Rage (mine)
Antonio and I hammered out an agreement yesterday afternoon.
By this afternoon, he had disputed, refuted, and otherwise shot down every single point of that agreement. Some by manipulation, some by twisting of words, some by outright refusal and a 180-degree turn from what he said was okay yesterday. He said he'd sleep elsewhere when I was home with the kids (my non-bar shift nights) and even arranged a half-decent, albeit temporary, arrangement for us to switch off with, and now he's downstairs sleeping on the sofa because "damned if I'm gonna be forced out of MY house."
Now I'm getting fucking pissed.
He's pushing every button he can find. He steadfastly refuses to leave the house and insists I have no legal right to force him to do so (and, unfortunately, since we have no formal agreement that he be the one to leave, I think he's right). He admitted tonight, when I questioned him directly, that he is considering fighting for spousal and child support because he's "scared" about his future. Lucky for me that I'm doing this now, nine years into the marriage... ten years is usually considered a minimum except in extreme circumstances.
His goal: to keep me where I am, or make me fucking miserable if I try to escape.
My goal: to stop being so fucking afraid of his bullshit. I can be stronger than him -- I have been all along, yet somehow I've allowed him to keep holding the keys to my well being.
I told the lawyer on Thursday that I would only call him back to get started if Antonio and I couldn't make at least a bit of progress this weekend toward working something out on our own. Yesterday afternoon, after two hours of grueling discussion (anyone who's lived with a master manipulator knows how fucking exhausting it is just to keep one's own head screwed on straight), I felt like we had indeed made some progress. Tonight, we had another long, grueling discussion (um, yeah, it's time to put an end to these), and although I wasn't happy that he was staying here (he insists that he will sleep on the sofa), I said Goodnight and we'll talk about finances tomorrow. After some snide remark about my parents being happy, he found some pretext to come up the ladder THREE TIMES -- "well, this is my space, too." The third time, I got angry and half-yelled (since the kids are asleep), "This is why I so desperately want my own space!!!"
God damn him to hell. On top of everything else, and despite the sucking whirlpool of our financial situation (our long-distance is now cut off, the electric is next, and the store mortgage is 22 days late), I now have to find a decent place for myself and the kids to live if I really want to get away from this fucking son of a bitch.
Monday morning, I call the lawyer. I am fucking done.
By this afternoon, he had disputed, refuted, and otherwise shot down every single point of that agreement. Some by manipulation, some by twisting of words, some by outright refusal and a 180-degree turn from what he said was okay yesterday. He said he'd sleep elsewhere when I was home with the kids (my non-bar shift nights) and even arranged a half-decent, albeit temporary, arrangement for us to switch off with, and now he's downstairs sleeping on the sofa because "damned if I'm gonna be forced out of MY house."
Now I'm getting fucking pissed.
He's pushing every button he can find. He steadfastly refuses to leave the house and insists I have no legal right to force him to do so (and, unfortunately, since we have no formal agreement that he be the one to leave, I think he's right). He admitted tonight, when I questioned him directly, that he is considering fighting for spousal and child support because he's "scared" about his future. Lucky for me that I'm doing this now, nine years into the marriage... ten years is usually considered a minimum except in extreme circumstances.
His goal: to keep me where I am, or make me fucking miserable if I try to escape.
My goal: to stop being so fucking afraid of his bullshit. I can be stronger than him -- I have been all along, yet somehow I've allowed him to keep holding the keys to my well being.
I told the lawyer on Thursday that I would only call him back to get started if Antonio and I couldn't make at least a bit of progress this weekend toward working something out on our own. Yesterday afternoon, after two hours of grueling discussion (anyone who's lived with a master manipulator knows how fucking exhausting it is just to keep one's own head screwed on straight), I felt like we had indeed made some progress. Tonight, we had another long, grueling discussion (um, yeah, it's time to put an end to these), and although I wasn't happy that he was staying here (he insists that he will sleep on the sofa), I said Goodnight and we'll talk about finances tomorrow. After some snide remark about my parents being happy, he found some pretext to come up the ladder THREE TIMES -- "well, this is my space, too." The third time, I got angry and half-yelled (since the kids are asleep), "This is why I so desperately want my own space!!!"
God damn him to hell. On top of everything else, and despite the sucking whirlpool of our financial situation (our long-distance is now cut off, the electric is next, and the store mortgage is 22 days late), I now have to find a decent place for myself and the kids to live if I really want to get away from this fucking son of a bitch.
Monday morning, I call the lawyer. I am fucking done.