It’s been very, very busy days.
I have been setting up my shop, head over to unlooping.uk to check out the progress. I have been trying to put into practice P.’s challenge (P is my therapist), and hey, it went wonderfully: I spoke to the lovely lovely mum of my daughter’s friend. She is picking her up today as they’re coming to change the windscreen on my husband’s car.
The past couple of days have been incredibly productive. The tragic thing is, I think that’s been because I have been actively avoiding talking to my husband, who has the knack of saying things that are actually very hurtful and insulting, and – bless him – he honestly truly doesn’t think he is doing anything wrong!
It all began on Mothering Sunday, I think, the tipping point. For various reasons I won’t explain I needed something new on my kindle, and I had finally gotten into the sample I had downloaded for the Queen of the Damned. Now, keep in mind this is a book my husband has been nagging me to read ever since we met!
Finally I think ah, yes actually, I think I might get into it. It’s been very difficult to be caught up in books lately, concentration very difficult to achieve. I have a friend: if he believes I should read a book, he goes and buys it and sends it to me. My husband is the opposite. he will use the fact that I haven’t read it as proof that I care not for his recommendations and pretends (I hope!) to be hurt by it, but since he is the only one bringing money in (it’s not true, but whatever money I make, goes straight into the gaping hole that is out bank account), I can’t really buy it unless he does or says it’s ok for me to buy stuff. Anyhow, for some reason on Mothering Sunday I decided things were good enough that I needn’t be overly scared about his reaction if I went and bought the kindle copy (6 pounds!! very expensive compared to paper). Plus it was the book he’d been going on about and that normally obtains a slightly gentler reaction. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not that he’s violent or anything. The reactions I am scared of are just a tone of deep lamentation, or martyrdom, because I’ve gone and spent these horrible amounts of money again, and I just don’t care. Well, I told him all sneakily and coyly and trying to be cute, with my daughter next to me all wrapped up in cuddles for Mothering Sunday, I told him I went and bought The Queen of the Damned. He looks at me sideways, immediately serious: “How much?” I said shyly, again, using any remaining cuteness my mature age still permits as much as I could, bracing myself: “Six pounds…”. And there, the dreaded reaction: you know we don’t have any money we can’t afford to…. blah blah blah. I stopped listening then. I stopped responding a while back, and then occasionally blow up. I didn’t say a word. I tried to stop the tears, smile at my daughter, and avoided talking to him.
When he finally goes to the shop to get me my breakfast in bed (I’d been up since 7, I was starving! But shops on Sunday open at 10), he came back and made the juice I had “requested” (my daughter’s request), brought the croissants and had a bunch of beautiful flowers. I was so touched. I thought, as I often do: “Ah, he understood, he understood he hurt me, he understood it’s not nice on Mothering Day to say I wasn’t worth those 6 pounds, he is trying to make amends, even though he still can’t bring himself to admit it and say sorry.”
Through the day, I was in a great mood. Until it came up and I said how lovely it was that he realised why he’d hurt my feelings and bought me flowers. “What? No I …” I said “no wait, don’t say anything, don’t spoil it!” He said “No but what did I say, I didn’t say or do anything, what?” I said: “Please, just leave it, leave me the illusion… ah well, it’s broken”. Again.
Then a couple of evenings back, we were running low on some essentials, so I offered to go to the store after I dropped him off at home from the station. “mmmm make sure you make a list because last time blah blah blah”. I asked when would he start talking to me normally again, like an adult in the household rather than an idiot human being who just can’t resist shopping, a shopoholic, but not of boots and fancy dresses for herself, no, I shop for fun buying vegetables and fruit and food for the animals. He started raising his tone. THIS time I didn’t let myself rasie it too, shout out in outrage and anger that we could never hold a normal conversation. This time I went quiet. Got home. Cut my fringe (he hates a fringe, and I do it very very badly). Cut my debit card in half and put it on his desk. There. No more independent adult member of the household, not till I earn enough on MY bank account to contribute. The rest is solely and entirely up to him now.
And of course, even though I spoke with my girl this morning, and she sees the same behaviour I see and she tells me “I am always scared of talking to him, or he just doesn’t care and has his head in his phone”, I told her there is no point, because dad is a god man, and he knows it, he works very very very hard, and he truly believes he is always right. If you told him any of this, he would blame me for putting ideas in your head. Just leave it.
There was more this week, other stuff, not to do with my husband, but that I can’t talk about with him, because there is no time, or, to be honest, room for conversation, like, ever. But I’ll leave it. Having stopped my talking to him (not as principle, but just to avoid any of his hurtful comebacks he’s not even aware of) my energy levels have gone up to hectic, and I was so happy with them. Two weeks ago before seeing P. there wasn’t a day that I didn’t contemplate suicide, put is aside, contemplate leaving and going to live in a hut far away from everybody else, put that aside too, ’cause who would feed me. Every day, for just a few minutes. Not nice. Then my period came and that stopped, thank goodness.
I don’t know what to do with him. He doesn’t realise that though I love him terribly, and I still fancy him so much, he is the main cause for my depressions. At the same time, I guess I was far more active, but much more in trouble before I met him. So where does it end? What is the solution? I don’t know. For now, the sooner I can become financially independent, the better.