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."

PA & NPD Traits: Inefficient on purpose & being told "No" is a personal attack

PA Trait: Being inefficient on purpose, contradictory and inconsistent behavior, performing in a manner that is not useful and sometimes even damaging.

NPD Trait: Being told "no" comes off as a personal attack

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Our current home has no dishwasher. When we moved in, D started using the sink strainer when he washes dishes.

From the beginning, I asked him to take it out of the sink when he's done, because it always re-seats in the drain. Sometimes he removes it from the sink; other times he leaves it in the sink. Either way, when he finishes the dishes, he then rounds up more dirty dishes and places them in the sink, covering up the strainer. When the strainer is in there, the weight of the dishes pushes the strainer down, blocking the sink drain. By the time I realize the sink is stopped up, it has started to fill with dirty water and I have to fish my hand around in the dirty water (sometimes navigating sharp knives) to pull the strainer out. I hate this. I don't have a problem with getting my hands dirty, but if I'm in the middle of cooking, unstopping the sink requires I stop what I'm doing, unstop the sink, wash my hands, then proceed with what I was doing. Other times, there are sharp knives lurking in the dirty water. Regardless, I have asked him nicely for the last two years, and he still shrugs and says,
"I forgot."

On Monday, he did the dishes, left the strainer in the sink, put a cutting board over it, stacked dirty dishes on top (raw chicken, grease, who knows what else) and walked away. By the time Kid#1 and I had washed our hands and set up the coffee maker for the morning, we realized the sink was stopped up again.

Oh, look. The sink is full of water again. Hooray.
I was exhausted that night, and called D over to pull the strainer out so the sink would drain. He caused the sink to fill, he can cause it to empty.

He gave me a look from hell, then walked over to the sink, pulled the drain, threw the strainer on the counter, and dried his dirty hands on the kitchen towel. As he walked out of the kitchen, he reached over to where Kid#1 was making their supper, and D tried to take some of their food with his dirty hands. Kid#1 yelled at him and told him not to touch anything because his hands are dirty.

Yep - He gave his own kid the same look from hell, shrugged, and walked off in a big huff.

I'm not only irritated about the strainer and his attitude, but the dirty hands thing makes me even madder. He has a culinary arts degree. He is food safety certified. He's worked with clean kitchen environments and food sanitation for decades, so he knows better. I also have food safety training and know that he contaminated the kitchen towel, giving us all the chance to get salmonella poisoning. In the past, I have seen him dirty the towel the same way, then try drying clean dishes on it (contamination risk!) I called him on it. He gave me a dirty look and stormed off those times, too.

He knows better, but he does it anyway.

Mother's Day 2014

Happy Mother's Day (yesterday) to all the moms struggling to survive in emotionally abusive relationships.
I understand how much bullshit you have to put up with day in and day out and know how painful it is to constantly give of yourself as if you're a single parent and not have your sacrifices appreciated by the partner who should cherish you.
I get it.
You rock, you know that?
I love you. Give yourself a hug.
He doesn't deserve you.

Mother's Day was bittersweet for me.

As the day started, I sat on the couch with my morning cup of coffee. D walked out of the garage, past me on the couch, and into the kitchen. He didn't look at me or acknowledge me in any way whatsoever. A few minutes later, I walked into the kitchen to refill my coffee. D was in the doorway and moved to the side so I could pass. He avoided eye contact. Actually, he avoided looking directly at me altogether. As I fixed up my coffee, he disappeared into the garage.

The rest of the day was wonderful. The kids and I went to church, out to lunch, went to an outdoor store where my delicate flower of a child showed me some white water rafting gear they were saving up to buy. This kid had been on a few outings with a friend's family and has fallen madly in love with the sport. It was so much fun to see them all excited about this. I rarely get to see this kid so excited about something, and my normally quiet and reserved child talked up a storm about technical details with the clerk. While there, we learned the store is hiring, so excited kid grabbed an application. I'm clueless about rivers and rafting, so excited kid showed me around the store, explained items and accessories, and shared their love for this adrenaline-pumping sport with me. As we walked out of the store, excited kid said,

"Mom, I can't wait to take you to the river tours up in the mountains so we can go rafting together."

Hearing that was one of the best Mother's Day gifts I've ever received.

After we got home, rafting kid pulled up a bunch of rafting videos and showed me more about the sport. I get it now. Now I can't wait to go rafting this summer.

We had had a huge late lunch, so suppertime came and went and nobody was hungry. I puttered around the house, sorting stuff to donate and packing up stuff I'm keeping - I want to be ready to move out the second I get a job offer. While I was moving stuff around, my mom called. She lives out of state and announced that she's coming up to visit for a week in June. Yay!

At about 9pm I heard some banging in the kitchen.

"Is everything ok?" I called out to the kids.

"Yeah, it's dad in the kitchen. He's mad."

"Why? What's his deal?" I asked.

"He asked if anyone had made dinner yet. We said no, and he got mad."

"Oh. So he's cooking something as loud as he can?"

"Yeah. And sulking. He can cry more."

Ah, the wisdom of kids who clearly see that dad does not treat mom with respect, and certainly does not treat her with love.
(I do try to be respectful of him when talking about him to/in front of the kids. No matter how much I'm hurting or feeling dead inside, these are my feelings, not the kids'. I need to remain as neutral as possible because I don't want to poison their own feelings for their dad.)

After about 15 minutes, D hollered, "Food!"

I walked into the kitchen to see what he had been up to. There was a plate of cooked hamburger patties on the counter. D had already taken his food into the garage. I didn't see him for the rest of the night.

This morning I was up early. Made coffee, checked email, started applying to more job openings, and D came through the dining room.

He brightly greeted me with "Good morning!"

"Uh huh," I responded.
Psychopath.

He looked at my computer screen and commented on what I was reading, asked about the paperwork on the desk next to me, chatted about the pets, the sunshine, the birds chirping outside, his car, last night's sports...
Asshole.

I ignored him as much as possible.
I'm done.

If he can't acknowledge my existence on Mother's Day, then I don't see any reason to acknowledge his existence today or any other day.

PA Trait: Sabotage & Punishment (Hot peppers)

PA Trait:  Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge. Doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.
In the past, I knew he was doing cruel things to me for a specific reason, but only thought he was being an ass. Sometimes I knew his reasoning for being cruel, other times I never figured out what I've done wrong anymore, but the punishment is basically the same. Cook an inedible family dinner (he has a culinary arts degree and a long career in the field,) withhold affection or intimacy or acknowledgement, sabotage something I'm doing, make me late for important appointments. He often uses sabotage or inefficient task completion as a form of punishment.

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3/25 - Tuesday: I'm really sensitive to spicy food. It hurts from the time I swallow it until a few days later when it finally leaves my system. Over the past 20+ years, I have asked that if anyone wants spicy food, to make two versions (one spicy, the other mild) or season their own serving. For years, he has been adding hot spices to whatever he makes for dinner. For years, I have taken one bite, asked about the ingredients, and made myself a peanut butter sandwich instead of eating what he made for dinner.
I'm so tired of it.
On Tuesday, he did it again.
The conversation is always the same:

"What's in this?" I asked.
"Beans and tomatoes."
"And what else?"
"Onions."
"Hot peppers?"
"No."
"Then why is it spicy?"
"Oh...  Well, I added some chili powder. But it was just a little bit."
"You know I can't eat that. Why did you add it?"
"I only added a little bit."
"How about adding NONE?"
"But I only added a little bit."
"How long have I been telling you it causes me pain when I eat that stuff?"
"But I only added a little bit."
"I keep asking you to stop adding hot stuff but you keep cooking with it anyway."
"I only added a little bit. Just a tiny little bit."

Etc.

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January 2014: He did something with hot peppers and oil in a teflon frying pan, and it permanently altered the pan. I discovered this when he made me a grilled cheese sandwich and my mouth started to burn. I was questioning him about what was in the sandwich and then what was in the pan when my throat started to close up. I panicked until I located a Benadryl. I don't directly blame him for the sandwich, but got really upset trying to figure out why my sandwich was so spicy - while wheezing - and he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, it's not that bad. You're overreacting."

Even through I've scrubbed and scrubbed the pan since then, when it heats up the oils embedded in the pores of the pan release more of the chili oil. (With his background, he is aware that this can happen.) Everyone in the household knows that no matter what you cook in the pan, it comes out spicy. Nobody will use that pan any more, and even the kids complain when he tries to use it for family meals. Guess what pan he uses on the rare occasions he offers to cook me breakfast? Guess what pan he likes to use for French Toast?

I am not taking that pan with me when I leave.

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Passive Aggressive traits: sabotage

One of the traits of a Passive Aggressive person is sabotage.

Back in my post about Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder traits, I pointed out that one characteristic is sabotage, and D most certainly has it. In fact, this is one of his favorite tactics to use against me, or anyone for that matter.

☑  Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge, doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.

Now that I finally (finally!) am recognizing what the hell is going on around here, I'm starting to realize that I live in a bilingual household. Our two languages are Normal English (NE) and Passive Aggressive English (PAE.)

Here is a translation guide.
The words and phrases in bold are what comes out of D's mouth and gestures he makes.
The words and phrases in italics are what the words and/or gestures really mean.

Me - Where are all the extra large bath towels? I finished all the laundry and can't find any of them.
D -I don't know.
I know, but I'm not telling you.

Me - No, seriously. I saw you in the laundry room when I was waiting for the machines to finish, and they were in the next pile to wash, but that pile is gone. What happened to the towels?
D - I don't know. I didn't see them.
Tee hee, this is fun.

Me -You had to step over the basket of towels to get over to where I saw you. Did you move them somewhere so you could do whatever you were doing in there?
D - I don't know.
I'm running out of clever answers, but I can keep a straight face if I continue playing dumb.

Me -Where are the towels? There are 5 of them, and they're huge. They don't just disappear or get lost with other laundry like a sock.
D - I don't know.
This is getting boring. 

Me -Where are the towels?
D - Maybe one of the kids took them.
 Let's get the attention off of me. This is getting uncomfortable.

Me -They're dirty. The kids wouldn't touch them with gloves on. You were the only person in there. Where are the towels?
D - You were in there. Maybe you took them.
Or we can blame the wife. She's a bitch, anyway.

Me -(Trying really hard to stay calm,) I was in there because I'm washing laundry. I did not move the towels because they were to be washed next. Where are they?
D - Are you accusing me of taking them?
How dare she!

Me - At this point, you are the only person who would have seen where they went. They were there when I left the room and gone when you left the room.
D - Are you saying I touched them?
The bitch thinks I did something with her precious towels!

Me -Where are the towels?
D - You always leave them right in front of the washer and I have to move them to get my stuff out of the cabinet over the machine.
She's always trying to keep me from getting my stuff. Always blocking me. Never lets me do what I want.

Me - So where are they?
D - (Laughing) The towels? Or my stuff?
She's on to me but it's fun to see her get pissed off. I wonder how long I can drag this out?

Me -Where are the towels?
D - They were in my way.
YOU put them in MY way on purpose, you bitch.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - (Laughing again) I didn't take them.
I didn't take them. I put them somewhere. There's a difference. Besides, it's your fault they're missing.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - I hate those towels. They're big and you can only wash a few at a time.
I hate your towels and I hate that you wash them when you could be getting my clothes done instead.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - And they take forever to dry. That's a waste of electricity.
I hate that I have to pay the electric bill out of my own money. You should pay the bills around here.


Me -Last year when we were broke, and we had an electricity disconnect notice, you decided to buy them for $60 instead of paying the electric bill. Where are the towels?
D - They're gone.
See? This is what you get for making me pay the bills. I have more important things to spend my money on, like pay per view sports and useless iPhone apps.

Me -What do you mean they're gone?
D - I got rid of them.
...to punish you for making me unhappy.

Me -Where are the towels?
D - They're in the trash.
It was the easiest and fastest way I could punish you.

Me -Which trash?
D - On the curb.
And today is trash day. If I had been able to stall you another 5 minutes, they'd be gone forever.

Fuuuuuck, are you kidding me?! I hear the rumble of the garbage truck as I bolt out the door and rescue the towels from the trash man. He gives me a weird look as I haul them back into the house.

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.)

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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.

NPD trait: Lack of Empathy

So earlier I mentioned that D has shown me every one of the classic Narcissistic Personality Disorder traits.

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.

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.

But no eye contact, mind you. Or words. Just a push. Sometimes he even knocks me off balance and I almost land on my butt.

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.

--------------------------------------

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.

Emotional Abuse is invisible... unless you know how to see it.

What my wall would say is:

I'm thinking about it...

I forgot.

Oh.

" ... "

I don't know why you got so upset when I didn't plan anything for your birthday.

" ... ... ... "

What the hell do you want?

I can't even think of what else my wall would say. Most of his abuse is nonverbal.

Other than the words above, my wall would be mostly blank, but it would be pitted with holes, the paint would be smudged and smeared, and a closer look at a flaw in the finish would reveal an old beer receipt that was kind of painted over.

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.

------------------------

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.

Passive Aggressive (Negativistic) Personality Traits

A while back, I posted about cruising around the internet to see how I go about getting a divorce. One link about passive aggressive behavior led to another link about personality disorders, and I ended up going down the rabbit hole again.

I wrote a long post about Passive Aggressive (Negativistic) Personality (PA) traits to accompany the post about Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) traits. While D has most of the NPD characteristics, I recognize that he is very very passive. On top of the narcissistic traits, he has all of the passive-aggressive traits below, which were gathered from several websites.which seems to describe D perfectly. The PA traits fit D even more so than NPD.

By the way, apparently, Psychiatrists no longer recognize the Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder condition as an official diagnosis, but it is still recognized as a condition which causes problems for people.
Don't I know it!

I'm repeating the list of Passive Aggressive traits below.

The underlined traits in the list below are links to stories about how D has demonstrated that trait. As things happen, or as I remember things, I'll add them to the stories.

I'm doing this for two reasons:

1. I'd like to put all the evidence of our dysfunctional relationship in one place.
2. As I learn about this, I'm finding a lot of help and validation from others who have been in my shoes - some have had a shorter relationship, some have had a more extreme relationship. Regardless, their stories helped me to see that what was "normal" for my household is not normal, healthy behavior. Maybe my stories will help someone else realize what's going on so they can get also help or get out.

Disclaimer:
D has not been clinically tested, and probably never will be, so I can't actually say he has any sort of recognized or non-recognized Passive Aggressive Personality condition. All I can do is recognize that he tends to have these characteristics, and proceed with the rest of my life with that in mind. So many little quirks of his personality match the characteristics of this disorder.

Passive Aggressive (Negativistic)  Personality Traits

Acting sullen, easily offended, being disagreeable and irritable.

Intentional avoidance of responsibility by claiming forgetfulness. Using inaction to let a problem escalate.

Being inefficient on purpose, contradictory and inconsistent behavior, performing in a manner that is not useful and sometimes even damaging.

Blaming others.

Complaining about being unappreciated, criticizing or protesting, chronically impatient.

Feeling resentment, resentful of useful suggestions or demands from others.

Having a fear of authority. Argumentative, sulky, and hostile, especially toward authority figures.

Having unexpressed anger or hostility and acting hostile or cynical, going to self-destructive lengths to seek vengeance.

Procrastinating, temporary compliance, intentional avoidance of responsibility, or compliance too late to be helpful.

Stubbornness, resisting other people's suggestions.

Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge.

Doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.

Sources:
http://www.nytimes.com/health/guides/disease/passive-aggressive-personality-disorder/overview.html
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/passive-aggressive-diaries/200912/the-five-levels-passive-aggressive-behavior
http://www.med.nyu.edu/content?chunkiid=96685
http://www.healthline.com/health/passive-aggressive-personality-disorder

I just wanted a hug.

This cartoon makes me cry.

image from http://www.robot-hugs.com/nest/

It was this situation that made me realize that something's wrong with D, and that I will never be able to fix it. I realized I wasn't happy and hadn't been happy for years and years and years.

At my home, I was feeling really low and asked him if I could have a hug, but he stood there and laughed at me.

So I started crying and asked again for a hug.
"Nope."

I opened my arms and said "Please?"

He backed away.

I took a step forward.

He backed away some more.

By now I was bawling my eyes out, and with tears streaming down my face, he moved away from me every time I tried to approach him for a hug. When I realized I was literally chasing him through the house in a cruel game of keep away, I stopped.

"Forget it," I spat out as I walked away.

"Aww, come on, I'm kidding! Come here, I'll hug you."

"No."

"Seriously, I'll give you a hug if you really want one that bad."

"Fuck you."

This one hug that I never got marked the beginning of the end.

I just wanted a hug.

Quick update

Here is a list of thoughts and comments:

• Today was day 4 of the new job. I like it. 
• Yesterday I got a phone call from my headhunter. Last month I had put in an application for a big, high-paying (from my perspective) job across the city. They want to interview me in 2 weeks. Yay!! If I get the job I can officially start my apartment search and can finally plan my moving date.
• Only one more week until our food stamps refill with a full month of benefits. Thank God! Beans and rice, Ramen noodles, skipping dinner so the kids can eat (D eats a huge lunch and huge dinner every day)... holding my breath... it's almost over!

Since D didn't say "good luck" or "fuck you" or anything when I've gone out for interviews,  i didn't bother to tell him I was hired for this job. My commute is so short I walk to work instead of drive (love that), so on the first day of work I left me car parked in my spot and walked to the office. When I came home for lunch, he demanded, "Where were you!?"
"I was at the such&such office."
"You never answered my text asking where you are."
"Sorry, I had my phone in my purse all morning. I didn't see it until I walked in the door."
I finished my lunch and walked back to work.
When I got home that night, I was exhausted. Kid#2 was at college and Kid#1 arrived home from their 2nd day at work soon after I got home. D hid out in the garage and Kid#1 and I were on our own to figure out dinner. We settled for Ramen noodles, Kid#1 had a little tiff in the kitchen with D, then Kid and I hauled ourselves off to bed.

The next day, Kid #1 mentioned to D that I was at work. D has never told me congratulations on the job, never asked how much I get paid, never asked about benefits, never asked what I do, nothing. I work in an unusual kind of office, and he has never even commented or asked about that. Normally I'd be very hurt that he shows zero interest in any of this, but I have finally come to expect it. I hate it, but if I expect it, then I'm less hurt and disappointed. I'm so tired of heartbreak and crying over this kind of shit.

Each day after work, except for the inedible spicy beans he cooked on Tuesday, he has ignored me and whatever kid(s) are home that night. We are on our own to figure out and cook dinner. D is home all day; I would think if he was interested in taking care of his family, he'd spend time with us when we're home, and perhaps help with meal prep at dinnertime. 

The previous paragraph could actually describe practically every night at home for the last two years. 

He does not participate in family activities, rarely joins us in family meals, and when he cooks dinner (remember, he is a former restaurant cook) it is frequently inedible. He graces us with his appearance long enough to scowl, mooch, or demand my presence - all of which always immediately precede his swift retreat to the garage.

I translate that as, "I'm mad at you, I'm taking whatever you have (usually food or cash) for my own use, and making sure you witness me ignoring you."

The pain of ostracism

In my experience, it causes deep physical pain, as well.

When D walks past me without looking at me, talking to me, or touching me, it physically hurts. I ache deep in my core with chest pain and knots in my stomach. I notice this especially when he doesn't touch me.

When D is near me and doesn't touch me, it hurts as if he punched me in the stomach. I have even found myself doubling over in pain. When I made the mistake of reaching to touch him on the arm, he jerked away and glared at me like I'm contagious with God knows what.

Nobody touches me, actually. Not my shoulder, arm, hand, nothing. I have gone for weeks without being touched by another human. It hurts. I mean, it hurts emotionally, but it also hurts physically. I'm lucky when one of the kids hugs me, and I try to hug them daily, but they're in the "don't get to huggy with mom" phase, so I might get a half-assed hug once in a while. But that's it.

This is one of the reasons I started having a few affairs with other men. It's the only time anyone touches me and allows me to continue barely clinging to sanity with my short, soft fingernails. And at least my beaus are happy to touch me instead of begrudgingly making contact or accidentally brushing against me like when a grocery clerk hands me my receipt.

This is too upsetting to write about.
My chest hurts and I'm having trouble breathing when I think too much about this.



Source: ScienceDaily.com discusses the Perdue University Study on Ostracism

Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder traits

A while back, I posted about cruising around the internet to see how I go about getting a divorce. One link about passive aggressive behavior led to another link about personality disorders, and I ended up going down the rabbit hole again.

I wrote a long post about Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) traits, and checked off which traits D exhibits. I checked all but one box.

Today I want to list the traits of passive-aggressive people.

Apparently, Psychiatrists no longer recognize the Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder condition as an official diagnosis, but it is still recognized as a condition which causes problems for people.

Don't I know it!

While D has most of the NPD characteristics, I recognize that he is very very passive. On top of the narcissistic traits, he has all of the passive-aggressive traits below, which were gathered from several websites.

Along with proceeding with the rest of my life as if he has NPD, I'm also living under the assumption he also has PAPD - Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder. Again,  I have added a ☑ in front of trait I have seen in D. I have dozens of stories about how he has displayed each of the checked items.

☑  Acting sullen, easily offended, being disagreeable and irritable.

☑  Intentional avoidance of responsibility by claiming forgetfulness. Using inaction to let a problem escalate.

☑  Being inefficient on purpose, contradictory and inconsistent behavior, performing in a manner that is not useful and sometimes even damaging.

☑  Blaming others.

☑  Complaining about being unappreciated, criticizing or protesting, chronically impatient.

☑  Feeling resentment, resentful of useful suggestions or demands from others.

☑  Having a fear of authority. Argumentative, sulky, and hostile, especially toward authority figures.

☑  Having unexpressed anger or hostility and acting hostile or cynical, going to self-destructive lengths to seek vengeance.

☑  Procrastinating, temporary compliance, intentional avoidance of responsibility, or compliance too late to be helpful.

☑  Stubbornness, resisting other people's suggestions.

☑  Sabotaging the action to show anger that they cannot express in words, hidden but conscious revenge, doing things to punish others when they feel wronged.

Sources:
http://www.nytimes.com/health/guides/disease/passive-aggressive-personality-disorder/overview.html
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/passive-aggressive-diaries/200912/the-five-levels-passive-aggressive-behavior
http://www.med.nyu.edu/content?chunkiid=96685
http://www.healthline.com/health/passive-aggressive-personality-disorder

Subtle NPD traits are still NPD traits

When I started this blog, I listed out all the Narcissistic Personality Disorder traits I could find from various websites, and checked off every trait I have seen in D. I checked every box.

While I don't see that he has clearly obvious traits, I see them. Over the years, little things would nag at me and things didn't always add up. Now that I see our abuse patterns at home from the perspective of survivor rather than victim, I can see all those subtle little things he did was narcissistic abuse as well as passive aggressive abuse.

D is very, VERY passive.
Very passive.

We've been in individual counseling over the past few years, me more than him, and I find it interesting that while I mentioned some of the things he has done to my counselors, the topic of abuse never came up. I have seen a Psychologist, Psychiatrist, Psychiatric Nurse, and a Licensed Social Worker. They are all very good at what they do and have helped me tremendously, yet nobody saw any red flags that suggested I may be abused at home. I think I understand now why all of this flew under the radar: I wasn't able to show them the whole picture, just random little pictures.

Here's the best example I can think of:
Each little thing D does is represented by one of these little pictures.

There isn't a lot in common from one picture to the next. It's just a random collection of pictures. Just like D has a random collection of behaviors around me.

If you step back (or zoom out) a little, you can see there might be a little bit of a pattern going on, but then again, maybe not. It's still a random collection of pictures.

Stepping back a little more and seeing a lot more pictures - or noting a lot more of the little things that D does around me or towards me - makes it clear that there is something else going on besides just random pictures. The little pictures make up a bigger picture.

But if you step all the way back and consider all of the pictures - or all the things D has done - whoa, that's not little pictures but a big obvious picture of one very specific image. You don't see it up close with just a handful of the little pictures.

I've been reading a LOT about NPD and PA, both online and in books, and from what I've learned, some people exhibiting NPD traits are clearly obvious from the first little incident. Kind of like this mosaic of Marilyn Monroe. The big picture of Marilyn is made up of little pictures of Marilyn.

D is subtle. He's random pictures. But his random pictures create a pretty clear big picture that nobody else has been able to see... until I finally saw it last summer. Took me 20+ years, but I see it now, and I will never be able to un-see it.

Picture Mosaics from http://www.picturemosaics.com/ and http://fineartamerica.com/

Coffee Break in the Shit Room

A man dies and goes to hell. Satan greets him, shows him three doors, and says, "You must spend the rest of eternity in one of the rooms behind these doors. Look in each one and decide which one you want."

The man opens the first door, and sees a bunch of people standing on their heads on a wooden floor, looking very uncomfortable. He opens the second door, and sees a bunch of people standing on their heads on a concrete floor, looking even more uncomfortable. Finally, he opens the third door, and sees a bunch of people standing around chatting and drinking coffee, up to their knees in shit.

"Hmmm," he says, "that looks bad, but it's better than the other two. I'll take the third door." Satan smiles and shows him in.

Ten minutes later Satan walks back into the room and says, "Alright, coffee break's over, everyone back on your heads!"

This was my life with D.

Most of the time I've been doing a headstand waist deep in shit, but now and then I was allowed a little coffee break where life felt almost normal.

When outsiders open the door and take a peek into our lives together, D is careful to show them the coffee break. He's so charming and delightful. People tell us what a wonderful couple we are. He can really turn on the BS and do a great sales pitch about how lovely life is for us.

Then, before I know it, coffee break ends and he wants me back on my head again.

Only now, things are different.

I refuse to stand on my head. I refuse to even step into Room #3, the shit room. D doesn't like this.

We've had to attend some meetings together recently, and I cringed when someone turned to me and said, "You're so cute together! How long have you been married?"

I wanted to reply with, "Oh shut up!" but after a pause I mumbled, "Thanks. A long time," 

What's the appropriate response for me now, I wonder? American cultural protocol generally wants you to answer the "How's it goin'?" question with, "Fine," not
"Life at home sucks and I'm plotting my escape." 
When I gloss over the shit headstands, I'm just promoting the coffee break, which is a big fat lie. I'm contributing to D's warped promotion of life in Room #3. I'm tired of lying about the coffee. I'd like to comment that they're just seeing the coffee break. I want to mention how short the coffee break is.

I need to find something to say that's honest, and doesn't leave me clenching my jaw afterwards until I get a headache. Something like,
"Yeah. As soon as we step out that door, the coffee break is over."


Meanwhile, deciding that I choose not to set foot in Room #3 anymore is a done deal.