‘You’re a fucking retard, go fucking jump of a bridge you miserable cunt’. Who would say something so terrible to me?
My husband of course!
Those words ring through my head as I sit alone in Chipotle sipping on my Coke Zero as if I’m a depressed drunk at last call. I didn’t expect to be sitting alone in a Boston takeaway, but it’s inevitable with a husband who’s favourite pastime is going to the ‘toilet’. Code for being away from me and spending intimate time with his Phone and whoever’s attention he seeks today.
So the scene is set. Now the story of how we got to this.
We flew into Boston at 7am this morning, on a red-eye flight from San Jose, California. I was super anxious about the flight, I hadn’t really slept much in 3 days. He forces me to take half a sleeping pill (one of his fav things to do, force pills onto me, especially ones that knock me out) to help get some sleep. I managed to get a couple of hours of broken sleep. He stays awake the whole 5 hour flight, raving about the high-speed free wi-fi and how he’s been messaging and emailing people back in Australia all night. He couldn’t ever survive 5 hours without the constant attention of people he has fooled into thinking he is some sort of amazing person.
We arrive at our hotel running on about two hours sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Head off to Starbucks for a bite and then straight up to the room. Like zombies we collapse into bed and justify a few hours rest before heading out to explore. As we normally do we sleep through the alarm and wake up at four in the afternoon, which in a Boston winter is around sunset time. We’ve missed the day, I’m ok with this, I enjoy on holidays a good rest day to charge the batteries and hit the tourist traps at full speed. For him it sets in panic, he might not see something on the top 10 things to do, miss going to a recommended place so he can prove he is as cool and relevant as a work colleague.
I jump into the shower quickly and get dressed. I know how this next half hour will play out. This isn’t my first time at the rodeo as they say!
He lays around checking and double checking his list of things to do like he’s Santa Claus. We’re off to see a show he didn’t pick, didn’t want to go too, isn’t about him and not one he could share in sophisticated circles. It’s low brow like me. We’re seeing the Ru Paul girls Christmas Queens show.
He is googling, checking lists, googling distances from here to there and back again. It isn’t possible for him to walk out the hotel and just walk in the direction of the theatre and see what happens, a restaurant might come along that looks nice, good menu and we just decide to sit down. First we need to know the scores on trip advisor, yelp and google. What do the reviews say. If the masses don’t collectively agree the restaurant deserves our custom we move on and on and on until we find the one with a 4.5 rating or above. Because we’re snobs like that.
The show starts at 8, however we have VIP meet & greet tickets. They gave us access to the 6pm meet and mingle with the queens and get advanced access to the merchandise (The meet and mingle was amazing, more on that later). I finally convince him to just wonder towards the shows after explaining that in 45min we won’t be seated, order, eat our meal and desert and leave on time to get to the show if we go to a fancy restaurant. He confessed he has intended to eat at a restaurant and go late to the show, because he didn’t care about the shows. The meet & mingle wasn’t important to him. I nodded knowing full well it wouldn’t happen and we would go to the meet & mingle. Guilt normally sets in for him, knowing that I choose one thing to do in this whole three-week trip.
I step out of the shower and begin to dress. This is where the fun starts, the standoff. His demanding vs my resentment of him. When you read obeys or see I just complete the demand with no or little objections imagine a massive fuck you eye roll
Husband: hang my things up
H: where’s the body wash
M: eye level to the right
H: where’s the shampoo
M: eye level to the right
H: where’s my towel
M: on the rack at the end of the bath
H: pick me out an outfit
M: obeys, lays out two options knowing the first won’t be accepted. Tricked him by reversing the order of the cloths so he wears what I think is be best
H: why didn’t you hang my things
M: they’re in the wardrobe 3 hangers to the left
H: my jacket had a mark on it, wash it. It’s probably from the power I spilt in my bag that you didn’t clean properly
M: takes the jacket to the bathroom and dampen a face washer to wipe it
H: don’t use that it’ll leave white fluff
M: does it anyway knowing it will work
H: I don’t have a shirt for these pants
M: gives him one of mine
H: are you ready? Come on we have to leave
M: I’ve been ready for 30 min
H: be useful and get my scarf and gloves ready
H: why don’t you bring your phone so I’m not always running out of battery
M: you won’t let me buy an American sim so my phone is useless outside of the hotels wi-fi
H: help me do my jacket up
M: obeys, well I try too. The zip won’t reach it’s about 2cm to short. I try to pull on the jacket to get the zips to meet but only get them to 1cm apart.
H: loses it (because he had gained weight) ‘You ‘re a fucking retard, go fucking jump of a bridge you miserable cunt’. Do it up or you’ll get an elbow to the face
M: tried to explain it won’t fit and I was pulling it together was trying get it to zip up.
H: ‘You’re a fucking retard, go fucking jump of a bridge you miserable cunt’ you made me buy the medium size
M: I didn’t! I told you to get whatever you wanted and thought was best. Getting annoyed telling him to stop talking to me like that and calling him a dumb cunt
H: walks out towards the lifts
M: screams at him in the lift to stop talking to me like shit, it’s not my fault your too fat for the jacket
H: leans up against a pole out front of the hotel. Refuses to move, you’ll have to direct us to the stupid gay show.
M: how can I do that when I don’t have a phone and never been to this city before.
H: your problem
M: I could kill you sometimes
H: you will one day, first you’ll kill our kid you sick fuck
Through out all this he accuses me of not taking my medication, I hadn’t missed any and take them in front of him. But he pays little attention and never remembers.
We walk off, a block later he gets his phone out, For directions. I’m furious. I ask him a few questions along the way, why do you keep calling me those things? The response I feel like it. He accused me of sitting around like a king doing nothing to help. I laugh at him and take great delight in reminding him the drama only began when his jacket wouldn’t do up because he was to fat!
I knew I had to defuse the situation, we had been here before and it gets nasty and at times violent, normally, mostly by me. Copley Square in downtown Boston wasn’t the place. I do a distract and swap, a term I read about in a parenting blog. Distract the child from their tantrum or getting them to let go off a toy to go to bed for example.
I started talking about the Christmas carol concert at the church we were in front of. He is a sucker as am I for Christmas carols. The distraction was in play, now the swap. Let’s walk the street this way and follow the Christmas lights to we find food. The swap had worked. He calmed down, was holding my hand taking selfies in front of Christmas lights all with 5 min of the distract and swap.
He is a child, it’s difficult to be married to a child.
‘You’re a fucking retard, go fucking jump of a bridge you miserable cunt’
Those words still ring through my head, I’ve heard them maybe 100 times this year. They’re his go to insults. The hurt never goes away.
Why does he do it? We’ll never really know but he is attacking me that I have bipolar disorder and attempted to suicide before. He knows those words push my buttons this most.
You’ll see as you read more, he gets enjoyment of crushing people until they’re a weak mess. It makes him feel better. Well that’s how he described it to me once.
Bipolar disorder is a mental illness that causes dramatic shifts in a person’s mood, energy and ability to think clearly. People with bipolar experience high and low moods—known as mania and depression—which differ from the typical ups-and-downs most people experience.
I start showing signs of bipolar in 2008 with my first suicide attempt and have spent the last 10 years learning and growing with the disorder. Now I’m doing good with the struggle, and winning the battle.
These comments are painful and hurt, they make maintaining a functioning life harder. The struggle is real with bipolar.
They’re dangerous, others won’t survive attacks like this. Others won’t wake up the next morning, they’ll be a lost to the world while the person speaking suck vile hatred lives on.
I’m a lucky one who has the strength to push on.
To be continued.
I know you’d think that’s enough excitement for one night but no it goes on! This time maybe I’m a little more bitchy or am I fighting fire with fire.