Pass The Salt

I’d love to be able to sit here and write about how the calm days outweigh the irrational and insane days – which they do.  I’m also really loving the place I am mentally – feeling strong and capable.  I’ve even been contemplating telling others.  Friends of mine from my past that I feel okay with knowing.  However, there are days that come around that – when sitting in the middle of it – casts a shadow over all of my progress.  So, if I don’t speak about it then what’s the point?  Does it mean that I haven’t come as far as I thought?  Or that I am embarrassed or ashamed to tell of the days when I am still weak?  I don’t know.  All I know is today was a shitty day and here I am.

The weekends are, for the most part, sacred in my house.  My husband works on Saturdays so the kids and I can sleep late, watch tv in bed, or just lounge around and do nothing all day long.  It really is the best.  Stress levels are low – until about an hour before we know he will be home, that’s when we run around straightening up and preparing for whatever mood may enter.  Sundays are not always that bad.  I will sleep as late as I can until catching up on work I left over on Friday afternoon gets the better of my thoughts.  Of course, at some point, there will have to be “family time” where we sit and watch a movie or a few episodes of whatever television shows we have missed thanks to Netflix and Hulu.  Today seemed like all would be going smoothly…until the salt went missing.

Yep.  Salt.  Destroyed the day.  The peace.  The quiet.  The hope of an afternoon of silence.  Shot to shit.  I woke up around 10:00 am but stayed in the bed until 10:30 am.  Was trying to suck up every minute before the inevitable call for me to come downstairs and give him a few minutes of my time, which usually equals no less than 45 minutes and up to at least 2 hours.  But so far nothing.  Did he wake up and already fall back asleep?  I don’t know but it was quiet until the dog started barking to be let out.  So I had no choice but to get up and go downstairs and let him out.  When I did, I noticed my husband wasn’t home.  What also happens on Sundays, food.  He must have gone to get bread, sandwich meat, cookies, etc. anything that can carry us through the day with minimal cook time – not out of kindness for me – but so that more time is spent with him.

It’s about noon time and he gets up to get something from the kitchen and asks where the salt is.  Now let me just make note…I ran out of salt on Thursday night.  None left in the shaker and no refill canister.  No big deal, we don’t use it regularly on our food so a day or two or three without it should not be that big of a deal.  Apparently, of all days, today he needed salt.  He found some little packets we had from some fast food place and used a pinch and put the opened package in the cabinet.  This is what he said he did – earlier in the morning while we were all sleeping.  So far, I am the only one aside from him who is awake and has been in the kitchen.  He asks me if I’ve seen the salt.  I said no (I didn’t know about the packet yet) we ran out of it the other day.  He told me he had found a packet in the drawer, used it and put it in the cabinet.  I said nope…didn’t see it.  I asked him if he was sure he didn’t leave it on the counter because when I came down I cleared off the counters and table and if it was on either it will be in the garbage.  I personally didn’t notice it but if it’s not in the cabinet then check the trash.

Well…you would think I just accused him of stealing money from a little old lady.  Holy cow, he went nuts.  “I left it in the cabinet, right here, look, right here…not on the counter, not on the table, in the cabinet.”  So now he is talking shit and moving ALL of my spice bottles around and I decide…I’m going upstairs now.  I have plenty of work to do and since this salt situation doesn’t involve me I don’t have to sit here and listen to him go on and on.  So I go upstairs.  Within minutes, he is upstairs again asking me about the salt packet.  Bringing me the pepper packet and showing me (like I am 5 years old) this is what it looks like except it’s salt and it was open.  I looked at him like the moron he is and said…I know what you are talking about but I did not see it.  Again, I mentioned he should look in the trash.  When people – and by people I mean me – tell him something he doesn’t want to hear he calls it an attack.  Amazing, I know.  HE’S the victim.  So, I set him off because I verbally attacked him about the salt when he is clearly telling me he left it in the cabinet.

Now the arguing starts.

I am going nuts now because I am comfortable in how far and in what tone I can get away with.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  How many times do you tell me something is in a specific place because that’s where you left it and when I tell you to look here or there, where you swear it’s not, when you actually look and find whatever where I said.”  Apparently, this was adding “fuel to the fire”.  I’m good at that.  I throw gas on flames, fuel on fire, yet somehow I can’t make a piece of shit burst in to flame with my mind…not yet at least…I do keep trying.  So, now the argument has been turned on me and how I am sounding like I am accusing him of not knowing what he did with the salt, etc.  Complete lunacy.  But in his usual manner he is up in my face as he is yelling and because he is so close I back up, which usually pins me somewhere in a corner and now I am in a corner with him inches from my face screaming.

Today, I wasn’t backing down.  I kept going at him because he refused to look in the damn garbage.  I wiggle my way out of the corner and take the trash and start dumping it out on the table…I am still yelling (attacking) asking why he refuses to look – because it’ll mean he was wrong – AGAIN – as I pull the salt packet out from the garbage bag and throw it on the table.  Now he’s had it…my voice, my talking, the fact that I was right…and he fucking hits me.  BAM.  Right on the side of my eye.  ON MY FACE.  What?  Are you actually kidding me right now?  I lost it…I am screaming and cursing and flipping out like a lunatic.  He wants to act crazy I will show you crazy.  You want to hit me?  Be ready because now it’s a full on war.

I have no idea if my neighbors are home but I go and sit on my couch by the front window…when we are screaming, closed doors, walls, windows mean nothing.  We may as well be standing outside.  Everything can be heard.  So I start yelling … you punch me in the face for salt?? FOR SALT???  And he is across the room verbally going at me and this is just back and forth now between the two of us but because I keep loudly breaking down the events leading to the hit he now asks if I am taping this.  He gets up and starts looking around.  I say, yes of course, I am taping this because I came down this morning and threw away the salt on purpose just to get hit.

This shit went on for two hours.  He decides to calmly and rationally explain to me how everything that went on for the past two hours was my fault because I kept attacking him on how he left the salt on the counter.  So now, ever the sarcastic bitch, I sit there with all fingers of my hand clenched under my chin except for my pointer finger which is aimed up towards my eye.  I raise my hand to speak….he hates that.  I am given the floor and just as psychotically calm and rational as he is I proceed to state how it is amazing to me how he and his brother are both so amazingly fucked up.  I said “your brother is a pathological liar and sociopath and you are a narcissist and can spin a story in such a way that you are never wrong.  It is amazing to watch.  If your stories weren’t 99% about me, I’d actually believe you.  It really is a gift.”  Of course, that sets him off again but honestly, the damage is done and I don’t give a damn.

He loves to lean over me as he speaks, gives him that authoritative power he is so desperately seeking.  And he grabs at me ripping my pajama bottoms and hitting my shoulder.  I’m not sure if it was an actual hit or if it was just in how he grabbed me.  It doesn’t matter…it is what it is.  But I snapped.  I said…let me fucking tell you something motherfucker….you are so lucky that I don’t want to waste another 25 years of my life on you…because that is the only reason you are not buried in the backyard right now.  Rest assured…I am walking a fine fucking line on THAT decision…and you better fucking hope I don’t say FUCK IT….because once I decide I don’t give a shit anymore…I am going to torture your mother fucking ass.  You will regret every thing you have every done to me.  This I promise you.

I can guarantee my eyes were popping out of my head as well as the veins in my neck, my throat hurts more than my face and my shoulder just from screaming at him but in the end…he knows.  He knows he has pushed me to the breaking point.  That’s one thing I can say.  I don’t lose it often but in more recent years…since about 2008…I have gone more into lunatic mode than in the past.  And he sees how I get when I watch certain (mob related) shows/movies.  Always have had a passion for that shit.  So I know when I make him nervous.  Today was one of those times.  However, in the end, he still got the better of me.

It’s times like this though that make me irrational.  I go from that strong-willed excited for the future woman to some caged animal that wants to maul their trainer.  I go into – I don’t care mode.  I eat excessively…because I don’t care.  I drink excessively (if it’s around)…because I don’t care.  I want to do some sort of damage to myself…because I don’t care.  My hand against myself should be far worse than anyone else’s.  Most especially his.  By punishing myself…I’ll show him!  Give me a break.  No need to comment on that.  I know it’s bullshit.  I’ll show him what, exactly?  Nothing.  He doesn’t give a damn to begin with.  I’ll only be setting myself back.  So instead I sit here and write.

I am feeling somewhat calmer than before, and even since starting to type this post.  And no, I am not reporting this, getting an order of protection or any of that.  I do not have the luxury of beginning a case with this shit.  I will stick to my plan for now.  I did take pics and will keep a record for myself should anything like this happen again.   But he is not going to bother me any time soon.  I know his MO.  Now he will play sad and regretful husband.  Doesn’t matter to me…he knows something has changed.  Just how the universe is helping guide me in the right direction, it is warning him to keep on his toes.  As he should.

No matter how I decide to play my cards, in the end, he loses.

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To read from the beginning… my story starts here.

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10 thoughts on “Pass The Salt

  1. First I want to emphasize that I only clicked the like button in appreciation of you coming here and sharing this with us. I wrestled with it for a while on and off before I did it.

    This reminded me of so many acts of physical abuse I endured over absolutely ridiculous things. One of them was him messing around with the house phone and hitting 0 and then next night even though he had been in the house with me the entire time, he accused me of trying to hide a call I made to some non-existent guy I was(n’t) cheating on him with. So I got punched in the back of the head several times. I got a half-hearted “I’m sorry that was wrong” out of him, which is also the only time in 4 years and 3 months of him abusing me that he ever apologized. That was also the only time he didn’t try to convince me it was my fault. All the other instances were pretty much like yours.

    I am sorry this continues for you, but please know you are in my thoughts. Keep putting your plan together and get away from him.

    Stay strong. You will overcome.
    Amy

    Like

    • I understand about the “like” part, I’ve felt the same way plenty of times when reading others’ stories. I struggled with deciding to come here and speak about it and did so mainly to be truthful to the people (like you) who have decided they give a damn. Thank you for understanding and words of encouragement. xo

      Like

  2. I, too, hit Like as a gesture of support rather than because I actually like any part of the Narcissistic Rage and gaslighting techniques to which you are being subjected. The techniques are familiar to me from my past, though I was lucky in that it did not involve physical violence. Hugs. xxx

    Like

  3. Are you at all worried that he will take advantage of one of your rages to file charges against you? Will he take your threats seriously and kill you before you kill him? Where were your kids during all this? How will years more of this conflict affect them?

    I hit “like” too, for your bravery in sharing this little slice of domestic hell, but I have a lot of questions, too…

    Like

    • He would never file charges against me. He doesn’t believe in going the legal route. Street rules…are always in effect. If he were to take my threats seriously, it would only be in the heat of the actual event that he turned and “defended” himself. My son was the only one home and he was on the computer with his headphones in. At most, maybe he heard “loudness” which even in peaceful times is not abnormal in my house. Luckily, I’ve raised my kids with a hardness when it comes to understanding who and what there father is, unfortunately, I think there is still a smidgen of care within them (at least the younger two) that still understand he’s their father and there is a certain requirement of love/respect that comes with the that child/parent relationship. In time, I’m sure they’ll grow out of it. In all aspects though, they stand with me. He sees that but finds it more amusing than threatening or that allegiances are tipped in my favor.

      I don’t mind the questions, Sofia. Another person’s perspective is helpful at times and may make me think from a different angle.

      Like

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