cycle of abuse
he highlights my faults and dismisses his own. He highlights his virtues and dismisses mine. All to make me seem like the abuser. he keeps me on edge and agitated all the time, putting me at my worst. Being tense causes me to be less fun and more grouchy. It makes me clumsier and less careful and less attentive to detail. it makes me "lazy" because I'm frequently disabled by stress. it has multiple outcomes that feed cyclicly into the stress pattern. Like how being stressed stops me from irrigating which bungs me up and causes me to feel ill. This also causes me worry. Stress on it's own does health damage. Even my dreams are becoming poisoned by this insane dynamic.
All my positives are treated like exceptions and all his faults are treated like exceptions. Neither are balanced, it's good vs bad. My complaints are then dismissed as fallacious and my feelings are dismissed as my bad choices. I choose to feel angry. I choose to feel abused. I choose to react. I choose to have emotions. His, OTOH, are the natural and predictable outcome of the causes. My attempts to fight back become the reason we fight. My attempts to communicate become the cause of my emotions. I daydream about his death. If only I had an alternative income I'd kick that motherfucker all the way back to the USA where he can rot for all I care. I'm waiting for that break, that moment. I'm waiting to not be sick, even while he keeps me sick. I'm waiting for testosterone to work it's magic, even though it seems to be doing nothing whatsoever.
All my positives are treated like exceptions and all his faults are treated like exceptions. Neither are balanced, it's good vs bad. My complaints are then dismissed as fallacious and my feelings are dismissed as my bad choices. I choose to feel angry. I choose to feel abused. I choose to react. I choose to have emotions. His, OTOH, are the natural and predictable outcome of the causes. My attempts to fight back become the reason we fight. My attempts to communicate become the cause of my emotions. I daydream about his death. If only I had an alternative income I'd kick that motherfucker all the way back to the USA where he can rot for all I care. I'm waiting for that break, that moment. I'm waiting to not be sick, even while he keeps me sick. I'm waiting for testosterone to work it's magic, even though it seems to be doing nothing whatsoever.