Posts Tagged emotional abuse

Screaming Inside, Does Anyone Hear?

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.

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Piece of Ass

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.”

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Don’t Fear The Reaper

The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared
Saying don’t be afraid

– Don’t Fear The Reaper, Blue Oyster Cult

There’s something you should know.  Since I was a child, I feared death and loved life.  I often questioned if life was so great, so enjoyable, why did it have to end?  The process of death & dying I never took lightly – often the mere thought would send me spiraling into tears.  But that all changed last year when I met someone who I now consider a very dear friend of mine, M. 

I met M via the internet through casual conversation on twitter actually, about historical churches.  Our conversations which would go on for weeks via email would touch on spiritual topics, religions, history and metaphysical topics.  We spoke about our different upbringings (M lives in Europe) our current life’s work and so on.  But what we really bonded on was a spiritual connection.

When I visited Europe last year (with about 40 of my closest girlfriends from around the world, its a yearly pilgrimage we take) M also visited me.  During our email conversations, M would often say that he would not touch on the topic of Death with me because he knew how emotional it could be.  We would discuss it if we ever met in person.

When I met M, we took a walk around the city visiting various churches together, exploring the architecture and talking about the history and the religion which the building was affiliated.  After dinner one evening, I blurted out, “I don’t want to die!” and the floodgates opened.  M listened intently to everything I said and responded so gently to my outburst – I need not worry about dying.  M explained situations he had personally gone through, and explained that there is indeed existence after death, it is just not an existence neither you nor I have experienced during our mortal lives.

I had never before spoken to an individual who had words so comforting or words that I believed so deeply.   For the first time in my life, I found comfort, hope and faith.  M has always been, and will continue to be a spiritual rock for me.  M’s visited my home and stayed with EmCee, myself and Little G – and has been in my life for about 2 years now.  I’m an only child and M is about as close to a brother as I can get in this point in my life.

When I was visiting this year (last week) I got the awful news from my childhood best friend that her mother died.  Her mom was the inspiration for my business (I am in the same industry she was in) and I was deeply saddened by her passing.  It was like my own mother died.   My heart bled for my best friend, my heart bled for her family.

When I heard the news, I spoke to M.  And again (almost to the same day last year) we had a second conversation about death and dying.  But because our friendship had grown so much from the prior year, the conversation was much deeper and more insightful.  It comforted me and gave me hope.

Due to the time difference, I called EmCee as soon as it was daybreak in Jamaica to tell him of the news.  I told him the wake was on Monday (the day I was flying home) and Tuesday and the funeral mass was Wednesday morning.

“Well, you don’t have to go to the wake or the funeral do you?” EmCee barked over the phone as if her Mom’s passing was an inconvenience to him.

“Of course I do, EmCee.  That’s like my own Mom.  She’s my best friend.  How could I not go?” I responded.

“Well, she does realize you live an hour away in (another state)?” EmCee replied, almost annoyed that I was considering 3 days of constant travel.

“She’s not asking me to go, I am telling you that I am going.”  I had to put my foot down.  This is a man who has no regard for religion, the church or death.  “I have to pay my respects.  This is like family to me.”  But then again, I was speaking to a man who just had his cousin’s mom die and didn’t even go to the wake – add no regard for family to the list too.

Needless to say, I did make it to both days of the wake, but due to the time (and my son’s school schedule) I wasn’t able to make it to the funeral mass.  But I am glad that I was able to be with her and the family during this time.

Death, no it’s never been easy to me.  But standing there in the funeral home I was surprisingly calm.  I knew she went onto the next life – whether you call that heaven or reincarnation (or whatever you will) she is existing again.  I pray her journey be a happy one in the comfort of the angels.

EmCee and I had prior conversations to this regarding death, and he doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell.  He doesn’t believe in anything.  He believes that once we die – we die – the end.  There is nothing more after our last breath.  During that conversation I had with him, it was then I realized, that when I die – I want to be holding the hand of someone who will give me courage and hope – by saying to me, “I will see you in Heaven, I will see you in the next life.”  I don’t want to be holding the hand of someone on my death bed who is saying, “Well, goodbye.  I hope you had a nice life because this is it.”

Because this isn’t it.  It’s not over.  This isn’t the end.  Those who believe shall be saved, those who believe will pass on to the next existence.  Those who believe, know … don’t fear the reaper.

Perhaps a bit morbid of a topic to blog upon, but this is just another way EmCee and I are totally incompatible – we are just on two different pages.  And its not just death, its the spiritual and religious aspect.  I have always been fascinated with religions and have a strong belief in a higher being (call him God, call him what you will) and EmCee has not.  When I was younger, I played into the whole notion that people of different religious backgrounds could overcome their differences – but now that I am older and closer to God, I realize that I need to have a partner who believes in a higher being just as much as I do – and who believes that they will see me in Heaven again – after this life is over.

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He Needed To Be Taught A Lesson

I’m not sure who acts like more of a child sometimes, my 42 year old husband or my 6 year old son.  Actually, I think my 6 year old is more mature sometimes than my husband.  Tonight, he did it again.  Not LittleG, EmCee of course!

And of course, EmCee’s behavior was justified because it was a result of our son’s actions and my (emotional, bitchy period) reactions.

I came home after a long day of work, and immediately headed to the kitchen to cook dinner.  Funny how I’m married to a husband who has a degree in Culinary Science and yet, never cooks a meal!

I told LittleG, “You’ve watched TV and played video games all day at Mommy’s store, now it’s time to sit down and do your homework.  THEN you can watch TV.”

(Put on repeat 3x times)

Finally, LittleG sat down at the kitchen table to do his homework (1 math worksheet & 1 grammar worksheet).  I assumed EmCee would help him, but again EmCee is too busy to be bothered as he sat there plastered to his computer, glancing over at LittleG’s papers.

“That S is sloppy.  It looks like an upside down 5.  You’ve had an S in your last name for 6 years now, and you’ve been writing it for 2 years.  Fix it.”

(Oh here we go again, I thought to myself as I prepped the potatoes and green beans).

“That S still doesn’t look right.  Fix it.  Is there something the matter with you?  Don’t you care about your homework?” (Insert condescending, demeaning voice rising to near yelling levels).

Now, EmCee goes off into a tirade.  Obviously, LittleG still didn’t fix what Daddy wanted.  (As if Daddy should talk with his chicken scratch handwriting. Give me a break, the kid is 6 and his handwriting is good for a 6 yr old!)

“If you don’t care, then I DON’T CARE!”

EmCee picks up Little G’s folder, homework notebook, grammar workbook and THROWS them across the room.  “Since you don’t care, I DON’T CARE!”

I unfortunately, can’t stand his bullshit anymore and immediately step up to him.  Someone needs to protect LittleG.  “Who’s the child here, him or you?  What kind of example are you showing him by throwing his books?  This is the second time in a month you’ve thrown something at him to prove your point and I’m not going to tolerate it.”

“Oh, see, now you’ve got your mother on your side.”  (As LittleG starts hysterical crying).

“Mommy will you please help me finish my homework?”  He asks quietly, not wanting to upset his father.  I tell him to sit down calmly and we will finish it.

Homework is finished, but I’m not finished with EmCee.  As soon as LittleG is out of the room, I immediately rip into him.

“You’re such a bad father sometimes.  What kind of example are you showing him? Don’t you remember when your mother threw pea soup at you – it scarred you for life.”

“Yea, but I needed it I was acting like an asshole.  LittleG was acting like an asshole just now, making a jerk out of me.  He needed to be taught a lesson.  I needed to make a point and sometimes you need to make a point!” (pause) “I hate you for calling me a bad father, I AM NOT A BAD FATHER!”

(Calling him this always hits a nerve, because his own dad abandoned him).

“Oh, what am I going to regret saying that? (Insert sarcasm here,  as I referred to one of our prior arguments when he told me I was going to regret it) Why because I’m a woman, I shouldn’t open my mouth?  Am I supposed to stand here and let you abuse my son?”

“It’s not abuse, he was making a jerk off out of me. I was making a point.”

(Yea, that you’re an asshole).

“You shouldn’t throw things.  You’re teaching him that it is OK to throw things when he is angry or when things aren’t going his way.  And you wonder why we are having behavioral problems with him in school.”

“Oh, you should talk.  Mother of the year.   How many times do you raise your voice and yell at him?”

“But I never throw things.  And I never hit him.  I’m not sarcastic or condescending to him.  We all yell at our kids sometimes EmCee, it happens.  But that doesn’t make me a bad parent.”

Of course, as soon as you point out his mistakes or flaws, he can “never take the hit” as he calls it.  He will never accept blame.  He always turns it around on everyone else and makes sure to point out their flaws.  His behavior is always justified.  His behavior is always perfect.  He’s allowed to because he’s “the man” of the house.  We should respect him.

I knew the conversation was only going to get worse.  So I decided not to add any more fuel to the fire.  I let it be and ended the argument like this:

“Well if  if my behavior is that flawed, I would welcome someone pointing out to me my mistakes so that I can correct them.  No one is perfect, not even me.  So next time you feel that I am being the bad parent, why don’t you tell me.”

And I’m sure he will. He will savor every moment letting me know how screwed up a parent I am.  Now, I just have to make sure I don’t give him the opportunity to do so.

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