Kinda Changing

I can’t really say how it’s changing, because it changes again in 12-24 hours. That’s not hyperbole, that’s just fact. I can’t keep up, so I’m more floating on the white cap in the Great Wave, than riding the wave. Hum, or maybe I’m on one of those boat’s that’s about to get hammered by that wave.

Previously, I’d been told I can’t get on the lease because ‘it was too hard’. So I’ve gone from just wishing it was over, to hoping it never ends, that he just lingers and lingers. The moment he dies, I’m homeless. But then one of his brothers found a work around – not just perfectly legal, but the way it is supposed to work. Which told me my partner had never intended to try and get me on the lease. This was a way that required him to do nothing. I needed to sign a couple of pages, show I was legal in this country, and bobs-your-uncle. It’s the best way he gets things done – other people do the work and he smiles and nods like it was his hard work that got it done. The government paperwork isn’t finished and returned – I’ve gotten no indication all is okay – but I have hope. Dangerous. Hope never works out.

I haven’t heard how he’s doing these last couple of days. I’ve spoken to him briefly, though. His voice is very rough, a sometimes indication of how well/ill he is. He just exaggerates it, so it’s not a true given. At that point, he’d been told he’d be home in a week if they can get his potassium leveled out. At the same time, they said his kidneys were fine. One of these statements is a lie.

I need a support animal. I wonder how I could get one? I wonder if his palliative care people have an inside track to getting one.

The Lies are Fresh

Partner goes in waves, like a sine curve, in nasty or nice behavior. The nice behavior is to sooth me, set me up for the wham that comes ‘unexpectedly’. It’s always so much sweeter for him to see me crushed unexpectedly. I don’t think it’s occurred to him yet that it is never unexpected.

I was recently reevaluated for my disability payments. It was almost two years in the making (due to covid) and I was given the higher payment. So almost two years of back payment as well as a substantial monthly increase. I did make the mistake of telling him I was getting back payment, but I did manage not to tell him how much. His disability payment went down. No idea why, as his disability isn’t growing back. But I think his payment going down and mine going up, wound him up.

A few times a year we give to charity. It is usually 1-3% of our net worth. It’s not a huge amount, we’re not rich, but it makes us feel we’re helping. He comes in this time, looks me in the eye, and says ‘You need to give 40%, like normal’. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t let my face say anything. I didn’t call him out. How in hell did he think I would buy this? 40% would be everything disability gave me and a good chunk more.

The last couple of days, his response to anything I say, ask or suggest is ‘no’, without pause or thought. “can we -” “no.” “we need to -” “no.” Emphatically, coldly. It makes no difference what I’m going or trying to say, just the fact I’m saying it, it’s ‘no’.

Sometimes, this is when I’ve cooked something and offer him some. “no, —” insert some reason he thinks of quickly. ‘I just ate’, ‘I have to eat xyz’, ‘I’m good’, whatever. Until one day I mention he’s not eaten anything I made in 3 years. (factual) He was horrified. Not because he doesn’t eat anything I cook, but I think because I’d called him out on it.

The next day he comes up to me with some bread-like thing swimming in grease, and offers me some. I look at it and try not to gag. I say ‘no, thanks’. He says ‘you haven’t eaten anything I made in 3 years.’ My brain just froze. I should have laughed, because in the previous week, I’d eaten two dinner he made (spaghetti). Instead I just said ‘fuck you’.

There was another lie just recently. Oh, something about my computer. Once he’d finished telling me it wasn’t possible, and walked away, I did a google search to find not only was it possible, it was default included in my computers basic set up. Now, he could have just not known about this (even though he’s the one that bought my computer) but as it’s so close to the ‘no’ phase, I’m more inclined to believe it was just part of that.

I continue to wonder if he has a key logger on my computer. Found a dongle, once, that he was monitoring my computer with. I should have crushed it before returning it to him.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I’m a woman of means!

I was once advised there were two subjects that would have the most negative impact on your marriage. Sex and money. And boy, ain’t that the truth.

Up until now, I felt fairly confident I couldn’t lay the charge of financial abuse at his feet. Sure, there were a couple of times where he was on shaky grounds. Like when he sold the family car to a friend of his. He didn’t volunteer how much he sold it for – and I didn’t ask. I didn’t ask because I knew very well he basically gave it away. I never saw a dime of it – he didn’t even just give me a couple of bucks. It went into a drawer and was handed out over the weeks, you guessed it, to his friends.

Or the time he was given an envelope of cash, which he kept in my desk drawer. I didn’t count how much was in it, I really didn’t care. But a few months down the line, I happen to see the envelope and wonder how much it was. I opened it to find 120 USD in there. When we got it, it was a good 1 inch thick. He refused to say what he’d done with it, except when I said, What did you do with it? he said: I can’t do anything with dollars! Which is, you notice, not an answer. He gave it to ‘friends’, I’m sure. For me not to notice him taking it, he had to have come sneaking in while I slept, and take out a few bills, here and there. He really can’t be trusted with large sums of money. He gives it away to ‘friends’. And I’m sure his ‘friends’ would dry up if he suddenly didn’t have cash to give away.

So, now we are caught up.

His brother recently gave him some money. Ah, let us tell it like it happened. He comes in, and says, while I was visiting brother, he told me he’s giving away some money to all his brothers and their wives. He gave me Eleventy-Thousand dollars!* in this breathless, over the top voice, that tells me he’s lying. This voice is one I recognize when he’s trying to either get a rise out of me or when he doesn’t want me to look too closely at it, but at whatever he says next. He says: He gave me Eleventy-Thousand dollars and I’m giving you half! You’re going to get Sixity-Hundred dollars! You are a woman of means! You’re rich! You can do anything you want with it, it’s yours! The money arrived last week, you’re rich!

At this point, it’d been almost 6 weeks since he got back from his family trip. I said: so it took you a month before you got around to telling me, and another week since you’ve actually had the cash?

He looks at me blankly. I don’t think this was part of his pre-planned conversation. He continues: now that you’re rich, you can help pay for any appliances that need to be replaced. ahh. There it is. The take back. Every single thing he has given me, he has taken something back. There is no free gift. New paint on the bedroom walls? Get rid of the hundreds of book. New carpet? Give away the dvds. Trip to Egypt? Stop smoking. New monitor? Oo-aw, so pretty, I think I’ll keep it.

Then the next day; you’re a woman of means, now! You can pay for your own charity. Me: you’ve always paid for both of us. Are you saying you refuse to pay mine now? Him: you’re a woman of means now! …nickel, dime, nickel, dime. And he’s clawed back a good portion of the money.

Due to some circumstances beyond our control, he has the money in an account of his other brother. Technically, it’s not ours. But we have access to it. Or rather, he has access to it, I do not. But all I need to do is ask him for any of it that I want, and he’ll get it to me. In my world, that’s called a gatekeeper.

Now I was already suspicious over the way he presented this wonderful opportunity to be a woman of means. And the take-backs. I’m suspecting something is off. So I asked him to show me the money in the account. He pulls it up, but does not open the full monthly account. The total shows not Eleventy-Thousand bucks – it shows Twentity-Two Thousand… and change. It showed, in other words, double the amount he told me.

My heart died just a little bit.

And I’m not sure why, but I didn’t press him to open it fully. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Why the hell I did that, I don’t know. I’m a coward? I couldn’t face that he would do that to me.

Now I sit here and wonder what I should do. I can;

Take the money, literally, have him pull the amount given to me, in cash, and stuff my pillow with it. It can be bolt money – used if I need to run.
Leave the money in the account and use as wished, because hello, even the fraction he’s willing to give me is more than I’ll ever see in my life.
Refuse the money, because my sense of moral outrage wants to one-upmanship him.

I could also ask him to again open the account. After all, he’s told me I can have access to the money any time. So that account holds ‘my’ money. Then, open the account fully and make sure there was only Twentity-Two Thousand in there, and that there hadn’t been One-Hundredity-Thousand at first, before it being moved along.

He’s starting to sound like a drug lord. But no, he’s not smart enough to be a drug lord. I will take his reason his brother was giving away his money before he died, so it doesn’t get tied up in taxes and lawyers. His brother would have to give away money to everyone, so no one contested they didn’t get what they should have.

The thing is, this whole thing has really stressed me out. What do I do? I’m such a damn coward. My heart is having a rough time of it. And by that I mean, it’s beating arhythmicity. I’m hyperventilating, breathing on the top of my lungs. I’m dizzy. My hands shake. I’m actually afraid I won’t make it through the night. I could die in my sleep.

And he gets all the money to himself, gets rid of me, and he’s innocent as hell. Fuck that. If I go, I want to take him with me.

No, I’m not going to kill him. I’d have to clean up the blood. No. I … seriously. The only thing I’ve ever, ever wanted, is for his family to know what a fucking dick he is. They all think he’s this kind, generous, caring, sweet guy. don’t you just love him to bits? But he’s not.

And his ganking me out of a lot of money (and making sure I have to go through him to get at it) means I can add financial abuse to his list.

*Eleventy-Thousand dollars exaggerated for comedic effect.

EDIT: all kidding aside. I realize I need to make something clear. The amount of money gifted to my partner is peanuts. I am poor – I’ve been poor all my life. Any amount of money that pays at least my monthly rent is a lot of money. Most people would consider it their coffee money for the month.