Someone who looked me in the eye while I was talking, instead of walking away from me because he had something more important to do. Someone who didn't spend his time in a 'discussion' explaining to me why something I wanted to do wasn't a good choice. Someone who would hold my hand when we walked down the street, and someone who I could hug who wouldn't didn't think that every touch was an invitation to grope me like a teen aged boy. Someone who would let me lay close to him while I slept. I wanted someone who never asked me to change my clothes, makeup, hair or weight. I wanted someone to protect me and love me unconditionally. Someone who would treat me like I was important to them.

I really just wanted to be free of him.

What I needed was to protect myself from resentment, criticism, and a life that I had lost control of. I didn't even know I was lost until I woke up one day and realized that I was tired. Tired of working so hard to please someone who was (is still) so full of self loathing and anger.

Ex would argue that he never MADE me do anything, but he's missing the point. This is why I don't argue with him anymore.

Like the woman who wrote the article, I fantasized about ex staying out of my life. I understand that he will always be around, however. He IS the father of my children and they love him. I am getting better at setting and keeping boundaries. I just make my own choices and work with him as best I can for the kids. I have made a pact with myself to only talk to him about the kids and the house we co-own. The kids are quickly learning why I have chosen to divorce him. He's teaching them himself through his actions.

I'm starting over, coming up with new fantasies that are healthy. The difference now is that my fantasies are coming true.

"I've forgotten..."

I started a private blog a while back and wrote until I 'wasn't allowed' to blog anymore. My ex didn't like it, and being the doormat I was I stopped. I was so tied into pleasing him. I feel sorry for the me that was and pained that I let anyone treat me that way.

It was titled, "I've forgotten...", and I wrote it in January 2011.

"...what it's like to be adored. Truly, truly adored. I think I'm going through withdrawal from last night. It's really hard to be treated like a princess only to come home to moodiness and rejection. What can I do? I'm thinking a therapist who specializes in open marriages would be key. I'd like that. I want (ex) to get over his fucking THIS IS WRONG moods and relax. Maybe with time? He is better than he used to be. And I'm learning when and where not to talk to him. He told me he wanted to tell me something about what he likes. I'm curious to hear what it is because maybe then I'll have more self confidence about what I want to do. And more guidelines on doing what I want when I want within (ex's) comfort level. I'll ask him to tell me tonight. I feel better already. :) "

Note: After Ex brought up opening our marriage we started the discussions. Mostly to talk me into it. After I agreed to open up our marriage, every poly date I went out on was discussed with ex and agreed upon beforehand. Negotiated to death until he was satisfied with our open relationship 'rules', and to be honest what he could get out of me in payment for 'letting' me go. Thus my frustration and confusion about being 'punished' emotionally every time I came home from one. He would shun me. Not talk to me for days sometimes...just shoot me filthy looks like I was a child or a dog. The payment would usually be for me to tell him full sexual details (if there were any) about what I had let someone 'do to me', blow by blow, while ex was having sex with me. His kink was for me to have sex with other men. It shamed me (and oddly enough, shamed him into begging ME for forgiveness, over and over again...almost immediately after he came) making me feel like a whore...a discussion we had much later which caused him to shun me again, for a longer period this time, and was the straw that broke the camel's back that kick started the anxiety attacks I had when I really started to consider leaving him again. I tried to leave him five years beforehand, and he scared me into staying. Another post for another day.

What bothers me most about this post I wrote (I'm wiping away tears as I write about how pitifully I begged for any little scrap of positive attention he was willing to throw at me) was that I was clearly trying to figure out how I could change myself to make everything better. I don't remember what the outcome of that night was, or even if we talked or not. All I know is that poor, scared woman wanted so badly to be unconditionally loved and adored that she bent over backwards for the man was supposed to be her 'knight in shining armor', but was really her biggest life challenge to date. An abuser.

Once again the fairytale proves to be elusive.

PTSD and The Stuff In My House I Hate

One thing that scares me is knowing that emotional and verbal abuse are gateways to physical abuse. He never put his hands on me...but he did put his hands on our son. And every so often, got into a fist fight with an adult.

Standing in the entryway of our house screaming at him at the top of my lungs to get out, as my son lay on the floor curled up in a ball, my daughter looking on from down the hall...you can't imagine the feeling of that anger. Seeing him violently shove my son against the wall snapped me. That astounding amount of anger aimed at him and having him look at me and say, "You're overreacting again.", and, "He shoved me first." The powerlessness of knowing that it will happen again and that I am letting it happen by staying.

Another thing that scares me is PTSD and battered women syndrome because the more I read the more I realize I have some of these symptoms. I have exaggerated jumpiness, which is another symptom of PTSD. Any loud noise or the sudden appearance of someone when I don't hear them coming makes me jump out of my skin, and it's embarrassing. I made a joke about it just last night when my partner's ex came around the corner in the dark house and scared the crap out of me, to cover up my feelings.

I also space out a lot, usually when I'm at work, reliving those awful and humiliating moments of my life, like when ex compared my ass to Mount Rushmore at a crowded party for everyone to hear. Or when I had to get the kids out of bed to pick him up at a golf course bar because he'd gotten so drunk after playing golf that he knocked his front tooth out when he tripped on a chair, stopping on the way to emergency because he had to get out of the car and wander into a field to vomit, where he dropped and lost his keys in the tall grass, swearing and yelling the whole time, scaring the shit out of all of us. Meanwhile my young son is asking me questions about why daddy is acting that way. Or the time I was having a gallbladder attack, curled up in a ball of agony, an iron band of pain around my belly, and he was demanding to know if I was exaggerating. Or the time he was so drunk he humiliated me in front of his coworkers at his yearly work award ceremony and I walked out of the event. He staggered down the dark street after me and ended up ranting and raving, and shattering his cellphone on the ground so violently that a nearby cop came over to see what was going on. Or the time he spent an entire road trip out of town for our anniversary talking me into a three way with a friend of ours, when I really didn't want to do it. Or the time he got into a screaming match with his mother in front of our house, in front of the kids, at Christmas and I had to talk him into apologizing so his parents would stay. Or the time he humiliated me, and our son, in front of my family on my birthday by screaming and threatening our son while I was opening my presents. Or the time our son brushed his bicycle against the side of my car trying to get it out so he could play, and ex grabbed the bike to get it out himself, putting a scratch down the side of my car, then having a screaming hissy fit about it, blaming our son. Incidentally, my car was a Christmas present for not divorcing him the first time I tried. He talked me out of it then drained our savings account to buy me that car with cash, ignoring my pleas to know why he'd taken all that money out without talking to me about it, because it was a 'present' for me. He made me wait until Christmas morning to tell me about the money, and only after waiting to see my reaction to opening my present of a car key.

I could go on and I might in another post. The sheer number of things that are popping into my head that I had blocked is awful. 'Forgetting' things that happened is another PTSD symptom.

He asked me to explain, before he moved out, one of the reasons I told him I wanted a divorce: I told him he was controlling, and as an example said that he decorated our house without letting me choose anything. He denied it, reminding me that he always chose 2-3 things at a time that he liked and presented them to me to make a choice. He would shop for something then take me there to choose between the ones he wanted. The few things I had contributed came with me when we moved in together and I resisted him getting rid of them, sometimes flat out hiding them from him so he couldn't. 

I also told him that everything in our entire house had a negative story for me when I looked at it. The driftwood with shells on it in the shape of the number 40 he and the kids made me for my 40th birthday party was the gift I was opening when he screamed at our son in front of my family. The school pictures of the kids that we had taken every year was an anxiety laden event where our children had to look absolutely perfect and wearing everything he approved of for the picture because it was going into a big frame with each school year spot waiting to be filled over the years. I hate that picture frame. It holds the pictures of my beautiful children but each picture has a story. Me wrestling our tactile dysfunctional son into a button down Hawaiian shirt ex had chosen for the occasion. My daughter's perfectly coiffed hair that I stayed up until midnight the night before, soothing her while she cried, blowing it out straight so she'd look how ex wanted her to look. Defending each cowlick and adorable, goofy smile as being how our kids really looked, and not needing to spend the money on having it retaken.

I've said enough. I'm sick of it and am going to bed so I can stop thinking about all this. Dredging it up is cathartic and exhausting and I'm fucking tired of feeling like a victim. I'm tired of crying and I'm tired of waiting for the overburdened court system to send me my god damned divorce papers so I can finally be free of him.