I'm grateful for: my online diary, which has been so much more successful for me than any of my paper journals; Simcha's birthday party going smoothly; valium I can take before going to the dentist tomorrow. I don't care that he's a good dentist, I'm still terrified.

I don't want to write tonight, which is really messed up because what I don't want is to be putting myself out there for anyone else. I write here for me.

I was sitting in my room earlier and my cell phone rang. I couldn't answer it. I just couldn't. It didn't matter who it was, it would be something who wanted something from me and I just didn't have it to give. So I didn't answer it. And I cried.

Moments later the house phone rang and it was Havva. I don't know what (if anything) she had wanted from me, I guess she said happy birthday to Simcha (Simcha's birthday is tomorrow, we had a small party tonight). I don't know what else, I'm guessing from what I heard of John's side of the conversation.

I kept on crying. I wasn't making any noise, but it was a good, solid cry. I know John saw I was crying, but you wouldn't know it from anything he said or did. Whatever.

I have so many things going on. Things that are relevant to what I write here, things that aren't. Too many. I can't even make a good start.

I've been having some discharge that has an odour - not bad like an infection smell, but still disturbing. Maybe it's natural, maybe it's something wrong. Honestly I don't care except that I worry about smelling, and I worry about ruining any more sheets (I can only get sheets to fit my futon from overseas, too expensive by far). I mean, if it turns out to be some sort of infection or something, sure, I'll care. But not tonight.

John went to work today and promptly 'forgot' all about me, 'forgot' that I am theoretically recovering from my surgery, 'forgot' that I am a cripple at home with three children and no car, conveniently 'forgot' to mention when he was leaving at least an hour and a half late that he was, in fact, leaving an hour and a half late. Not that that went very far. I have too much experience with him not to know his lies and evasions, so it was a matter of moments before I knew he was just leaving Petakh Tikvah, without having done any shopping, rather than half-way home with a load of groceries in the car.

He did get home with the girls and puppy he was bringing here for Simcha's birthday party before we all had a melt-down. The birthday party went fine.

Anyway, after this phone call from Havva (after the party), I managed to take a shower by myself. I probably should have had John help me, and if it had been absolutely necessary I would have, but I just didn't want to have him near me if it were at all possible, and I managed.

When I stepped from the bathroom to my room (a matter of three steps), John was standing, waiting to swoop down on me. I shut the door to my bedroom in his face. I wasn't angry at him anymore. I just had absolutely nothing left for dealing with him. I don't want to fight with him. I don't care if he changes. I just have no ability to cope any longer.

If it would do any good, I would want to be able to tell him that it's okay. He can go on being exactly the selfish, broken piece of work that he is. I only wish he would stop lying to me. That's all. I can take all the rest I think. But I haven't the energy for dealing with his lies. Maybe that's the next step. Who knows?

Anyway, I've figured it out, at some deeper level, that he really is just like my mother. I knew I'd married either my mother or my uncle. You know, the only two 'parent's I had. Only mother wasn't any kind of a parent, and my uncle, well, became parental only after years. And wasn't related to me. And all of that. Both of them abused me horribly. So I've been a bit confused whether in marrying John I had married my mother's type of (soul-destroying) abuse, or my uncle's more overt but less verbal abuse. That sentence is wrong, but I can't fix it right now. In any event, now I know. It's my mother. To the life.

My uncle was emotionally distant and not exactly a giving person, but when push came to shove, if you were down he would give you a hand up. Or at least refrain from putting the boot in. John (and my mother) is a 'kick-you-when-you're-down' person down to the bones.

It may have been obvious to other people, but it only just came so clear to me. Partly I was confused because there was (of course) some of the typical male-on-female verbal abuse which is simply part of how our society works. Part of the fundamental male/female relationship as it exists here and now. So of course that connected John with my uncle. Both being male and all.

It's really the lies, isn't it? My uncle, for everything that he did, was a fundamentally honest person. He would kick the crap out of you, then look you in the eye and say 'I know how bad that hurts.' My mother, by contrast, was the champion of the 'I'm not hurting you, you're hurting me' twist on reality, so familiar to abused children everywhere.

So, I've married my mother. Fine thing to figure out a quarter of a century late. Better late than never, I guess.

It's the lying. Damn.

It doesn't matter if he 'really' loves me or not, or if he's willing to change, or even if he's better than he used to be. Living with him means living with lies. I can't lie to myself about that any more.

Phew! It feels good to get that out in the open. I can't be a part of his lies, even to trying to pretend they aren't lies, or trying to force him to admit that they are. I can't be a part of this at all...

Should make really interesting living around here. If I can hold on to this in my everyday life.

I'm listening to GMS & Infected Mushroom: Deathe Killer

:: Yesterdays : Tomorrows ::

~~~Last Five Entries~~~
Hi and goodbye - 2010-10-15
I'll be moving on - 2010-10-10
Gold membership and stuff - 2010-10-10
Decisions, decisions - 2010-10-07
Days to go - 2010-10-06