More recently I described these traits like small pictures that make up a mosaic of a larger, different picture. Each little thing D has done is one of the little pictures and until I put it all together I wasn't able to see the big picture of what's going on. Neither were any of my counselors. Now I see it. I don't like it, but I see it.
Several of the little pictures that make up the big picture involve D's complete absence of empathy.
☑ Lacks empathy - sees no wrong in personally
attacking others, or completely ignoring you
☑ Disregards the feelings of others, and have little ability to feel empathy.
☑ Inability to recognize or identify with the feelings, needs, and viewpoints of others.
☑ Disregards the feelings of others, and have little ability to feel empathy.
☑ Inability to recognize or identify with the feelings, needs, and viewpoints of others.
Here are a few examples that stick out in my mind. They're still painful to think about.
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1998 or so - My right foot started swelling and it hurt between my toes. It hurt to walk. Within a day or two, I discovered an open sore between my toes where it hurt so much. By now my foot was so swollen that I couldn't put my shoes on. I called the Dr about it and was told to go to Urgent Care. Driving hurt and I was scared, so I asked D to drive me to the doctor.
"Ok, but I'm making dinner right now. Can we go when dinner is over?" he asked.
"Fine."
I went to sit down and didn't see D crack open a beer and start drinking as he cooked. By the time dinner was over, he was on his 3rd beer.
"Doctor? Foot? Urgent care?" I asked.
"Oh, I forgot. I've been drinking. I can't drive now. You're going to have to drive yourself."
Fast forward - I have a weird, aggressive bacterial infection and the doctor put me on a series of antibiotics. My foot hurts so badly I can't walk at all. I have to crawl on my hands and knees to get to and from the bathroom. Even that hurts, and I cry all the time from the pain. I'm off work until I can walk again.
D watches me crawl, he watches me cry, and gets upset when I don't take care of the kids or make dinner. I suffer through weeks of pain, several types of antibiotics, pain pills, ace bandages around my foot, several doctor appointments, and D unwilling to help me at home. No help hobbling to the bathroom, no comforting me when I'm crying from pain, no extra help with the kids (aged 3-5.) He's busy watching tv. Or sleeping.
Years later I asked, "Why didn't you help me back then?"
"Oh. I thought you were crawling around on the floor for attention."
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2002 - We bought a new car. A week later, the kids and I were driving home from the library when a truck blew a red light and rammed into us. The truck was totaled, and amazingly our car was drivable. Totally munched in on the passenger side, but I could drive it home. The guy in the truck walked away from the accident and the kids and I were shook up but otherwise fine. I didn't have a cell phone at that time, so couldn't call D to tell him about the crash.
When we got home, I parked the car in my usual spot, which meant the damaged side was visible from the front door. As I pulled up, D happened to step out the front door. He took one look at the damage and said, "Do you have a place that can fix that fast?"
"Yeah, I figured I'd ask our insurance when I call in the claim."
"Ok. As long as it's done by next week."
(We were planning to go out of town next week.)
As I started to tell him the kids and I were ok, he turned and walked into the house.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, trying to process the abrupt end to our conversation.
An hour later he and the kids and I had dinner, sitting around the kitchen table all normal, like it was just another ordinary day.
He never did ask if any of us were ok. It's been 12 years, and he never asked, not even once.
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2004 to 2012 - My back hurt. Each year it got worse and worse. Over the course of 8 years, I tried massage, yoga, acupuncture, chiropractic, physical therapy, and finally an MRI showed that I had a bulging disc in my back putting pressure on a nerve. I was feeling nerve pain.
This is about when our family had the accident. My back, while it still hurt like hell, had to wait for everyone to recover from their injuries, especially D, who had life-threatening injuries and needed round the clock care. From me.
Finally it was my turn to take care of myself again, so I tried nerve block injections and ended up on a steady diet of pain meds so I could function somewhat until I could have surgery to fix the problem. By the time surgery rolled around, I was in chronic pain, my physical range of motion was limited, and my lifestyle had shrunk to getting out of bed, dragging myself to work, dragging myself home, and collapsing from the exhaustion of trying to live another day through the awful pain. I was depressed from the chronic pain. I couldn't sleep. It sucked. It really sucked.
I scheduled my surgery and took D with me to the pre-op appointment so he was in the loop about what to expect. As we left the appointment, D asked me, "How far are you going with this?"
"How far am I going with what?"
"I get it. You're acting hurt. You got my attention. You can stop it now."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're pretending to be hurt for attention from me. Or you're trying to get out of doing stuff. I get it. So when are you going to cancel the surgery?"
After I had my fit and calmed down a little, he said, "Oh, I didn't think you were actually in pain all these years. I thought you were just lazy."
Surgery day. They fixed the problem but I had some permanent nerve damage in one of my hands that my body may or may not be able to recover. Nerve recovery is an amazing thing. I never knew the body could reroute nerve pathways to reconnect damaged connections. Anyway, I had some paralysis from the damage. My attitude was: I'm no longer in pain, so I'll learn to live with the paralysis. It was a trade-off I was happy to make, and the only frustrating part was forgetting that I had some limitations with my movement. I'd pick up something with my bad hand, forgetting that it couldn't squeeze shut, and I'd drop stuff. I dropped stuff all the time.
One day, about 2 or 3 weeks after my surgery, I asked D if he would help carry some groceries in from the car for me.
"Why?" he asked. He was busy on Facebook and didn't want to be bothered.
"Because I can't hold the bags with my bad hand," I explained.
"What? What bad hand?"
"The paralyzed one. My gimpy hand. You know, from surgery."
"Are you serious?"
"Serious about what?"
"Your hand."
"What on earth are you talking about?" I asked.
"Your hand is really paralyzed from surgery?"
I stared at him. "You were with me when the doctor said it is paralyzed from nerve damage and might not recover," I said slowly. "I drop stuff all the time. I can't turn on sink faucets with that hand. Showering is a challenge. Doing my hair is nearly impossible. You know my hand is paralyzed, so I don't know what you're asking about."
"Oh, I thought you were faking all that stuff," he answered.
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2012 to now - D spends the majority of his time out in the attached garage, watching tv, surfing the internet, napping. It's his man cave. The way our house is laid out, he has to walk past the dining room and living room to get to the bathroom. The living room tv is right next to the door to the garage, so if I'm watching tv, he and look right at each other when he comes in the house.
If I'm watching tv and he comes in to go to the bathroom, he does not make eye contact. He walks right past me as if I'm not there. There is never a response from him if I say hello or good morning or what would you like for lunch or anything. I don't exist. If I happen to me in his path from the garage to bathroom, he pushes me out of his way as if I'm a door.
This is the only time he touches me: when I'm in his way.
Watching that image above makes my heart hurt. That's exactly what he does to me.
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Last week - I went with him to his doctor appointment and while we were waiting for his doctor to come into the exam room, I started to have an anxiety attack. Chest pains, couldn't catch my breath. I knew what it was, because I've been having them so often lately, but D is rarely around me (despite both of us being in the house all day, every day) so he didn't know what was going on.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Having trouble getting air," I gasped as I leaned forward and tried to yawn to get a big breath of air deeper into my lungs.
"Oh," he said and went back to playing solitaire on his phone.
I stood up and started taking slow deep breaths to try to get more air.
"What are you doing now?"
"Trying to breathe. I can't breathe."
"Oh," he said again.
He went back to his game.
The more I watch the image (above) of the tennis ass pushing aside the judge, the more pissed off I become.
It really hits a nerve.
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