Posts Tagged emotional abuse
I feel like screaming right now. How can a good evening turn sour so quickly? Tonight, after dinner, I sat on the couch cuddling with LittleG as EmCee sat in the kitchen entertaining his long time friend, Dee. (All names have been changed to protect identities). It was just past bedtime for LittleG and of course, the rowdiness kicks in – climbing on me, pulling my hair, tickling me – all in the name of fun – you know the last dance before the evening ends. So EmCee begins to walk past the TV as in saying (time for bed), and LittleG goofing around says, “I can push you.” and so he does… and EmCee says “Oh yea, well I can walk right through you.”
And so he does, only he accidentally knocks LittleG into the wooden and glass coffee table and LittleG’s head hits it so hard, I flew off the couch to carry him to the kitchen for an ice pack – immediately.
But no sooner than I can get my hands on ice, LittleG is screaming, “You don’t care about me. No one cares about me. My family doesn’t care about me, my friends don’t care about me.”
He goes running upstairs, but before he goes completely up, he pokes his head over the banister, “When I get older, I’m gonna blame you, like you blame me for everything.”
Words of a child. Not my words, even though later on, EmCee firmly stated to me that the only way a child would say that is if he heard it from me. No, my dear, EmCee, don’t be fooled by a child’s ability to perceive. He’s not dumb, nor is he stupid. He is quite smart and very well aware that you, EmCee, blame everything on everyone, but yourself.
It’s time to look in a mirror, EmCee.
After I comfort LittleG upstairs and finally get him to bed, I am fuming. Sure it was an accident, but EmCee’s behavior last night combined with tonight, was just a bit too much for me to take. So I broke.
But here’s a quick run down of last night (2/3/11) that kind of prompted tonight’s battle:
Last night, I called EmCee from the car and said, “I’m making meatloaf, mashed potatoes and carrots for dinner, is that alright?”
EmCee: “Why don’t you make meatballs and spaghetti?” (His favorite thing, but he would eat a whole box of spaghetti himself if i let him).
LittleG: But I want meatloaf!
EmCee: But you don’t eat meatloaf.
LittleG: But Mommy says it tastes like meatballs.
Me, to EmCee: It’s easier if I make meatloaf, its quicker. It’s late already and I have to pick up your mom. If I have to run to the store to get basil and sauce, its going to be very late by the time dinner is ready. Besides, I thought you liked meatloaf?
EmCee: “Fine, but make meatballs tomorrow when Dee comes over.”
(Sounds good so far right??”
At the dinner table:
EmCee sees LittleG picking at his meatloaf, “What’s the matter LittleG?”
LittleG: “Nothing” (quietly)
a few moments later, LittleG: “Mommy, this meatloaf tastes sour.”
Me: “Ok let me taste it.” (I taste it) “Its not sour, LittleG, that’s the way it tastes.”
LittleG: Well, I don’t like it.
EmCee: “You ruined my dinner. You RUINED dinner for everyone. It’s all because of YOU that Mommy made meatloaf. I wanted spaghetti.” (In his condescending, I am God tone).
How childish, EmCee is. I made EmCee apologize for his comment almost immediately, I refuse to sit there and watch my son be treated like that. I told him that just because LittleG is 6, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings. EmCee reluctantly apologized. It wasn’t until nearly midnight that EmCee told me that he realized he was wrong. But I don’t think EmCee actually understands the degree his words can scar LittleG.
Tonight, after bed.
I explained to EmCee that his words scar LittleG and I can’t take it anymore. I tell him that for 2 years we have been going on like this and its not improving. That I’m not happy. That we are two different people. That he would be happier with someone else to fuck. That I am not the same person anymore, I have changed. That I can’t take that every night there is an argument or a disagreement in the house. That I have to walk on eggshells to know if he’s in a good or bad mood. That I have to tell LittleG “Don’t do that, you may get Daddy angry.” That his temper can change on a drop of a dime, and we have to be little soldiers or he gets upset.
I told him “I will not tolerate your abuse anymore!”
“Well if you only played by the rules, I wouldn’t get upset.”
“Exactly, but who defines those rules? You do. You make the rules and we all have to abide by them. If I want to go to yoga, you talk me out of it, if I want to go to the mall, I can’t go alone. If I want to go out with my friends, you tell them just to stay here. Who makes these rules, I don’t”
“Well you don’t listen to me anyway… (goes off on a tirade of how he gives me all these “freedoms”, how he is a good father and always takes care of Gabe when I’m not around, etc…)
“EmCee I’m pointing out issues we are having. Instead of acknowledging them and trying to resolve them, once again, you are pointing out things LittleG and I do. You’re circumventing the real issues here. Why don’t you just take responsibility for once?”
“I don’t have any issues, but you do. Go sow your wild oats, go have your freedom and find yourself. If that’s what you want, just do it. Leave. As a matter of fact I’ll help you pack up. But be careful what you wish for.”
“Be careful what I wish for? That sounds like a threat.”
“No, that’s not a threat, just be careful what you wish for. But you’re going to regret it. You’re going to regret leaving me. This is a big mistake.”
(At this point, he takes his computer, and says goodnight and begins to walk upstairs)
“Are you just going to leave and not finish this discussion?”
“There’s nothing to discuss, I am done. You’re going to regret it.”
“But you won’t even acknowledge the issues or talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.
(I follow him upstairs and he takes LittleG to the potty. I get LittleG into his pajamas and EmCee proceeds to put headphones on and go to sleep. The conversation is done.)
What I realized tonight, is that all I ever wanted was for him to acknowledge his mistakes. But tonight, I realized he never will. He will never accept responsibility for his actions or words. And if that’s the case, there is nothing else I can do, except move on.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not a prude. If someone was to call me a “piece of ass” I’d take it as a compliment, because your average 20-40 year old guy probably uses the term more often than not, and not in a derogatory way – its just merely a way of them saying that the woman who has caught their eye – is sexy. But there is a time and a place for everything, and there is also a way of saying it that can turn a simple phrase into something vulgar and disgusting.
EmCee has a way of offending me with his comments. Deep down in my heart, I know that’s just the way he is – as my dear (deceased) grandmother would say, “He’s crude, rude and uncouth.” (Mind, you she never met EmCee, but I know that famous phrase of hers would have been uttered if she met him).
So EmCee is a little rough around the edges sometimes. I know he doesn’t always mean what he says. I know he’s not the roses and romance type. I knew this when I married him.
But after nearly 10 years of being together, you would think he would know me well enough to know what to say to get laid.
Tuesday night (Jan 18, 2011) I was watching TV, one of my favorite shows, The Good Wife. After it was over EmCee starts flipping through the DVR and puts on the Playboy show Foursome. I sit idly by, on the couch, watching not for the sex, but gawking at the stupidity of the episode’s cast. After that show finished, EmCee pulls out a bag full of porn videos (that he picked up from his friend) and proceeds to put one in.
I start to doze off on the couch, after all it’s nearly 1 am and I was tired from working all day (and subsequently doing the household chores, dinner, homework and such). But God forbid, I tell EmCee I am tired and want to go to sleep, he pouts like a 2 year old.
At 1:30 am as I am napping (I wouldn’t call it sleep), I get woken up, “Let me see that ass of yours.”
Excuse me? The mere words disgust me. Now, I understand every couple has 3 stages of sex – fucking (when you just have to have your partner for a quick romp), sex (when you just want sex and you love your partner) and making love (you know the soft sweet, kiss you all night, caress you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear). Mind you, EmCee has only 1 version of sex in his repertoire – and that’s fucking.
Usually, our sex session will consist of: EmCee expecting a blow job – a blow job is his idea of foreplay and he gives nothing in return to arouse me or get me interested. After he gets a little head, he then expects to fuck and everytime he tries to have anal sex with me (which at this point, I flat out refuse to give into). Once he’s done fucking me and is ready to “bust a nut” (as he so eloquently calls it) he pulls out, cums on some body part and then walks out to clean himself up.
While I am left in the bed, unfulfilled, unsatisfied and left holding the vibrator to please myself. That’s just a saying, not that I’m using a vibrator while he fucks me (I’m usually just praying that he finishes up quickly), but the point is, if I want to orgasm, at this point, I need to use a vibrator because EmCee is done “working”. He will then lay on the bed, smoke a cigarette and watch TV ignoring me.
So then what’s the point of me having sex with him? Give me one good reason why, I should have sex with him, when sex is a one way street?
And I’ve told him, time and time again, if you want to get me interested, why don’t you initiate sex, you know, touch me, talk to me, kiss me, go down on me (oral sex), do something … just don’t expect me to give you a blow job and get in the mood without even warming me up! His response usually is, well I kiss you and you pull away, I try to touch you and you don’t like it, I’ve tried to give you oral sex and you don’t like it.
Yes, EmCee that’s because your level of enthusiasm for doing any of those things is rated at a -10 (negative). You don’t put any effort into it. I think you rather eat a bowl of spaghetti than touch me or try to arouse me.
So when EmCee tells me, “Let me see that ass of yours.” It’s no wonder why I am unresponsive. Whenever we have sex it’s not pleasurable for me. It’s boring, routine and quite frankly, I feel that I am just being used. That’s not love. Maybe in his head that’s love, but it’s not for me, not anymore. I refuse to be used as a “Piece of Ass.”