I Wonder?

I do not know what was so different about that fight, but it was. It was over really stupid **** again. Was the bathroom purple or blue? Did we need separate paint for each room, since in theory they were all technically the same color? Is this spackling paste better than that spackling paste? But after three days and about as many words, I realized that I had two options: suck it up and shut up or get out? ****!

Nine years! Nine years! Here I was looking at leaving after nine years. What? Why? How? We had built a life together or a least, an existence. We had gotten married – twice to be truthful. We had bought a house – a labor of love – my love and our money pit. We had adopted more animals than God created…3 Dogs and 2 Cats. Yet, here I was weighing my options, the alternatives, the “what ifs”. Was this really all my life was? Was this the future I had seen growing up? Was this what dreams were made of? Really?

In those three days of silence, of avoidance, my heart had changed. It had ached with pain and hurt. It had swelled with anger and frustration. It had grown cold and indifferent. Moreover, it had made me finally acknowledge the emptiness I felt. That emptiness that I could no longer suppress, ignore, deny. I was more alone with him than I had been when I had been alone. Wow! That sucks.

He really was not a bad guy. He is responsible. He pays his bills, pays his taxes, and saves for a rainy day (75K and growing). He is successful. He is intelligent, good-looking, and charismatic. We even share a lot of the same interest – good food (as long as it is not Mexican – I love, he does not), modern art, shopping, fine wines. We have similar goals, desires, and dreams.

The problem is that he is a stealth narcissist (lots of online research led me to this conclusion). He feels none of my emotions. He senses none of my feelings. He can not understand empathy and compassion. He can not comprehend how his actions have a direct affect on me...good; bad; indifferent (He calls this projecting and not taking responsibility for me). He presents a solid, perfect picture to the general public, but behind closed doors….Jekyll and Hyde. He spins little jabs, which he thinks is cute and loving…unless they are directed at him. He controls or second guesses my every move – from taking out the garbage, to doing the laundry (we each do our own laundry because I can not be trusted to do his), to cleaning the house, which he claims is merely interest and involvement. Do not even get me started on anything to do with the yard – weeds are only weeds apparently if he pulls it. My life, my friends, my work and I suppose even my family are a burden to his time, his happiness, his existence.

In nine years, he has never initiated an apology (I, of course, was the one who was wrong, started the fight, etc). Actually, I really can not even remember an apology of any kind in nine years. In nine years, it has never been about my feelings, my needs, my wants. I initiated sex (the only time love came into the picture was when we were drunk or, at least, drinking). I kiss him (OK, he does kiss me hello when he gets home or went he is leaving). I hug him. I touch him…at the movies, in the car, on the couch.

Hell, I have recently caught myself getting envious of the dogs. He nurtures them, cares for them, and worries for them. He pets them and cuddles them. He talks cutesy to them. Me? Not so much?

He says he loves me. I wonder? If I died today, would he even be missing me by tomorrow morning? I am sure the funeral would be too expensive. The timing would be inconvenient. I would lay odds that he would have my stuff on the curb by trash day and my closet would quickly be his overflow space for his winter wardrobe. This should not surprise me. Why I did not acknowledge this earlier, I can not comprehend or understand. My mother saw instantly, but I blew it off.

My first sign should have been when I moved in with him. I got 2 draws and I shared the 2nd bedroom storage closet…he got the Master closet and 4 drawers. I got the street and he got the two parking spaces. My stuff went into long term storage or was sold, while he kept an entire house. He had an office…I had a shoe box. He was the owner, the king. I was the maid, the cook, the handy man, the chauffeur. Damn!

I can not even really blame this on being young and naïve (I was 35 years old when we started dating). Nope, I am going to have to acknowledge I was desperate to be loved, needed and wanted and that left me insecure and allowed me to be treated as a second class citizen. Wow, how glad am I that we kept separate checking accounts and credit cards?

And yet, I question leaving. The question really is am I in love with him? And if not, can I be again? Okay, I can attest to loving him (you do not spend this amount time with someone and not feel some degree of love), but I can not say the same about being in love with him. The words hold no meaning when I say them. The kisses hold no passion when we exchange them. There is no electricity when I touch him. So much has transpired, so much hurt has been inflicted, so many things have been said, while even more things have remained unsaid…the lies I have told myself and the excuses I have concocted no longer appease my anger, my disappointment, my emptiness.

I yearn to feel important, cared about, loved. Can he be that person? Would he want to be that person? Could he ever really hold me or comfort me? I wonder?
OnTheOutsideLookingIn OnTheOutsideLookingIn
41-45, M
Jul 22, 2010