I’ve barely started this blog, and I’m already frustrated with trying to explain things. That’s the horrible isolation of being married to a charming passive aggressive partner. Basically anyone who is not his point of resistance and sabotage, which includes most family, friends, neighbors, clients, and the world at large, will never see or experience what I do, because I’m the focal point of his need and resentment.
He can be so funny, and seem so normal. It’s easy to slip into hope and wishful thinking then. When he’s being good, he’s so very very good that I could almost cry, but the reason I want to cry is because I know that at any moment, my gut might lurch as my internal radar starts beeping warning signals that very bad might be headed my way. I could cry because this boy-man that I married often elicits fierce protective feelings in me, and I try to battle my innate compassion for him to keep a balance of self care for my own survival. Sometimes I want to cry because I know his narcissist father abused and terrorized him in his young and tender years, and his enmeshed mother, in his own words, sold him down the river.
Right now, my husband is being very good, or as my youngest calls him, being ‘fuzzy’. She uses that word as a positive and complimentary term to describe someone lovable and huggable, and it’s a pretty good description of the good times. The problem is that he can be as cold and distant as he can be warm and close. It’s a push and pull dynamic that will stretch the soul to the breaking point. It happens in the most subtle and hidden ways.
I looked at yesterday’s post and thought, Won’t someone wonder why I was upset about one stupid Goodwill chair? But it wasn’t the chair, it was the lie. It was the years of things that kept us struggling at the bottom of Maslow’s pyramid.
That post doesn’t tell the story of years of financial abuse, chaos, and instability, or the high cost of trying to stand my ground to change that. It doesn’t tell about the lies and deceptions, him using and ruining my credit, sabotaging my attempts to further my education or work outside the home, not being able to get my kids (or myself) to the dentist when needed, worrying about food, utilities, the mortgage, or how to pay for a son’s inhaler.
It doesn’t tell how your very being can be numbed and eroded until one day you feel like a shadow. You wonder if who you once thought you were ever even existed.
It won’t explain the true reality because he’s coated it carefully in teflon so that nothing sticks. If you try to stop whatever is wrong, the spotlight shines down on you as a frustrated, crazy woman who’s being unfair to that misunderstood nice guy. Only rarely will you be able to prove his intention was to hurt or frustrate you, and even more rarely will he actually admit it. But you will know it. It’s a lonely truth, and you’ll find yourself constantly checking your reality gauge and trying to answer doubts.
Afterwards, you’ll feel so numb and tired that you can barely remember what happened five minutes ago, much less explain it.