I had to tell Ron, yet again, I would move out. Verbal abuse. I really enjoy how he is using bad-word synonyms for "promiscious". I only had sex with him, and that makes me a whore? Everything wrong in his life is my fault. I have "Bounce" by Manafest turned up very, very, loud to drown out the drunken ravings.
I don't see any way to even talk to him. He is angry because I have dirty dishes in the sink. If he would actually LISTEN, I could tell him, when I am depressed I am lucky to get into the shower, go to work, and do laundry. I'm not able to do dishes. But no, if I even got to "depressed' he would start ranting. He turns it into "God has saddled me with a broken [expletive]. Why do I have to have the broken cookie?" Later on he would say, oh, yeah, he loved, me - but he would take any mention of my illness as a personal attack on him. I forget what it is, but some personality disorder - I think narcissistic - they can't stand it if anyone else gets positive attention, and I see that a LOT with him. Any reminder that I am not perfect [oh, very mature, Ron is now saying I can buy a gun and shoot him, if I'm going to leave]...anyway, any reminder that I am not perfect just sets him off. Then, if he's feeling spiteful, he turns it around on me "Well, if I had a NORMAL woman..." and I always think, a normal woman would have castrated you for sleeping with your co-workers, plural, before leaving you. She sure wouldn't have stuck around after the accident when you thought the hospital bed was a taxicab. When he does that, I think it, and I have a tremendous urge to laugh.
How do I reason with that? It's completely irrational. Then, if we got that far, he would then get very cynical and accuse me of saying "I can't" when I really could, because I was lazy.
I mentioned on my local news site, in passing, that my brother is a convicted murderer. Another poster was horrified (somewhere between "I have mental illness" and "My mother had her first baby (the murderer) at age 13" - it just melted her brain. I forget, [shrug] I don't have the usual life. I accept that.
God uses that, to use me. He has made it clear to me that I'm to treat Ron as the unbelieving husband in 1 Corinthians 7 . Trust me, I don't like it. However, Ron verbally abusing me when I am depressed is as bad as him physically abusing me. It's abusing me, period.
God has not called me to be called a broken piece of waste, a *itch, synonyms for whore, and every ugly thing he can drudge out of his head. God has not called me to ante up for my own workboots, while Ron plans to buy "a lot" of vodka this weekend.
So I told him, if he hated me that much I'd be happy to move out. I am not put here on earth to please him. He needs to find happiness within, not because I am jumping to his every whim and allowing him to dump on me.
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