February 20th 1998. That's my wedding anniversary date. It's a shame that this year was the last one we'll share. I finally have the courage to walk. He's not a bad person. He's very well liked and well thought of by everyone that knows him. They don't live with him though. I've never done anything since we've been married without wondering if I'll be judged poorly for it by him. My house was never clean enough. My clothes too tight. My makeup too dark. My hair too blonde, too brown, too short.. My tattoos too big. My piercings made me a "freak". I didn't mop the floor correctly. I didn't iron the shirts properly. I drive too fast. My music is too loud. My voice is too loud. My laugh is irritating. My teeth are too yellow. I don't work out enough. I spend too much time on the computer. I spend too much time on the phone. I watch too much TV.
I've never complained. I've tried to be a good wife. One person can only take so much. There was actually a point in our marriage when he decided that his clothes in the closet needed to be color coordinated and hung according to article..of course only after being completely washed, dried, and ironed to specification. I had to be "taught" to mow the grass properly. I wasn't allowed to go over a certain speed on the lawn tractor. I was told years ago that I was not allowed to be jealous of other women. I was warned before arriving at a place where his friends or fellow employees would be, not to "talk their ears off because nobody cares about the stuff you have to talk about". I suffered the consequences if he had a bad day. I would go four or five days without being spoken to and I had no idea as to why. I would ask, believe me.. He would roll his eyes and walk away. He would watch me lie on the bed and cry for days and still say nothing.. Then one day, everything would be normal. We tried counselling. He felt the therapist was blaming him for everything, so we couldn't go anymore.
I can't say I'm completely without fault.. I would spend money to make myself feel better. It was all I had. Then I was in trouble for that. So he got a separate bank account. One that I still have no access to. I've not seen an income tax return in years. I have no idea how much money my husband makes. If I need money and ask for it, I have to pay it back when I get my check.
There comes a time when you decide that even if you have to live on the street, enough is enough. I had that day 5 days ago. I've never been so fucking free. I actually enjoy living in the same house with him and not speaking to Him. I love the fact that he has to sleep on the couch. I love that he refuses to eat anything I cook. I love that I don't have to tell him where I'm going. I love knowing that He knows he's lost the best fucking thing that ever happened to him. You know what I love the most though? Me. I love myself. Finally.