Do you know that feeling, that you have to do something.....but can´t quite remember what?
This story is just that.
I remember being told to write it but I can´t remember what I was supposed to tell you. What I do know is that everything I am going to tell you really happened, even though it may unbelievable sometimes.
Hit Rewind to start from Chapter One
Chapter 36
For those that thought my life was all about magic and meeting non-existing entities, it was not. At times it was just boring as any other life filled with struggles, problems, fights, pain, and fear.
With me working on weekdays, doing overtime on weekends, looking after the workawayers, playing with Kyrian, and taking care of Stephie there was no me time left.
No, me time meant no magic, no learning, and no enjoyment. It turned me into a machine, a great caretaker but no longer a loving husband. I worked hard to bring home the money and every time there was a little margin she would find a reason to be spending even more.
Even now I understand it, sort of. Her world had become so small, as many days she would have the energy to just be around for an hour or two. The rest of the day she would spend in her room, in her bed. The body might not work, but her mind kept going.
When your body is letting you down, the big ideas you once had need adjusting to your new situation. In that scenario being given too much time to think about things and contemplate is not always making you a nicer person
While my world grew thanks to my job, hers shrank. All the responsibilities we used to share started to land with me one after another and so did these migraines. Where I used to have none over the past years they became a recurring thing. Which was absolutely wonderful as the day already had fewer hours than I required to get everything organized, and during these migraine attacks I could do nothing but stay in bed.
That meant that Stephie had to take the lead for up to 12 hours sometimes. Which she would then throw back at me. Telling me that she was broken because I had to be out sick. This was a pattern that started to show more and more, me being blamed for her illness. She got sick because of the stress about money, hence I should find a way to fix that.
And if it was not about money it was because she did not feel loved anymore as I was always busy, planning, and becoming more reserved. She would cause arguments just to have me in her room, to yell at, to make me feel worthless by the arguments she had thought up during all her hours alone.
That wasn´t the worst part, there was one thing I really could not deal with. She would not allow me to leave until the argument was solved, and the only way to solve it was by admitting it was all my fault.
I spend whole Saturdays and Sundays in that room of hers, waiting till she would allow me to leave. Waiting, knowing that Kyrian was waiting downstairs and that I promised him a fun weekend with his dad once I finished working.
That the time I planned to spend with our son was now being absorbed by her need to argue and her desperate need to prove herself right, was something that she clearly did not care about.
She was keeping me here to fill up the emptiness her illness was causing her and give her back that little self-esteem by winning an argument that wasn't worth fighting over in the first place.
At a certain point, it got too much. I could not stand this confinement anymore, the walls of her room were closing in on me. I needed to get my space, and my time, but still, she would not allow me to leave that room. Not till she heard what she wanted to hear.
I got so frustrated that I started to hit walls and doors. Giving her exactly what she wanted. That was all she needed to start telling me that I was aggressive and that I could not discuss as a normal person. That there must be something wrong with me, that my behavior was not normal.
She could go on for hours and the only thing I could think of was my boy downstairs waiting on daddy, because daddy had promised that as soon as he finished his overtime he would get the playmobile and we would play together all afternoon.
This was a gradual thing, that just kept getting worse. Due to her small world with no friends or colleagues to talk to, to vent and discuss with she started to involve our Workawayers.
She would invite them up to her room, like an audience. She would sit there on her bed like a little queen. Telling them about her illness, how horrible her life was, and about me.
They would listen and be cluelessly wondering what was going on here. Her story about me being aggressive, short-tempered, and not caring would be spun in such a way that it would perfectly fit with the person I had become.
They could pick up on little things, like me being annoyed and stressed to get stuff done in time, which would affirm Stephie's story. Then that would allow her to tell me that even our workawayers think I am aggressive, a perfect confirmation of her self-serving bias.
What she probably did not know was that not all workawayers perceived her as the self-proclaimed queen of our place.
That is how I found out about all the things she would share with them when I was working my ass off in the office to pay for a holiday or a trip to her family in the Netherlands. Her family, because her story weaving and manipulation had caused me to hardly speak with my dad and break with my mom.
There were a couple that did not appreciate her stories. They saw who I was and had respect for me running a household with a sick wife, four dogs, and a wonderful little boy. They told me that in both cases the girl of the couple had been having tea with The Queen and was told stories that did not make sense.
Later they would have discussed that visit among themselves and felt it necessary to let me know what was going on behind my back. Something that to this day I very much appreciate, as it opened my eyes to what was really going on.
Through those open cracks in my previous beaten-shut eyes, I started seeing things that I used to be blind to before. That did not have a positive effect I can tell you that much.
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