However, I did reflect a little yesterday following a women's day retreat that I attended. It somehow brought lots of feelings to the surface and something really dawned on me.
I had been far too much of a problem for Peter.
His mother would boast quite regularly at what an "easy" child Peter had been- "never a problem." Peter was used to receiving praise for never communicating his needs and hiding away in his bedroom, so he neglected them and largely, became numb to them. It's not surprising that, during more serious conversations, Peter's only response to any questions asked was "don't know." A hallmark of a disorder, but also a hallmark of emotional neglect.
Then, Peter met me.
In the beginning, he was highly attentive; he sort of honed in on me at first- wanted to know everything about me; he even said so at one point. The contrast between Peter's behaviour at the first wedding he took me to and his behaviour at the last, is quite different. The way he stood by my side the first time, introducing me to people he knew with maturity and consideration, then the last time we went to a wedding of his friends: him abandoning me at a table whilst he stood getting incredibly drunk at the bar. I have found myself reflecting, wondering, why his behaviour changed so drastically.
I had become a Problem.
The night of the latter wedding, I'd been struggling with severe stomach cramps for around 5 days, I was being tested for coeliac, crohns disease and other disorders; I'd also had some bleeding so it was being taken quite seriously. Peter hated problems. I was always required to be on the same plane as him: functioning, denying, masking, or coping. If I wasn't, it was met with silent resentment, ignorance, neglect and disinterest.
I remember the resentment I was met with during both my pregnancies. I couldn't cook for six weeks. Between weeks 6-12, I was overcome by nausea, wretching and heaving all day long and Peter had to do more at home, cooking every evening meal. He was miserable with me, resentful. One of the traits of ASD is the lacking theory of mind; he could have told himself "this won't be forever," but it was like he himself was completely unaware of how he was feeling and his subsequent behaviour towards me. He went inward. Quiet. I felt like I was being punished for not functioning appropriately.
During the newborn years after our second baby came along, he seemed to want to go out more than ever. I remember him saying "just because you can't go out without the baby, doesn't mean I can't!" Me not being able to do the things that I would have done pre-baby was my problem, not his. He could have spoken to himself and said "the baby years don't last long, she won't be breastfeeding forever, let's just stick together for now." I mean it wasn't that he couldn't go out at all- I just asked him not to go out so often and for so long. Little did I realise at the time, I was also sick with an undiagnosed autoimmune condition, so I was exhausted. But to Peter, I was causing problems.
He hated me being ill.
And when the children were little, I was ill a lot. My immune system was always weaker, likely the lack of sleep and lack of vitamins in my body, probably all of the worry about the children too. He despised it when I couldn't function. He never said "it's not my problem you're ill," but he still meant it. He left me at home once, heavily pregnant with a sickness bug and a water infection, caring for our toddler. She was sleeping, so he argued that I could rest, what was the problem? He was going to the pub whether I liked it or not. I had a temperature and I was so weak; I'd also pulled a stomach muscle whilst being sick and was quite frankly, scared. I just felt so ill. I didn't want to be alone, so I called him to come home; he did so and then he didn't speak to me at all that evening or the following day.
I've mentioned many times throughout the blog, his mother and sister's behaviour towards me. When I spoke to Peter about it, reaching out for support I was always, without fail, the problem for speaking out. He made that very clear. I was the common denominator. This is despite him admitting to me that he had seen the behaviour for himself; the problem? My lack of tolerance. I was expected to attend and to be nice at family gatherings and celebrations despite me being treated like I wasn't there by his mother and despite his sister's false niceness- me knowing that she was my anonymous poster. It was her posting anonymous, derogatory essays on my blog at the time. They weren't the problem. I was. Because I was talking about it.
He hated any form of conflict at all.
I'd reach out for his support if I had an issue at work or if I was upset because of something a friend had done and he would make it very clear that I was in the wrong for speaking out. Quiet, ignorance and toxic tolerance of the outside world were his traits, not mine and he didn't understand this.
Interestingly, Peter loved hearing about other people's problems when it was presented to him as "gossip." This is one of the reasons I find myself questioning his ASD. He is a social gossip. He loves to hear that someone has fallen out with another colleague at work, he revels in it. He can even put on the concerned persona as his confidant will spill their troubles to him, then, he'll gladly move on and gossip about it to another confidant.
When my Grandfather died, a huge blow for me, as we were so close having lived with him when I was younger, he stayed at home doing DIY whilst I stood at his bedside. I looked around at my cousins (a lot of them) all with their partners at their side. Where was mine? And then a few months later, at a party, he asked his friend's wife if she was ok following the death of her mother, even asking her if his friend (her husband) had been supporting her enough. I was shocked. This was not the man who left me at the death bed of my Grandfather to finish off DIY.
I have been subtly punished for being "problematic," for not functioning, for putting on him. I can only conclude that once we're in intimate relationships with these people, they often see us as extensions of themselves; we are expected to behave and to exist on their level, on their plane. Our boundaries, our needs, our thoughts and feelings all diminish into nothing and we pay the price for not towing the line. I guess, now that our relationship is over, his life will be more problem and expectation free and he'll have concluded that there was only ever really one problem all along: Me. He's now left alone to please himself; he's back in his old bedroom at his old house, with his familiar family of origin. He will help out practically when he's at home and his mother will remind him how he's "never been a problem" and he'll think she's right. Content in ignorant comfort.
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