Vent about living with my ex incoming. Expect these a lot for the next several months.
I’m so sick of this shit. I’m so sick of doing everything to keep this goddamn house running when he doesn’t contribute anything but his paycheck. I make 2/3 what he does and I’m paying roughly the same he is. At the end of the month, he has money left over for fun. I don’t.
I’m still cooking his meals. For a decade now I’ve begged him to help me out in the kitchen. He always says he will, makes a half-hearted attempt, and then “forgets” until the next time my frustration boils over. I make the same dishes he likes, over and over, most of which I cannot eat, and then when I try something new for myself he critiques it.
Apparently my gumbo was “meh,” and “had too many veggies,” and “you know I don’t really like seafood.” Great.
Like dude go eat the boring burritos made with just chicken, salsa, and spices I threw into the crock pot. Which I have to fucking assemble for you because you can’t wrap a goddamn burrito yourself.
He said he’d get on the ladder and stain the parts of the deck I couldn’t reach. That was over a month ago. Not done. He said he’d clean the gutters. Not done. He’d learn to cook. Nope. He’d help out in the kitchen. I guess he empties the trash once a week or so. Usually after I ask him. And if I don’t notice, he points it out so I can acknowledge his effort. But he’s got no energy because he’s depressed. Like… dude, you think I’m doing great? You think I’m not hopping from hobby to hobby to squeeze every last drop of serotonin I can so I can keep going? You think I’m not feeling like a fucking failure? You think I don’t resent the fact that I can never experience sex and romance the way “normal” people do? Be for real.
The other day he said I initiated the divorce, and ohhhhh no I didn’t let him get away with that. HE initiated and I went along with it (which sums up the entirety of our relationship: I go along with what he wants because it’s easier). I dragged my ass up to Maine to stay in a hotel room all week and pack his lunches and cook his dinners so he could take a bladesmithing class without having to fend for himself food-wise or miss our dog. And he had the gall to say he thought I’d put in more of an effort to rekindle things (i.e. sex). Meanwhile literally the day before he said a guy cooking a meal is the most romantic thing he can do for his girl. And yet, I cook for him all the time with no reciprocation, and that’s just the status quo.
I made his meals, gave him back rubs, did his laundry, and waited on him hand and foot so he could feel as cherished as my aroace ass could manage. I loved him in my own way. And yeah, I put out a couple times a week. But it wasn’t enough. So when’s it my turn? When do I get to feel taken care of? Cherished? He didn’t so much as make me a goddamn sandwich for the first time until like 7 years into our relationship, when I had septum surgery. And he still managed to leave the paper between the slices of cheese.
And now I have to handle the paperwork for his divorce attorney for him. I’m trying to drop the rope and he won’t fucking let me.
I can’t believe I put up with this for so long. I’m so incredibly angry at myself for convincing myself I was happy for all these years.
I’m not looking for sympathy or whatever. I just need to vent my feelings so I can keep the peace for the next several months.
