Disclaimer: Angry, ANGRY post about my abusive ex-marriage. Could be triggering.
Court is fast approaching and I am both anxious and excited. This could be a whole new era of freedom for me – but first I have to muddle through a huge pile of shit. I still own a house with Driftwood (a shitty house). It still has my belongings in the basement (a shitty basement). I’ve been reading this book about going to court against a narcissist, hoping it would help me to be emotionally prepared and legally prepared. Unfortunately, the book is mostly about child custody battles. If I were to remove all the pages about kids, there’d be only about 100 pages left. I think I am going to rate it 3-stars on Amazon, but after I return from court because I want to gauge exactly how much it helped me (if at all).
I’ve mentioned the book in several posts. “splitting: protecting yourself while divorcing someone with borderline or narcissistic personality disorder” by Bill Eddy & Randi Kreger.
Driftwood is definitely what the authors term “a blamer”. Blamers are never responsible for their troubles. It’s always Rivka’s fault. Anything Driftwood did was because I “forced him” to behave a certain way (by not worshiping him). I made him do it.
Fortunately, we were not in a marriage where he tried to physically beat me – because that is exactly what wife-beaters say, I’m told. “You made me break your jaw by being sassy.” I don’t know why he never hit me. He certainly punched enough walls and broke enough chairs. I never did quite understand what prevented Driftwood from going the extra 2 centimetres and actually hitting me. I always assumed it was because he sensed that I was waiting for an excuse to fucking murder him. If he hit me, I would have gone wild animal on him and sliced him into tiny pieces with a kitchen knife. I was constantly seething anger that was thinly contained – like a membrane over an egg, so thin. One good poke with a fingernail and it would have spilled my vengeance onto my abuser.
I hated living with him so much. Believe it or not, I woke up every morning as Miss Girly Sunshine. I expected to have a good day. I planned to have a good day. Life was full of moments of beauty and beautiful things (like butterflies or no red lights or a paycheck). I started most every day cheerful and looking forward to the miracles that were all around me.
By nightfall, I was a screaming banshee.
Me: “You are so stupid. You are a loser! How can you be so damn stubborn? Why do we argue about the same shit every single day! We yelled about this yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. And the day before. If you didn’t change my mind to think ass-stupid like you yesterday, why do you think it will suddenly happen today? FUCK YOU, you piece of shit.”
Of course, we were actually arguing about who used the last pat of butter or how come I was hungry after work. Why is there oxygen in the atmosphere? Why do objects fall down instead of up?
Most of the time, I thought we were discussing some reasonable topic, like were we going to carpool in the morning or not; but soon enough, we were screaming and name-calling and I was certain that we were having two separate conversations. Whatever he was talking about was not what I was talking about; and vice-versa. And I couldn’t follow his train of thought. I was trying to discuss, but it was impossible.
Now, after much research, I understand that a narcissist is tenacious, more tenacious than me. He would wait and pre-plan the evening’s assault because he wanted to brainwash me. Every evening was going to degenerate into a name-calling tantrumfest until I admitted that Driftwood was a more evolved, superior human being – and THE MAN in the house – but more importantly, Driftwood wanted me to call “uncle”. He wanted me to submit to his superior self specifically by proclaiming my own insufficiencies… and I wouldn’t do it. His IQ was probably a little higher than mine, but I did not believe that made him a better human being. Fucking narcissists. “Oh the world would be such a better place if everyone would just let me take my rightful place as Ruler and Decision-Maker”. I always thought Driftwood was just being a chauvinist pig. At the time, I thought he wanted me to be the docile and submissive wife to his caveman shpiel because he was a Neanderthal. I used to tease him that he was “raised by wolves”. ROFL. I didn’t realize that it was classic Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
Throughout our marriage, I said to him, “If you wanted a docile, church-going wife who would never speak up, never contradict you, and obey your every regal proclamation; then why did you marry me? You know I am not that woman and I am never going to be, either.”
But here’s the thing… Driftwood wanted to break me. He wanted to break me the same way a cowboy domesticates a wild mustang.
Driftwood was so insecure. Inside, his inner child must have been telling him what a loser he was and how he would never amount to anything. And then I went and said it out loud. I hate him so much because of all the abuse he put me through; and yet, I am still ashamed of the way we argued. I should never have called him “a loser”. That’s the difference between the narcissist and myself: I would never say that “he made me do it”. I would never say that it was his fault that I behaved like a mean person. I still don’t blame him because I joined him in the screaming name-calling. I did it. Me.
… and I am ashamed.
“My Court Anxiety Triggers Memories of My Domestic Abuse.” is copyright © 2014 by 18mitzvot. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
You must log in to post a comment.