What if I were married to a man who -putting it mildly- was not nice to me over the years.
Who had been known to yell Fcuk You! Go To Hell! or call me a B!tch. Who had hit meor pushed me when mad. Who had thrown things across the room in anger.
Who made me feel unimportant, incorrect, disrespected, or stupid on a regular basis. Who, armed with his vast knowledge about me, was able to bury verbal daggers deep in my soul with pinpoint precision. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
Who was able to hurt me deeply with his words. Who attacked me as a person, the core of goodness that I am and can be.
Who scoffed at any effort I made to do something nice for him. Who immediately felt I was not doing enough, in whatever capacity, to make him happy.
Who belittled or ignored what was important to me. Who showed me less respect than a stranger on the street.
Who made me feel unsafe. Who frankly scared me in his volatility and unpredictability. Who would I see at the end of each day? The nice man or the mean man? Who made each entry to my home filled with inner dread. Who denied me a safe harbor from the outside world.
A man I could not trust to look out for my best interest if it conflicted with his. Who always protected himself first, to the detriment of my emotional safety or the marriage itself.
A man who would not guard my heart. Who would not place it on a soft pillow and keep it safe if I handed it to him. Who I could not confide in, for fear he would use the information against me when angered.
Who apologized through the years, but did not change.
Who was no Partner to me. Who did not encourage my Best Self. With whom, I felt more alone than in an empty room.
Wouldn't you tell me to Leave Him? Get The Hell Out? Have Him Arrested?
Now. What if this person is me.
My husband the abused spouse.
Harder to believe, isn't it?
I am ashamed that it is true. Mortified. Crushed. Humiliated.
He's taken much pounding. For years. He can't even pretend to trust me with his heart or his feelings. And he's had good reason to get to this point in the road. I've laid him low.
I could lace my words with excuses and justifications, and all the years I didn't see it.
But even after Seeing It, I have snapped like a rubber band right back to being a selfish, mean person. And who cares why? FcukWhy. Half my blog is an exercise in Justifying The Why.
At the end of the day, I am proven to be irreparable. Because all it boils down to is a good man knocked down long enough and hard enough to have nothing left to trust me with.
Fair enough. I don't blame him. I cannot possibly. I've been here in this house, too.
I am toxic. Me. It's me.
And don't even fcuking comment about how awful his affair was, girlfriend, and you have every reason to be mad, hateful, or ugly.
Just save it. This so pre-dates affair.
My husband stood by me for years while I was flailing about, knocking the wind out of him.
I have focused so long on all that Is Not. Seeing the holes in the colander that drained the water out, instead of the pasta that was held inside.
His affair is the One Big Wrong Thing he did in a Lifetime of Right Things. (there are other Small things but in the interest of the Big Picture, work with me here)
By comparison, I am a Lifetime of Big Wrong Things with Scant Right Things.
Years of counseling, different therapists, journaling, prayer, have all been fruitless in changing this piece of my equation.
After I've done -or said- something mean to him, he has pointed it out to me, I have seen it (especially since December 2005) and apologized. And meant it, I promise you. But the damage was already done by my actions or words, and progress stopped. And then we recycle the pattern in some other fashion. Rinse and repeat.
I need a dog shock collar that zaps me before I'm an as$hole. To stop me from doing years-worth more damage with each incident. But I don't have that. And my Decent Person filter only works about 5-10% of the time.
And now I have a husband who doesn't trust me, won't talk to me about his real feelings for fear I will really screw him with them, and is scared of me, of what I will do to him. Has been at this point, or almost, for so long that he probably cannot separate out when the relationship was actually destroyed.
I thought cutting communication with my family of origin last year was a step in the right direction. I thought being a better, more patient, loving parent was a step. I thought counseling, praying to God, people praying for me, all these things would effect a change in my life.
I thought wrong. And I don't deserve this man to do any more 70-times-7 forgiving or trusting. If he was beating me, should I forgive him each time he hit me and come back for the next blow? No. I don't think so. Nor should he have to.
I had to come to the computer to work this out in words. To see it in black and white. I've had to stop typing several times during this post to just grieve. Hard. I fcuked up. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
I told him I wish there were more words for Sorry, like the eskimos have so many different words for Snow. I am so sorry, in a myriad of ways, but my words don't ring true anymore because my actions haven't followed up. I just want a Reset button on my life. And I don't get one.
I haven't been able to sleep. I lay awake thinking of all God brought me through as a child. He led me out of a horrible life to a road on the way to Happily Ever After. I didn't deserve it. I didn't understand it. I didn't protect it and keep it safe. I went on autopilot and ruined my relationship with the one person who ever believed in me.
