If I have to pick my clothes up...why do I need a wife?
Many comments like this have come to mind. I vaguely remember these comments and what I thought when I heard them. I was sad that he thought the only value of a wife...of me, was to save him doing 'women's work.'
I've been reading 'Trauma Release Exercises' and just reading the theory behind it has allowed me to ditch so much angst. Loving it!
When I got home tonight he just started in like we were all chummy chummy. "Good week? No hug hello? Come on upstairs and sleep...with me. No? Kiss goodnight pretty lady?!" To be honest I just stared at him in disbelief. Trying to reset reality. Its like sandpaper, like a lathe, like a plane set to deep; trying to ware me down. I think to turn back from here...would take some serious drugs, like permanently mind altering, amnesiac, Stepford inducing drugs.
Of course he won't give up easily, I've been making allowances, ignoring, and buying whatever crap he comes up with for more than 20 years! He figures that deep inside somewhere, part of me wants to go back to the old Strepford wifie me. I stopped drinking the KoolAid and I'm clean and recovering.
I long for a clean break, him going his way and I mine.
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