I Am Not Going To Blow Up My Life, I Am Not Going To Blow Up My Life…

At the moment I’m having to remind myself of just how badly I could screw myself over if I tell my husband I’m now 100% certain I want a divorce and want to file as soon as legally allowed – 5 months from now.

I know part of this is the sleep deprivation talking.

We seemed to be making progress with boundaries around his feelings and his insecurities – we were going to have a check in at the end of the month to discuss anything that needed to be discussed, or so I thought. Turns out, my husband thought it was only for if there was something “big” and in the meantime, if there was anything else that he was wondering about, any other way in which he was feeling paranoid and stressed out and wondering if he’d done something to upset me, that he should still get to talk about it – and talk about it as I was trying to wind down and go to sleep.

We had four days left until our end of the month check in, which was something I had been mentally and emotionally preparing for, because I have an easier time keeping a handle on my anxiety if I’m not ambushed. He couldn’t wait that long. He had to know what was bothering me, and so I told him, that he is being too intense about wanting sex, that in spite of protestations that he is keeping it casual, it’s clear that he still has a lot of emotional weight attached to sex and whether or not he’s getting it.

The other night he put on a show he knows I dislike, because he thought I “wouldn’t be paying attention” even though I can’t really help but pay some attention when he puts on the TV in our bedroom while I’m there, sitting where I can see it. I’d been thinking I actually wanted to have sex, but the show in question killed my libido, and in what I simply intended to be a PSA – hey, some shows kill my libido, and this is one of them – I came back out from the bathroom after saying so and found him with an utterly devastated expression on his face.

And he claims that it wasn’t because he wasn’t getting sex, it was because he felt like I was punishing him for having put the show on. (?!?) When I expressed incredulity over that, he said ‘punished’ wasn’t quite the right word, then went on to say he felt like he was in a no-win situation – he put on the show because he didn’t think he’d be getting any action, then found out he could have been getting action if he hadn’t put the show on, (but somehow feeling this way was my fault?)

Either way, that’s a lot of emotions clearly tied, at least in part, to sex and whether he’s getting it when he wants it. And I admit I’m hypersensitized to this particular issue, because while a submissive, conservative housewife, I thought it was my duty to give my husband what he wanted, but could never match his libido, and felt enormous guilt for rejecting his desires so often.

Even so, this is a conversation that could have waited 4 days.

Instead, he insisted on having the conversation. He didn’t want to “stress me out” but didn’t feel it was fair if he can’t talk about things because then he’ll be stressed out. He insisted he’s not being feeling intense or attaching emotional weight to whether or not he’s getting sex, that he’s handling rejection on that issue just fine. (It’s perfectly normal, after all, to feel like your wife is punishing you for putting on a TV show because she mentioned it killed her libido.)

I could only tell him what I felt based on my observations. Which didn’t seem to be getting us anywhere. I just wanted to wind down and go to sleep, which had been my stated intention before he decided he couldn’t wait to talk.

He finally said “do what you’re going to do” when it became apparent I had nothing more to say, and I put my headphones on and tried to listen to music and almost fell asleep but ended up wide awake instead, because anxiety had triggered a flight or fight reaction and pumped me full of adrenaline and cortisol. So I sat there for a while, awake, waiting, hoping he’d fall asleep but he didn’t, so eventually I took my laptop and left the room. I went and sat on the balcony and was there until 4am, when the battery began to run out of charge.

I went back to the bedroom. He seemed like he was asleep but instantly woke up as soon as he heard me moving around, and greeted me. I settled in with my headphones again and tried to wind down and fall asleep again, but the most I was able to achieve was lightly dozing for perhaps an hour. A night’s sleep gone, again.

Because he can’t accept me prioritizing a basic, literal need over his feelings and what he wants.

I bet this sounds small to at least some people that might read it. One night’s sleep lost – surely that’s a forgivable offense, surely that’s not a reason to have the last doubts about divorce removed. But it’s a “small thing” that is part of an ongoing pattern, in which he prioritizes his wants and his feelings over my most basic needs. A pattern of increasing insecurity and paranoia.

I just want out, I just want to be my own person again, I don’t want to feel like I’m under a grindstone, being worn into powder.

But I can’t do that, I can’t do anything until I have employment, at the very least. I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to survive long enough to reach a better place.

I’m not even sure I’ve communicated effectively in this blog post. I feel like I don’t have quite enough brain power to objectively evaluate what I’m writing for clarity.

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