Category: Current

It’s the little things

I asked my partner to put me on the lease (again) after being legally married for over 20 years, I figured, why not? He angrily refused. (reason in a different post.)

I got to thinking, why not ask him for my money, that he’s holding in another account. He says I only need to ask for it and he’ll give it to me. The gate keeper keeps the lock well oiled. I’ve asked before for the full amount and he’s refused, one excuse over another. I told him, the only reason I ask is because I know you won’t give it to me. But he said okay.

Now it did take 4 reminders over 2 days before he actually gave me the full amount (minus the bits where I asked for like 1 or 2 hundred, but not positive the parts where the common account pays for the household food.) The last time I’d asked for the full amount, he asked me if I planned on leaving him. I said no.

I think he also thought I was planning on leaving him and he figured it was a price worth paying to get rid of me (the fulfillment of his word, that is.)

The next day I start doing my laundry, which I’d not done in months. Couldn’t breathe well enough to do it and it wasn’t a worry until I had nothing clean left. It must have really stood out to him, that I was doing laundry.

I’d also bought a couple of small kitchen utensils. I realized he’d never use them even though I got them for him. So I took them and put them back into their box, and in my bedroom.

Thinking it over, I am fairly certain he thinks I’m leaving him. (that last argument, honestly, I should.) But now he’s got confirmation bias. Anything I do he will see as preparation on leaving him.

Which kind of tickles me.

I don’t intend to leave him (for now). The place we live at, I really like. I don’t want to move. I want him to move, in one way or another. I may have to move at some point, but for now, I’m going to fuck with his head.

I’ll randomly leave the house (totally worth dying for, this idea*) for an hour or two and be very vague on where I went. I’ll make mysterious phone calls. I’ll jump to answer the phone (I never answer the phone unless I know who it is). Little things that people just do, normally. But due to his confirmation bias he’ll see as confirmation I’m leaving.

and it’ll go on and on …

The other day I made a joke. Okay, it wasn’t funny but the look on his face still makes me smirk a little. I said; I’ll just get a life insurance policy on you. The horror on his face! I said, hey, I’m joking! (and I was. But later, I did check to see how that worked and what the price is, because I’m also practical. If I ever told him, it doesn’t work as you’d expect in this country. Life insurance here is basically a savings account. You get back what you paid in. shame, really. (common, it’s a joke! Can’t you take a joke?)

So now I got to think of little things that will confirm his bias, get his hopes up. Any ideas? Damn right it’s passive aggressive but it’s my only tool. And it’ll be something to get out of bed for, because right now, I have no reason to get out of bed.

* I equate leaving the house with dying. I have to balance it out. Is X worth dying for? When he was (I thought) dying, the answer was yes. Going out for milk? no. So is going out just to mess with his head, worth dying for?

Yes.

Little Prick

This happened around mid to late July 22. I just remembered I hadn’t posted it, as right afterward, I got sick and ended up in the hospital.

So partner comes in the room. I’m on my computer with my back toward him. He starts a nothing-worth-mentioning conversation. I turn around.

He’s standing less than an arm’s length from me. My face is pretty much at groin level. He slaps his hand over his dick and starts playing with it. He squeezes and pulls his testicles around before going back to his dick. I ask him why he’s doing that.

He says his balls are sweating and he’s just drying everything off, so his penis doesn’t cling to his balls. I tell him to use baby powder, motioning to the bottle next to me. He says no, this is fine. And he continues to rub and stretch his dick.

I tell him to knock it off and turn back to my computer. He continues the vague no memory of what he said conversation. For some reason, at one point, I turn quickly around to face him.

It startled him. His hand was down at his side but when I turned, it jerked and slammed down on his dick with a whooph sound. He started playing with himself again. His dick was full on in my face and I felt threatened. It was intended to be highly suggestive, haha, just a joke, can’t you take a joke?

Wasn’t funny. Was threatening.

Nice is off the table.

Today, I asked my partner to put me on the lease. He refused, angrily. He said, I’ve not brought it up, but I will now. While I was in hospital this home was a hell hole. His brother told him all about it.

I told him, the reason I’ve not brought it up is because he loves his brother and anything I said wouldn’t be believed. This hell hole was much deeper than he knew. He started to tell me what his brother had told him, but I stopped him. I don’t care what the jack ass said. I know how that family works. They tell the truth but with a tiny twist. Giving it a full on different meaning.

fuck that shit. It truly doesn’t matter.

He was totally happy with me being homeless if – when – he died. Giving me the ol’ reem post posthumously.

Looking at options now.

The idiot doesn’t realize I know where the ‘bodies’ are buried at. And I got receipts. And I got no reason to be nice.

Legalities, in a way.

BIL left to go back home. He’s been here since August. Except for the last day (when there was a witness) he looked through me. I did not exist.

He arranged our house for his own comfort, but called it helping his brother. In the living room, alone, he has 3 tripping hazards, boxes full of broken equipment for ‘tables’, furniture all the way around the room, blocking the exit from back door. Partners PC is now in the living room, with a broken potty chair as a chair. All the curtains are always open so any thief can take inventory without coming near the place.

I asked my partner if I could disable-proof the living room. He said no (strongly, emphatically). I can only think he believes his brother wouldn’t put him in any danger, so it is perfect. It is not perfect, not even close. Then I figure, well, sure. Maybe I will trip or fall over this stuff (already have, once). Maybe that’s the point.

So, here is this. I refuse to accept any responsibility if my partner is physically or emotionally injured due to any reason in the bathroom, living room, bedroom … well really, in any room in this place due to hazards that have been identified or not, because he has refused any changes. (I note, the one item of furniture he hated has been identified and removed from the house for his ‘safety’ in getting to the toilet. I loved this item. It’s why it had to go)

In addition, I hold my partner 100% liable to any injury, physical or emotional, that I incur due to the difficulty in getting around without harm. I am going to include anxiety or breathing difficulties in this. Mainly because I go near that living room, look at it, and instantly spike an asthma attack from stress.

He’s done nothing but parrot his brother since he got home from hospital.

He has also never, ever, been held accountable for action, word or deed. It’s about time, don’t you think?

There’s a witness.

Partner comes in, says so-and-so is coming over and bringing lunch. Do you want any? I can’t bring it to you, though. (he’s still using a walker or cane). I say: just put some aside and I’ll come get it when he’s gone.

This is the first time since August I’ve been offered food.

Guy arrives, hubby comes and tells me what was brought. I chose beef on rice.

A couple of minutes later, there’s another knock on the door. It is the BIL bringing me a bowl of rice and beef. “where do you want it?”

I was floored. He’s not offered me anything – food, water, acknowledgment – since august. He has eaten in front of me, offering nothing – not even left overs. I don’t exist to him. Yet, here he is, giving me food. Then I realized why.

There was a witness.

No Defence

In the way back machine, my MIL used to live with us. She was abusive and my partner took his cue from her. That was the start of it. She slammed my hand in drawers, closed doors in my face, and slugged me in the face if I answered the phone. She told me I was a waste of water. She went out of her way to frighten my cat. I would tell my partner what she’d done and he flat out refused to believe it. He called me a liar (you’re lying). He supported her in everything. She was a saint and I was evil to say such ugly things.

Now, his brother is here. He also takes his mother’s cue. He is saying nasty little things. Things that make my partner feel like he’s being taken advantage of. Partner calls his brother a ‘father figure’. His brother is a saint, and can do nothing wrong.

Now, I mean this following statement literally. My BIL could kill me, in front of my partner, and my partner would be totally okay with it.

I can’t fight back. There’s nothing to hit. There is no physical abuse – at least, he doesn’t hit me. It’s purely emotional. It’s financial. It’s manipulative. If I try to defend myself to my partner, he would call me a liar or just shrug. His brother is a saint and can do no wrong.

I don’t know how I could leave. My state supplied income is minuscule and I don’t believe it’s enough to live on. I have no place to go – although that’s the one thing I think I could get, via a women’s shelter thing. I don’t want to leave all my stuff – my computer, my clothes, my art supplies. But I have no idea how I could leave and still be able to keep it. I would never have enough money to replace it.

It’s bleak.

Looking at Options

BIL: I understand you’ve stopped smoking.

Me: I’m down to 5 cigare–

BIL: No. You must stop cold turkey. Otherwise, you’re not actually stopping. I’m just giving you a goal, you understand. Something to strive for.

Me: (unvoiced) I’ve seen this before. If I achieved his goal, he would just move the goalpost. He would never be happy or satisfied, no matter what I did. Been there, done that, got the scars.

three days later…

Partner: you’re still smoking.

Me: confused. I’m down to 5 a day. From 30 a day. You knew this.

Partner: No, you shouldn’t be smoking at all.

Me: You’ve been talking to your brother. Because up until now, you were happy with my decrease.

Partner: It’s expensive – and the common account. I’m the only one putting into it.

Me: Yessss? It pays for utilities, food, and medical needs. We agreed to this decades ago. Before I had any income at all.

Partner: You should be putting in as much as I do.

Me: How much are you putting in?

Partner: 350.

Me: So, you want me to put in my entire monthly income?

Partner: What? You get aid.

Me: Yes. It’s 354 a month. So, you are putting in 1/3rd your monthly income and you want me to put in 100% of my income and that’s fair and equal?

Partner: oh.

Me: yeah, oh. Maybe your brother wasn’t aware of this. Because you were.

Partner: cigarettes are expensive.

Me: And I’ve been paying for them. I’ve not taken a penny from the common account. Since you’ve been sick, I’ve paid for everything.

His brother has been ‘helping’ my partner in how to run his household. And his conniving, mooching, hoe of a wife.

My partner was sick. Very sick. Deaths door, sick. Family came to help while he was in hospital. My partner needed this help. And for that, I’m glad. But one day, I got sick. I couldn’t breath. I asked for help. My BIL concluded I was just looking for attention. Trying to take attention away from the one who was actually sick.

From that day forward, I was invisible. I spoke, he didn’t hear me. Closed doors in my face. Never offered water, food, or attention. He literally ate in front of me and never offered to share. I could barely get out of bed. ‘food’ was a bag of chips. He has done what he can to destroy our marriage. Which, honest to god, is a joke. My husband has already tried to kill me 8 times – that I know of. But now?

I’m sick of it. I could handle partners abuse, it was just daily life. It wasn’t fun, sometimes I got very angry. But his meddling has made me depressed. I don’t want to do anything I used to enjoy. I don’t want to live. Death is an option.

But so is leaving. I could just walk out. I would lose everything I have. Clothing. Art supplies. My computer.

There are options.

“It’s Just a Panic Attack”

I’m trying to remember when this occurred. I think it was as my partner was miraculously healed from his organ failure (see previous post), but not long after. At this point, I was aware of 4 of his family members being involved. One was about to leave but I didn’t know when. I thought he was still there.

I was getting pretty wound up. First, partner is dying, then he’s not. Keeping the house clean – BIL#1 was clueless, from how to sweep the floor to how to tear off a bag from the roll. He didn’t know how to call for an emergency. This became an issue.

I was having trouble breathing. Sweeping, pulling up heavy, full, bin bags, throwing out the detritus that collects if you don’t throw it away. Bending over is always a problem. I had to do it, over and over, and along with a dusty house, and the emotional stress, triggered a good sized asthma attack. I got panicky. I called my partner and asked for someone to come stay with me. Just in case it went south.

I thought two people were with him but it turned out, it was just BIL#1. BIL#1 arrives in the house about 10-15 minutes later. He didn’t know how to call emergency. I explained how it worked. He said okay and went to get a snack.

Now, I’d been sitting very still for at least 15-20 minutes. I was breathing ‘normally’. But if I’d tried to get up, it would have instantly been where it was when I called.

BIL#1 didn’t ask me if I needed or wanted anything. Water? Tea? Medication? Food? Nope to all. He did get his snack though. He comes back, says ‘It’s just a panic attack. I’m going back to your partner’, in a dismissive tone and leaves.

I was in shock. Pretty sure my mouth hung open. ‘Just a panic attack’ floored me. I know people who have panic attacks and it sure and hell isn’t something imaginary. It was insulting to the people who suffer from this, and hella insulting to me, as it’s something imaginary, just out for attention.

And second, he left me. He. Left. Me. Even now, weeks later, I’m shocked. If I had tried to get up, say to go to the toilet, I could have passed out, it was that bad. Just thinking of this day is tensing me up. Dismissive, ignorant and insulting, all in one easy sentence.

It took me 1 1/2 hours before I was able to get up and get a cup of tea.

I learned a lot about my BIL in that moment.

Catch up

I keep thinking, Oh, I’ll remember that! I’ll post in a couple of days.

Of course, I don’t remember.

I was in the hospital in august. Got out the 10th. I was triggered by the filthy house. Couldn’t breathe. They kept sending me home, and I’d be back in a couple of hours. The hospital system is so overwhelmed they do everything to keep from admitting people. When I was admitted, and then released days later, I was feeling pretty good.

The partner had to clean the house. Like, really clean it. Within a couple of days, he was sick. I was expecting this. He is the only person allowed to be sick in this household. If I’m sick, he’s sick in a couple of days, and it’s worse.

He went to bed. Whined continuously. Took little baby steps to get to the bathroom. Really milked it. I helped him, made sure he had food and water (something he doesn’t do for me) made sure he took his meds, etc. But honestly, I thought he was faking. Then he developed a fever. He wasn’t faking.

I kept trying to get him to call for an ambulance. He kept refusing. Until he couldn’t move, at all. Couldn’t get out of bed for the toilet and you can guess where that went. He didn’t tell me, but I found out when taking his temperature, he’d spiked up to 104f/40c. If I’d known, I would have called for an ambulance if he liked it or not. Finally, he admitted defeat and called for an ambulance. His fever was no longer too high, it was only 102f/38.8c. The ambulance service told him it wasn’t life-threatening and refused to pick him up.

So we called a secondary service – for non-life-threatening medical issues. They took him to the hospital for …what was the term? Public service or some such. Word got out quick and his family started showing up to take care of him. Which was good, he literally couldn’t raise his hand to drink and the nursing staff was so short staffed, they couldn’t care for him.

In short order, the oldest brother showed up. After a couple of days, he comes home from the hospital and says: he’s had a stroke and multiple organ failure. He has hours to days to live.

This was a lie.

It was gaslighting.

A couple of days later when I enquired about his organ failure, he says, quote. Orgain failure? He’s never had organ failure. I asked about his stroke, and my BIL waves his hand, It might have been a stroke, but MRI is indeterminate.

He gas lit me. For funzies. See, I can’t leave the house. I equate leaving the house with death. So I weigh each thing – is it worth dying for? Well, when I thought my partner was on his death bed, I said yes, it’s worth going out for. BIL says, but I thought you couldn’t leave the house? (but his tone was AHHA! I knew you could, you’re just faking it. Wanting attention.)

Ever since then, he has literally ignored me. He does not respond when I make a comment. He looks either through me or not at me at all. I’m not invisible. I do not exist.

There are many things I can bring up about my BIL, and I will. I don’t know all the ends and outs of what abusive behavior is, but I figure one or two things he’s doing would qualify.

I will be going into that in the next post. Hopefully soon. I have no one to talk to, so this is it. No one to talk to here, either, but better than just sobbing all day. I’m tired of crying.