|
Today (Monday) was our 58th Wedding Anniversary. Our local cleaners are foreign born I suppose, since their advertising sign at the street announces they dry clean “Weeding dresses”. My weeding clothes wouldn't rate dry cleaning. We spent most of the morning having coffee in bed and poring over menus and pictures of lots of restaurants and museums on my little computer. We ended up going to the Los Angeles Natural History Museum for the afternoon and then splurged on an expensive ultra modern Italian Bakery and Restaurant in downtown LA. What an adventure. We hadn't really been in downtown LA in years, only passing through. My husband wanted me to take the streets into downtown proper so he could see the old and new buildings. I was born in LA, and he used to work down there. There was so much traffic at 6pm we had lots of time to look at all the old architecture. It was like a parking lot on the streets.
We shared a fried Calamari appetizer, and almost “shared” a pasta with clams, then each of us had a dessert, and he had a regular coffee. Good thing I didn't order an entree, plus no wine, and no drink for me. Would you believe it was over $85.00 “before” the tip? We'll be eating at home for quite a while.
Well, actually I'd like to tell “someone”: I spoke to my husband at least a half dozen times of what things we could have, when at home, then later in the car, then at the museum, and even at the table in the restaurant. He never hinted at not wanting to share. Maybe I was assuming too much. I said I didn't need to order the deep fried portabella mushrooms, I could just fry some mushrooms at home, and even add some zucchini. I saw the dinner price was going to be expensive. I asked the waiter at the table how long it would take after we ordered, to get a calamari appetizer, and he said 10 minutes. Since I already knew my dessert had to have a 20 minute lead time, I told him about my dessert order. Then I went ahead and asked for the appetizer of calamari. English is a second language for my husband plus he is quite hard of hearing so he has had me do the restaurant ordering for years. In other circumstances I would be sensitive to the gentleman doing the ordering, but he has mostly had difficulty with that. It's a bit of a sensitive area for someone so macho, but he as always had at least “some” difficulty handling that task. He can usually get the basic dish, but if there are any extra details, he gets lost. That is the crux of the problem. He is an ultra macho Italian, and not as smoothly, dare I say, capable? Somewhere this afternoon, I think, his macho kicked in beyond what I was aware of. Maybe it was being dizzy leaving the museum, maybe his problems walking.
It was an exceptionally noisy restaurant, being ultra modern with glass and marble, with nothing to absorb the sound. The biggest complaint about it on Yelp was that you couldn't talk to your companion. He knew I wanted calamari, but must not have heard me asking the waiter how long it would take, and then going ahead and ordering it, as we usually do, while deciding on the rest of the meal. He told the waiter he needed a few minutes to look at the menu. When I told him I had ordered the calamari to share, he didn't seem to like it that I had done that. Often we share not only an entree, but a salad and/or an appetizer too. He is not a big eater, and he had repeated he was going to have Creme Brulee for dessert. When “ever” we have calamari, we share, and he had no trouble taking half.
He finally told the waiter he was going to have the linguine with clams, and the Creme Brulee. When the waiter came nearer me to see what my entree would be, I said we were going to share. You see, right here, my husband did not ask me about an entree as some men would do. He expected me to take care of myself in ordering, and I assumed we were going to share the entree too. Although he never said definitely we “would” share the entree, he had said earlier, yes we “could”. The waiter brought 2 dinner plates, and when he brought the pasta dish set it down between us. I waited, had some bread, and we finished the last of the calamari. Then my husband asked me why the waiter had set “his” pasta dish between us (or even an inch or two towards me)? I said because his water glass was in the way, moved his water to the other side of his plate, and slid the pasta dish towards him. I said I could just have a clam or two. I proceeded to just fill up on bread and butter, and the sauce left over from the calamari. I asked if he could really eat that whole pasta dish (he never does) and then eat dessert on top of that and he said yes. It was just a few minutes before, he wasn't even willing to go into the restaurant because of being full from his 5 o'clock ice cream.
I had 3 clams (there were about 15 or so, and my bread. I don't think it is just me, that is the problem. I had spoken all day of sharing. Yes, I could have ordered another pasta dish at another $35.00 but I didn't think he could or would eat it all. It seemed like I was co-dependent to not claim half of it, but by the time he ordered, and said he would have such and such, and them claimed it as his, it seemed rude to me of me demanding half of “his” pasta”. It seemed a waste to order another dish that wouldn't come until his was finished, and I had a dessert coming. It seemed the better part of valor to leave “his” dish alone. Besides I (again) was walking on eggshells. Someone commented to one of my journals that I am too old to be walking on eggshells. What's age got to do with it? He can be volatile. I wanted peace more than pasta. I never put any of it on my dinner plate like he did. He didn't comment on it for about 15 minutes. Eventually when he seemed nearly done, and it was cold anyway, he inquired why I didn't have any. I didn't know what to say. I think: he knew very well I wasn't having any. If he was thinking of me, and saw I didn't take any after he said it was his, he would notice I had nothing to eat on my dinner plate, but only had bread and would have encouraged me to join him, and share in his repast. Eventually he did acknowledge I was just having bread, and my empty dinner plate, but didn't say anything about it for a long time. I would not treat him that way, nor any “friend”. I finally said that he had inquired why the waiter had put “his” pasta toward me, so I was leaving “his” pasta to him. Then he really got frustrated with me. I was afraid he was going to explode. But he let it pass.
It's not just me that's trying to manipulate. I was trying to be polite. I think it's his way of needling me. After he was finished and it was cold, he told me to have some. I had 3 bites of pasta and 1 more clam. If I was with you, I would have done the same thing. Maybe you are close enough to your friends or partner to be honest. If you were with your boss, the president of your company, or the president of the United States, you would have done what I did. No, he's not my boss. And yes, I may seem like a peace at any price person. But he also punishes me. I'm not willing to give up my home, or our retirement. I try so hard to keep the peace but I miss the mark some of the time. I think he probably thought I was in some weird way manipulating him or wanting something from him that was beyond him. If it was beyond him, I was miscalculating. May I tell you if I ever tell him something he already knows he gets mad that I am condescending to him. He often needs help using the telephone, but I always get in trouble saying one thing beyond what he wants to know. And for anyone that has made previous replies to my journal, it is not time for “care” for him by someone else. That is out of the question. He thinks he is more capable/smarter than all of us put together. Maybe I miscalculated. Maybe he didn't notice. I could have, should have, asked. I didn't know what to do. In retrospect I can see maybe I could have just asked, like “is this yours alone?” Or “I'm sorry I misunderstood”. Or “Shall I order something for myself?” It sounds so simple now. I see now, I am still afraid of him down inside somewhere. At least afraid of his volatility. No, I don't walk on eggshells all the time. It was a nice day. We were tired, and hungry. We had eggs before we left, and shared the ice cream drumstick at the museum. But it was nearly 7 by the time we ate. Even when we got to the restaurant he wouldn't go inside for more than 10 minutes, because he was still full from the ice cream and coffee at the museum. All the more reason for sharing.
I don't understand why he got upset. He often tells me he was just kidding. I say: that's just an excuse when your words are harsh or cruel. He says: it doesn't mean anything. I think: it's just a way to get out of being responsible for saying unkind things. I just don't understand people. His pet name for his sister all his life, was an Italian version of vagina. I don't “like” anyone teasing about sleeping around on their spouse or having sex with animals. Especially in mixed company or around an older generation or your own parents or in-laws.
Incidentally, we expected it would be him that would have trouble walking around. Funny, it was me that gave out after an hour and a quarter at the museum. I was carrying my purse, and don't stand around well. My back became so painful, I had to lay on a bench and curl on my side for 10 minutes right there beside the dinosaur bones.
We hadn't really been in downtown LA in years, only passing through. May I share, where we go for Chinese food for lunch after church is such a bargain. I get a shrimp dish, with 12 good sized shrimp with the lightest Tempura batter, cooked to perfection for 8.99, with either a tangerine sauce, or Walnut shrimp. It includes soup, plus either egg roll or a Chinese chicken salad, and fried rice. My husband usually gets the best Beef Broccoli in town (a really big plate) for 7 something. We always leave with leftovers for $20.00. I could happily eat there once a week.
Now about our yard that I said we were working to clear, we only did one strip, and maybe I exaggerated the size of it just a little, but I went over into the next door neighbors somewhat. We ended up having 6 big green trash bins, 4 of which were borrowed. We just have a regular sized city lot, maybe 65'x 130'? Nothing big. But yes, I asked my husband to take a picture of me and it, before I took off my church clothes yesterday. He thought I was crazy. No, the whole yard is not cleaned of weeds, just this one narrow strip.
Originally I had wanted to remain anonymous because I wanted the freedom to talk about my husband since I don't do Facebook or other social media. I thought about my niece and daughter. I see I have told so many details about my life anyone would recognize me, but I also see our daughter is the only one I care about seeing all this. She did ask me a couple of months ago the name of the “site” then asked what my password is. I did answer before thinking and said Snowwhite, but did not add the 100. There are not 100 Snowwhites. Without pictures she would have to spend some time scrolling through. I would not put my real name on this site so it would never come up by anyone Googling me.
I'm thinking it's okay with me if she reads about her father. She knows almost everything, and it's just as well she knows it all. The good: she has said I'm strong to deal with it all. Would she remember saying that? The bad: now she said I play the victim. Maybe I do. But lots of the time I “am” the victim. What does it mean to “play” the victim. Google says “Playing victim means to always, or in a particular occasion, turn around the circumstances to make yourself look as the wronged part. Some people do this all the time. It means generally being someone that is always a wounded party and everyone is supposed to feel sorry for them.” It makes me not want to be around her. But I try my hardest to keep my mouth shut and not ruffle her feathers because of her stage 4 cancer.
I don't think I say cruel things to him. He forcibly held my hand over the stove burner and threatened to turn it on. He has threatened to throw me out the front door. He threatened to punch me in the face recently. He said he could cut off my legs. No, he doesn't do any of it. But the little girl down inside of me gets scared. Yes, I am messy. But he never fixed the house after the earthquake. He was a carpenter, and always did all the electrical and plumbing.
I'm sure she means he is the victim because my clothes are out of control upstairs. But I am so good to him, spoiling him, catering to him, cooking for him, very good to him sexually, trying to make up for it. I don't like being compared to porn. He told me it was his responsibility to make me scream in ecstasy, with me being 77 years old. When I get frustrated enough, yes, I want to leave. Some of you are addicts with sugar and carbs. If you were overweight, and your partner was very upset about it, and you couldn't control it, maybe you would leave. At 118 he told me I was fat. At 112 he told me I was letting myself “go”, and I should do sit-ups because my stomach is fat. How much weight can I lose? I look scrawny on the top now. I can't do sit-ups with my bad back. I have fractures in L5 that never healed and 3 bulging disks. My sister in law told me years ago, that I owed it to him, to leave him, because I wasn't the same as when we got married, and he didn't like it: I wasn't quite as co-dependent.
Our daughter would never put up with what I have put up with. She told me years ago she and her husband were too selfish to have children. They did try, but it didn't happen. Now it is too late. Day before yesterday I went back to the beginning of my journal posts to see what things I shared about “her” that I might want to take out. I would have only related things she said that hurt my feelings. I “am” overly sensitive. I haven't told much. I have very mixed feelings about telling “any” of the hurtful things she has said to me. She did say them. Some were not fair. But she does have stage 4 cancer and I don't ever want to add any stress to her life. She would have to hunt to find me here. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad for her to actually see some of them if she searches me out.
I won't add my picture to my profile, but if I share a picture of spring wisteria, and I am there in my journal, she'd have to scroll through to find them, and by that time she'd have seen it was me anyway. She knows I share here. Should I hide from her? I'm pretty superficial with her. Now that I think about it, I guess I am pretty superficial with my husband too. I wonder if the journal police will take out anything I have said here. I'm shocked by myself. I was a little surprised the other day by the gal adding sexual activity to her exercise.
I'm tempted to tell you a couple more things, since I really don't have any other outlets. You know, there are individuals on here that have PTSD, and it's very, very seldom anyone says anything harsh. And they totally shouldn't. They are too fragile for that. I don't want to tell you I am fragile, because it comes between individuals having relationship. But I'm not good at relationship, never have been. I'm not bi-polar or schizophrenic. That takes care of a couple of categories. The last time I talked about my failings, someone was kinda harsh because they interpreted what I said as asking people not to criticize me. Since I frustrated them, they found that even more frustrating, and said so. But if I weighed 400 or 600 pounds you wouldn't criticize me. If I couldn't stop bingeing from my addiction to sugar, you might offer suggestions, but probably wouldn't criticize me. So, I have more faults than you do. I'm weak. But I'm old. It doesn't feel like I can change now. One suggests therapy: I cannot afford it. Beside, I've been in therapy and I didn't change. One kind soul told me to think of a time I was completely happy. I've never been completely happy. I still have “me” along. They were right: “I am so terribly anxious all the time, trying to figure everyone out and know what they're thinking and why, and acting right." I can't be myself. My husband never accepted me, and even my daughter, the one second in line to know me, thinks I just play the victim. I want to be honest and kind, but obviously I'm not.
My way in the past, when I see I am frustrating someone, I melt away. Never to come back. I regret losing the potential of relationship, but figure it is doomed anyway. I desperately want to share, but I am afraid. It hurts too much when people get frustrated with me. If you guys get too frustrated with me, I think I have one friend (not on FS) I could write to, and save you all from this. I was private messaging someone on here, till they got too frustrated and disappointed with me, and now that is over.
I'm going to hide something way down here in my journal. Either I exaggerated, or I minimized. I guess I lied, and it's bugging me. I haven't lied in years. I don't bother to tell every little thing to my husband, but I haven't outright lied, I don't think, in more than 40 years. It wasn't right, when I said several weeks ago either here or in a private message that my mess with my clothes is confined to one back bedroom. It's not downstairs, but it's more than one bedroom.
Since I am a Christian and I want everyone to go to heaven, I don't want my sin or weirdness to be a bad influence on anyone else. I'm sorry I lied. I have asked God to forgive me. God holds on to me, and I appreciate it. I live a blessed life. If it wasn't for Him, I would be suicidal, but I'm not. Funny thing is, I'm not what God made me to be. I changed before I was 5 years old due to trauma. That wasn't my fault. I can only function with the equipment I have left. I can give you reasons I am addicted to clothes like others are addicted to sweets and carbs. Actually I too am addicted to sweets and high carbs. You can tell me to go away if you want and not take up space. I should check this better for grammar but it's four in the morning and I'm tired. I probably won't “respect” myself in the morning, writing all this. Maybe I can go hide for a while.
There is one person here on FS I know I could talk to, and would accept my messages, but I just can't take the risk of hurting them. They are already too hurt.
|