notyourfavoritepossession

freedom is the sweetest fruit

Month: October, 2013

Feeling better today

I awoke with new resolve. I feel more sure of myself. I’m ready to talk to a counselor.

Just thought you’d like to know. 😀

I need to write about the final ‘covert abuse’ straw for me, our family trip to Grandfather mountain. What happened with our daughter getting lost there (well, sort of lost; everything is fuzzy with Narc abuse) left me so disturbed, it took me weeks to recover.  But we brought back a coffee mug. I think I will start drinking out of that mug every day as a reminder!

A tough day

When she was taking her shower for work today, I had to wash her genitals. She called me later, asking about how much insurance to take. I recommended a lot of disability insurance, as she is nearly there already. She did put forth that she needs to take up yoga or pilates. I would ordinarily say ‘at least that’s something,’ but then it doesn’t mean anything so long as it’s just words, a lesson I’m finally learning.

Since yesterday afternoon, I feel as if every cell in my body is suffocating in some kind of gauzy substance. The guilt and self-recrimination have been especially bad. I know that i need to focus on the now rather than the future, but finding time has not been easy. Today after my walk and a few chores, I pooped out. I’m becoming depressed.

I’m not sure I still feel comfortable going to the domestic violence center. I think I’d rather wait until the insurance kicks in and see a conventional therapist. I’m not sure.

 

 

tracking the day’s offenses

She woke up, announced ‘horrible back pain’ and bowed out of the day’s activities. (Per usual, on weekends.)

(I should point out, her back or her knee or her ankle, depending, has been too painful for her to do anything with or for our family for years. It’s possible that her back does hurt, but she does not do anything to help it, such as losing weight, doing yoga, or seeing a specialist. She still does all that things that she wants to do, so I can’t give her a pass on this one.)

At 12:30, I decided to push my luck and go for my 45 minute walk. Came home to my son flooding the bathroom.

While cleaning the flooded bathroom, son started pouring out cups of water in the hallway. Normally, I would be the one to intervene, but pointed it out to her to see what would happen; she did not intervene.

Took towels to laundry. Came back inside house. Son still pouring out water. Pointed it out again. She ‘called him,’ but did not intervene. I went back to the laundry room.

Son had ‘slipped away’ from her, and was again pouring out cups of water in hallway. She continued watching television.

I cleaned the hallway and went to sit down on our bed. Son slipped into daughter’s room and defecated on bed. Son came into our room, wiping feces on our bed. Wife was in the bathroom. I told her, then took son to clean him up; wife ignored feces, went back to watch television, leaving all cleanup for me.

This is the history of our marriage: I do most things, because she can’t, or isn’t good at it, or doesn’t have time, or it makes her sick, or she is in too much pain. Or she simply ignores it, doesn’t do it, without giving a reason, knowing I will pick up the slack. I finally decided it was my problem, that I needed to learn to be more like her, to be selfish, that I couldn’t keep blaming her for what I’m willing to do. It didn’t occur to me that this was intentional, conscious abuse.

affairs

I believe that my affair was my subconscious asserting itself against my decision to stay in an abusive relationship.

Not everyone will believe it, but it’s what I believe.

When you try to talk to them…

The last time I expressed unhappiness in my marriage, her boss sent her home from work for inappropriate workplace behavior. (Uncontrolled sobbing, I guess.) Or at least that’s what she said. I never checked with her boss or coworkers to see if this actually happened. Maybe she just took the day off. Whatever the case, the message was received: if you call me on any of my stuff, I won’t be able to work and our lives will be ruined.

She has expressed the opinion that the only cause for marital discord is an affair. When called out on any of her selfish or abusive behavior, she starts rifling through my blogs and emails, searching for ‘the other woman.’ She subtly reminds me from time to time that she has the know-how to kill without being discovered. She has called me a whore more than once (in front of our daughter). She has referred to all of my female friends as ‘your whores.’  She has tried to cut off all of my contact with the outside world, or at least put out feelers to see if it would be possible. I’ve always made it clear that will never happen. But in the meanwhile, haven’t I subconsciously absorbed the mind-washing, changing my behaviors to be more in line with her desires?

She threatened the woman I had an affair with to kill her in front of her children. I’m not supposed to know that. I wonder if that statute of limitations has run out on prosecuting that threat? I wonder if she’d be willing to testify, if called upon?

“She’s not as bad as she used to be”

My wife is not nearly as overtly abusive as she used to be. She likes to point this out sometimes.

But then you have to ask yourself: has she grown less abusive or have I grown more compliant? If I did not fit the mold that she insists I fit into, would the past abusive behaviors resurface? Did the death and suicide threats really end or did I simply stop giving her reasons to make them?

Even so, the abuse is less obvious now but I am not sure it is actually less. Perhaps when I showed that I would no longer tolerate continuous berating, that’s when the covert tactics surfaced. Or predominated, I guess. They were always there.

more long (and winded) post

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Yesterday morning, things started clicking. I realized the foolishness of my misplaced compassion. Not that compassion is ever wrong, but it suddenly dawned on me that my wife could very well be in prison for what she’s done to me. (At least, if I am right about the NPD scenario.) It isn’t totally unlike an Elizabeth Smart situation. Here I am, realizing I’ve been ‘kept’ under duress and coercion all these years. It feels accurate to call it unlawful confinement or whatever.

After my morning epiphany, I had lunch with my daughter. I felt emancipated. It was an interesting taste of the difference freedom might mean in my life. I felt it was perhaps not too late to make a difference in her life. And mine.

I mentioned money in my last post but didn’t get a chance to finish the thought. I wouldn’t miss the money. I’d be happy in a little trailer on a couple of acres.

Despite all of my inner turmoil, in a way, this feels so much like a miracle. It’s like the missing piece, the key to the confidence I lack as a person and as a performer, dropped in my lap by some incredibly kind angel. It seems almost too easy. Did I manifest it out of thin air?

Don’t look a gift (from an) angel in the mouth.

the long and winding post

A year ago, I was driving half-way across the country to a woodland paradise. Gorgeous country. She hated her old job (her boss had it in for her), so we were relocating. I was finally going to have the organic family farm of my dreams, in the most beautiful surroundings you can imagine.

Six months ago, we were settled in our new home state and looking for properties. I was recommitted to my marriage, to my wife, to finally being the devoted and loving husband that she could finally respond to. I was going to be fully on board with my relationship like never before. Besides, it didn’t really matter if she loved me back. Just having the opportunity to love was all you could really ask for in life. Mutually loving and supportive relationships were Hollywood fantasies; that, or so exceedingly rare as to be irrelevant. Maybe some people got a respite every few incarnations, a chance to love and be happy, but it wasn’t really where the good growth was. Great relationships were for wimps.

Four months ago, her new job was no longer tenable. The people who hired her were no longer there, her new boss didn’t like her (and said so to her face, I was told), and new job requirements were causing her to violate her personal ethics.

The kids were settled in new schools, but what the hell, I said. Let’s go back. I would never ask you to be miserable.

It’s true that my parents were ‘back home’ and made no bones about wishing we’d come back. There were lots of opportunities for me back home, too. I want to sing, to take classes, to make friends, and in a city that size, there’s something for everyone. I hated the place, yes, or at least had hated it, but that was just proof I probably needed to go back and work out some issues.

It seemed like things were falling into place.

So we moved back.

Then she quit the job we moved back for before she’d even started it, choosing to go with another company instead. Okay, I said. Another three weeks without a paycheck. No big deal. We can figure it out. I want you to be happy. You probably need to keep this one for awhile, though. At least two or three years. And the salary would be good once she finally started. We should finally be okay financially, I told friends.

Two months ago, we were looking at houses together. Somewhere where our son, who has severe autism, could finally be happy. A place with a pool. (He loves swimming.) Maybe a couple of acres, not enough room for a farm, but big enough for a  garden and a few chickens. Possibly a goat, if we’re lucky.

To that end, we were going to take out our retirement to fix up and sell our current home.

A month ago, this was still the plan. New house. New life.

Now…my spouse is a crazed sociopathic vampire who doesn’t love me or our children.

Or it’s me, because I’m tired of the cycles. I had an online friend of several years tell me goodbye. We weren’t up to anything, no private conversations, didn’t know her name or what she looked like, but hell was that a woman I could love. Shouldn’t and didn’t because I couldn’t, but sure could have. Maybe she did me and that’s why she said goodbye. Don’t know. Didn’t get any explanations, nor ask for any. Decided it was none of my business. And, you know, it really wasn’t.

After a week or two of moping around about that, I decided I am so very tired of these cycles. Of trying to love a partner who takes and takes and gives very little. Of almost being helpless against infatuations with other women.

I thought I had it all under control, everything settled and in its place. At that point, though, I realized it was a grand delusion. Quite frankly there had never NOT been the idea of someone else.

notes from a fried brain

I have a lot to say, but I’ve not been sleeping well and the reality of that is catching up with me. I can’t count on my thought processes when I’m tired, I’ve learned from experience.

I called about counseling today. It only took about ten minutes of blubbering and shaking for me to put the call through. The woman did not make me feel ridiculous in any way. She did ask why I thought my wife had NPD, which I wasn’t prepared for, but it only took me a few seconds to recover. I got information. It was a step. Steps are good.

My son has very severe autism. I’m not able to fully delve into my feelings about losing my daughter now to NPD. I have to hold my guts together until I can get to triage, so to speak. I suppose I’m a bit Pollyanna about life, but then aren’t we all? I recognize the fact, through my philosophical and spiritual explorations, that healing, or at least meaning, is still possible, even where great loss has taken place. I’m reserving judgment about the future. I’m reserving judgment about my daughter and about grieving. I don’t have enough information yet to presume to begin processing anything. There may be great pain ahead. I believe I can traverse it.

Slave to the Grind

I have been getting such thoughtful and useful comments and replies the past few days, it’s amazing. Thank you all so much, truly.

(I’m having a panic attack right now, by the way. That’s not the sort of thing I would be forthcoming about normally. Anonymity has its perks.)

Researching narcissism is time-intensive, so it’s great to have some nudges in the right direction. It’s so hard to find time, too. Spouse lost her keys (maybe; maybe a kid took them; hard to say), which took up most of my morning. I have to leave to pick her up soon. I found them, fortunately, without too much looking, but it was most of another precious day lost.

I’m under scrutiny. Even before I started my research, she started inquiring about how I spend my time. Now, while I do my research, things aren’t getting done. What’s worse, I no longer have the will to do them. Not because I don’t want to, but because I no longer have the desire to do ‘my unfair share.’ The fact that she spent a month and a half at home before she started her new job, promising that we would unpack ‘together,’ makes me feel resentful about the idea of unpacking by myself now that she’s at work. Rather than unpack, I’d rather repack: ‘hers’ and ‘mine.’ Not ready for that yet, though, so I guess I’d better find some motivation.

She may have seen my book on how to deal with manipulators today. I had it sent to my parents’ house and sneaked it home last night in the car. She searched my car for her keys (probably not very thoroughly), so she may have seen it. If she mentions it, I’m not sure what I’ll say. I’m not used to the idea of lying to or deceiving her yet. I think that might be a bad personal precedent. Then again, personal safety is important, too. Most important, possibly.

I intended to write down our relationship history today, but there simply wasn’t time. Thursday and Friday look sketchy, too. I might go crazy if I don’t get it done before the weekend.

Courage, courage.