Dismantling the Facade

A friend just asked me an interesting question. She wondered how long it would be before some of Todd's friends start noticing that he isn't even making an effort. Is his public persona so polished that they won't even realize?

That got me to thinking about Todd's friendships. I don't know how deep any of them are. He has his band mates, and they have begun to hang out more since the accident, but I don't know that any of them have been exposed to the full spectrum of Todd. After the accident, people he used to play music with a long time ago, but never kept in touch with thereafter, started coming out of the woodwork. The draw to the needy can really give a person a sense of validation and worth, and of course this victim status suits Todd well because he always did want the world to revolve around him.

But when I thought about reciprocity, I couldn't think of any friend I had ever witnessed Todd going out of his way to be generous toward. There were far more memories of him dodging phone calls when he thought someone might want him to help with something (even if it was a person who had helped him repeatedly.) 

I thought about all of those people Todd had played music with in years gone by, and couldn't help but realize that the reason many of them saw Todd as being a "generous man" was because of the family image he held up--we were his excuse for not helping others... after all, he did so much for his family! 

How much of that image was a result of my efforts and simply allowing him to share credit for something he put relatively little work into building? How many times did I work myself to the point of exhaustion, and then let him come in at the fun point and take the glory? Much of the time, I didn't mind, because I was still deluded by the idea that we were a team.... but now, as I have heard him presenting all the parenting failures in the family as being totally mine, I realize what a monster my unwitting enabling created... the sort of monster who squats in a house that he refuses to share with his unworthy family. He is entitled to the comforts of home. We are not.

Will his friends eventually see that he is not making an effort? I don't know. If the past is any indication, any who start to see through his act will promptly be discarded as "crazy." If it weren't so sick and so sad, one could almost be entertained by the delusional games. 

I'm not a trained professional, so I can't verify a diagnosis of Bi-Polar and/or Narcissistic Personality Disorder (even though when I read about them, I do feel as if the authors have been spying on our interactions...) One thing is for sure, Todd truly is a case study in something. Whether any of his friends will ever be around long enough to see through the veil of faux reality, I don't know... but it will be interesting to see how he is able to keep up his generous image while blocking his family out of our home. I guess the only way will be to paint me as a liar. The thing is: If I had a part in constructing that veil, then the dismantling of my part of it should expose the unreality of the very thing that he has been using as his identity.

He may not realize how dependent he is on me to hold up his image. In pushing the limits with me and forcing me to more drastic action than I may have had to otherwise jump to, he may be dismantling his own facade. I was willing to let him move out quietly and separate under the no-fault banner of irreconcilable differences, but it looks like he is going to force me to file a restraining order.

Marital Failure and Self Worth

I'm struggling today.  With all the things I'm responsible for, it is difficult being away from my home.  Don't get me wrong -- it's nice being away from Todd and not having to walk on eggshells, but the displacement is still wearing on me.  When my daughter told me Todd had sent her an apology, I realized that he could make steps that would prompt others to say that we should move back in with him.  It doesn't take much to convince some people.  What would it take to convince me?

Am I a bad person to have given up hope for Todd to ever become the sort of person I would want to live with?  Maybe I'm not all that great to live with, either.  It's weird.  Even though I feel such resolve to stand firm and not allow myself to be sucked back into that codependent lifestyle, I still feel badly.  Maybe it's that annoying image that I said was so important to Todd.  How important is it to me?

I've started to understand why some women return -- like dogs to their vomit -- to verbally or emotionally abusive men.  This process is hard.  It gets exhausting.  The reminders of failure weigh heavily, and even though I know Todd has been wrong in how he has treated me, I still doubt my worth in regard to anything better.  Could I possibly give in to the pressure to "make things work" no matter the cost?  It would be death, I'm sure of it. 

I'm trying to be fair to Todd.  I don't want to be self-righteous and smug, like I'm some sort of a dream to live with -- like our problems are all one sided.  I got to thinking... just because I feel abused doesn't mean Todd is an abuser who would abuse just anyone.  Realistically, I know he gets frustrated with things that are uniquely me.  I've tried to change those things, but my efforts never seem to be good enough.  Todd could have married someone who wouldn't have annoyed him so much, and maybe he would have been nicer to her.  

I've been doing inventory and asking myself a lot of questions.  How much of our problem is due to my own shortcomings?  I hate that "blame game" Todd is so insistent on playing, and yet... am I solely blaming Todd for our failed marriage?

"Irreconcilable Differences" seems to be a kinder and gentler term than "Emotional Abuse."  

In the midst of writing this, I finally receive a text from Todd.  "I hope all is going well with you there today."  That's supposed to fix everything, isn't it?  He cares.  Why do I doubt?  But then I stumble upon a quote from that Dangerous Man book:

"...many women who learn what pathology is seem to believe that they and their man are exceptions to the rule.  This belief is manifest in their attempts to change the dangerous man or some aspect of him.  They choose not to accept years of psychological research....  Since the pathological man will never change, the next step the woman takes is to try to change herself to make the pathological relationship easier to cope with.  Disaster can be the only outcome when a woman tries to conform to a pathological and abnormal relationship." p. 18, Sandra L. Brown, M.A., How to Spot a Dangerous Man Before You Get Involved

I want to answer his message: "All is going well--except for the fact that the children and I are displaced from our home and trying to function in work and school as best we can given the circumstances.  It is worth the inconvenience, however, not to be walking on eggshells to avoid provoking an angry outburst."  Another reply could include something about how nice things must be in his house, now that we're not there to frustrate him.  But I know I have to be smart and strategic.  Perhaps I should give this more thought before responding.  It did, after all, take him over a week to come up with that one line.  

I'm tired.    

Dirty Laundry

I mentioned in a response a few days ago that I was going to blog about an ugly altercation Todd and I had. At first, it was too raw. When I get shook up emotionally, it’s hard to function. That’s how this was-- the worst in a long time. It was familiar ground. I guess it just goes to show that just because something is repeated doesn’t make it any easier. I’m coming to think that if there were an illustration in a dictionary of phrases for the term “irreconcilable differences,” that illustration would be a picture of Todd and me.

When one looks at the little things that can “set us off” in isolation, it’s easy to label our differences petty. Oh, is that all?

This was a laundry room quarrel. I’ve heard newly weds bump heads over “little” things like him leaving the toilet seat up or her putting a “weird” spice in the quiche, but usually those things get worked out over time and are looked back on as silly. Compromises have to be reached in order for people to live together well, and these things are wonderful opportunities to show concession and respect. Some pet peeves are nothing more than miniature cases of OCD, but others are indicative of deeper problems. Tell me if you think I’m being petty here...

We have our laundry in the garage. Right next to the drier is a freezer (the chest type). It’s the perfect height and location for folding the laundry as it comes out of the drier. The freezer is heavy and difficult to move, but how often does one have to move a deep freeze?

Todd and I don’t mix our laundry because I like fabric softener and he doesn’t, so he does his and I do mine. That’s really not a problem, because it means we each get it done the way we like it. I do the household loads (towels, sheets, etc.) and the younger kids’ clothes, and the older kids do their own. That means the laundry area is shared by at least five different people, which I think is good practice in getting along and being considerate.

I’d venture to guess that anyone who has ever shared a laundry room in a dorm or apartment building has dealt with the people who leave their stuff in the machines too long so it has to be moved for the next load. I remember observing at college how different people reacted to such inconvenience. Some would get mad and intentionally wad the clothes that were in the way, others would carelessly wrinkle them, and yet others would take the extra effort to lay the clothes out in a manner that would prevent wrinkles. Laundry room inconveniences, it seems, offered golden opportunities to exercise the golden rule.

When I choose to spend the extra minute or so to treat the laundry of another as I would like mine to be treated, I don’t feel like I’m great, kind, noble or anything like that--I just think I’m doing a decent thing--something that I think should be expected of me as a person who believes that people have value.

Todd has a habit of taking other family members' laundry out of the drier and leaving it on top of the freezer, only to go out to the freezer later and open the lid without moving the laundry, causing some to get trapped behind the freezer. I have repeatedly expressed how much this bugs me as it means clothes get lost, wadded, and dusty, and have to be re-washed (wasting both time and money.) When Todd leaves his laundry in the machines (which he does all the time--much more frequently than I do), I smooth out his shirts and fold his pants and carry the neat stack into our room and set it on the bed. It really doesn’t take that much more time than it would have to have thrown it on the freezer and left it there. I’ve told Todd that I really don’t care if he folds the clothes as long as he brings them into the house when he comes back in. He could just toss them on the couch for the kids to deal with.

Our daughter was getting ready for a dance recital the other day, and she couldn't find the clothes she had left in the drier (her costume). We thought her sister had brought it in the house, but she couldn't find it anywhere.

Todd suggested that maybe it had fallen behind the freezer.

I asked how that could happen. He said, "When you open the lid, it just slides back there."

"Who would open the lid with laundry piled on it?" I asked (knowing full well the only one in the family who does that).

"I did several times today," he answered.

Our daughter was running late, others were depending on her to be at the theatre on time and in costume. I ran out to the garage and checked behind the freezer. There were a few missing socks and wash clothes and things like that, but no costume.

When I rushed back into the house, I didn’t tell him the costume wasn’t there--what did he care anyway?

“I just don’t understand why a pile of laundry would be left on top of the freezer in the fist place.”

“Maybe I didn’t have time to deal with it,” he objected.

“But if a person is coming back in the house anyway. How much longer does it take to throw some laundry on the couch?”

“Well, maybe my hands were dirty!”

“Your hands dirty? When you were just putting your own clean laundry into the drier?”

He came up with one excuse after another. What it boiled down to was “I’m busy,” and “My time is too valuable for that.” I can’t even remember all the excuses, but they were so ridiculous I finally said, “Do you hear yourself? Do you even hear yourself?” I said it, firmly but calmly, without judgment but rather as if pleading for an answer, an answer that was not to be had.

“Do you hear yourself?” he mocked back at me. What, I thought, did we just time warp back to junior high?

When I mentioned that I didn’t always “have the time” to smooth out his shirts, but I did it because it’s the decent thing to do, he retorted in the most sarcastic, and even venomous, tone I’d heard in a long time: “Well, aren’t you wonderful? I guess I’m just not as wonderful as you are.”

I can’t remember all he said after that, but he kept drilling it in like a knife, without mercy.

The emotional torture has never felt so much like a physical beating. I wasn’t going to be the doormat, though... I was thinking about what some of you have been telling me: Call it out. Let him know when his behavior is not acceptable. Make sure he knows so he has the opportunity to make a right choice.

He insisted that he didn’t have time for such things, to which I replied with something about how if he didn’t have time for such simple consideration then maybe he didn’t have time to live with other people at all. That really set him off, but I don’t regret saying it.

I could have said, “I can’t talk to you,” as he has said so often, but I knew that never went anywhere--that did nothing but encourage him to go on a faux pity party (I call it faux because if he really believed the self depreciating things he would say at such times, he would do something to change, but rather his words dripped with sarcastic mockery that really said, “You’re wrong. My time is worth more than yours. My opinion is worth more than yours.”) All he could utter was justification for him protecting his time from inconvenience.

“I’m sorry that the children and I are such an inconvenience,” I said.

Did he answer with, “No, you’re not an inconvenience, Sweetheart. I love you”? Of course not. Instead he just repeated my words in a mocking tone.

I walked away. I just walked away pondering the words, irreconcilable differences. My chest hurt. Hours later, when we were in the car together, going to our daughter’s show (and I was only going with him because I had already ordered the tickets--otherwise I would have made an excuse to go to a different showing than him), my chest still hurt. This is going to kill me, I thought. This is really going to kill me. And he acted like nothing was wrong in the world--like his venomous words had just evaporated into thin air instead of drilling deep into my chest.

Studies have shown that men who are married live longer than their unmarried peers, while the opposite is true of women who are married. If other marriages are like ours, that makes sense.

Kate Middleton married her prince last week. I’m not a huge Royal Wedding fanatic, but I do hope that it will work out better for them than it did for Princess Di and Prince Charles. I know that fairytales are not true--that we have to work for our happy endings... There comes a point, however, when one has to acknowledge that the work is getting them nowhere. I’m thinking when every argument is a déjà vu, it’s time to stop the cycle and deal with the laundry.