All wrong
Sometimes I get things very wrong either in haste or as a result of tiredness, as in here. I re-read this piece tonight and notwithstanding the fact that some kind (?) soul has taken to trouble to comment on it I think the one thing the post shows most clearly is how bad I am at this blogging (or other writing about myself), and how difficult still find it to open up after all these years of keeping secrets.
He knows that I don't want to live here. He knows that I miss my home and my family. He won't discuss this. Won't find some way to make the pain that gnaws away constantly a little less or a little easier to bear. He simply pretends it isn't there because that's good enough. If he's convinced it isn't there, it isn't there.
This is one characteristic that sometimes makes me wonder if he isn't actually border-line psycopathic. There's a lack of empathy, rather than mere selfishness, that I regard as inhumane. It certainly isn't in any handbook or text on how to run a healthy relationship.
I didn't get across how this conversation was ended by him or how it made me feel. I can feel it now sitting in the pit of my stomach, something like nausea. A seething borne of resentment I suppose.
He didn't suggest that France would be a better option. He didn't acknowledge that I'd made a suggestion at all. How can I describe how he failed to engage? I reflected on the reality that she could attend a good private school back home for what by comparison with fees here in the UK is a pittance, and receive a rock-solid and well rounded education.
Saying "we could go to France" as some kind of non sequitur in the quiet immediately after my comment is a way of derailing the discussion before it has begun, deflecting us from the critical point yet again.
The conversation we need to have is about how we're trapped. I've never been able to bring out whatever is the best in him. And I know for certain that he doesn't bring out the best in me. A marriage should be a union of two people (and don't believe necessarily one man, one woman) who bring out the best in one another and who between them and collectively accomplish more than they could have as two individuals working separately.
Not very romantic sounding but I happen to think the above need not necessarily preclude romance (what ever that is).
His thieving, cheating, lying, stealing and general fecklessness have corroded the base of trust that once existed and there is no possibility of trust being restored. In fourteen years he's not been honest with me, for perhaps ten or eleven years we've rubbed along with periodic acknowlegements of his lying and lapses after promises of reform. It would take longer than another 14 years of honourable behaviour on his part to mend the damage and I simply don't have at time.
When he lies and cheats and steals he no longer diminishes himself, because there's nothing left in my eyes to diminish. But I'm diminished because I'm still married to a liar, a cheat and a thief. What does that say about me. Or is he really lying and cheating and stealing? Or did I imagine it? Perhaps he didn't say that. That's how it starts, and it ends up with me curled up in the foetal position wanting someone to resue me and realising after a time that the only person who can rescue me is me and having to climb that mountain all over again.
The highest I ever got up that mountain was when I was alone.
I can drag myself and B up there, but not him too.
And what does he get out of us? Why is he so reluctant to move on? Well, he gets a roof over his head. He gets to avoid admitting to his mother that he's failed, yet again - and I think that's a big consideration. He's not required to shift entirely for himself.
The truth though is that I have been diminished and I'm no longer well. The house is run by his rules and I just shut up and put up with it. The house is a sty, from top to bottom. I make occasional gestures towards housework and justify my own ineffectual housekeeping on the grounds that I'd been cleaning up after him and why should I? I should because I loathe living like this (a good thing from his point of view - I'm unhappy, flailing and ineffectual), I should because it would remind him that I have certain rights including the right to a say in how things are in the house where I live.
I have been reduced to a doormat, I've been kidding my self when I've though recently that I've been showing signs of recovery.
Rambling and possibly incoherent, but hopefully less unsuccessful than the earlier effort to put across how I'm feeling.
He knows that I don't want to live here. He knows that I miss my home and my family. He won't discuss this. Won't find some way to make the pain that gnaws away constantly a little less or a little easier to bear. He simply pretends it isn't there because that's good enough. If he's convinced it isn't there, it isn't there.
This is one characteristic that sometimes makes me wonder if he isn't actually border-line psycopathic. There's a lack of empathy, rather than mere selfishness, that I regard as inhumane. It certainly isn't in any handbook or text on how to run a healthy relationship.
I didn't get across how this conversation was ended by him or how it made me feel. I can feel it now sitting in the pit of my stomach, something like nausea. A seething borne of resentment I suppose.
He didn't suggest that France would be a better option. He didn't acknowledge that I'd made a suggestion at all. How can I describe how he failed to engage? I reflected on the reality that she could attend a good private school back home for what by comparison with fees here in the UK is a pittance, and receive a rock-solid and well rounded education.
Saying "we could go to France" as some kind of non sequitur in the quiet immediately after my comment is a way of derailing the discussion before it has begun, deflecting us from the critical point yet again.
The conversation we need to have is about how we're trapped. I've never been able to bring out whatever is the best in him. And I know for certain that he doesn't bring out the best in me. A marriage should be a union of two people (and don't believe necessarily one man, one woman) who bring out the best in one another and who between them and collectively accomplish more than they could have as two individuals working separately.
Not very romantic sounding but I happen to think the above need not necessarily preclude romance (what ever that is).
His thieving, cheating, lying, stealing and general fecklessness have corroded the base of trust that once existed and there is no possibility of trust being restored. In fourteen years he's not been honest with me, for perhaps ten or eleven years we've rubbed along with periodic acknowlegements of his lying and lapses after promises of reform. It would take longer than another 14 years of honourable behaviour on his part to mend the damage and I simply don't have at time.
When he lies and cheats and steals he no longer diminishes himself, because there's nothing left in my eyes to diminish. But I'm diminished because I'm still married to a liar, a cheat and a thief. What does that say about me. Or is he really lying and cheating and stealing? Or did I imagine it? Perhaps he didn't say that. That's how it starts, and it ends up with me curled up in the foetal position wanting someone to resue me and realising after a time that the only person who can rescue me is me and having to climb that mountain all over again.
The highest I ever got up that mountain was when I was alone.
I can drag myself and B up there, but not him too.
And what does he get out of us? Why is he so reluctant to move on? Well, he gets a roof over his head. He gets to avoid admitting to his mother that he's failed, yet again - and I think that's a big consideration. He's not required to shift entirely for himself.
The truth though is that I have been diminished and I'm no longer well. The house is run by his rules and I just shut up and put up with it. The house is a sty, from top to bottom. I make occasional gestures towards housework and justify my own ineffectual housekeeping on the grounds that I'd been cleaning up after him and why should I? I should because I loathe living like this (a good thing from his point of view - I'm unhappy, flailing and ineffectual), I should because it would remind him that I have certain rights including the right to a say in how things are in the house where I live.
I have been reduced to a doormat, I've been kidding my self when I've though recently that I've been showing signs of recovery.
Rambling and possibly incoherent, but hopefully less unsuccessful than the earlier effort to put across how I'm feeling.
posted by Enyo @ 11:31 pm
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