No Doubt About It

My husband is an idiot.

He works 100 miles away so I don't see him during the week, so when he does come home, the contrast between the person I think / wish he was is dramatically shown when he's here.

Honestly, other than a smokin' hot body (which he's let go), I'm not sure what I ever saw in him.

I'll elaborate on this more after the holidays.

But I must remember this: It's never, never, never going to work, and I'm never, ever going to be happy with him.

Guilt and pity are not the basis for a marriage. And that's all I've got.

I've Made a Decision

A really, really, really, really hard one. One I've been thinking about for, well, years, but was to afraid to act on.

I'm leaving my husband.

Oh not today, not next month, but soon. I have no reliable income at the moment, and my husband's "new" (again) job provides us with health insurance (for the first time in six years), and
I don't want to end up living in my car with no health insurance. I can be wise about this.

I'm not going to tell him about this until I'm ready. No way. There's no telling how he'll react or what he'll do.

I came to this decision after reading an article in O the Oprah Magazine while soaking in the tub. I usually don't read the articles, but just look at the pictures. It's a guilty pleasure. Times I have read it in the past, it has felt very holier-than-thou, one-size fits-all-ish. The makeup tips are ridiculous, the clothing I could never afford, even with a permanent job, and the interviews with celebrities are just...patronizing and dull. But there is a lot of pretty and shiny and Oprah does advocate for those of shall we say, fluffier proportions, as well as other hot topics like mental illness and other challenges. And the book section usually has some really fabulous recommendations that I might not otherwise see anywhere.

So one of the columnists, she's one of those "life coaches," Martha Beck, had a column about getting rid of things that don't make you happy whether it's a hobby, a job, or a relationship: Just get rid of it.
"Ha!" I thought to myself. "If only it were that easy."

But it is. It really is. I thought about all the things in my marriage that aren't working. I'll list them here for clarity:

We do not have similar likes or beliefs in any of the following:

• food
• liquor
• TV
• Movies
• music
• religion or "G*d" issues
• money
• Books

We have five things in common:

• politics (Progressive)
• eating crap (fast food, buffets, dessert, candy)
• cold(er) weather
• travel
  

That's not a lot to base a marriage on. A friendship, perhaps, but not a marriage. We used to have sex in common, but we both seem to have lost interest in that as well. I don't remember the last time we had sex, but I would say around Halloween, if I had to guess, and it would be a guess.

He also:

• Does not clean anything, ever. He has his own bathroom. I don't think it's been cleaned in a year. It's so disgustingly dirty that I've noticed he's started using either my bathroom (until I called him out on it) or the downstairs bathroom, although he still uses his bathroom to shower.
• Takes me for granted.
  
• Does not cook. I taught him how to roast chicken and potatoes. Fortunately, he could eat it every day. I used to spend a lot of time cooking dinners that he would tell me were, "huh? Fine." No longer.
• Only ever given me one Christmas gift, and that was the first year we were together when he put me on his cell phone plan and I got a new cell phone. No birthday gifts, ever. Although I always get taken to dinner and sometimes get a card.
  
• He perseverates. Fixates on an idea or a thing until he's fully knowledgeable about it, and then he lectures to me about that thing, thinking we're "having a conversation." When we talk about the same thing over and over again, and I don't respond or pay attention? We're not having a conversation. Right now it's his job. He's bored me with so many of the details and daily minutae, that I no longer want to hear anything about it.
• I quit doing his laundry, so if he wants clean clothes, he's got to do it himself.
  

Last weekend he made a joke (not) about me being ugly. His response to my complaint "oh, honey, I've never thought you were ugly," seems to imply "although you are now." Doesn't it?

It's just...it's just not working.

The thing that has been holding me back is...that if I leave him, I'll once again be on my own, no backup, no one to "save me." Oh it's not him doing the saving; it's his parents. They have a few bucks put away, and they bail their two over-forty kids out--including now me and his brothers' girlfriend--whenever we fall. Hell, they just gave him a very nice mini-van. Just...gave it to him. He didn't even need one. Surprise!

So there's that. I also spend holidays with them, which I may now have to spend alone...? Or make more friends? I don't know.

I just know...it's over. Finally. In my heart and my mind, I'm done. I'm ready to walk away. And what a giant relief and sense of joy I am feeling. That only punctuates the sense of rightness to this decision.

I wish I knew someone who would rent me a room until I get on my feet....I have a job, it just doesn't pay steady; it pays by the project. I'm owed about $5,000 right now. Will I see it all at once? No. Too bad.

I'm going to start trimming back on my belongings. I've become very materialistic, using shopping like I used overeating (and now I'm back to overeating because I can't afford shopping). I have too much stuff. I have stuff I don't need. And it's all going. Out, out dreaded spot!!

LOLOL

I've already started. I'm getting rid of everything I haven't used in a year. Done. Over. Goodbye.

Fighting It

I am severely depressed. I know this. But I am fighting it. I don't want to be depressed. I don't want to sleep all day, stay up all night, take a nap, sleep some more, eat some crap, then go back to bed.

Most days I manage to succeed--although the sleeping is still a problem, obviously. I mean, I'm typing this at 2:30am--even if I get up late, I still manage to pull myself together and act as if, go through the motions, of being a regular, normal person.

Today wasn't one of those days. I have been suffering from increasing anxiety. Today and one other day, it was paralyzing. It's really not just anxiety, but overwhelming fear. I become afraid of leaving the house, the room, or just getting out of a chair. Today was awful.There was much sleeping and avoidance behaviors involved. Avoiding things that made me scared. I believe part of this stems from my anti-anxiety medication going unfilled due to a snafu between my doctor's office and the pharmacy, and I just picked it up at 8pm tonight. It causes drowsiness, so despite wanting to take one in the car, I resisted. I'll take it when I get in bed, shortly. It's possible the anxiety is extra high because I'm detoxing from this "ID required" pharmaceutical. It's not a triplicate, but it is a Schedule IV Controlled Substance.

So despite fighting hard, and most days getting "through it," some days are just shit. Like today. I did nothing of worth except go to the pharmacy. I did no work, I did no household chores, I did no laundry, I didn't shower. I did put on clothes, including a bra and some light makeup, to go to the pharmacy, but my hair went into a ponytail, unwashed.

I'm hoping for more tomorrow. This is really crippling, and really pisses me off.

Breaking

This is a blog post I wrote on November 16, 2010. I was unable to upload it because I could not access my account. I managed to harvest the account information off of my old, nearly dead, laptop. I post it now.

***

I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I am unstable. Crazy. Nuts. Loony. Where have I been? My husband came home in July and I was letting him use my computer for a while, so I didn’t want him to accidentally come across this blog—my secret blog. Then when he finally got his computer going, I had gone to work. I got a job. I started at the end of August. I applied for a sales position in insurance. Due to a series of miscommunications, flub-ups, and just plain stupidity on all those involved, me and six other people were given jobs in the call center portion of the company. Call center. I worked in a call center from 99 – 01, and I swore I would never do it again. And here I am.

I have tried, and tried, and tried to make it work, but the truth is, I just suck at it. The database they use is over-sophisticated and –developed. It is incredibly difficult to use, and one cannot rely on intuition like most Windows-based applications, it is based on remembering how to use the fucking thing. And my memory sucks. Big time. And why I didn’t go to law school.

I also have—ADD—yep, and some other perceptual issues that make me look lazy or stupid. I can see it in the eyes of my superiors when they try to counsel me, or as they call it “coaching” or “opportunities.” I was actually called in to the office by my boss because I was between calls, in a limbo called “aftercall” that is, a button I can push to tidy up the previous call before I allow the next one to come through, he chewed me out for taking a bite of a cinnamon roll while in after call. He didn’t see me, it was a pregnant floor Nazi who’s acquired the moniker of “Elephant Feet” due to her stomping around the office as if there were a bowling ball attached to each foot—and she’s a normal weight except for being pregnant. She told my boss I was stuffing my face in aftercall. A matter of ending the call, picking up the food, and taking a bite. What? Ten or twenty seconds, at most? I get called on the carpet for taking a bite of a sandwich? Seriously. This place is food central. Today we had birthday cake for doing such a super awesome job getting 97% of the employees to sign up to donate to United Way. Those over-charging administrative mutherfuckers. I won’t give them a dime. Their overhead is a whopping 13% of costs. And when I needed help, they did nothing for me. Fuck them.

Yesterday we had bagels, and on Friday we’re having donuts. I’m putting on weight. I can’t say no to those donuts. I try to eat as many as possible—usually four. I’m slowly killing myself.

Today I had “coaching” with a woman who generally makes me cry. She’s like a viper, smiling in your face, all the while trying to decide the best place and time to strike. She misconstrues and lies, too, then denies it.

And she pointed out some fuckups that I’d made. And when we relistened to the calls, she was right. I had mis-heard, and mis-handled several things that needed doing. And it’s the same old shit that happens to me with jobs that need extreme attention to detail—I can’t do it. Literally. She even said, “it seems as if you were distracted, as if you weren’t paying attention.” I wanted to look her in the face and go DUH!! I have ADD. And other perceptual handicaps, both visual and hearing.

I can’t do this job. And it’s demoralizing to me. It’s degrading having 25-year-olds with three years of work experience tell me what a moron I am and look at me like I have an eye in the middle of my forehead. I sit at my desk and either cry or try not to cry EVERY DAY. I fantasize about killing myself and how and where, and what to do with my kitty before I die. Is that the best way to spend ones’ day? Is that healthy? I think not. I told my husband tonight, I’ll work through Dec. 3, and then I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t handle the emotional rollercoasters, the humiliation, the shame, and the knowledge that I am not now, nor will I ever be, good at anything except eating donuts and drinking coffee.

And I’m crying again. It’s too much.

Postscript July 2011: I did quit that job. On January 12, 2011. I was trying to go to the end of January, but I became ill, again, and knew a write-up was waiting me when I returned. I did get paid for all the good holidays, however. :-)

I haven't worked since. Not for money, anyway. I've been doing a lot of writing and freelancing stuff for friends....for free. But I am happy. I really am.

I'm Back, Babee

I lost my username to log in, but I've got it now. I'll be blogging regularly from now on. ;-D