(All names are changed)
December
14, 2009
I saw Jerry posted a picture on Facebook of our house in the
newly fallen snow. His post read, “I love winter.” I laughed out loud when I
saw it. I’m sure he posted that photo of our house so she could see it. This is so junior high.
It’s actually funny. I’ve lived with the man for over thirty
years and he has never loved winter or Christmas. He is always moody and
depressed, angry and aggressive during the holidays. It has been hard to
celebrate because I love the holidays so much and he ruins them with a temper
tantrum or other outburst. It blindsides me. I have always said I wish I could
take January first off the calendar. The holidays are wrecked for sure by that
date.
He’s been diagnosed with SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, among
the myriad of other diagnoses he’s chalked up over the years: ADHD, OCD, ODD,
hypomania (a form of Bi-polar). Every time we go for counseling he gets new initials.
The SAD makes him unbearable from about Labor Day to the
beginning of May. I never have happy birthdays because it’s during the winter. Just
one year I’d like to have a peaceful birthday. I don’t even want to write about
it. There are too many brokenhearted birthdays to remember.
Because of his issues, I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder and situational depression. When he gets in his moods, it sets off my
PTSD and I can’t stop thinking about his mistreatment of me. It’s like a
scratch on a record that keeps playing over and over—and over.
December
15, 2009
I’m still lurking on his Facebook. I saw Jerry posted the
pictures of him on his new motorcycle. I took the pictures! How could I not see that coming?
It’s so cliché. Middle-aged man on a
motorcycle. The Triple M.
He had me take the photos from all angles. He told me to
hurry up and email them to him. Now I know why he was so anxious about it. I’m
sure he’s told her all about his
motorcycle and how he’d love to take her for a ride. Personally, I will never
get on a motorcycle with him. I went for a whole year once of never getting in a car with him driving. She
doesn’t know about his road rage.
Of course, he had to spend a fortune to get all decked out
so he could ride the cycle in the cold. He said it would save on gas if he rode
his motorcycle to work. He got battery-operated gloves for warmth and leather
breeches that cover his legs and an expensive helmet and expensive all kinds of
things. We would have saved a lot more if he didn’t get his motorcycle, I
think.
I don’t understand how Jerry can afford to buy all these
accessories—a box comes every day in the mail—all while telling me not to go
over $75.00 a week for groceries.
He actually made me take food back to the grocery store
while I still had two kids living here. I was so embarrassed. Humiliated. He
didn’t flinch. I was happy I had kept it under $100.00 for four people, but
that wasn’t good enough. I told him
to take it back but he yelled at me and gave me those threatening looks and
made me go.
I asked the lady at customer service, “Does anybody else
ever bring back food because their husbands say they spent too much?” She just looked away from me and didn’t say a
word. Not a word. I gathered not. I just stood there, mortified.
I will never do that again. Why do I let him verbally beat
me up like that?
How could I not know he would send those pictures to her? I'm so naive! So in denial! So damaged . . .
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