RIGHT NOW
Things are pretty bad here. I’m upset all the time because I hate living here so much. I feel depressed, cry a lot, am overly emotional. I feel neglected and unwanted. Z is really callous in dealing with me – as long as I’m not disturbing him and his schedule, or ”bothering” him when’s he’s home, he’s ok with me, even affectionate. The second he has to deal with an “issue” he shuts down, mentally tunes out, and loses interest. I’m an “inconvenience” – i don’t smoke, all his friends do, its a problem when i get bothered by it. he has such a different lifestyle, and i just cramp his style. he can hang out with me ”anytime” but its more special when he’s with them. i have to use his money, use his car. i have to eat, i have to be taken out and exercised like a dog. i am the weight of responsibility around his neck he doesn’t want.
5 YEARS AGO
i feel like the second we got married – literally the day of – he stopped making an effort. It was like he heaved a giant sigh of relief, said “oh well, its done now, no need to make an effort” and then went on with what he really wanted to do – hang out with his parents when they’re in town, or hang out with his boys. Every day for the first week of our marriage he would be out from 8:00 pm – 4:00 am. when i told him that bothered me, and i didn’t want to be left alone in a new house, thats very much his, he was all about “how his mates are only together for a short while for the wedding, and then they’ll be gone”and ï should stop being uptight”etc etc. one day i told him if he was later than 11:00 pm, i would lock him out and i did. he broke the door down, and our first physically abusive fight commenced.
5 years on
he’s stopped being physically abusive – at least while i’m pregnant. he never did any physical damage anyway, the damage was all psychological. my husband got so angry he wanted to hit me. really hit me, harm me. now, our fights don’t really get violent. in fact, if anyone is getting violent, its me. i’m hitting and punching him, throwing things. i broke our tv, i’ve broken his xbox controller. when i’m in a rage, i’ll break anything that comes in my way. it used to be a strong feeling before, this feeling of wanting to fling something violently across a room, but with my pregnancy maybe my hormones are lowering my inhibitions or something, and i have actually found myself breaking things twice in the last 8 months- which is saying a lot given i wasn’t in the same city for 2 months.
Why? when we start fighting, i see that ugly look in his face. the one that he used to get when he would hit me. and i know its on his mind. to his credit, he’s managed to not follow through in a while. and then i taunt him. i hit him. he thinks i’m afraid of him? he thinks his hitting is going to scare me? does he think he can intimidate me? i don’t do too well in backing down in power struggles when we’re fighting. i will show him that he isn’t cowing me. i will show him that he’s the insect, not me. i’ve gone to the point of slapping, kicking, hitting him. throwing his clothes. throwing his stuff. he threw my laptop on the ground, i threw the TV remote into his LCD screen. its the only thing in the room he owned. everything else was mine, everything else was something i had bought for him. except that damn tv. the next day, when we’d made up somehow, and we sat together to watch a movie, i’d even forgotten i’d wanted to break it the day before. i was actually a little surprised when the screen didn’t turn on and a spiderweb of cracks appeared at a familiar spot. a spot i had assualted 24 hours before….
he got that same supernatural calm he got when he talks about the car now. i had an accident at 5:30 pm, hyperventilating, screaming, wondering if i was in labor because it hurt so much my sister took me screaming to the ER. Z didn’t turn up till after everything was over. he turned up 3 hours later at 8:30 pm to pick me up from my sisters. he didn’t even call once in the middle. he made his friend call me. then said his little 20+year old brother would come pick me and take me to the hospital if i needed to go again and my sister couldn’t take me. how did Z think that was a good idea? after that harrowing ordeal, i was awake the whole night crying, while he screamed at me at how it was my fault anyway, and that it wouldn’t have happened to a better driver. i screamed and yelled too. till my stomach hurt. i didn’t care about the baby then. i didn’t care about my health then. i just wanted someone to die. i just wanted this shit relationship to end, and since we didn’t seem to be doing it i wished one of us would just die. die die die. i told him to get out of the room, get out of the bed. and when he didn’t, i went and curled up on the hard uncomfortable two seater in the living room, found the xbox controller under my ass and got up (a huge physical task given i’m 8 months and HUGE) and thew it into the bedroom wall. things haven’t gotten better since then.
he was nice to me the day after. but its not easy to sustain that now is it, because i’m just so damn difficult. he was out again till 4 am, drunk off his ass when he came back, hung over for most of the day today. fought with me because i needed the house car. i can’t go anywhere, he doesn’t think its a good idea for me to be in a car. how convenient. he can be out partying, and i have to be sitting in a windowless room … doing what exactly?
there was no food in the house again. i thought i’d faint after 6 hours of not eating. and as i tried to stand on shaking legs and myself a burger, his only input was “why don’t you wait for food, you just frikkin had breakfast”.
he just bought me a bracelet. when did he go out? how did he go out if there isn’t a car? how does he get the car when he wants, and why can’t i. i feel trapped. i don’t give a shit about the bracelet. it changes nothing. it gives me nothing that i want. nurturing and caring. of being heard. of having my needs heard and met. what can a fucking bracelet achieve? i’d rather have the money he spent of that fucking shit so i can pay the framer.
i’ve called my mother, and told her i want to come to lahore for the delivery. fuck him. fuck his parents. they can shove their baby presents up their assholes. i feel like i never want to come back.
