(and poorly written. whatever. It serves a purpose.)
The texts and phone calls going back and forth last night after I told Greg I wasn’t coming home because I old him I wasn’t OK to see him at that point. Of course he didn’t just respect that I needed my space, noooooo…
After stupid back and forth and him citing statistics from places like USA Today [omfg, really? I’m a researcher and THAT is the evidence you’re using to say we don’t have a prayer if we have a controlled separation? Really?] and other demeaning exchanges, I packed up my dog and my overnight bag and came home. At 1:00 a.m. I promised myself that my going back, albeit for a very short time, would not be in vain. I had to pull some defiance from somewhere and there it was.
I walked in, startled him, took out my contacts, and climbed in bed. I turned my back to him and when he tried to hug me I was like a stone. I’m thinking “Yeah, you *think* you got what you want. But it’s not going to be what you’re expecting.” My inner defiant child was surfacing full on.
Parts of our conversations earlier included me telling him that he’d rather have me in a mental hospital than at my apartment, because he can’t control me when I’m at the apartment. “Oh no that’s not true!” yeah. I’m buyin’ it. My mental health is something you use against me when I’m weak and when I’m not automatically complying with what YOU want. A separation is not good for you, you say. A separation is only good for me and if I’ve “convinced myself” that this is the only way to fix my problems then fine, you say. [Yet you make me PAY dearly for it don’t you? Yeah, that’s supportive.] A separation only means that we will drift further apart, you say. [and then you cite some stupid, low-impact news article with half-assed stats…c’mon man…I TEACH this stuff. At least recognize that group statistics do not apply to individual cases and only in some cases are those group statistics valid and reliable. And when I tell you those things please come up with a better reply than “Oh that’s a convenient response!” nice.] /rolling eyes
Another interesting part of our conversations was alluded to in my previous post. Wow. Deny much?
He wanted “a kiss” this morning and I looked at him like he had 15 heads. Are you shitting me? Seriously? Why would I want to kiss a man who truly does not care about my destruction…hmmm…good question actually…
I did a lot of reading about abuse in relationships this morning, much of which focused on NPs. The site by Dr. Sam Vankin provided loads of great information that was entirely free from political correctness. While I will not take the karmic hit of being manipulative, I am starting to understand that in some cases, fighting fire with fire is the only way to go.
Greg has used every single phrase and revelation I have shared about my recovery against me. He is very quick to turn an XYZ Model back at me like a boomerang. He knows it works.
So today here’s what I’m doing: I’m looking for ACoA or CODA meetings. I’m looking at intensive outpatient programs. I’m looking at anything that isn’t scary as hell because I’m looking at myself and I will not survive this.
I set up Greg’s Kindle to download books I’ve been reading since he wanted “sites” [sic] that said a separation was a good idea. When he gets into his Kindle he will see a variety of books that will likely make him furious such as:
BUT, he’s not going to see himself in any of those titles let alone see me. He is in COMPLETE denial about his abusive and controlling behavior. He will be angry. He will explode or seethe and otherwise punish me somehow. The hitch is that this time, I’m punishing back. I’m not going to let him take me under. I desperately want him to get help, for him, for the kids, for me. However, I can no longer entertain malignant optimism as Dr. Vankin explains.
So let him explode. I’m fighting back. I never do but this time, I so totally am. He’ll go into victim mode like he always does and I will, for my own karmic health, not use excessive verbal force unless there is no other option.
Baby, you want dysfunctional? Shoot, man…I have dysfunction in my freakin’ DNA. Game on. If nothing else, you will understand – or not – that you cannot push me around with your psychological abuse. Yeah, I love him. But I’m definitely not going to destroy myself because he can’t see his own problems.
Gloves are frickin’ OFF.
My cell just rang. It was him. He took our youngest son to the movies. I did not answer. Fact is, I just don’t have to.
[No apologies for language, ranting, length, etc. MY blog.]