That Thing Called Happy

It was a strange experience, that feeling called happy. I realized I’d not felt this emotion in a very long time. No spontaneous laughter, although I’ve giggled at jokes now and then. My default is caution, guarded. It didn’t last long, this happy thing, but at least I know the thing exists.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned I’ve taken up watercolor painting. I started back in october, before coronavirus. I’ve not done any art in 40 years and I’d never done watercolor. It’s fun. I am amazed at my progress. I wish I’d taken it up years ago. I see these kids doing amazing art and I think, dayam, I could have been that good if I’d kept at it. But real life takes over and sometimes the fun stuff falls off to the side.

I saw my improvement. It made me happy. I even, briefly, thought of what I could do with another 20 years. If I improved that much in six months, how much could I improve in 20 years? I’ve been living day to day, week to week for so long, 20 years feels like a lifetime. And honestly, realistically, I don’t think I’ll go another three or four years, due to illness or murder. But for just a few minutes, I had a hope I would go another 20 years, be happy, make good art.

Of course it faded. But for a brief moment, I had a happy.

I Screwed Up Again

Damn it all. I think I know what I did wrong. See, I’ve always caved in when told something is too hard to do. After 20 years living here, I am STILL not on the lease. I signed the lease at the start, but his mother wasn’t there. I had to go out of the country for a couple of months. When I got back, they had signed a new lease – him and his mother. (My clothes were packed in boxes, too lol.) And ever since then, when I’ve asked to be put on, it’s been ‘too hard’, to get all of us together at the same time. I said, okay. And the next time, and the next time, I asked, same thing, too hard. Last time I asked, his mother no longer lives with us, but it’s still ‘too hard’. Caved, it’s just not worth the stress of pushing for it.

I had the perfect opportunity to ask for ‘my’ money, that he holds in a family account. So I did. Gave a perfectly valid reason for it. He’s told me, just ask for it, I’ll give it to you. I asked. The next day, he comes in and says, really, it’s too hard. Have to travel, questions asked, bank transfer might cause problems. All truthful and valid reasons. But I held firm. It’s my money. I want it, in my hand. We had a long-winded ‘discussion’ about it. I ended up saying I’d think about it, cause he just wasn’t budging. I’ve got to think of a valid way of sticking to my guns.

The next day, he comes in and says; there’s no good way of asking this, but are you planning on leaving me? And I know why he came to that conclusion. Because I didn’t cave. I always cave.

I said; No. Just that. He acted like he believed it. I don’t know if he actually did.

I had also had a conversation with a psychiatrist who offered me a way out. I had partners phone, and I spoke quietly, but he still may have heard a word or two. I told her I wanted a way out. He might have heard, I don’t think so, but maybe.

I want that money. I need that money. I can’t start all over again in a country not my own, with zero family or friends or funds for support. If I don’t get that money, I don’t go.

I had this whole fantasy of venting on him. His sociopathic tendency. His attempted murder attempts. His constant lying. It felt good – but I also know it would be the stupidist thing I could possibly do.

No money, no go.

Hammer Time.

The last time we used a tool was about six months ago and that was a screw driver. I can’t remember when we had need of a hammer. Years? Decades? I just realized today, I’ve seen a hammer in the bathroom for the last two weeks. Didn’t think anything of it. But…

Why is there a (really large, heavy duty) hammer in our bathroom, next to the toilet?

He’s never closed the door when on the throne (disability made it so people may need to get to him fast. Can’t have a closed or locked bathroom door.). And I just got into the habit. And the cat can’t use the handle, so we have the door open for her, too. We have wandered in and out, with one of us using the pot, it’s totally part of our natural routine. Even the cat thinks toilet breaks are actually social times and requests pets.

I ‘saw’ the hammer today and my mind went to a dark place.

Lockdowns have increased domestic abuse. I’m always on the look out now. I never expected my partner to use physical assalt (you can’t pretend to be innocent when your knuckle pattern is on her cheek) but he may be getting tired of my continuing existance.

I’m not getting very good sleep. I think I’ll ask about the hammer, see what he comes up with. Should be inventive!

Edit: I asked him why there was a hammer in the bathroom. He says he knows he took it in but has no idea why.

Good Boi / Bad Boi

It goes in cycles, it always does. We have a time when he acts like a normal, supportive human being. Almost the man I fell in love with 20 years ago. Then something happens. Sometimes I’m aware what the trigger is, but not always. We just finished the bad boy thing, very nasty, trying to kill me via coronavirus, getting his friend to tell me I don’t have covid19, when I did. The snark, the sneer, the rolled eyes. That’s over now. Now he’s in his good boy phase.

This is to lull me in a very false sense of security. All is good! He loves me! He praises me! He tells me I am brilliant. Then, when I’m not expecting it, whammy, sucker punch to the kidneys. It’s coming. I know it’s coming. I don’t know the exact date, I don’t know what it’ll be, but it’s coming.

I give it three to four weeks. Then he’ll do something.

Ever Changing Rules

When Covid19 first started taking off, COPD patients were told to self isolate, being listed as high risk. In two days, this dropped off their list of high risk. (totally fine with who was on there, they are high risk) But I felt like dropping the COPD folks kind of cold. Thrown to the wolves kind of thing.

My doctors office stopped answering the phone. Two weeks ago I find a link to make a phone consult with a doctor, I sign up. (You couldn’t request a time frame, it gave you a time, take it or go away. I took it, although it was very early in the morning. Basically, I got two hours sleep before I had to get up to take it. I’m a night owl, usually falling asleep around five AM.) She confirms I had covid19. I ask why I’d not got a letter from the medical system, advising me to stay at home, ect ect. She tells me, flat out, COPD is not high risk. Lists each type of person who is. She was nice about it, but I still felt like ‘fuck you and your pansy illness’ was the bottom line.

A couple of days ago I got an email from the doctors office, telling me I was in the high risk category. I now had a letter I could give to my employer, a sick note, as it were. (I’m disable, yo, and don’t work). Thing is, I didn’t know if she’d bumped me up the food chain and got me listed, or not.

Turned out, not. The gov’s lists of high risk has changed. COPD (asthma, ect) are now listed as high risk.

At least I know my doctors office doesn’t hate me enough to wish me dead. Yeah, yeah, of course they wouldn’t. But shit happens. One time they held my medications hostage until I came in for a blood test. So, yeah, they’re human too, and ‘mistakes’ happen.

edit: sorry this got a bit whiney. I’m feeling a bit touchy.

His Cross to Bear

This happened over ten years ago but I remembered it and wanted to jot it down.

I’m explaining to him how my mother had just been diagnosed with dementia and how I’d seen some of the signs a few years ago. He looks down for 1 or 2 seconds – looks up, and says: It’s my cross to bear.

I asked him how my mother’s dementia (in another continent) was his cross to bear.

He said: Daughters are like their mothers.

In the space of two seconds, the subject had moved from my mother having dementia, to my probably having dementia, to his needing to care for me, to it being his cross to bear.

I am a weight on his shoulders that must be suffered with fortitude and dignity, so everyone can see how amazing he is, caring for his, poor mentally unstable wife.

I recently told him (and someone else) if I did have dementia, I’d rather be taken care of at a home. (I don’t want to die of neglect.)

I Think He’s A Sociopath.

I’ve made a mistake.

Partner comes in, slumps down on the bed, hangs his head and claps his hands, and says sadly; I am a bad man.

I wanted to say; you aren’t a bad man. You are an evil man.

However, self preservation kicked in and I didn’t say that. I said nothing. And that was my mistake. I did, at least, look at him as if expecting him to say more on it. He peeked up at me, to see how I was reacting – and I realize now, to see if I was buying it.

I should have said: You are not a bad man. Then shut the hell up. That’s how he lies, or one of the ways, by not saying the whole truth.

So a couple of days later, we had that little comedy that I posted a couple of days ago, with his doctor friend. Next time, I’ll say what’s needed for self preservation. You aren’t a bad man, dear. Of course not. He’ll buy it, I think, because it’s what he wants or expects to hear.

I wondered – would it help if I told him I thought he was a sociopath? I did a bit of research on it (I am not a psychiatrist, but I wanted some kind of feed back on the question). Landed on a page with questions answered by sociopaths, and lets just say it was eye opening.

I came away with several thoughts on it, but here are a couple of them. 1) Deaf and blind people don’t consider themselves ‘broken’. They’re just different. Sociopath’s don’t think of themselves as broken, either. They use their ‘skills’ just like anyone else does. Those skills utilize their lack of emotions or guilt and a driving desire to achieve [insert anything]. 2) Every last one of them said if someone told them they were a sociopath (A. They know that, doh) they would consider said person of no use to them, and ‘fuck them up’. Every last one of them said that. Some went a bit further and said … well, paraphrase, they would ghost them or ghost them. (fade away or kill them). Now, even with the grandosius mindset of them all thinking they would ‘fuck you up’, it still boiled down to making your life a living hell.

So, people, if you think telling a sociopath that you are on to them is a good idea, DON’T. It’s not.

Hence my new goals of self preservation.

I spoke with a real doctor about my (maybe) coronavirus symptoms and she confirmed, Yes, I had coronavirus. Gave me some suggestions, reassured me that my fever lasting a month, where not normal, was a known symptom for some people. That’s all I needed to hear, really. Okay. I had it. I survived, didn’t need to go to hospital. Mental releaf. My partner went out of his way to fuck me up and for a few days it worked, until I was able to talk to a medical professional. When I told him what she said, his face was blank. Like that whole comedy a couple of days ago never happened. I got mad.

Then I got sad.

I got really sad. Started crying. I’m not a cryer. I’ve cried 3 times in the last 20 years. I feel broken if I cry. It takes a LOT to get me to cry. I cried on and off for 2 days. I don’t feel better. I feel fragile.

Letting you know

I can’t return your follow. I rarely look at messages. I don’t have time to read anything you post.

I can only type and update when my partner is sleeping. I am doing my best to keep this site a secret. This is my hole card. It is my testimony after I die. If needed. I have a Dead-Man’s switch, which will activate if I don’t continuously schedule it out later every month or so.

I have no account that (at this time) links here, but my switch will. I have no family or friends that know of this site. But will when my switch activates.

Thank you, those who watch this space. I realize you have no reason to believe a word I say. Thank you for not saying nasty things. Even saying nothing is okay with me. Someone saw it.

I am not silenced!

Afraid. Or Gaslighting?

This post might become a little jumbled. The last 24 hrs has been a bit of a ride. As my emotions and thoughts are all over the place this post might reflect that.

I was watching a youtube vid by a guy evaluating the Tiger King show. I’ve not watched Tiger King but I’m interested in body language, and he does body language. One of the things he says is; watch him. He says something, then turns to her as if asking ‘was that right? did I say it right?’. She is in control, he needs reassurance that he’s still in her good books. He’s afraid of her. (might be paraphrasing, but that’s the gist.) My jaw dropped. My partner does that all the time. Acting like he’s afraid of me. Sometimes when we’re alone but also in front of other people. “I have to walk around you like I’m on eggshells”, my partner says. “You just go off over nothing”. Am I doing that? I’ve been angry a few times, who doesn’t get angry? But as far as I know, I’ve never been angry over nothing. An example of my getting angry: He says something outrageous, let’s call it ‘a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant’… not necessarily that, but that caliber of ‘outrageous’. I respond as you might expect. He says; ‘We’ll talk about it when you’re not hormonal’. (Which I read as: when you agree with me, you’re not hormonal). But now, I’m wondering, AM I abusive? DO I threaten him? I will, absolutely, defend myself. It’s a verbal thing, on both… hum. I was going to say, its a verbal thing on both our sides, but that’s not true anymore. He has started to get physical in his murder attempts. Am I becoming abusive?

Or is it a magnificent case of gaslighting? Convince me, and anyone else, I am the abusive one, he’s just a poor, innocent man dealing with a woman who goes off on nothing. And I guess, you have to define ‘nothing’. To him, saying something outrageous is nothing. He doesn’t mean it, he’s frequently just changed sides during an argument/debate. It’s not the subject, it’s about getting reactions.

Gaslighting is making you doubt your own reality. Am I abusive?

He says he’s afraid of me, and now I am absolutely afraid of him. Another thing that happened in this last 24 hours, but I’ll make a different post on it, as I think it might get long.

If I Cry, He Wins

Background; I’m sick with what I suspect as covid 19, classic presentation for the first week. But it seems to drag on and on. I mention to partner, all the times he’s talked to his doctor friends, he never tells them I’m sick. I tell him he’s been disregarding everything I’ve said from day one. He denies this even though he’s told me a few times, flat out, I don’t have it. I gave my partner a written list of all the symptoms I’d had over a week ago.

He gets a little snotty about it and I respond in kind. We decide we don’t know what ‘a fever’ is, the definition the medical community is going by.

He calls one of his doctor friends, who say; ‘In this country, ‘a fever’ is anything over 37c’ (meaning, anything over normal). This puts me in ‘sick’ country. He calls a different friend doctor.

So his friend returns the call and my partner walks in and says something to the effect of; you want to talk to him? He’s standing two feet away from me and shouts. I don’t remember the exact words but the effect I came away with was ‘you can talk to him but I already have and you’d be a dick if you do’.

I say, ‘did you tell him my symptoms?’

‘yes’

So I say, no need to talk to him, then.

He speaks with him another 20 mins or so, coming back with two questions. How long have I been smoking and how long have I had COPD. After the call, he comes back and asks if I want to know what he said.

Restraining all sarcastic remarks, I say yes.

His doctor friend says I don’t have it. If I did, I would have recovered by now or I’d be dead. He says it’s just a COPD attack. A little more long winded but that was the bottom line. I didn’t interrupt, roll my eyes, or do anything other than nod. I gave the impression I bought it all. But inside, I’m thinking this just doesn’t match up with other things I’ve seen or watched.

It bothers me enough to wonder what my partner had told him. So the next day, I ask what symptoms he’d told his friend I had. Now this is word for word;

“I told him you had a fever, breathlessness, headaches, runny nose, aches, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. And yes, I said ‘etcetera etcetera etcetera’, just like that.”

I said, ‘etcetera etcetera etcetera’? Honestly stunned. He said; Hey, I gave you the opportunity to talk to him yourself!

And I remember, only just then, how my partner lies. He lies with the exact truth. Then uses body language to indicate something else. But he’s on the phone, he can’t use body language to indicate they are all fake or lies. He had to do something verbally. Hence, the ‘etcetera’ business. In effect, he told his doctor friend I was faking. Just putting out symptoms and on and so on and etcetera, yadda yadda.

Of all the times he’s tried to kill me I’ve been amused. This time, I don’t feel amused. I wanted an independent, 3rd party honest opinion. He poisoned it. And implanted the idea with his friend that I’m…god knows what. A hypochondriac? Faking it? Looking for attention?

This time I feel hurt. I’ve had to stop myself from crying several times. I don’t think I’m sick enough to go to hospital. But I’m sick enough to want reasurance that I’m not imagining it, that it’ll be ok, and at what point to call for help. My partner doesn’t want me to go to the hospital either, he says because if you go, you’re likely to get it while in there. Now, that is a ligitament worry.

But the hospital is also where you go to get help. And if you need help and don’t go get help, you die. Which is okay with him, really. He knows if you’re meant to die, you will, and if you’re not meant to, you won’t. I’m fine with him believing that. I’m not fine with him pushing that onto me.

OR I am a hypochondriac.