I had a rough morning. I have desperately wanted time alone to work out some of the things I’m discovering about myself and develop an understanding of what these things mean in terms of opportunities for change. I got up and decided I had to force myself to try to look good, for my own sake – and for a change. Self care has been way low on my priority list.
I am one of those women who is attractive, takes care of herself, dresses well, always has her toes painted, and I generally feel good about having fun with how I dress. I’ve missed that about myself but honestly, I really haven’t given two shits lately. Ugh!
So this morning, despite rampant PMS, I committed to do one thing. I took a shower, shaved my legs as I do every day in the summer, and proceeded to remove the 6 week old polish on my toes. H was in and out of the bathroom – because of course I cannot have privacy, at all, ever, and so he saw me shaving my legs. Apparently he’s missed the daily shave tendency because when I told him I wanted to go to my apartment, he asked me if I was going to paint my toes too. I thought it was an odd connection to make but I said yes, they looked like hell. He said “oh” and walked away. He skulked around until I asked him what was wrong. He told me that he was having flashbacks [interesting choice of words given our conversation about my C-PTSD last night] about my painting my toes, shaving, and waxing every time I would go out of town and figured I was going to my apartment so I could have an affair again.
WHAT? Oh my god. Really?
I became frustrated to the point of exhaustion and said “I’m done. I quit. I’m terminating my lease and I’m not going to any more counseling sessions. I’ll not paint my toes and I’ll just stay here, where you can watch me, forever. I give up. I quit.” He turned around and said “Are you sure? Don’t you think you should think about that before you make such big decisions?” and then he walked away, quite satisfied with himself.
He came back in and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with him and our youngest son. I said “OK”, put on my makeup, a little jewelry, and proceeded to be the perfect wife he wants; with a side of simmering resentment. He was happy as a clam most of the time until he caught my vibe, which I dismissed. He said “Oh I just want you to be happy” to which I thought “yeah, right. Only if that’s within your controlling parameters…”
After dinner and a movie we came home and I proceeded to do some laundry and clean up the kitchen. He became more and more frustrated that I wasn’t engaging in battle and/or noticing his sulking. He told me that when he got back from an errand, he fully expected me to be gone. I smiled at him and said “Oh no, not happening.” He shot a hateful glare at me and I said “Oh what’s wrong? You’re getting what you want…” I don’t want this…I’ll just stuff down my feelings and I won’t share them anymore with you… to which I responded “Oh no, only ONE of us has to do that to make this work!”
As I ran upstairs with laundry to put away he jabbed “Ok, I’ll go then.” I cheerfully volleyed back “OK, whatever.” He was less satisfied with his tactics than before and went back in for one more “You had better leave” command which I flat out rejected by saying “Oh no honey, we are both staying in the boat. Nobody leaves.” (Alright, it was more of a hiss…he had it coming.)
So here I sit. Thinking stupid shit like I’ll never paint my toes again, I’m going to cut my long, gorgeous brown hair to a very short “style”, start wearing matronly clothing, strip out the color to reveal the gray, and generally become as unattractive as he makes me feel. No more therapy, no more efforts to fix the marriage, no more anything.
You want dysfunction baby? It’s in my genes. Bring it on. [my thought process]
At one point I was thinking I should quit my job too, since I’m the only paycheck in the house. Then I’ll join the ranks of the highly medicated Stepford wives where I live. Hmmmm, but I couldn’t be a Stepford wife if I looked like that could I…
Yeah, it’s irrational but I’m damn tired of taking his shit. I feel he wants to make me miserable any time I step outside of his command zone. Well, if he’s going to manipulate me while I’m resisting being miserable, I fully intend to make him miserable as hell along with me. You want to choke the life out of this relationship? Fine. So be it.
grrrrrr I’m pissed. What a selfish asshole.