Today is Wednesday and if it weren’t for being busy at work
with so many nice people, I’d probably be crying in the corner somewhere. It’s
hard to concentrate or give a shit about my work, but I’m 55 and have learned
to fake it like a pro. I’m a great phony smiler and laugher, and I’m experienced
at passing people in the hall with a hearty, “Hey, how ya doin’?” But inside, I’m
destroyed. I’m trying to be strong and put it all in perspective, but I can’t
seem to do it today.
It would help if my husband would apologize for being so
insensitive and stupid.
It goes back to 2 p.m. yesterday, when I called at our
scheduled time and my daughter once again ignored me. The last thing I said to
her was to be mindful of the time zone, since I didn’t know where she’d
be if she was going to be traveling back home. She said she automatically wakes
up at 9; otherwise, she doesn’t prepare herself for our calls. She knows I’ll
call on the dot. Even though that didn’t make sense, we had been texting awhile,
so I thought we were OK. I said, “Well, it’s not like I’m giving you homework.
No preparation needed except ‘hello?’” We had a few more pleasant exchanges
and she said she’d fill me in during our call.
I called right on the nose, as expected, and it rang 10
times before going to voicemail. I couldn’t help it; I felt my heart physically
sink. I realized I was taken again, my hopes were raised a few inches, and she
got what she wanted. Pretty much, it was money.
I had to consider what I’ve done again. I’ve allowed myself
to be hurt, disrespected, and duped. I keep thinking I’m smart and enter any
interactions with my daughter with my eyes wide open, but I get sucker punched
every.single.time.
Whenever these things happen to me, I suffer, mostly in
silence. I hate drawing people into this because it’s got to be boring already.
It’s painful and exhausting for me, so I try to go about my day. I finished the
day, having texted my husband, my sister, and my other daughter, “joking” on
the level that “oops, I did it again.”
I’ve discussed this with my husband many times so he can
understand—how I feel abandoned, dismayed, disconnected, embarrassed,
disrupted, like a failure, stupid, worried that she was dead or had overdosed .
. . and very sad. So sad. I guess he didn’t take into consideration how I might
feel when he did what he always does: he took phone call after phone call from his
daughter, his son, his nephew, his mother, and then his daughter and son a few more
times, while I fucking sat there. He took phone calls while we ran a couple of
errands, he took phone calls in the car, in the stores (yes, plural), during
dinner, during dessert, during watching TV, in the bathroom, and at bedtime.
I
was alone, so I just climbed into bed and read my book. He finally came to bed
and laughed, “Haha, the first thing [his daughter] said was ‘tell [me] I’m
sorry, but I had to tell you this.” It wasn’t quick--he stayed on the phone for
a good half hour. I didn’t say anything, but it didn’t mean I was OK with it. Then
he walked out of the room and I called, “Where are you?” and he didn’t answer.
He came back in and suddenly asked, “What’s the matter? Wanna talk about it?”
Before I knew it, he was picking on me and leaving for the couch. I said he
could sleep in the bed; I would go into my office. It escalated pretty quickly
to me yelling out of pure frustration. He was instigating a fight for no reason
and pushing all my buttons, being so fucking insensitive that I couldn’t even
look at him. I sequestered myself in our room, finished the last 100 pages of
my book, and finally fell asleep. I half expected him to come in and apologize
for upsetting me on an upsetting day, but he didn’t bother.
When I woke up this morning, he had prepped my breakfast,
but fully acted like nothing had happened. That’s even more exasperating. I
didn’t have time to argue any further, so I thanked him, ate, dressed, and
left. He owes me an apology, some respect, and some compassion. I realize he’s
better at doing acts of kindness than admitting fault, but I’ve seen him
apologize to his sister, his mother, his daughter, his son when they don’t even
deserve it . . . but never me. I get his tantrums.
I’m so depressed today, my hip is aching, and I’m on day
five of a low-grade migraine. I have to go home in an hour and a half, and I
don’t want to deal with my real life. I haven’t heard from my daughter, not
surprised, and the chasm in my heart and soul grows wider and my husband is
pushing against both sides. If it wasn’t for a perky phone call from my older
daughter, I would be dead inside.
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