Two sides to a coin

So a person from my husband’s family took exception to me saying she was ghosting me when she didn’t respond to my inquiries. I was supposed to understand by her not replying, was just her saying, er, nothing? That she meant she didn’t know if she could help. but she didn’t say that, she just didn’t respond at all. She took great exception to being told she was ghosting me.

She huff and puffed, told me off, and blocked me. How dare I ‘faux educated’ her on ghosting, because absolutely, I knew she knew all about that.

Now, she was the only person who offered to help, so there is that loss.

She accused me of being – secretive? – not communicating with husband’s family. Which isn’t true. I tried connecting with a lot of them. Some just didn’t want to talk to me, some didn’t have time to talk with me (or meet up for coffee or tea), and after getting rebuffed so many times, I stopped trying. And I think my husband would tell them stuff (if they did call) that was asleep, or sick, or busy, or whatever to block them from talking to me.

It took me about 6 hours to stop wanting to reply to her missive. Being blocked helped. She blocked my husband’s phone, not mine or my landline, so if I wanted to be a dick, I could still reply to her. But I won’t. She wasn’t the only person hurt by this exchange. I felt bitch slapped a couple of times and absolutely felt ghosted. Because she did ghost me.

I’m already fucked, so fucked with her or without her makes no difference.

oh, and the really funny thing, I had never even heard of passive aggressive until I married him and his mother. Now it seems it comes out if I intend it to, or not.

I’m so mad at myself

It would have been somewhere around june ’21. Partner comes shuffling up to me, says; I might have covid, and coughs right into my face. I could feel the fine mist like spray cover my whole face.

I might have mentioned this in a previous post, but I just remembered it and wanted to make sure it’s posted.

I asked why he coughed in my face. He said, I just coughed, that’s all.

And the reason I’m so damn mad at myself, I didn’t call the police. I’d be reading about people getting arrested for doing that. I even had proof – his spittal was all over my face. 😦

Today he comes up and says; I don’t like eating, right now. Everything tastes burnt. It’s not burn’t, it just tastes that way.

I told him I was really surprised he didn’t come home from the hospital with covid, the hospital must be ramped with it. I also told him I’d read an article how people who had covid reported all food smelt burnt to them. Taste wasn’t mentioned, but I think smell and taste are interconnected.

If he decides to have a good cough in my face, I’m calling the police. Paper trail, woman, paper trail!

I happened to read a previous post by me and I mention how he was breathing heavily on my neck. If he thought he had covid, that would be counted as assault. It is at least intimidation. And coughing in my face, after saying he had it, absolutely makes it assault and maybe a murder attempt.

If I count them, it raises his murder attempts to 11, from 8.

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.

Disabilities.

Some disabilities are invisible to the naked or prejudice eye. You’d think everyone knew this by now, but it’s still something disabled people have to say. You can’t tell by looking at someone if they have, say, a bad heart. Or lungs. Or blood disorder. Not until something on the outside changes. Perhaps a leg brace, tumors, or maybe a wheelchair. A cane. A companion pet. Something that gives a ‘normal’ person a visual clue. Do not assume the person who is ‘illegally’ parking in the disabled bay, isn’t disabled.

Don’t assume one disabled person is the same as the next disabled person. Disabled people are individual, same as ‘normal’ people. You don’t expect a normal person to run the same, or as fast, as another normal person, so why do you expect disabled to be the same? So help me, I once had a disabled woman tell me ‘If I can do it, you can.’ No, I can’t. My disability is different from yours. Even if we’d had the same problem, it doesn’t mean we can do the same things. Just as one person running, can’t be as fast as the next guy.

Due to austerity, disabled people have become easy targets. It’s always been ‘fun’ to harass disabled folks but it’s gotten more extreme, with physical attacks. Disabled have become targets because they’re using their right to disability payments. God forbid (or at least, your nasty neighbour) you should have a leg up. Don’t be one of those people who turn away when someone is getting stomped. But for a single trip down the stairs, that person could be you. Pay it forward, protect those who can’t protect themselves.

All my disabilities are on the inside. COPD (asthma & emphysema). Bad heart. IBS. Diabetes. Dyslexia. DVT. …oops, one isn’t. I have occasions of drop foot. That’s one you can see. But if I wasn’t walking, what walking I can do, you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong with me. There are thousands of us, living silently among you. But disability isn’t contagious, so you’re safe. Yeah, my bad heart won’t make your heart bad.

There are some ‘disabilities’ that aren’t actually disabilities. People born deaf or blind do not consider themselves disabled. They can be hurt, or insulted, if you consider them disabled. They are differently-abled. Or alternatively-abled.

I was deaf for about three months, once, due to ear infection. Those three months were eye opening. People treat you like your stupid. People tried to cheat me out of money or to palm off unwanted items. Like I didn’t know enough to call them on it, just because I couldn’t hear their voice. Don’t be a dick like that.

Being disabled doesn’t mean you are a victim, although we are frequently treated that way. Or targetted due to disability. We are frequently robbed, just because we can’t chase you down. (Although the one time I was mugged, I almost caught the bastard. Never discount what a pissed off granny can do, even if she is disabled!)

(This is an old post that I never published. Figured I might as well publish it, as it’s still valid.)

“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.

Egypt

Didn’t make the impossible challenge.

When I completed the first impossible challenge, it was changed to a truly impossible one. Didn’t even try to do that one – the goal post would have just been moved again.

The point was for me to fail so he wouldn’t have to fulfil his promise. What happened was he exposed his nasty little soul.

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.

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.)

Terrorizing

My partner drives like a maniac. And I’m not talking like the joke cliché of a woman screaming ‘slow down, you’re going to kill us’, to the man driving 10 miles an hour. No, I truly mean he drives like a mad man. He knows how to drive, but the second he gets behind the wheel, his dick grows 10 sizes and he becomes aggressive. We sold ‘our’ car two years ago. He didn’t tell me how much he sold it for, and I never got any of the money. Since he sold it to a friend, I suspect he basically gave it away. I was just glad it was gone and I didn’t have to make up excuses not to go anywhere with him.

This story wasn’t the first time I was in a car with him. But it was in the first week.

We’re going up a long road. Far ahead, I can see cars sitting, waiting for the light to turn green. There were four lanes, and they all had four or five cars in line. We’re maybe a quarter of a mile away. He’s going the speed limit. Once we’re on the straight, he speeds up. And keeps speeding up. My foot involuntarily makes breaking motions. I tell him to slow down and he ignores me. The point where I would have started breaking, if I were driving, comes and goes. The point where at our speed, I don’t think we’ll be able to stop without hitting the stationary cars, comes and goes. I said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I brace myself. He says, ‘They’ll move out of the way.’ (remember, four cars deep, sitting at a red light. They are going nowhere.) When he finally hits the brakes, the nose of the car goes down, I’m thrown forward and we come to a screeching halt. Inches from the car in front of us. I must have looked pretty pale. He just laughed and laughed.

He did it once when his brother was in the car. His brother pitched a mild-mannered fit and told him to stop. He did stop driving like that when his brother was in the car. But he still did when it was only me.

Before him, I was a good, solid driver. But I was in a different country then. The roads were smaller, very winding, and I became very afraid of being on the road, in a car with him. I became so afraid, I didn’t update my license and have never driven again.

The years passed, I became more afraid. First, I always hung onto the door handle. Then I hung on to the seat belt. It just got worse and worse. He’d aggressively move into the flow of traffic. Cut people off. Stopped hard. Rode on peoples bumpers. My heart would pound, I’d hold my breath. And after a few years, I just closed my eyes, held onto the seat belt, and waited to die. If I told him to slow down, he’d go so slow, barely over idle speed. I was afraid someone would ram us, expecting us to be going the speed limit. He’d sneer and say, see, I’m slowing down.

I slowly stopped going out with him. I stopped socializing because I couldn’t take being in a car with him, and my disability made using public transport impossible. If I had to go, I’d spend the entire trip with my eyes closed. One day he noticed my eyes closed and just laughed. He practically pissed himself, he laughed so hard.

I thought he was just being a dick.

But looking back now, I think it was torture. Not a joky kind of torture, but real, dangling off a face cliff torture. Every single time I got in a car with him driving, I expected to die. He put me in physical danger day after day. He liked the control, I guess. My face full of fear. Pale and trembling. It was fun for him. A good laugh.

edit:

I guess I should say how this has impacted my life. I can’t drive. I’m afraid of narrow roads. I will not get in a car with my partner driving. My socializing has tanked, I just don’t now. (I can sit in a taxi, though, without fear. I expect them to be respectful drivers and so far, they have been.) The sound of a car’s breaks squeaking, even if I’m not in a car, makes my heart pound in fear. I am terrorized of cars, driving, travel, and roads. I think I might be for the rest of my life.

Prejudice

I really try not to be prejudice. If I see myself doing it, I focus on it and scrub it away. It started when I was little and saw my father making nasty comments about people who didn’t have the same skin color as us. Basically, I was rebelling against my dad. As I got older, I felt it wasn’t just a rebellion – it was the right thing to do. I still feel like that but it’s grown to include more than just race or nationality. Everyone on this planet is human. We are the human race and to hate or prejudge someone on the color of their hair or skin or eyes is ignorant. To hate a group of people on their religion is ignorant. To hate a group of people because of their culture, or job or ability or sex, or damn it, for flipping anything, is our dark side whispering to us.

When I was growing up the only time I saw black people in the movies, was the Angry Black Man. During these formative years, I was taught to fear the Angry Black Man. The Angry Black Man will hurt me. Kill me. Rape me. Probably in that order. The first time I saw a black man who wasn’t portrayed like that in the movies and television was Bill Cosby in I Spy. Even my father liked Bill Cosby! It wasn’t until I saw Will Smith, who I quite liked, that I realized I’d been brainwashed from all those movies. Mr. Smith didn’t scare me. He looked like a nice person. I had been brainwashed, and it made me angry. I didn’t hate black people, I was afraid of them. And from then on, I did my best to be ‘color blind’. Nowadays, being color blind is bad, or that’s the impression I’ve gotten. Then, being color blind meant I didn’t ‘see’ the color of their skin, I saw the person as just a person. (I actually got good at it. I remember being told: ‘You remember Debbie? The black girl.’ And it took me a while to remember Debbie was black. She was just Debbie.) Today, you should see their color, acknowledge their color, then… what? Ignore it? High five them for being black? They had no more control over them getting born black as I did being born white. If they’re a good person, they’re a good person.

I fully support the BlackLivesMatter movement. Damn, they have every right to be mad, fizzling pissed off. It’s just as dangerous today to be black in America as ever throughout history. The problem is cops are scared. Just like I was. They’re reacting in fear. It’s just got to stop. (I know, easily said, hard to do.)

But I do still have fears. These fears have built up over a lifetime. As such, I do understand where their hate is coming from. My fear hasn’t developed into hate. But my fear has developed into terror.

I grew up in a state of the US with a lot of serial killers. Men, almost always men, who abducted, raped, mutilated and dumped the bodies of women. I grew up in an environment of fear of the stranger. We were given a lot of advice on how to protect ourselves. From not leaving your window open during the night, to letting the guy rape you so he might not kill you. Don’t put your first name in the telephone book, never your address. (Even now I’m gobsmacked at the amount of transparency women give of themselves on social media. Are you fucking nuts? Why don’t you just scream ‘victim here, victim here.’ like Whoopi Goldberg in Jumping Jack Flash?)

Women were – are – targets. Soft targets. Easy to physically subdue, rape, abuse. Except for Polyana Viana who is my hero! All women should be like her. If all women could defend themselves like she did, there would be a lot less abuse.

MeToo. Oh, yes, me too. After the MeToo movement started, I made a list of all the times I’ve been catcalled, wolf whistles, molested, touched, grabbed, assaulted, propositioned, (almost) abducted, … well. I couldn’t remember every single time, as catcalls and wolf whistles were basically a daily occurrence, but the others… there were about 20 things on that list, and for weeks afterward, I remembered more and more. I’m nothing special – average pretty much. And all this stuff that happened to me, to thousands of women, it doesn’t matter if your pretty or not. Rape and molestation have nothing to do with how you look or how you’re dressed. It’s the fear of women and misogyny. It’s control. It’s assault. The weapon isn’t a gun or knife, its a penis and a fist.

So, yes, I do have fear. And a bit of prejudice, because every time I talk to a man, every time I get in a cab, or wait for a bus…if I go out at all, I have to prejudge the men around me as a threat assessment. I use prejudging as a shorthand. Not the color of their skin, not their religion, disability, scares or tattoos. Their strength…their height…their ability and opportunity to restrain me. I try to always be aware of what’s going on around me. I try to wear things that I can move in, no high heels, no tight skirts. Nothing that restrains my hands or legs. My partner goes through life like walls will move out of his way. I explained to him how I always scan my environment and he just doesn’t get it. On the one hand, he doesn’t want me going out at night, because I’m a bitty woman and some man will rape me. But on the other, I don’t need to be aware of what’s going on around me, cause I’m a sainted woman, protected by God.

So this is a prejudice I’ve noticed and I need to work on it. I know there are good men, men who would come to my assistance if I needed it. Not all men are evil, nasty, malicious persons who need to hurt you to make themselves feel better. Like my partner.