I’ve been in a bit of a fog since I read my journal from 2012, the last full year we lived in London, which hopefully will go down in history as the worst year of my life. I came across a section that I remember vividly. I don’t always explain my feelings to my satisfaction, but in this case I feel I did okay.
It’s a good reminder that he didn’t love me. He didn’t give me the affection he claims to have given me. He didn’t know how to be a good father and husband at the same time. I always had to take last place. Always. Even when I tried to explain to him that we could show the girls what a good relationship is, if he would only try. He didn’t want to try.
I just didn’t matter when the girls (his daughters) were around.
From my journal:
What I guess I don’t get is how can he leave his girls for a year at a time, yet be so devoted to them when he is here? Does that make sense?
But last night I think I hit a new low, even for me. I can hardly explain it and will only attempt to do so here because as of now, this journal or whatever it is is not being viewed by anyone so there is no one to judge me.
The other day I bought the boxed set of all eight Harry Potter films. The girls were over and we watched one on Friday night and were watching the second one last night.
Only a quarter way through it B began complaining loudly again about her eczema, which is really bad. She was scratching all over her body and saying how hot she was. K gave her a wet wash cloth and I gave her some Nivea cream. She was really distressed and I can’t blame her because I suffer from it on a lesser scale and it is really annoying.
So she cuddles up with K just on the other side of the couch from me and he begins to stroke her legs really slowly and softly, and whispering in her ear.
She gets very babylike at times like this.
Then I hear him kissing her head. Over and over and over.
And I just couldn’t take it.
And it’s not what you think. It’s not that I feel he was behaving inappropriately. He wasn’t.
It was just more than I could take as a woman who is ignored.
As a woman who gets virtually no affection from this man.
This man who calls me every name in the book.
And I realize that his abuse has had a very long lasting and deep effect on me. I am a broken, sad woman.
It’s made even more pathetic by the fact that I don’t return to the family who loves me simply because I don’t know how to be alone, or don’t want to face my financial problems and humiliation.
So I stood up and went to bed because I could not take all this affection being handed out so lovingly when I am treated most of the time as a vile, selfish, inconsequential creature.
He came into the bedroom and asked what was wrong and told me I was rude. I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I was not rude. “You are all engaged in a movie. I don’t need to interrupt to say goodnight.”
He said, “Well I feel as though I have done something wrong.”
I said, “You haven’t”
And he left me alone.
I know I can never bring up how I felt last night because he will only see the seedy side of it and he will accuse me of being jealous as he often does lately.
I would not call me jealous. I would call me envious of the affection he gives so generously to his daughters and withholds from me. I have told him on several occasions that fucking is not affection. He told me that it is affection for him because he cannot fuck someone if he doesn’t love them. I think that’s b.s.
What I would give to have him say, “Let’s arrange a date. Let’s go have a romantic evening alone.”
I think this is a Middle Eastern male thing. The woman is just not very important. She is just the breeding machine. After she produces, she walks in back of everyone else.
He would never admit to anything like that — he considers himself fully Westernized. He’s probably not aware that that is exactly how he’s behaving.
But, and I am totally serious now, I am convinced I suffer from PTSD when it comes to his abuse of me. I have flashes of him calling me horrific names and the expression on his face of pure hatred. In my old life I never would put up with that. But I am pathetic now.
Back to present day.
I’ll say it right here: I’m glad we’re apart. I am still suffering from withdrawals or whatever you want to label it, but I am glad we’re apart. Yes, there’s a part of me who feels somewhere inside my husband is a man who wants to be good and kind and generous, but he can’t get out and will never get out. He can blame me for it, but he failed at life before me and he will probably fail at it again after me.
I recall that night so well. How do you not feel resentful in a situation like that? You’d have to be superhuman. And the other daughter was not as demanding as the older daughter, so she didn’t get that level of affection either.
It was too much.
That part about him not being able to fuck someone unless he is in love was a bit hard to read as well. Now I know that he who doth protest too much is probably lying.
And not to get too graphic here, but our sex life in the last couple of years began to be degrading, cruel, and even abusive. There was more than one night where I simply felt I had been raped. It felt clear to me that he was taking anger out on me in bed. So I can handle no sex at all if that is the only sort of sex to be had.
I cannot wait for the case to be over, money or not, so that he can fuck off and leave my town.