Tears

Friday night for the first time in a long time, I shed a few tears. After a year of emotional numbness, coupled with repetitive catharses (which sadly no one noticed as being shockingly abnormal as they were), I found myself back to – I sincerely hope- a sense of normal crying. The kind of crying, where you realise you are tearing and it isn’t coupled with an enormous, uncontrollable gushing urge to just bawl, shudder and let it all out like I have been doing over this last year.

I’m not even sure why I was crying, or why I felt so emotionally raw and open for the first time since about 2001. I half hoped that it would be the beginning of finding my lost emotional self again.

Today I am sad. Sad for playing out a life in which I choose not to go out and have fun, because it is better than feeling insulted and ignored by FW (which normally happens when we go out). I have a few personal invitations, consistently, but as much as he says go out, he always re-aligns the situation with a patronising set of questions, suggestions and behaviour that makes him look like a parent allowing a child to go out, but only under certain circumstances. And I feel uncomfortable enough to sometimes withdraw. No doubt this is his tact, to control.

I feel so trapped here. As much as this flat reflects my choice in property and my tastes in some of the decor, it is not my home. FW has dominated and even though it goes unspoken, there are things that are done his way or not at all. I have chosen for the sake of my mental balance and to keep the peace to accept them but they generally keep me in a constant state of disorientation and therefore discomfort.

Like the TV. He always has the TV on. It’s on as soon as he walks through the door and all night and quite often all our waking hours of the weekend, and let me tell you, BBC with no sky is mind numbingly boring. That’s worth repeating, it is MIND NUMBINGLY BORING. Any form of music is no competition and he complains if my music is on for too long.

When I was younger I used to joke with my friends that we were the sort who had the TV on in the background, with the sound switched off, and the stereo playing music instead. I really love playing music. Apart from calming me, it also lifts my spirits and puts me in a good mood. For as long as I can remember, a lounge to me has been a place to relax, very often with appropriate music in the background, it was who we were and who I still am. Now I have to, along with everything else that has been stolen from my life, give up the sense of calm and relaxation that I have always been used to.

I’m suddenly not surprised I had a mental breakdown last year, with everything else going on and not a moment to relax, I couldn’t take it anymore.

And the mortgage is dragging on and on. I don’t know whether it’s because FW is being unreasonable with the mortgage company or whether there is indeed a delay. The last time he applied for a mortgage, he ended up losing £500 worth of the deposit fee on the property, after I advised him to get the offer in principal first, but of course he never listens to me. This time he happens to be squealing about £200 pounds worth of admin fee that may secure the mortgage offer and wrap it up. And he seems to be making an issue out of the prolonged life cover, which I know from experience is not a major factor in the mortgage itself, it can certainly be concluded after the mortgage. He seems to have a very incorrect view as to who to remain professional to and who not to. So many times he has been unconditionally considerate and professional to those that have absolutely no bearing on the particular business at hand, and now he has crossed a professional line with his mortgage advisors, which cannot bode well for him. Perhaps he chose so to ensure the end of this connection.

I think FW is just prolonging this because it gives him an opportunity to continue living here while he drags this mortgage out - of course to my detriment. In January when we had that final conversation about his attitude, he said he was so remorseful that he had taken so much of my life away and that he wanted to make up by even offering to pay my living expenses while he bought the flat. I knew it was all talk. Now he doesn’t even contribute what he promised towards the mortgage because he says he didn’t agree for me to be unemployed for this long! So I have to deal with hell or high water trying to scrape up from anywhere just to cover the shortfall, and he has no conscience, and through this all he won’t ever stop the payments for say, the car he bought for his Goddaughter, who conversely has all the support of his family while I am here alone and used. I am always the sacrificial lamb in his life.

I believe the only way to resolve this is to get authorities involved to vacate this property and put it on the market, so that I will finally get the cash I need to move on. It may not be the best outcome, but it will give me the opportunity to get back on track again.