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."

(insert emotion here) 20th Anniversary

Today is my anniversary with D. We have been married 20 years.*

D, while I know that there is no point in even hoping that you will say "I love you," and even though you have not acknowledged the day with a gift, flowers, a card, or even a polite "Good morning," this song is my special gift for you.




*I'll be wearing a black armband to commemorate the occasion.

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

Post-anniversary note:

At about midday, he was standing near me when I was checking the calendar for the date of an appointment I'd had earlier that week. He casually commented, 

"Oh. Today is the 28th. Happy Anniversary."

I braced myself for ... something. Positive or negative, I found myself flinching as he spoke. He was either going to try to be all nicey-nice about it and I'd have to force myself to not get my hopes up, or he was going to be indifferent. Either way hurts because there's no love left, and we shouldn't even be acknowledging any kind of anniversary at this point. 

We should have divorced years ago. 

He was indifferent as he spoke.

He said it with the same emotion that most people would use when they say, 

"The dog is overdue for a trip to the groomer." 

Or, "You should probably throw out that container of mystery mold that's sitting in the back of the fridge."

I shrugged it off.  

He didn't say anything about my lack of response, but went about his day as if life was good and normal. 

Totally indifferent. 

It's hard for me to acknowledge any special dates any more. Valentine's Day, my birthday, Mothers' Day, anniversary... I know if I comment to him about the special day, he shrugs it off. If I try to treat them with the importance I feel they deserve, he will try harder to ignore them - and will completely ignore me, then go about his day as if nothing's wrong in the world.

Either way, it's like he's stabbing me in the heart.

    

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.)

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

*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.

Finding Post-PTSD Me

As an advocate for my own mental health, I have prescribed a regular dose of dancing as my therapy.
Yes, dancing.
Square dancing.

Last August I made the shocking realization that I'm a survivor of domestic abuse. Even more surprising to me was learning that emotional abuse is just as damaging as physical abuse. It was a gigantic holy crap moment for me.

Since then, I have spent countless hours online, researching my situation and learning how I can get out of my situation and begin healing.

A few months ago I stumbled across the idea that I may have PTSD from both the ongoing abuse and the trauma from The Hell Years a few years ago. I blogged about it when I mused about the probability of having PTSD and clinical evaluation for it at "Do I Have PTSD?" The PsyD who tested me concluded that I didn't have it. Today, now that Hell has cooled off and now that I know better, I disagree with the good doctor. I believe I probably do have PTSD.

It would probably do me a world of good if I treated myself as if I have PTSD, so I can begin to heal the damage deep inside of me from 20+ years of emotional abuse and The Hell Years.

For over a year now, I have been job hunting (some temp-to-hire jobs fell through, so I've been working off and on, but nothing permanent. Yet.)
My plan had been:

1. Get a permanent job.
2. Find an apartment across town
3. Move
4. Reinvent myself
5. Start Living with a capital L.

Last week the plan has had a dramatic change. A square dance followed by a simple comment from the kids made me see that #5 and 4 are the key to me feeling happier overall, which obviously will improve my general outlook on life and my attitude. I know this will lead to my ability to make a better first impression on everyone. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if this new attitude shift helps me land a job.

My plan now is:

1. Start Living with a capital L.
2. Re-Discover myself
3. Get a permanent job.
4. Find an apartment across town
5. Move

Ok, the new #1 is a challenge, since I am broker than broke, but I found a way that costs only about $7 a pop, and if I only do it once a month, it's a start.

Here's what changed:

Since my "Do I Have PTSD?" blog post two months ago, I have been pushing myself to do things that make me happy. And allowing myself to do things that make me happy. The thoughts, "D wouldn't want to do that with me," and "I can't have fun without including D," have been completely absent from my mind. Yes, those used to be the limiting thoughts that always kept me home.

• I went to my girlfriend Claire's house for coffee and to catch up on each others' lives. 
• I took the kids out to lunch (using gifted money and a coupon.)
• The kids and I took a day trip to the mountains. 
• We even went to a square dance party (why not?) and had a blast.

For the last year, I've been job hunting and holding my breath. The old #1.

No more.

After so many years living in my little cave - my self-imposed prison - I decided I need to stop waiting for my new life to happen and start living now. Living with a capital L.The new #1 on my to-do list.

(No wonder I'm miserable, right?)

• After having coffee with Claire, I felt renewed. 
• After sushi with the kids I was feeling bright and happy (and really really full. I always eat one plate too many at track sushi bars.) 
• After running up to the mountains for the day I felt like I could finally breathe. 

I was starting to feel good. Hmm, maybe I'm on to something.

At that birthday party I danced my ass off with several partners (I didn't know any of them), and after the second dance the kids said, "Mom, you actually look really happy for once."

That was it. No more waiting. I'm going to start doing things that make me happy, NOW. I like who I am when I'm doing happy things, and it makes the kids happy to see mom happy. It's so simple it's hard to believe I didn't see it before. My old to-do list was backwards.

As much as I can afford to, I'm going to Live now in the way I had envisioned Living in the future, after I leave D. One of the biggest changes I'm making is dancing. I danced when I was growing up (on stage and in ensembles) and miss it more than I realized. Square Dancing is just $7 every Thursday night at the VFW. I'm going. It's a form of therapy I can afford (I still don't have health insurance, despite Obamacare) and I know it'll help me recover from my depression, low self esteem, abuse... and "P-PTSD." (Probable PTSD)


Today while researching PTSD so I can learn more about how to heal from PTSD on my own, I read several eye-opening posts on Michele Rosenthal's blog Heal My PTSD, and these two grabbed my complete attention:

Who Am I Outside of PTSD?
More PTSD Joy or The Night I Realized I Wanted to Learn to Partner Dance

Huh.
Looks like I'm on the right track.
Feels good to find this kind of validation for what I've just started to figure out on my own.
Thank you, Michele! ♥

The icing on the cake appeared on the homepage of Surviving a Narcissist, where Lisa E. Scott writes about healing,

 We must lighten up, relax and go easy on ourselves. Many of us find it easy to have compassion for others, but have very little for ourselves. It never occurs to us to feel it for ourselves. Living life with an unconditional love for ourselves changes everything...

By learning from the moments in life, we become more compassionate and can aspire to live in the now. We can relax and open our heart and mind to what is right in front of us in the moment. We see, feel and experience everything more vividly. This is living. Now is the time to experience enlightenment. Not some time in the future. Keep in mind, how we relate to the now creates our future.

Her last sentence popped out at me in big bold neon letters, and it's stuck in my head.

Keep in mind, how we relate to the now creates our future.

Yep. Treat myself as if I do have PTSD, enjoy life, get out of the cave, find things I want to do or be when I'm a happy single girl... and dance. And do it now to build my future.
(And it'll probably help tremendously with the job hunt.)

PS: For some reason, this blog post was really hard to write. I feel it's disjointed and hard to follow, but that's how my head feels today. Scattered. Hard to keep the flow of my thoughts together. Flighty. Over-caffeinated. Edgy. Almost low seratonin-y, like years ago before I started on Prozac. (And I have to completely revise my resume tonight for a really great job posting that just came up! Sheesh; wish me luck.) If it's hard to read and follow, I'm sorry. I don't usually write on days I feel like this, and after 2 hours of working on this, what you see is the best I can do. Bleh.

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

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

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.

Wanted: Gentle Reassuring Hug

Last night I got a text from my brother. He took Gram to the ER and they admitted her to the hospital. 

Gram and I are very close. She was my babysitter when I was little, and was always involved in my life. I'm lost without her.

And now she's very sick and I don't know what to do. She lives two hours away, so it's not so easy for me to hop up there to be with her. My brother is there, and she's having tests and procedures and more tests. She doesn't want me to visit because she's too busy with doctors. She knows I've got a job interview tomorrow, anyway. Ok, fine. But I want to be there. Maybe I can hit the road tomorrow after the interview.

This morning, I was moping around the house when my brother called with an update. She was moved to the ICU overnight but is stable, but they'll probably keep her another day because they don't know what's wrong yet. Considering my lengthy hospital experiences, I'm guessing day one was to stabilize the problem, day two will be to run tests & wait for results, day three will be trying to fix the problem, then day four is observation. I'm not complaining. I'd rather have her home healthy, rather than kicked out too early with potential problems.

I'm still worried about her. Actually, I'm almost in a panic over this.

After I got off the phone with my brother, D asked if I'm ok.

"No," I quietly said. "Gram's in the ICU."
"Oh," he replied. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?"
"Yeah. Make whatever."

He made me bacon and eggs, then left me alone for the rest of the day.

I wish he'd ask what's wrong, if I've had an update, how's she doing, do I want to see her, etc.

It's too much to expect a reassuring hug from him.

It physically hurts my heart to sit here and know if I ask for a hug or any sign he cares, he'll make me beg for it, then walk away when I get upset. I'm not playing his game. It hurts either way. 

Either he doesn't know how to care about someone else's problems or doesn't want to be bothered with them. He is incapable of showing he gives a flying rat's ass. It's inhuman, in my humble opinion.

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.

Narcissistic Traits: Sense of entitlement and expectation of special treatment

One of the traits of a Narcissistic person is a sense of entitlement and expectation of special treatment.

Back in my post about Narcissistic Personality Traits, I pointed out that one characteristic is expecting special treatment, and D most certainly has it. In fact, this is something the kids and I see (and hate) almost daily.

☑  Has a sense of entitlement and expectation of special treatment and that others will automatically go along with what he or she wants. Has obsessive self-interest.

Here's an example of something that has happened so often I practically expect it.

I have a cup of tea every night just before bedtime. Everyone in the house knows this.

Tonight, as often happens, my tea was rudely hijacked.


A little while ago I put cold water in the tea kettle, set it on the stove to boil, then put a teabag in my cup. I left my cup on the stove next to the teakettle, and went to talk to the kids in the dining room as I waited for the water to boil.

D was doing stuff in the kitchen, then went back into the garage.

We have a whistling teapot, and I only boil enough water for myself, so it usually whistles in about 4 minutes.

After 10 minutes, I realized the kettle hadn't whistled.

I walked into the kitchen to see the stove off, the kettle spout flipped open, and my cup sitting next to it with only a dry teabag in it.

The kettle was empty.
Where the hell is my hot water?

Apparently, D pulled it off the stove just as it started to boil, made himself a cup of tea, and left.

WTF?

I'd like to stop and comment here that normal people, if they make this mistake once or even twice, and it's kindly pointed out to them, will most likely never make this innocent mistake again.

This has been nicely brought to D's attention for the past 10+ years, each time with growing frustration, and he always "forgets" or "didn't know I wanted the boiling water."

Again - WTF?

Let me ask you - why on earth would I start water to boil with my cup and teabag on the stove if I didn't want the stupid water??
Ggrrrrr!! 

You know, I used to keep quiet when this shit happens and figured I'd just shut up and put up to keep peace in the family.

Those days are over. I'm done with the put up and shut up attitude.

I'm so pissed off right now I can feel my heart pounding.

Why am I letting myself get so worked up over this, I wonder?
I know why. Of course, I know why.

Because I'm leaving. He runs hot and cold. Pleasant then cruel. There's enough pleasant to make me forget how awful the cruel is, which is one of the reasons it's so stinkin' hard to leave. I notice myself now subconsciously getting upset about all the little tricks he pulls, I call him on his shit, I yell at him when he disrespects me or the kids, and I question his inane tactics to "punish" me (like when he threw the expensive bath towels in the trash.)

I never used to do this. I stayed quiet, picked up the pieces (which sometimes included soothing a hurt child's feelings,) internalized my anger, and let him continue walking all over us.

I'm engaging in a disruptive scene when he acts up. I'm letting him passively pick a fight.

I'm giving myself reason to leave.
I'm doing this to relieve my own guilt for wanting to leave.
I'm doing this so I can justify why I left after I'm gone.

I'm doing this to save myself.

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

Epilogue, 10 minutes after this was originally posted:
After writing this post and calming myself down, I walked into the garage to confront him about the tea.
There he was, asleep on his (smelly) couch, with a full cup of still-warm tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

Yes. It's just a frickin' cup of tea. It's just a cup of tea.
But it's constant, and a small example of what he does ALL THE TIME.
ALL THE TIME.

Unless you have lived in this kind of situation, you'll never fully understand why I consider this abuse.

I'd say in terms of abuse, it's comparable to Chinese Water Torture.

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.

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

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.

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

NPD Traits: Hypersensitive to insults (real or imagined) & being told "No" is a personal attack

 ☑   Hypersensitivity to insults (real or imagined), criticism, or defeat, possibly reacting with rage, shame, and humiliation.
☑  Being told "no" comes off as a personal attack

The silverware argument: 

Me - Hey, when you wash the dishes, I know you sometimes like to fill up the sink and soak stuff overnight, and I end up draining the sink and washing it in the morning. Would you mind leaving the sharp knives out of the sink when you do that, please? I don't like fishing my hand around to pull up the plug when I can't see where the knives are.

D - Fine. I'll stop washing the dishes. You can do them all from now on.

And he stopped washing the dishes.
For a long, long time.

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) 

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

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)

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

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.

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

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."

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Companys A, B, C... and the interaction with D

Week two of the new job.

Tonight, D saw my work ID badge in the dish by the front door, picked it up, and held it out to me.
"Yours?"

My name and picture are on it.
"Yes," I replied.

"Oh," he said as he returned it to the dish, then went back into the garage.

About 10 minutes later, it dawned on me.
I work for Familiar Company A, a resource company who leases employees to other companies. My job is an assignment to a contract position in Unknown Little Company B's offices. Company B leases office space from Gigantic Conglomerate Company C.

Company A writes my paycheck. I am Company A's employee.

My work badge is for Company C, since it's a key card.

I chuckled as I realized that D thinks I got a coveted job with Company C.
Big, grand Company C with the fabulous benefits package.
Gigantic world-recognized Company C where getting any job there means beating out tough competition.

I'm not gonna correct him. He has never asked about the job, never congratulated me on getting the job, never said squat about the job, I'm not going to bring up the conversation since he clearly doesn't care. Why bring on the aggravation to myself, behaving as if he cares only to be deeply disappointed when he proves he doesn't care?

Let him think I work for Company C.
Then when I don't get the well known fabulous benefit package offered by Company C, I'll just let him think I didn't sign him up for the fabulous benefits. He probably won't even ask.

I used to think withholding this kind of information was wrong, and would have never purposely misled D, but at this point I can see that he really doesn't give a shit. Chasing after him to make sure he understands I work for Company A, not C, and explaining the whole situation, then encouraging him to show he cares and being hurt when he pokerfaces me... I'm not playing that game any more.

I'm done.
Game 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.

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.

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

Alone in my cave

When I'm stressed out (which is most of the time these days,) I tend to crawl into my little cave and disappear. People accuse me of dropping off the face of the earth. My family complains that I never answer the phone.

Years ago, I had lots of friends. Now, I only have a few left.

I've never been able to figure out why I do this now. I've been in my cave for about 7 years, but visited it now and then for the previous I don't know how many years.
Anyway, I'm a cave dweller.
I am hermit girl, hear me sigh.

What caused me to change from outgoing and popular to hermit girl? I hate being hermit girl, but can't even force myself to fake my old outgoing self any more.

Then I saw this picture at The Lost Self and it all makes sense. 
I thought it was just me. It's not. It's a growing depression from years and years of covert, passive abuse.

At least that means that when I leave the abuse, I'll finally start to heal.
I might even start to come out of my cave.

Do I have PTSD?

I was sent to a psychiatrist to be tested for PTSD in the middle of The Hell Years*.
He said I didn't have it.

Today, I disagree with his diagnosis.

I don't think he asked questions in a manner I understood, because in all my research about personality disorders and the abuse surrounding them, I'm starting to think I do have PTSD. I'm almost positive I had it back then.

There is an online PTSD test on several big psych websites, but after answering the 22 questions it said "Print out this list and take it to your doctor to discuss your answers." Well phooey. I'm out of printer ink, I don't have medical insurance right now (Obamacare-Schmobamacare) and I have exactly $12.42 to my name until my first payday two weeks from now, so taking that test was a glorious waste of time.

Tonight, I found the same test online with scoring at the bottom. Thank God!
Here's a link to the test I found at Heal My PTSD.
"If you have 10+ "yes" answers, you display many symptoms of PTSD," the results say.
I answered 18 out of 22 with a yes.

I think the big difference between the PsyD and the online test is my interpretation of the questions.

First of all, in the doctor's office, I was answering everything based on the medical horrors I had witnessed and managed during The Hell Years. It was a horrible time in all of our lives, but:

Did I witness or experience a traumatic event?
No. First of all, Hell wasn't an event. It was a situation that should have been routine but quickly went south, then turned into an ongoing life-threatening situation that dragged on for months. A year later we went through it all over again.
Second of all, we only discussed Hell. I wasn't aware that I'd been abused for years before Hell happened, so abuse didn't even enter the discussion. It was the farthest thing from my mind.

Do I have flashbacks of the event?
At the time I was formally tested, I think I was still in shock. My family was knee deep in the horror show and hadn't yet come up for air. I wasn't even to the point of having flashbacks yet.

(By the way, the P in PTSD means Post. It's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, not UTYEBTSD: Up To Your Eye Balls in Trauma Stress Disorder. And also not NLATEOTTTSD: No Light At The End Of The Tunnel Traumatic Stress Disorder. Let's make sure we're clear on that.)

I also knew absolutely nothing about PTSD, so when he asked about flashbacks, I imagined Vietnam Vets having flashbacks (as demonstrated via Hollywood - my only exposure to flashbacks) and no. I didn't wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, trying to hide from or hunt the bad guys.

So I told him, "No. I don't have flashbacks."

If only he had explained what that actually meant. Now days, when I think of the abuse I endured over the past 20 years, and then the emotional isolation I felt during Hell when I had no friends to help me through it, yeah. They're not technically visual flashbacks, but the emotional pain and anguish wells up and it takes me a good hour to stop crying from thinking about it. I think I'd categorize that as a flashback. The pain is still very raw and I'm super sensitive when I think about it.

Do you have intense physical and/or emotional distress when something reminds you of the traumatic event?
Yesindeed. See above. Enough said.
Do I avoid talking about it, thinking about it, engaging in any reminders about it?
Can we change the subject?
Sometimes I wonder if that's one reason I need to get away from D. Because he reminds me of the abuse. Or if it's just because of the abuse. Maybe both, depending on how he's treating me at the time.
I don't like thinking about Hell or how horribly alone I felt during that time. I can't deal with my feelings when I do. It's too much.
Can I have a hug now?

Do you have memory gaps?
Do you have difficulty concentrating?
Are you kidding?? I lost part of my language skills during Hell. Common vocabulary words were gone. I couldn't carry on a normal conversation because too many words were missing.
"Please let the dog out," ended up sounding like, "Hey. The dog. He... wants. Uh, Dog needs... Um... potty." 

I felt like I had brain damage. I told my doctors that I felt like I had brain damage. They nodded and made notes in their laptops but didn't do anything to help, except to change my antidepressant meds. I still struggle to recall and speak certain words at times. Sometimes my conversation trails off and converts to gestures because I can't pull up the next word from the depths of my brain, but it's a lot better now than it was. Crossword puzzles helped me to regain a lot of my words.

Now that I know more about abuse and isolation and PTSD, I believe I actually did suffer some brain damage during that time.

New item for my to do list after I move out: talk to a doctor or counselor about PTSD.

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*The Hell Years refers to the injuries from the accident (a freak accident - nobody's fault), the recovery, and the aftermath. 

It was really awful - the shock of what happened, the shock of seemingly normal things going very wrong, the shock of being told "We don't know if our team of surgeons can save them," and the shock of seeing more of the insides of someone's body than I ever wanted to see... and exactly one year after the accident, history repeated itself almost event by event. It was bad.

(Although one good thing about the repeat trauma is we knew what to expect. Didn't make it any easier, but we were able to call 911 sooner when things started going wrong again.)

I don't want to go into specifics in case D researches anything related to it and stumbles across this blog. Just compare it to what people in the middle ages experienced when disease or warring tribes wiped out their small village. Throw in few cases of Seppuku, and that'll be comparable to what we went through.

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/