I really hate the way my husband treats me! He doesn’t ever hurt me physically, he’s just not considerate or kind — I have no idea why I chose to marry him. Honestly… <humongous sigh>
Sometimes it’s so difficult to stay calm and be reasonable when I am “dealing with” him. I just have to walk away because arguing (if it can be called that — I don’t know what else to call it) is a waste. And, what’s the point of telling him that he’s a complete douche-nozzle?
I should have written this rant last night. I was really upset and totally ready to fire off some mean shit, but I didn’t have the privacy… Now I am just so sick and tired of him — sad, huh? I just want to scream mean things at him and then throw all of his shit out of our 3rd story apartment window. (my daughters and I refer to that as a “ghetto breakup”. We lived in a fairly bad neighborhood for about 12 years before we moved to CO — many, many times we saw this happen.)
I am sure that I am blowing things out of proportion because I am a girl and I get too emotional because I am dealing with a lot of stupid shit right now with the broken ankle, but I am hella-angry with that man and I don’t think I am going to get less angry with him any time soon (especially if he continues acting like a butt-hurt teenage girl).
It doesn’t help that Loverman that takes really good care of me (when he can). The way he treats me is the way I think you are supposed to treat people you care about.
Loverman and I traded vehicles Sunday because my truck is a manual and his car is an automatic. This was so I can still get to work without Loverman having to drive me all over hell and back (because, remember, my shithead husband doesn’t have his stupid fucking driver’s license!!!). Loverman brought his car to my place after he finished work Sunday afternoon. We talked outside for a while — it was a gorgeous day and the fresh air was nice… After about an hour I started to feel like I really needed to go back in and lie down, so I did. I thought that loaning me his car was nice all on its own, but GUESS WHAT?!?! He didn’t just loan me his car — he basically moved me into it! After I went back inside Loverman took everything that I could ever want/need out of my truck and moved it over to his car!!! He did this for me — not because I asked for it or because I needed him to but because he wanted to! He didn’t tell me what he did — I just found everything yesterday morning when I was on my way to work. Of course I cried tears of happiness! I am so sappy! I was so touched that he would do such a thoughtful thing for me. I am so lucky — and I most definitely thanked him for being so awesome!
Here is how “well” Mr. Doom-n-Gloom takes care of me: (please note that on Saturday night, after I got back from the ER, the husband told me that I am not to do anything even remotely difficult while I am recovering. I HAVE to ask someone instead of just doing it myself). After you read this, please let me know WTF? Okay?
Thing #2 was already doing something for me up in my loft, getting it ready for me to be up there “for the night” — setting out my PJs, making sure my water glass was full, etc… (I am SO glad my daughters are not like my husband!!!)
So, I say to Doom-n-Gloom (DNG), “Can you please grab the ice pack out of the freezer for me to bring upstairs? It’s really hard for me to get around in our tiny kitchen.”
He makes some noises in the freezer. I thought he was rustling around for the ice pack. So I waited patiently in the doorway of the kitchen for him to hand it to me.
He closed the freezer, looked at me, nodded, and then walked straight past me into his bedroom (at least he didn’t slam the door…)
I was like: WTF?! Ok, I guess I’ll just get it myself. (I didn’t say anything because it really wasn’t that big of a deal – yet… I’m a pick-your-battles kind of girl and I am sick of battling him…)
DNG came back out of his room to get something else and noticed that I was digging through the freezer. He asked, “Why didn’t you ask me to get that for you? You shouldn’t be doing that.”
ME: I did ask you to get it for me when you were standing there at the freezer. Then you walked right past me and off into your room, so I just did it myself.
DNG: You say it like I made a conscious choice not to help you. You know if I had heard what you said, I would have gotten the ice pack for you.
ME: Actually I don’t know that. But I don’t want to get into this right now because this really isn’t a good time for me (emotionally I am running pretty random right now. And on top of the broken ankle, I just got my period!).
DNG: What does that mean? When would be a good time for you?
ME: I mean that I have asked you to help me quite a few times (even times that I know you heard me) and you haven’t done those things. And a good time for me to have this conversation would be never.
DNG: Whatever! I haven’t heard you asking me for things. (DUH!!!!!) Plus, you’re too stubborn to ask me for help, anyway — you’d just rather do it yourself. Give me an example of your “quite a few times“.
ME: If that’s what you tell yourself to feel better about not helping me, okay… And, yes, I would rather do it myself. Having to deal with this crap is total bullshit and I would rather not have all this drama every time I want a light turned off! Here’s your freaking example:
- I have been asking you, since we moved in together, to turn off the lights/TV/radio/etc when you leave a room that you are not returning to. Last night (Monday), after I got home from the Doctor and the DMV, I had to come downstairs three times to shut off lights that you left on when you went back into your bedroom — I tried calling out to you several times to have you turn them off yourself, but apparently again “you did not hear me”.
- I have been asking you, since we moved in together, to wipe your urine off the toilet seat and floor whenever you miss the toilet so I don’t have to walk/sit/fall in it. This morning, after you seemingly missed the toilet completely, my crutch slipped in the wetness and I almost fell down. After that, I had the awesome opportunity to clean your pee up off the floor (and off of my temporary “cast”) and the seat — just like you were 5 years old and had an “accident” before you could make it to the bathroom.
- I have been asking you, since we moved in together, to clean your explosive diarrhea out of the toilet and to wipe your shit off the back of the seat when you are done. Monday night I had to lay on the floor, directly in front of the NASTY, shit-sprayed toilet seat and bowl because Thing #1 was going to try and wash my hair and laying there was the easiest way. Needless to say, I had the fantastic opportunity yet again to clean your shit up, literally — unless I wanted to lay there staring at your explosive shit while I was getting my hair washed (in some countries you have to pay extra for shit like that – LMBO! but, seriously…)
Would you like me to go on? I can say something about all the times I have asked you, since we moved in together, to rinse the food off your plate/s before you put it/them in the sink to dry up for 3 days… Or, I can mention all the times I have asked you, since we moved in together, not to leave your clothes and GIANT WORK BOOTS laying all over the floor — because (right now especially) those things are tripping me up and getting in my way (literally! You know, crutches…).
Can you kind of see why I am so frustrated with you and why I don’t bother with asking you for help?
DNG: It would be frustrating if that’s how it went.
ME: Well, I wish that you could see that’s how it goes for us. But, regardless, those are the reasons I am reluctant to ask you for your help. Given your track record, I cannot count on you to deliver.
DNG: Well, that’s your choice to feel that way.
ME: Yes, it is my choice. I choose not to trust you because you haven’t earned it. I choose to not let you help me because helping me is a privilege. And taking care of me is an entitlement that you have proven you cannot handle.
Am I wrong here? Should I continue to keep giving Mr. Doom-n-Gloom opportunities to disappoint me? Because I can honestly say that I think this broken ankle only happened to show me how incredibly self-absorbed and unkind and inconsiderate the husband really is.
In yesterday’s post I said that a wonderful friend of mine “knows something great will be coming from this” [broken ankle]. I am thinking that the “wonderful thing” might just be me finally standing up and telling the husband that I no longer want to share my life with him, that I am sick of constantly being disappointed by him, that I no longer want to clean up and/or fix his messes, that I am ready to be “free” of him and his emotional manipulation…