I have literally been walking on eggshells lately. For months. Anyone who reads my blog or knows me in real life has come to realize this. I tiptoe around Mr. BPD (my “husband”) because I really don’t want to deal with his outbursts and issues. For a while, it was working okay. I still had to deal with a lot of shit from him but the meds seemed to make his outbursts fewer and father between and when they did happen they were less severe. However, today, regardless of my tiptoeing and his medications, all hell broke loose.

Now, I’m not sure if this is a BPD trait or not, but this man will CONSTANTLY threaten to leave me if I don’t give him his way, argue with him or piss him off in some random ridiculous way. He uses it like emotional blackmail. Remember when we were all like five years old and on the playground and one person would get pissed off and say, “I’m taking my toys and going home!”? Well, that is Mr. BPD when he doesn’t get his way.

Anyway, back to the point. I wake up this morning to find Mr. BPD staring at me. He had obviously been up for a while. So I ask him what’s wrong. He tells me he had a nightmare. I say I’m sorry. Not as in “I’m sorry because it’s my fault” but as in “I’m sorry because I don’t like to see people in emotional pain” (regardless of the fact that my life is full of it). He proceeds to tell me that I better be sorry because it’s my fault. WTF?

Let me tell you, this was a wonderful thing to wake up to. So I try to reason with him. How was his nightmare my fault? Because I cheat on him (no I don’t) and his nightmare was his subconscious telling him that I do (okay, whatever). So I explain that I do not cheat on him and that he’s being paranoid. And this time, I actually get pissed. Because who the fuck is he, after everything he has put me through, to tell me what I do and do not do? And who the hell does he think he is, raging and lashing out at me for a nightmare that was totally not my fault? So I told him to shut up.

That’s it. Two words. Shut up. I said shut up and I walked to the bathroom. All of the sudden I hear shit slamming around in the bedroom. Mr. BPD is packing a suitcase. I say, “What are you doing?” He informs me that I am a piece of shit. That I don’t do anything right. That he is moving back to Utah to live with his brother and that I am absolutely worthless. He continues to state that he knows I cheat on him, that I am a liar and that this is all MY fault.

So what do I do? This time I roll my eyes and let him pack his shit. Because you know what? I’m fucking fed up. And yes, I drop the f-bomb. I grew up in Chicago in a very “Chicago” family. I’ve known how to use the f-bomb since I was five. Maybe it’s not right, but it’s who I am. If you don’t like it, don’t read my blog. Because according to Mr. BPD, the word “fucking” is just proof that I am not a nice person. Forget the fact that he says it more than I do. I am evil incarnate according to him.

So he’s packing his bags and yelling at me and I’m not saying a word. He says “Aren’t you going to say anything?” and I say “Yeah, fuck you.” Then I get up and walk downstairs. He carries his suitcase to his car, leaving his son here with me. At this point I don’t know where he’s going and I really don’t give a shit.

So he’s gone from the house. About 45 minutes later I get a call from him. He wants to let me know that he is almost at work and that he’s made it safely and that he loves me. WTF? Is he kidding me?

Readers, I am telling you. One of these days I am just going to completely snap. I am going to greet him at the door after a day of work, kick him in the balls and then give him a nice round-house kick to the face. Because I can. And because he seems to have forgotten who I am and what I can do.

Listen, I’m not into country music, but there’s a song by Waylen Jennings (I think that’s how you spell it). It’s about an eagle that can attack if and when it needs to. I’m going to put it on Mr. BPD’s iPod.

I’m all for sympathizing with an illness. I’m all for helping those who need help. What I will NOT tolerate is someone who knows that they are doing something wrong and then using their diagnosis as a crutch and an excuse to treat me like a doormat.

Comments
  1. ar85 says:

    Omg woman read this book, “controlling people” by patricia evans http://www.patriciaevans.com/books.html I just got out of a relationship that sounds like yours. We were never married but I got pregnant just before I left (figures) so we decided to try one last time. Baby is 7 months old and we are smackdab in the middle of a nasty custody battle. SO now he will forever have some degree of control over my life… GET OUT OF THAT SHIT. You will eventually anyway so just save yourself the heartache and do it now.

    • princessjd says:

      I’m sorry for your situation. It’s horrible when they use children to control you, isn’t it?

      I’m going to leave. It’s just a question of when, not if. My circumstances are hard to explain.

      I’ve tried to help this man all I can. I got him to stop drinking, got him to start taking medications. Of course, I then had the AUDACITY to suggest cognitive behavioral therapy and I guess that made me Satan. After all, he stopped drinking and started taking medication. What more should I expect from him? Not once did he even consider these things were all to make HIM better. Seriously, if I had the temper I had when I was in my 20’s he’d be in the bottom of the Chicago River. Thank God I found Jesus.

  2. Hope22 says:

    Oh, princessjd, I know this comment is a little late, but you are making me feel a whole lot better!! I left my BDP-asshole-ova-bf about six weeks ago. Up until that time I prayed and prayed and prayed, on my knees no less for God to give me a way out!! This is when you know its bad. I have never in all of my days prayed like that, sweat dripping down my back and all (not really, but you get the idea, he he) for a man to get the hell out of my life!! God finally answered my prayers and gave me the strength to LEAVE.

    You reminded me of last Christmas when we were set to drive up to northern California, how he was scheduled to pick me up from work at noon (I was supposed to get off early), but because I had a last minute RUSH to handle, I wasn’t going to be able to leave until around 3pm. I dreaded making the phone call to tell him about the time change because I knew what would be waiting for me!! Finally, because I couldn’t stall any longer, I made the call. I got a “FUCK YOU, I wish you had of told me sooner (huh?), I could have left last night by myself, now there’s going to be traffic….I can’t fucking believe this….i’m out, i’m leaving without you.” And then he hung up on me, again, and like so many other times. I had never felt so humiliated (which is hard to believe since he had so many other times made me feel like shit). I went numb. I slowly walked to the women’s bathroom and wept silently because there was someone else in the stall next to me. I then got on my knees and prayed on the tiled, public bathroom stall floor. I prayed for the next 30 minutes like a serious church woman, which I am not. Who cared if my boss was looking for me, I needed that man GONE and I was so relieved that he left to go up north without me.

    But then suddenly, I got a text message. It said that he would be there to pick me up at 3pm, and that he would take a nap until then. And of course I went. And the 5 hour ride was hell on earth!!!

    Fast forward 4 months, the praying must have worked, because I finally left, and I AIN’T goin back.

    You can do it. I will make sure to PRAY like an almighty prayer warrior for you tonight!!!

    Good luck and thanks for the blog.

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