Life

So I left…part I

I came back, of course, because my daughter is my life and I’ll never be without her.

But I left. For two days. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Hands down. Incredibly painful. Cried (like, ugly crying) for hours on end. Could barely hold it together at work.

Today is Thursday. On Sunday, May 7th, I woke up sexually frustrated and angry. I asked Husband out to breakfast with the kiddo and we went. He was making googly eyes at me (he says he likes to look at me and admire me, but doesn’t ever really verbally compliment me so it just gets annoying). Because I was so crabby, I just kind of ignored him and focused on our daughter. I was getting tired of the mind games. When I’m mad, he’s nice. When I’m nice, he’s avoidant / distant / mean. I’ve realized that when I have kink as an outlet, I can channel my frustrations through that. Now that Daddy is gone, I’m back to square one.

We’re sitting at the table, waiting to pack up and he spills my cup of coffee. He immediately blames me, angry scolding me in public. To avoid being publicly embarrassed (again, because he does this so often I’m afraid to make a mistake in public with him), I grab daughter and go up to the counter to pay. I can feel him shooting angry daggers at me but I ignore him. Finally, he comes up next to me to wait for us to finish paying. I can feel his anger radiating off of him. I continue to ignore it and we leave. About halfway home, I realize something.

“Did you grab our leftovers?”

“FUCK!” he shouts, hitting the steering wheel and glaring at me. I turn my head and stare out of the window. I realized I was sick of him blaming me for things I had no control over. And his response to something as simple as spilling a cup of coffee was not healthy.

We pull up and I let them out. I’ve decided to go get my nails done, always a treat. He storms inside with our daughter and I drive away, spending an hour in bliss at the salon. When I get back, he’s still not talking to me. “I don’t care if you’re pissed off, Husband,” I say. “I refuse to feel bad about anything.”

He glares at me and then leaves, taking our daughter on a walk. I’m shaking. What is wrong with me? Why is this affecting me? He’s been like this for years- the public berating, the dying bedroom. Why is it bothering me today?

While they are out, I clean up and begin making a grocery list. We go to the grocery store, and frantically try to get all of the groceries before the store closes. At one point, I get frustrated because Husband is starting to drag his feet and complain. “You bitch about me not helping out more, but this is a good example!” I snap. “I have to plan meals, do the shopping, cook it and then clean it up!”

He admits that I’m right and attempts to help. We get everything through the checkout line and head to the car. Because the store is closing, an employee is pulling the last few remaining carts in.

I start to help unload the cart, but Husband is blocking the trunk so I just stand back. He finishes and grabs daughter to put her in the car (it’s too low for me to do without hurting my back). “Should I push the cart back up?” I muse out loud, nervous for some reason.

“No!” Husband growls. “Just get in–”

“Hey, I can push it back up,” a kind gentleman parked next to us says.

I smile and hand him the cart. “Thank you.”

“Get. In. The. Car.” Husband grits out.

I obey and wait for him to get in. He turns to me. “Next time, just get in the fucking car.”

I sigh. “I’m not going to even bother to respond to that because it’s so stupid.”

He tries to get a response out of me and I just ignore him.

Something is happening with me and I can’t put a finger on it.

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