Stop asking me if I took things when I moved out. You told me you didn't want anything of mine or anything that we got together during our relationship. I spent the entire two days sobbing my eyes out and triggered and throwing up while my best friend had to pack everything. I don't know if I even got my things from the house, you kicked me out so randomly and wanted me out so quickly. I find it so disturbing that you care about a missing cup and a missing Pop figure more than you care about me, the actual human being who you are hurting and who you used to claim to love and care for. Plus, you know I had to put everything in boxes and into storage at my sister's house and that I don't even have access to what got packed, which is especially BS because a couple months before you kicked me out, you told me to move all of my favorite things into our shared home. So I have no access to my "favorite things" until I finish moving and I can't check for whatever you want. I just honestly want to scream at you sometimes... I wish you tried not to damage me half as much as I try not to ever hurt you.
We are apart right now (have found that separate homes works for us for "break" periods) and this year he remembered a card, but it hasnt arrived yet so he's annoyed.
He's been away since mid-January so I'm really starting to look forward to our 10 year anniversary reunion and holiday in just over a month.
About a week ago he was on a high - love emojis, sweet words, talk of our future, our reunion... a few days ago it flipped and I started getting sent the articles and comments about how f-ed up the world is... the usual for his down periods.
I've been feeling down myself a bit lately. All I wanted on my birthday was some sweet words of love from my man. I do miss him. Instead I got a "Happy Birthday" sandwiched inside a 1h45min moan about the sh*t state of the world and how I need to be more assertive in making decisions. Gee. Thanks. Love you, too.
What's worse is that I feel awful when he's feeling awful. And he knows it. And it makes him feel worse. Sigh. After 10 years I should know better... but when this fades all I can hope for is what I do know is coming back again; those sweet words of appreciation and acknowledgment that I put up with so much.
My main moan today: why can't PTSD read the calendar?!?!
So, you can't live with me because I am a mishmash of things your mother was a long with whatever else you're projecting on me (I'm paraphrasing), and it's "terrifying" to live with "such a pathetic loser"; but our daughter needs to stay with me at my parents because you know I'll keep her safe and make good decisions. Also I need to keep paying for things and supporting you because I'm your husband, even though you are adamant that we are not/you no longer want to be. You also have the moral high ground despite basically kicking out your husband and daughter, causing your son to live two states over with your sister, and I am the one who needs to work on myself. Mhm.
I got his razors wet. In the bathroom. That were left in the sink.
I am CLEARLY a terrible person, who has no respect for anyone else’s property.
… Even though they were actually my razors. As his were upstairs. They COULD have been his. That. I. Dared. To. Get. Wet. And then didn’t care enough to respond to the diatribe of my character flaws, much less get in a fight over. Dude. I choose my battles. Wet disposable razors bladies left in the sink? NOT even blipping my radar. Regardless of whose they are. Any that yellow strip? Means they’re mine. So you’ve actually been so careless as to be using MY property, that your so incensed over, to… again. No I really just DGAF. They’re razors. In a sink. They got wet. If you’d chosen to use different words or tone? I’d have responded. Easily. Happily. No worries. But I don’t respond to people attempting to rip me a new asshole over bullshit. I just don’t. Not unless I’m done with them, and I’m not done with you. So your tantrum can suck it. You had a bad moment, & I ignored it. Carry on.