His Warped Interpretation of Family Tradition

Someone recently had a tantrum in the kitchen, and it wasn't one of the children.

The kids are very proud of their Armenian heritage on D's side of the family. Since D has also loved to cook since he was a child, he learned all his grandmother's traditional recipes when he was young. One of the kids loves cooking, and she wants D to pass these traditional recipes on to her.

(There are no other Armenian relatives to teach the kids these traditions. D chooses not to communicate with his family and despite my trying to stay in touch with his side of the family for the kids' sake, we are not included in any family events at all. Ever.) 

So the other afternoon, D was sitting around playing solitaire on the computer when the cooking kid asked him to show her how to make a particular kid of bread that Nana used to make. He said, "Sure kiddo. Get the stuff out and we'll do it together."

 She immediately got the recipe out, gathered the ingredients, bowl, baking pan, and was waiting in the kitchen when I walked in.

"Where's Dad?" I wanted to know.
"I don't know," she replied.
"How long have you been waiting for him?"
"I don't know, maybe 10 minutes?"

I poked my head in the garage.
"D, she's ready for you."
"Ok, be right there."

I knew what was coming, so suggested the kiddo hang out while we wait for him to eventually meander into the kitchen.

She sat at the kitchen table with a magazine and waited.

Ten minutes later, I heard her call out to him.
"Daaaaaad... I'm waiting."
"Just a sec."

Ten more minutes pass.
"Daaaaad, what's taking so long?"
"Hang on..."
I hear her walk across the kitchen and open the door to the garage.
"Come ON, Dad. What are you doing out there?"

(I'm always worried he's going to be surfing porn or jacking off or something when the kids poke their heads in the garage. No, I'm serious. I've never said anything, but the kids are sometimes nervous about opening the door because even they are not sure what they're going to find. Way to create a nurturing and safe home environment, D.)

"Ok, I'm on my way. God, you are so impatient!" he snapped at her.

Sigh. Really? Poor kid. Extra hugs for her from me, and more determination than ever to move us the hell out of the house.

She waited at the table as he finally walked into the kitchen, but he ignored her and started farting around doing God knows what. She leaned back in her chair with headphones on, listening to something loud and angry while she waited.

Before I knew it, he had started making the bread. 

"Hey," I asked, "Aren't you supposed to be teaching her how to do that?"
"I waited for her. This needs to get started if it's going to be ready in time for supper."
Biting my tongue, I asked, "Did you let her know you're ready to start?"
"She's busy."
"She's waiting for you. Did you let her know you're ready to start?"
"Well she's sitting down. I need to get this going right away."
"DID YOU LET HER KNOW?"
He glared at me. "No..."

I paused and stared at him.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see she's got her headphones off and she's paying attention to what's going on.

"You know," I calmly advised him, "She is not a mind reader. You have to actually take the effort to communicate with your daughter. She asked you to teach her something that only you can teach. This is important to her. She has been waiting for you for almost an hour."
"You don't have to get snippy with me. I know she's not a mind reader."
"Then how did you expect her to know when you were ready to start?"
"Well she was busy."
"But you didn't tell her you were ready. So how did you expect her to know?"
I'm surprised to hear myself stay calm and polite as I asked.

He threw the dough back in the bowl as it clattered to the floor and he stomped out of the kitchen.

What she wanted

What she got

Her jaw dropped as she looked at me.
"Well great, Mom. Now what am I supposed to do?"
"Come on, sweetie, we've seen him do it lots of times. Let's see if we can figure it out."

She and I muddled our way through making the bread and were pretty happy with it by the time it was ready to bake. D arrived on the scene just as the bread was coming out of the oven.

Later that evening, after D went back to hide in the garage, she pulled me aside.
"Mom, why is Dad such an ass sometimes?"
"Honey, I'm sorry but that's just the way he is."
"Mom, we need to get out of here."
"I know. I'm trying."

"Try harder."

Poking the Beast

I spent the day deep cleaning the kitchen.

The whole day.

Our house is old and the kitchen hasn't been renovated since the 1960's (or earlier) which makes it really hard to keep clean. My own depression makes it hard for me to find motivation to do any deep cleaning. This was a huge project that was long overdue.

I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed the baseboards and corners with a scrub brush. I pulled out the fridge and stove and cleaned under and behind them. I cleaned out under the sink. Random drips and splatters were scrubbed up with an SOS pad. The butcher block island got relocated for better access to the fridge, windows washed, pantry cleaned out and reorganized...

We don't have a dishwasher, so in between washing the floor and scrubbing other things, I washed a few sinks full of dishes - although they're not done. The dishes are never completely done. (Grumble...)

During the cleaning project, D was in and out of the kitchen, making himself lunch while I worked (just for himself, not anyone else), and refilling his water bottle. He didn't offer to help, and I didn't ask. 

Just a side comment here. In the "good old days," whenever he'd see me being domestic - cleaning and cooking and otherwise doing nurturing homemaker-y things - he'd come up behind me and give me a kiss or hug. I loved knowing that he appreciated me taking care of him and our home. This eventually gave way to him squeezing my ass as he walked past, which I still interpreted as appreciation. Now he barely looks at me and when he acknowledges my existence in these situations it feels like he is sending me the message of "It's about time you get off your fat ass and do something productive around here." Productive, hah. Never mind that my world came to a screeching halt after the accident for 3 straight years while I nursed him back to health. And worked a full time job. And maintained the household by myself. And paid all the bills.

While cleaning the pantry, I found a packet of Tandoori seasoning that I bought a year ago and decided to make Tandoori chicken for dinner. At 6pm I stopped cleaning and started working on dinner. Things were going well, the house smelled good, and when the rice was nearly done, D meandered into the kitchen.

He stood to the side and watched me as I cooked.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just watching," he answered.

The sauce was fine, but needed something. More salt? Acid? Sweet? I grabbed a spoon, swirled it through the sauce, and held it out for him to taste.
"What do you think? Does it need anything?"

He looked down his nose at the spoon as he backed away. "I don't want to ruin my dinner."

I threw the spoon at the stove (it landed in the burner - oh yay, more cleaning for me), "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

He was silent. He poked the beast with a sharp stick on purpose.

"What the hell do you think I'm cooking? How is one taste going to ruin your dinner? Are you planning on doing your own thing and don't want THIS dinner to ruin your own personal dinner plans?"

He had pissed off the wife and raised her blood pressure. Mission accomplished.
He started to walk out, so I used my training* and stopped him in his tracks.

Like flipping a switch, I calmed down and sweetly said, "Oh honey, are you getting Alzheimer's?" 

He froze, smiled, then laughed. "Alzheimer's? Where do you get that from?"

"Well I've noticed that you have been saying things lately that just make no sense. Think about what you just said about not wanting to taste dinner because you don't want to ruin your dinner. I think there's something wrong. I'll call the doctor first thing tomorrow morning and we'll get that checked out right away."

His face fell.
I'm learning.

"No no no, I'm ok," he assured me.
"Then what did you mean about not wanting to ruin your dinner?" I asked.
"Nothing." He grabbed a clean spoon and dipped it in the sauce, then tasted. "It's fine."
(I wished he had grabbed the searing hot spoon instead.)

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*My training is where I'm learning how to do to him what he does to me. After years of gaslighting and covertly manipulating my emotions and ability to make decisions, I'm starting to turn it around and do the same thing back to him.

No, it doesn't feel good, but it neutralizes the feeling of him sticking a knife through my heart. It also helps to wipe away any feeling of "I wish he was nice to me," or "Maybe we can still work things out." I'm done having my heart broken and smashed to pieces. Turning his shit around on him is like emotional duct tape for me.

Sadly, this kind of thing hardens my heart so I won't be tempted to wimp out when it comes to moving away and divorcing him.

Crazymaking: Ping-Pong Arguments

A while ago, I mentioned that D has shown me every one of the classic Narcissistic Personality Disorder traits.

Recently I described D's PA and NPD 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 in the mosaic, 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.
Of course I don't like it, but I see it.

There is one trait that's not specifically included in either list of personality traits, but they are still a form of sociopathic "Crazymaking." I call them "Ping-Pong Arguments."

D is a pro when it comes to Ping-Pong Arguments. If I serve up a negative comment, he volleys it right back to me, whether it makes sense or not.

Here are a few examples that stick out in my mind. On their own, they just look like maybe he's having a bad day, but this is a constant, every day interaction.

(No that's not true; most days he doesn't interact with me at all. On the days he does choose to grace me with his presence, this is how just about every conversation goes.)

(I still get annoyed when I think about this.)

 ------------------------

The towel argument:
Me - Puh-leese pick up your wet towels from the floor. I'm tired of asking. I'm tired of picking them up for you. If they stay on the floor they'll start to stink.
D - I forgot.
Me - I'm tired of that excuse. I installed hooks on the wall right above where drop them on the floor. You could hang it on the hook but instead you choose to drop it on the floor. You're not forgetting. Are you lazy, or a slob or something?
D - You're a lazy slob!! (and he throws the towel on the floor and storms out of the room, disappearing from my life for a few days)

and:

The laundry basket argument:
The laundry machines are in the garage. On laundry days, I'll bring in baskets of clean clothes, fold them in the dining room, put the clothes away, then stack the baskets by the garage door to go out next time I head out there. Many times, at the end of the day, there is a stack of 4 or 5 empty baskets by the garage door. D could take them out, since he usually goes out there empty handed, and has to walk past the laundry area on his way to the man cave.

Me - I noticed you walked past the laundry baskets on your way to the garage all weekend and all day today. Would you please take them out with you and put them in the laundry area next time you head out that way?
D gives me a blank stare.
A few hours later...
Me - You've gone past the baskets twice since I asked you to take them out. Would you please do it on your way out this time?
D glares at me.
A few hours later...
Me - I notice you stepping over the baskets to get out to the garage. Will you please help out by taking the baskets with you?
D - Why don't you take them with you to the garage?
Me - I'm done with laundry and won't be going out there for a few days. You can take them.
D - You can take them, too! (and he storms off empty-handed, slamming the garage door so hard the baskets rattle) 

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General ping pong argument enders:

Me - I'm tired of having this discussion every week and nothing changes. I feel like you don't really care about working things out.
D - You don't care!

or

(D has a habit of shutting his phone off and leaving it in his desk drawer when I'm out of the house. He does this more often on days when I'm running errands or working on a family project and might actually need to get in touch with him. I have my phone on me 24/7, and usually reply to calls and texts within an hour, if not sooner. )

Me - I'm sorry you didn't know about the change in plans. I tried to contact you several times today, but you didn't answer your phone or call me back.
D - You never answer your phone, either!

and the classic:

Me - I'm done. I can't talk about this any more with you.
D - No, you!

(I don't even know what this means, but he's yelled this kind of nonsense at me so many times I've stopped trying to make sense of it)

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There are other stories that relate to this, but they unfortunately ended up with his passive aggressive method of punishing me for wronging him. One pisses me off every time I think about it to the point where I find that I'm grinding my teeth. The other story upsets me so much that if I think about it I spend the rest of the day crying. I'll get into those stories another time. I'm not in the mood to get myself that worked up right now.

Today's unique blend of abuse: The Girls' Day Situation

Imagine the periodic table of elements. Everything on the planet is made up of differing combinations of items in this table.

 

D is the same way. Every event and interaction with him is a blend of NPD & PA characteristics. 

I'd love to see a Periodic Table of personality disorder Elements, with examples of behavioral blends.

There are other periodic tables, see?

The Elements of a Super Hero

from comicsalliance.com

And Harry Potter

from www.huffingtonpost.com

Always useful, in my humble opinion - Swearing...

from deathtotheworld.com

 Boozing. Or as I prefer to call it: Cocktails.

from www.commonsenseevaluation.com

I love bacon. It's fitting that it is the first element in the Periodic Table of Meat.

from www.commonsenseevaluation.com

 And the a classic - The Muppets:

from www.commonsenseevaluation.com

Ok. That said, I need a Periodic Table of Psycopathic Elements, since the situation below is a combination of the following:

PA: Acting sullen, easily offended, feeling unappreciated, criticizing, feeling resentment, stubbornness, doing things to punish others when they feel wronged (giving me the silent treatment.)

and NPD: disregards the feelings of others, being told "No" comes off as a personal attack, has few friends, constant need for attention, has a sense of entitlement and that others with automatically go along with what he wants.

On top of that, if he had gone with me to Claire's house, he would have sat on the couch, sulking about being ignored, complaining about being bored, and asking when we could leave. The longer I stayed, the more he would act like an unruly child so I'd be compelled to cut my visit short - partly to get him to stop acting out and partly leaving early out of embarrassment.

I know this from experience.

Here's what happened.
The girl's day situation, 10am:
Me - I'm leaving in an hour to go have lunch at Claire's house. I'll be back in time for supper.
D - Why?
Me - Because you know how we talk. I never get out of there in less than 3 hours.
D - No, I mean why do you have to go at all?
Me - Because she's my friend.

D glares at me.

11am.
Me - I'm leaving for Claire's now. See you in a few hours.
D - I want to go.
Me - No, it's just going to be me and Claire.
D - Why?
Me - Because we're going to be doing girl talk, that's why.
D - I can still be there. You guys can talk.
Me - No. Look. She invited me, not us. I'm going over there alone. Plus, she's still upset about Ed's diagnosis, and she needs to vent and cry and I want to be there for her. It's not the right time for you to join us.
D - You're hiding something. I'm going with you.
Me - Oh for crying out loud. No. I'm leaving now.

I grab my keys and walk out.
D storms off to the garage to sulk for a few days.

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In retrospect, since his response is usually passive and he shuts me out for several days when I offend him like this, I have been making a point to speak up and/or not play into his games - not just to stop the crazy at home, but primarily so he'll leave me alone. I'm much more at peace when he removes himself from my life, and his absences give me uninterrupted time and space to sort through everything in the house and pack up my personal belongings. 

It also helps me to emotionally separate from wanting things to work out between us. I gave it 20 years. If it can't be fixed in that time, it's not gonna be fixed in my lifetime. It also eliminates any chance of having the occasional good day with him, which always makes me question my plans to leave. This is hard. I love him on the good days, but they're so rare and fragile, that they never last. When we have good days, I think maybe we can work it out, maybe I can help him change, maybe he'll come around... When we have good days I feel super guilty about my plans to abandon him. His mother was forced to abandon him twice (long stories - medical reasons - she had no choice.) He doesn't have enough income to live on his own. He has physical scars and problems from the accident and I don't want him to think I'm leaving him because of that.

Ugh. I don't care what he thinks of me. I have my reasons for leaving. He can't be saved, but I can - if I suck it up and be strong and get out before depression swallows me whole. 

This duality of wanting to get out but wanting the old D back is depressing and gives me chest pains and anxiety. It's a weird combination of feelings that don't mix well, but there they are - all mixed together and hurting my soul.

Maybe someone could also design a Periodic Table of the Elements of Surviving Abuse.