This is the first time in my life I’ve ever lived alone.
This is the first time in my adult life that I have been single for more than a few months.
I’m ruminating about both of these things. I didn’t like living alone at first and now I absolutely love it. I’m honestly surprised by this. No extra cleaning, no disgusting bathroom noises, no more snoring (except the dog), no more having to wash the sheets more often because he refuses to bathe. No more of all of that. My mess is my mess. My body is mine now. There is no energy in this rental that is putting pressure on me to do anything I don’t want to do. I have no idea what to do with that, I’m so used to someone wanting something.
I do miss my gorgeous kitchen, my yard, my garden. I miss her having her own yard. I miss how quiet it was. This place is very, very noisy. I miss all the space, my glorious office looking into the woods. I miss our large big screen movie room. I miss feeling like part of a community. But that was fake, it was only about having the same street name.
I can’t sleep.
My ex would normally stay up late. If I was still living there right now we’d sit up and talk, look up old music videos on youtube and just laugh and laugh for hours.
God, I’m really going to miss this. He really was my best friend.
He taught me so much about computers and technical things. I’ll forever be grateful to him for that.
He was so smart, funny and patient when it came to explaining things. And very confident.
I don’t know why he had to be so horrible with me when it came to being a partner. It breaks my heart. He really, really let me down. There were solutions to him not wanting to clean, not wanting to help with paperwork, not wanting to do anything about anything. He made SO much, he could have hired that out. Why did he fight me on this?
But he failed to hear me. That I was struggling, that I needed help. Is it because I was a woman? Did he not respect my womanhood or did he not respect me? I was just asking the man who I was sharing a life and house with for HELP. Why was that his cue to get angry and shut me down instantly??? He came up with solutions for a living. This all seemed EASY. Actual problems with easy solutions and he just wouldn’t do it. I will never ever understand. Did he just enjoy fighting? Did he get off on telling me no or fighting ME? WTF.
And the not being an emotionally intelligent, supportive, empathetic, curious, thoughtful or caring thing? Could he have learned this? Was he unable to do this?? Was he on the spectrum, trying to control me, or thought feelings were just dumb so he avoided them? His emotions seemed to matter. His male friends’ emotions seemed to matter. Why didn’t mine matter? Was I that much of a bitch? I don’t think I was, though. I’ve been conditioned to lay low, not ask for much. To be painfully independent and honest to God, I would get on that ladder, use the saw, figure out which epoxy to use… I did it all. But when I asked for comfort after someone died or a dog charged me and scared me, it’s like I did something wrong by asking. He would be offended, angry and irritated when I asked for any human emotion or understanding. And I did it so rarely. I think he hugged me twice in the context of comfort… once when my grandma died and once when we put our dog down. And I never felt warmth in those hugs, I didn’t feel actual comfort. He just couldn’t give that warmth to you, he couldn’t put empathy into me. But he expected it from me. I’ll never get it.
I still blame myself. I still think I should have had more patience. I don’t know why I keep fucking blaming myself. I gave and gave and gave until I couldn’t do it anymore. And he was getting meaner, colder, spending more money… he hinted because he wasn’t getting laid. How… ummm… why did sex stop him from spending $10k a month the years prior? I’m perplexed. And I told him what I needed to start to feel comfortable with him again and he refused. Told me he didn’t have to change. So, I didn’t feel comfortable putting out. He told me it shouldn’t be this big of a deal for me to put out and… I listened to my body. She said no. No way. Get him away from me. What was I supposed to do?!?
And men have little to no compassion for the woman whose body starts to have an aversion to the husband. “fix it” by getting my hormones checked or finding a new lube or something. It’s so dismissive, but universally accepted. “He deserves your body. You married him”.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I know it now. This sex thing was the nail in the coffin for me. If there was ever something that told me that this man did not love me, care about me, see me as human or give a fuck about my mental state… this was it. His reaction to me saying no is all I’ll ever need to know, frankly.
I need to keep reminding myself that this is how he treated me at the end. It doesn’t matter what I did after this point. He treated me like property, like I had no brain, like I had no intrinsic value. I was his doll, his warm thing, his pacifier. That’s it. I need to fucking accept this and stop blaming myself.
If I would just sleep with him, I could get my life back.
Some people said “oh, that’s it? Just do it.”
Others would say “I’m so glad you listened to your body.”
When I went to Reddit with this information, I got shot down. “You owe that man sex, you promised it to him. It’s his right. It’s his need, like breathing”.
The fuck is wrong with anyone who thinks like this. Is this really what marriage is? A man OWNING the insides of a woman? Is that what they taught you???
Meanwhile, women are asking for empathy, comfort, non-sexual affection, sweetness, to be seen, known, to have a partner who wants to experience joy together, build a life together, bond, create, experience.
Nope, warm hole, drop your drawers, I paid the gas bill.
Fuck that.
I was never prude. I grew up near the porn capital of the world. I watched copious amounts of it. I enjoyed it. When it was done well, I could have done it twice a day, easy. But something changed it me when I turned 40. I wanted more eye contact, sweetness, connection…. soft kissing, more lead up. And I was met with mocking. That sex was a release, not bonding.
Fuck that.
Another sign it was mental/emotional abuse, sexual coercion etc is that I ruminate and continuously ask over and over and over if it was, indeed, abuse. It was. He had intent. He likely wasn’t on the spectrum. He knew what he was doing. But for some reason, it feels impossible to accept this.
Probably because we had that friendship, we had those wonderful conversations. I truly thought he was wonderful based on his mind.
But I think he only saw me as a toy. And as we got closer to the end, I had more proof from so many different places. I was, indeed, just his toy.
And I’ll never forgive him for that.
I just want to sleep…
