Reactive Abuse

I always knew that eventually, I would need to write this post and now seems like the right time. 

At the weekend, Peter and I had discussions around reconciliation and I apologised for sometimes, the way I speak to him and my anger towards him. Peter refused to apologise for anything at all, stating that the problem is me. As a result, I then put an end to any further discussion around reconciliation. 

He informed me that he had showed some his friends some messages I'd sent him. Peter told me that his friends were shocked and said to him that their wives don't send the sorts of messages that I do. This helped him form the conclusion that I am the real problem. I asked him if he had explained to his friends the gravity of his dismissiveness, neglect, apathy, mockery and antagonism towards me in the context of these messages and he responded:

"Oh yeh, I told them I'm a pain to live with."

Only "pain to live with" doesn't scratch the surface does it? 

In my journal this morning, I wrote about how all this has made me feel and I think the following clinches it. "I know that some of the things I've said and done to Peter could be perceived as abusive, but I have only had two options in this relationship until very recently-

1) To fall into a deep depression

2) Fight back 

I always chose the latter because falling into a pit of depression where there are two young children to care for just isn't an option."

Due to Peter's alexythmia, I've had to learn to be extremely firm with him- it is the only way that he would ever listen to me. I have hated it. I always asked him, why do you only pay attention when I shout or become exasperated, or speak down to you like a child? His response? "Don't know." Yet, Peter is now insulted that I've spoken to him in this way and he now has friends and family to back him up and tell him how horrible I am. Peter has caused this and now, he is the victim- he's very much like Eeyore. In some descriptions of covert narcissism, the "eeyore persona" is actually listed as a symptom. 

 He would repeatedly do the same things I'd asked him not to without a care in the world. At one point, I resorted to sending him photographic evidence of mess he created for me to clean up in the house, because he literally needed to "see" it to believe it. He would blatantly deny anything otherwise and I'd feel like I was going crazy. He hated the photographs and said I was trying to ruin his day. 

I recently shared this information in a relationships forum, that I sometimes used to take photographs of his mess and dirt and got annihilated by other women for being abusive. "Just have a normal conversation" they retorted.

 

If only I'd given that a try...

He persistently denied my reality if it didn't fit with a version of the truth that he felt comfortable with. He told me I was imagining things and never apologised when I proved him wrong; he would tell me how his friends wives were better people because they didn't expect as much from their husbands; how some womens' husbands worked away, they coped with their babies alone, why couldn't I? How the problem was my mother for not doing enough to care for OUR children; he told me how he pitied me for needing his support. 

If I asked him to go up, he would always go down; he would outwardly agree to things and then sabotage them so they couldn't happen; he would obsess over the white goods in the kitchen, but create more work for me in the process by continuing to use them if they were broken, or he would use the washing machine during the night when I was sleeping and create extra drying/folding/putting away for me when I had other things to do, because when he did it everything was creased. 

He was always on his own agenda which was never communicated to me, he would punish me through sulking and silent treatment. He would disregard my need for connection and make himself busy after telling me we would spend time together; he would leave me when I was poorly and accuse me of being ill on purpose if it sabotaged his personal agenda because he needed to be with the children. He quietly resented me and treated me with silent contempt for years. I never knew where I stood; I felt confused, unstable and insecure in my relationship with him. Always on edge; always in the dark.

As a result, I was sometimes, what many people might consider, abusive. I would swear at him, shout and send pissed off messages like this one:

"You need to stop meddling with the washing unnecessarily it's coming across as weirdly antagonistic and it makes me really dislike you. It's odd Peter. Is there a reason you HAVE to interfere with the washing in some way shape or form? I am starting to think you really do need psychological help for it. I have spoken to you about this countlese times because you are creating more and more work for me. This is draining now. I've had enough!"

Then last week, I spoke to him about taking on more responsibility for our family, despite being separated. He reluctantly agreed and then challenged me about something else in retaliation. I called him a "mummy's boy" for not wanting to be more responsible and said that he could just "run back home to his childhood bedroom like a loser." Reading this, I can see that it's an abusive thing to say. This reaction however is not born of a need to control, to coerce or put him down, it is born of intense frustration and exhaustion and devastation at being made invisible for so long. Also, showing anger is the only way that Peter will sit up and listen to me. It's a sad state of affairs.

Of course most wives don't send messages like these or say cruel things. This is because their husbands don't have fascinations with their washing machine or run back to their childhood bedrooms rather than work at their marriages. I've hated myself for the way I've been; I've had an extra rebellious child for years, one that in the eyes of his friends, is a nice, helpful guy. I have been living with Hyde. Everything is a calculation, a game of monopoly to him, but all I've ever wanted is to work as a team and love each other. My passion has been turned to anger. 

And I hate it.

I have to live with and heal from the way I've been in this relationship, in addition to healing from the hurt he's caused. I don't like myself and I don't like the way I've had to survive. Because he refused to work on himself, I have been forced into negative change to keep a family together, to be a mum. Until recently, I had no choice to keep this family together, despite the misery because I've had nowhere to go and no other support around me. Now that both children are in school, I can work more, earn more and mother a bit less. I am not trapped anymore. I think Peter has felt very comfortable in my entrapment, knowing that my choices were limited and that he could get away with ignoring my every need.

I realise now that my anger was often really his- he used me to express it. He would create uncomfortable situations that would drag on for days until I'd erupt and then he'd be happy again. I recently read a blog post (I can seem to find it) which explains how some types of men will often create situations of tension through uncommunicated agendas which their wives have failed to meet and then needle their wives until they express his repressed anger. This is then followed by relief and lightness from the man who instigated the tension in the first place.  This has been my experience with Peter. 

I imagine that some people could read this post and think... ah, she's just blaming him for her abusive behaviour. That's what abusers do! And I'd understand it. I just hope that some women out there fall upon this post and resonate, knowing that they're not alone. That sometimes, female abuse towards a male can be a survival mechanism when you're living with a man who traps you into misery because deep down, he is threatened by your happiness.

Peter the Handyman

This week, I've had to rely on Peter. 

It hasn't felt like my finest hour and at first, I was mad at myself for having to rely on him, but it has given me yet another perspective on this roller coaster ride of healing the life I've had with him. 

It is the school holidays and although the first week played out well in terms of the childcare divide, the second week hasn't gone quite so well. I decided that it would be a good time to get proactive and begin redecorating the house in preparation for sale, however I am struggling with my lower back- to the point that I had to stop painting half way through as I could barely stand up. My children are young and very dependent, I believe that my eldest daughter has ASD and they can't just be left to occupy themselves for any length of time. I am constantly having to choose between getting stuff done and giving them my attention. This week, I couldn't do either. 

Peter is practical and likes to serve in the practical sense- sounds great? It is, unless you also expect love, intimacy and connection and then you're going to be disappointed. However, in a practical crisis, Peter is incredibly helpful.

My Dad is alcohol dependent, my mum lives a couple of hundred miles away, I don't speak to my abusive brother anymore (amazing the toxicity that clears when you decide to leave these men) and my friends have their own families and shit going on! Peter is free and happy to help. And, other than Peter, there is quite literally nobody else that I can call on. 

He's been at the house helping me over the last few days as a result and if I'm honest, he's done an incredible job this week. I feel grateful. Of course, this is his house too and he's also responsible for the maintenance of it even though he isn't living here anymore, but he's juggled the decorating whilst caring for the kids so I could rest; he's folded my washing, made my bed, cooked for me. I realise that I've needed Peter in my life for many years because of the support I don't have from others around me, from my wider family. It made me think that if Peter is willing to support me, being willing to accept the support can only make my life easier. 

The big question however is whether I can tolerate having Peter in my life as a practical help when I need it, whilst switching off my emotions. Having no emotional expectations at all of him? Can I accept a huge change in dynamic? I just don't know. I'm human at the end of the day, not a robot. My life is better, easier with Peter's practical help, but I feel as though I'd be allowing myself to settle for a handy man, even if he doesn't live here anymore. Part of me feels that this is exactly the relationship that Peter wanted in the first place. But does that matter? If it helps me too?

Would allowing Peter to remain in my life as a regular, practical support hinder any future romantic happiness that I may find with someone else? Will I ever move on if I don't sever these ties once and for all?

Autism and Family Toxicity

I think I'm getting my head around what I've been dealing with after months of mental turbulence and over-analysing. Some people would tell me to drop it, "move on, you'll never understand!" But I have to, for my children who remain a part of Peter and his family.

Finally speaking out to a counsellor about my thoughts has helped tremendously and I'm finally unweaving the web of uncertainty. 

I now believe that Peter is autistic with narcissistic traits. I don't believe that he is a full-blown narcissist. It's thanks to one of the admins of the Cassandra group that I can now understand it better. She put it to me that you can have narcissistic traits and not have narcissistic personality disorder. I was confused because I was seeing so many narcissistic traits in Peter and yet I know that he's autistic and I know that a huge side of him wants to please me still. Which sounds like I'm contradicting myself when I've written so many posts about his obstinate behaviour. It's extremely complex. 

The best way to describe it is that he wants to make me cups of tea to please me, but if I dare snatch away his independence by expecting him to parent when he doesn't feel like it, then he hates me. 

It makes sense that he inherited his autism from his father (his mother's enabler) and from his mother, he learned to be narcissistic. Thing is, when people have autism, all that is familiar becomes right and factual. Peter is gaslighted by his mother's narcissism because of his own disability. Her manipulation is quite powerful in this circumstance, as not only does she have vindictive charm and emotional deceit on her side, she has Peter and his father's unquestionable loyalty and lack of theory of mind to ever hold her to account for anything at all. She'll know this too.

Peter's loyalty will always be to the FOO (family of origin) and I will always be the rebel who came along casting shadows and doubts and speaking out about things not being right. His mother likely also has ADHD which adds an extra layer of victimhood to her profile. I am trained to spot neurodivergent traits and I also refer children for testing; as no child I've referred has ever left with no diagnosis on referral, I'm pretty confident in my ability to spot these signs. His mother is extremely disorganised, struggles to keep still, everything is at a million miles an hour. There is a common family saying: she can't help it. His autistic father has always taken the lead, taken control, but his anxiety shows through his anger, impatience and frustration. She antagonises his reactions, to cause him shame, which makes him give more. Just like Peter does with me.

Peter is still a lost child.

Drowning in his obligation to please and appease his mother, frightened to make any life decisions without the validation and agreement from his father, still very much emotionally enmeshed within their closed circle. 

Then, there's his sister.

She was always different. She spoke to me openly about the dysfunction; told me that she knew "something isn't right with mum." But, I saw, in time, how she played on the same victimhood as her mother did and still does, Peter and his father bailing her out of every mistake, every disappointment. His Dad always in the driving seat of her life; Peter, ready to save her. When her brother met someone who is independent, free thinking, organised and self-driven, what happened? 

Envy. Then came the secret harassment of me online; the screenshotting; the anonymous posts on my blog. Because she has been nurtured by dysfunction and toxicity; she begins growing into a future narcissist. 

Peter sees his sister in a similar light to his mum; these perceptions are unchanging. The perceptions have kept him safe since he was a young boy. Little changes in Peter's life. Change frightens him. He was always such a good boy for being so caring of his little sister and for Peter, this narrative must stay the same. This is a man who still stands up to wipe his bottom when he goes to the toilet, just like our 4 year old does. 

Most of us reassess our friendships, the place we call home, our jobs, the cars we drive, the places we go as we navigate our way through the various chapters of life. Men with autism don't do this.

They cling on for sameness.

I'm his enemy. I like change; variety, colour. I like to grow, comminicate, challenge things and so I threaten all that keeps him "safe" in his mind. This is what is so sad about autistic people growing up in dysfunctional homes; the toxicity never goes away and it spreads its tentacles because they often don't have the capacity to stop it. It's difficult for me not to feel compassion for Peter at times, but I've learned not to allow my compassion for him to engulf my own self respect. 

I carry this huge burden now. Knowing that I'm the only one left who can stop it; hoping that my own children don't suffer. I'm not perfect either, I'm still re-parenting myself after my own dysfunctional upbringing. They say it takes a village to raise children, but when your village is corrupt, there's only one person left. 

Letter to Peter: We Missed Out.

We missed out on so much.

Did you ever realise that?

We never had an "our song;" never once celebrated an anniversary after the first year. There was no marriage because you said things just weren't "good enough" between us, as if you were waiting for some sort of fairytale romance to sweep us up- yet you refused to create it yourself and resisted my efforts. 

I missed out on sharing the same surname as you and our children, through waiting to be married like we said we would. You told me not to ask you, but you never asked me either. Eventually, you said I didn't like you enough to marry you, so you could never ask me. I think you were right. Ironically, it never bothered you enough to leave me though. The first ever wedding we attended together, you insisted on catching my eye throughout the vows, stroking my ring finger as you did so. I always felt I must have done something awful to have made you change your mind so drastically after that.

There were few "our moments," afterwards. I'd search for your eyes during happy times, looking for a tender acknowledgement, but your eyes were always searching somewhere else. 

Our sex was predictable, always the same routine. We never once had sex whilst playing music; we never did it in the car or on the kitchen table. We never talked about sex; you made me feel like it was dirty. I've never felt that way about sex before. You never once mentioned sex in a text message, infact you never once sent me a flirtatious message in the whole time we were together.

It all became so half-hearted, didn't it? 

You unchose me but kept me for yourself. Why did you do that? 

You missed out on romance for many years of your life prior to me. I wasn't your first love, but I was your first commitment... if that's what you can call it. Because you never really did commit to me, did you? Instead, always waiting for things to get better without ever making them better. You missed out on me; I missed out on you, because really, deep down, we never properly had each other, did we? I've been on my own this whole time. A mere player in your role play.

Angry with Autism

Recently, I began a course of counselling with my local wellbeing service- I needed something more regular than the monthly sessions that I've been able to afford over the last few years. 

Weekly counselling is more intense. There's less time to fill inbetween sessions and it being over the phone has meant that there are less visual distractions. It works for me.

Yesterday was my third session with J and I finally, properly dropped my guard and told her exactly what had been troubling me this week. I'm analysing everything. But mostly, is Peter abusive or is Peter autistic? Of course, autistic people can be abusers too.

I told her how my Dad was autistic and also abusive, how my recently diagnosed autistic friend insulted me only two weeks ago and how, when I pointed out that she had insulted me, she expected ME to comfort HER. I told her that I can not separate autism from abuse and cruelty. I told her how guilty I feel for this, because my daughter is likely autistic herself; many of the children I work with are also autistic. I thought she'd be horrified. What if my counsellor is autistic, I asked myself? She wasn't horrified at all. She responded with empathy, said she had heard this story before. She asked me "are you angry with autism?"

"Yes" I said.

As I spoke more, I explored people I know who have autism who show empathy, are not as self entitled, who care. I know an autistic counsellor even; she's not like these other people in my life at all. But I also told her how autism translates as "selfism" and that it's difficult to have so many autistic people in my life because I can not keep on looking out for people who don't look out for me. These relationships feel one sided and I am burnt out. She understood that. She said it sounded reasonable that a lot of autistic people in one person's life would pull on their reserves, on their energy. She asked me if I blame myself that I have several autistic people around me? I said yes. 

Why?

Because I attract them. 

She pointed out that I never attracted my Dad into my life; I had no say in that. 

Yes, I know. 

It seemed ok for me to be angry with autism. She didn't judge. Just accepted it. I told her how confused I am because I also have SO MUCH compassion for autism! I will push and pull and clamour for support for the autistic children that I work with- I'd walk over hot coals to help them get through school life. I disagree openly with other professionals when I don't feel these children are receiving the appropriate support that they so need. Then I wonder if the reason I work so hard for the children is because I know the impact it has on their relationships when they get older? From personal experience of being at the other end of this behaviour. Also, they never asked for autism did they? 

I feel like two different people.

Professional me and personal me. Personal me is tired of autism, tired of the impact on my family, me, my relationships, my life. So, I'll accept the anger for now and work through it, but the first step is acknowledging it. So, laying myself bare, here are my reasons for feeling angry with autism:

1) I hate that it gives people an excuse to be selfish when self-centred personality disorders don't come with any excuses at all. So, I find myself wondering, what's the difference?

2) I hate that if I speak out about how this disorder affects me and my life, I'm labelled "ableist" as if my wants, my needs and feelings don't matter. 

3) Autism appears to affect more men than women, which adds a whole other layer of domestic inequality to a world which is already geared towards exploiting the energy and time of women. 

4) When my undiagnosed autistic Dad raged at me for disrupting his predictable routines as a child, he gave me fears, insecurities and a level of self consciousness which still lingers and impacts on my life and relationships today. His challenges shouldn't be my wounds to carry.

5) They say that love breeds love, but for me, autism has bred autism. No matter how much I said I'd never marry a man like my Dad, I selected a partner who is also autistic, whose father is autistic and now my daughter is likely autistic. My compassion for autism is being eroded by the neglect for my own needs as a result of the condition in the people I have loved and love. 

6) To have compassion for a spouse with autism, one has to decrease their expectations and minimise their own self respect because you can't have both where there is autism. There is no balance in selfism. 

7) With autism there comes a stubbornness and a reluctance to change, yet a relationship can only thrive when the autistic partner commits to inner work and openness to change. We therefore spend our time stuck in a catch 22 because they won't leave either.

8) It operates in secret. Behind a mask which most people don't see, we're left wondering if we're imagining our battles and challenges? Am I unreasonable? We gaslight ourselves and it makes us sad and eventually, ill.

9) Autistic individuals often have a helplessness about them, which for men, often attracts helpful women. It attracted us once. As our executive functioning appears more intact, we get blamed for any discord in our relationships, for being too feisty, too controlling. We can never win. 

10) It anatagonises our good intentions.

Autism rebels against our plans, our communication, our love. It enjoys opposites and uncertainty, ambiguity. It dislodges our safety.

11) It makes us invisible.