I Can't Even See The Specifics And I'm Sad.

I can't even see the specifics and I'm sad.

Percentage of women thinking that domestic violence is justified under some instances (2014) [6300 x 3095]

I forgot about this.

Eight or nine years ago he tried to shame me by passing around a dish i had sent him in his lunch with his co-workers. He was trying to show them what a prince he was for tolerating a defective wife ( he didn't like it.)

It backfired. They all loved it.

Afterward he tried to make it a sweet story and says this was the day he realized that i was actually a great cook.

It's not a sweet story, and even my culinary skills were used to pet his own ego. He just loved the envy of his co-workers when he opened his lunch box to a home cooked meal every day.

I'm sure he told them all he'd trained me well.

I am preconditioned to expect things to turn sour if they are going well.

I have social anxiety, and it's a concern of mine that people aren't actually enjoying my company. This, among other things, can make it difficult for me to leave the house to go to an event. Once I'm out, I'm usually ok, but getting to that point can be an exercise in willpower.

If I ever left someplace feeling good, like I'd had a good time, he would make short work of it:

"Why did you do *some small gesture* when you were talking to ____. You surprised everyone and drew so much attention to yourself."

" You should stop doing *something inconsequential that I do involuntarily* when you talk to people, it makes everyone uncomfortable."

"______ didn't look like she was too happy to see you. Were you telling her about your stupid play again? You know not everyone cares about that sort of thing."

" Did you *go, do, say something fairly normal*? That was weird."

" You embarrassed me. Why are you like that? "

He begrudged me any kind of good feeling, so I rarely had one for long. Now my brain does his work for him.

I had scheduled myself a nice day yesterday and enjoyed myself. Then spent the night into the early hours writhing in misery.

I can't explain why. I just know from conditioning that I'm not supposed to feel good. So my head ensures I don't.

Good days are bad too

Four years ago I was struggling with my mental health. I was having difficulty getting out of bed and going to work. This problem was compounded because I was running my own business at the time. In other words I wasn't really making any money because I wasn't making it out the door and didn't have anything like unemployment to fall back on.

This was unacceptable to him. I was being "stupid and lazy" and so I did what I thought I needed to do. I went to my doctor and told he i was struggling. She gave me a script.

I decided I should inform him before taking it; my doctor had advised that there were side effects that may affect him.

He flipped. He screamed that he had no interest in being with a psychologically inept woman . If I wanted to be a useless shell of a human being to at least get myself lobotomized and give him the satisfaction of having a slave.

He asked why I was so weak. Why I thought I could use a mental illness as an excuse for being useless. It was an insult to people with actual problems.

I got rid of the pills. And rejected the opportunity to get my head in order. I just sunk deeper into despair and hated myself for not being better.

I believed what he said about me. Just lazy and weak willed.

WOW

This red flag just smacked me in the face.

The reason I moved in with him in the first place was because his mother had kicked him out of his house. He had been attempting to help his sister, who was visibly frustrated, with something on her new laptop.  She got a bit snippy with him and he lost his temper.  He punched a chair which hit the wall and left a hole.

I was present for this event.  I saw it unfold.  I watched him punch something because his sister said “I knoowwww!” 

A running theme was that he didn’t like when people were “ungrateful” or didn’t acknowledge him when he was trying to help them.

Funny parallel:  I moved out with him so we could combine our measly incomes at the time and prevent him from having to live in utter squalor.  I was not ready to move out; I was still trying to finish my degree and school full time.  I had to pick up more shifts at my retail job and worked nearly full time.  My grades suffered as I was now a full time student, employee and abuse victim.

I sacrificed a lot for him to have a better life but that’s never a story that got told. Or a thank you I received.

This is probably one of the most embarrassing things I’ll ever post.  This was My List that he gave me to complete in order for us to date again.  Complete this, and I would be forgiven. I believed it too, and allowed myself to be tortured in the pursuit.