Every time I get my hopes up, the fact of his years of avoidance and neglect rears its ugly head and drowns it deep down in a flood of hopelessness and anger because the foundation is sinking, the walls are cracking, the roof is old, who knows what’s hiding in the walls…and it’s all too much for others.

There was nothing to make him step up, nothing to have him grow up, instead cosplaying as a “man of the house” when he actually acted as a teenaged boy on his computer and 2 monitors, and light up headphones,  with his head to the wall, resentful of any adult responsibilities, including a wife who asked when we were going to take care of things… maybe this summer… maybe this year…”stop nagging me”…”I don’t know”…but no, never would it be.

Never would it be.

We can’t sell our marital home now after the inspection came back and that sale was justifiably cancelled.

While our house sits empty and rotting after years of neglect because he cared only to plug into his computer all day,  now leading us to have to sell the house under his mandate of “as is” (he told the professionals that he’s not interested in any repairs and our divorce decree requires agreement for any work that costs over $500) my wasband’s priority in life is to announce the stream arrival of his favorite younger parasocial pick-me, oops I mean”friend”…

He’s subscribed for 27 months and pays for gift subscriptions to acquire additional parasocial pick-me “friends” in order to convince himself and others that he is the consummate “Nice Guy” who everyone thinks is great despite what I, the woman who was in a relationship with him since 2008, actually knows from lived experience and trauma.

They know the mask of a so-called “nice”, generous, funny (always at another’s expense) guy.

I know the fussy, tyrannical monster who couldn’t tolerate a single thing, even sound, whether from my existence or of his dog Ollie’s existence and communication, to then justify verbal abuse with “I’m frustrated!”, “I’m just frustrated!”… again, at me for existing and at Ollie for demand barking for his attention as he sat staring at his computer for hours every day, ignoring the stainless steel barbecue ignored and rotting outside, the leaks into the house from a failing old roof, ignoring the cracks in our floors and our marriage (yet expecting me to change to whatever Stepford wife robot level to be pushed into a closet until needed again to service him while he sits staring at his computer, participating in streams with younger women convincing them that “it’s all crazy wife’s fault!” as if he is some paragon of virtue while he ignores the physical world around him, physical people around him, even the animal he professes to love (on his terms, which isn’t actual love), all while pretending and spending money to appear to be the one “good man” in this world to faces and voices on a virtual screen.

Oh and let’s not forget his emotional affair with a married 29 year old Finnish mother who he met on this and another streamer, who he left the house for in order to call on Discord, which I witnessed happening as I sat at his computer desk looking through their discord chat reading of his emotional investment in her while I was called “cunt” and “bitch” at home. She left twitch and discord in the days after I confronted them on their chat. He then felt justified to cry over her, telling me that he hated me and that I ruined his life.

But sure, it’s all my fault.

So I originally wrote this as a Facebook post today. And you know what, I am just to the point with my inept wasband in the past few months of having to get the house ready, thankfully with the help of my parents because my wasband is too busy avoiding reality, playing on discord and Twitch with his younger pick me friends, than to deal with the reality that he brought into existence with his avoidance.

The only things he’s done with the house beyond pay his half of cost for any work completed, such as emptying the house in professionally cleaning the house, etc. To remove the things he wanted and then randomly text me one day that he felt me no longer needed Wi-Fi in the home (never mind the fact that the house is empty and could probably use a camera to make sure nothing happens), so he would be going over to the house later that day to remove the routers etc and cancel the internet bill.

So now the house is under contract and getting inspections. I feel so awful for any potential buyer having to deal with what has happened to the house because my husband refused to grow up and hire anyone to deal with potential damage occurring.

He likes to present as if he is a good guy, a nice guy. But it is a lie. He likes to act funny and supportive on Twitch and discord, and his parasocial relationships. But he is inept, immature, especially for a 45-year-old man with a full-time job, a house, responsibilities, adulthood.

He is the resentful man who marries a woman with an incurable chronic autoimmune disease, who suggests to her that Chico on his medical insurance after they marry because it is a better plan, has better options and better coverage. But over the years, he starts to resent her being an expense on his paycheck as part of his medical coverage. Even when the medical plan required, both spouses to participate in biometrics as part of a discount program for the cost of the insurance, which she happily completed to help out because of the chronic disease patient, I get it. And of course, he always reminded me to make sure to get the form filled out by my doctor and submitted to the insurance.

But when the program requirement changed for the medical discount to only require the employee to undergo the biometric screening and other tests and measurements to fulfill the requirements of a discount, suddenly, he no longer cares about participating in completing them.

But then of course, he would make comments about the cost of me being on his (better) medical plan.

Let me tell you what I discovered upon leaving his plan and going on my employer’s plan during the process of our divorce.

Under his plan, I didn’t have to meet the deductible in order to get my specialty pharmacy Humira medication like I do now. My insurance plan has a a discount maximizer program, not to mention I’ve been on Abbvie’s discount program for years… But they can’t help me fully because my Anthem discount maximizer requires that I meet my deductible first or I have to pay my remaining deductible in order to get my humira and have the copay assistance from the manufacturer step in for the rest of it.

Oh and did I mention that my wasband does not have a chronic disease like me, avoided the doctor like the plague, and is not on any high cost medication as I have been over my 31 years of rheumatoid arthritis?

But I’m the problem.

Anyway, this is the reality of dealing with an avoidant husband who won’t grow up and deal with the reality of adulthood:

I hate Jeff so much.

The potential buyers of our house are getting a mold inspection done and I’m so angry because we should have dealt with this and he refused year after year.

And the one time that I reached out to Angie’s List just to find contractors and started getting emails and phone calls and texts, and I let him know that I was doing that, trying to find contractors that could have help us in getting the bathrooms fixed, especially the primary bathroom. He got so mad at me, like actually angry And told me not to ever do that again. And I think that was in 2014, because I remember getting the the voicemails and messages when I was in unit 80 as JFS specialist and my desk was located in our original location across from the big break room.  I remember looking down at my phone and thinking that maybe I could convince him that we should finally deal with this since I was getting contractor contacts and information and interest.

But he got so angry with me. I think he told me that he would decide when we were going to deal with it.

And having to deal with these issues with the house is not something I wanted to wish on anyone having to deal with. But know anyone who potentially buys our marinal house is going to have to face the prospect of a bunch of work because Jeff could not be arsed to get off his damn computer and deal with the reality of damage occurring in our house.

His job has always been remote, which means lots of phone calls. And I remember overhearing him within the past few years in a boastful voice telling his coworker how our house basically has this issue going on in the primary bathroom shower and potentially the wall, but that he’s too scared to find out what’s really going on, so telling this coworker how he’s just not going to deal with it. Because he’s afraid of what they’ll discover. He was telling his co-worker this during a Teams call, in the tone of voice as if he was boasting about something to be proud of. I was horrified.

And now we’re here trying to sell this house that deserves so much better and any own potential buyer has to deal with the ramifications of my piece of shit ex-husband not wanting to deal with reality because it’s too hard.

I hate him so much. And let’s be clear, he deserves to be hated. He is not a nice man like he pretends to be. He was not a nice husband, like he pretended to be outside. He was not a nice dog owner, like he pretended to be. He was not a nice partner. He was not a nice human being. His cruelty was the point, especially in the last few months. He treated me as if I was trash to be discarded. He resented my existence.

I fought for my life 20 years ago, survived two open hearts surgeries, and he resented my existence for being in his space.

I’m so angry.

Meanwhile, his priority in life is to go on ThatsSoLurn’s stream and act like the world exists without responsibilities. He acts as if he’s a good guy. A nice guy. But I know the truth, it’s all a mask.

It took me several years to convince him to get the  collapsing hallway ceiling dealt with and I consider the fact that he finally did so to be a complete miracle.. his dog Ollie used to lay right underneath the sinking cracked ceiling on the hallway tile, day after day. And Jeff still didn’t care to have it fixed because of that, because the ceiling is collapsing even with his so-called precious dog napping underneath, he didn’t care.. And honestly, I think he still doesn’t really care about the house.

He told the realtor in the walk-through that he wasn’t interested in repairs. In the terms of our divorce, we have to agree on anything the house needs that cost over $500. So I have no choice but to agree to sell as is, because my ex-husband is an awful human being.

I’m so angry.

Men need to stop acting surprised when the women who loved them, to her own detriment, finally crack…

With her rage and suffering spilling forth towards its true owner, Him.

She is not the problem.

She is the single flame fighting to stay lit despite storm winds and rain working to extinguish her spark time and again.

Echoes of his dreadful presence haunt her mind, her doorways, a cracking toe upon the stair.

He is there…but not there. He is a bogeyman, hiding around the corner despite her now living alone.

She is drowning as his inaction and blame holds her down down drown, below the surface as she tries so desperately to break through and breathe free.

She can only stare at the yellow wallpaper plastered behind him, as he tells her again that it’s all her fault.

I am sad.

He is unbothered.

It is done.

And to my utter amazement, his pick-mes want to protect him, as if I am a danger to him or them.

Y’all know he’s a 45 year old man hanging around 20-somethings, right?

That’s creep behavior.

There are a lot of things about my marriage and Jeff and his behavior towards me that I still have not shared with anyone other than my therapist.

Bully behavior.

It’s just the irony of how I have to hold myself so strong and can ignore and push down how I feel, which is something I’m able to do pretty easily considering I’ve learned to ignore pain from my disease for 30 years.

But it takes its toll. My therapist advised me that I am not safe around Jeff at home to be vulnerable as a person, with my emotions, with my grief. That he is an unsafe person for me. And yet these 20 years younger pick-mes want to protect him when he has destroyed me, a woman he professed to love at points, through a death of a thousand cuts.

He told me that he thought my mechanical heart valve ticked too loud; in the heart that has loved him despite everything, too loud are the metal doors that literally keep me alive, my heart beating and ticking out time,

He has no heart. I say this in having spent  17 years together, with 13 as married.

No woman deserves what I have endured as I loved him, despite the hurt, the harm,  the avoidance.

But it is done.

I am no longer his wife.

I sit here and at night when it’s quiet, I can hear my mechanical mitral valve just ticking away. Tick, tick, tick. My reminder that I’m alive, with every moment marked by the clicking of metal doors inside my heart opening and closing.

It’s my reminder that I’m alive against the odds.

One time in recent years, I was speaking happily to him, the wasbund, about this sound. How I can hear it at times and how I like that. I find it comforting.

He complained that it’s too loud.

My heart ticking with life, keeping me literally alive, is too loud.

My existence is too loud.

This year has been an awful one.

And yet the awfulness will not cease until after 2025 is on its way.

I had to file for divorce from my husband.

He left me no choice, for a variety of reasons. He wasn’t going to do it even though he had discarded me for a 29 year old married Finnish mother online.

I’ve not been able to write much.

But my plan is to write more, be free and able to write more, once the divorce is final and my rescue beagle Morty and I are able to establish a safe and relaxed home on our own, where I can be open and unguarded in my emotions and art.

I can’t wait to be free of the covert pot that has been slowly boiling me for years.

March 10th will mark 20 extra years I’ve gotten to live, since my 2nd open heart. And I’m still haunted by the audacity of someone recently telling me that I don’t belong (later tried to claim a caveat, alas that caveat stunk like carrion).

It just hit me tonight, these two diametrically opposed occurrences.

I have 20 years as proof.

I was blessed with these years all because of a fluke  with my warfarin and having major dental surgery, having damaged teeth removed.

My warfarin dosage for my mechanical heart valve had been increased prior to the dental work, at least a couple times. I didn’t question it, just took the dosage schedule given. Didn’t know that uh, maybe discussing dental surgery with my cardiologist would be a good idea. It was all still new to manage and consider.

Ended up quite ill, sutures redone twice over maybe 3 days, and in hospital for blood transfusions finally because I couldn’t clot and was seeing stars by that point.

Not anyone’s fault. I was still new to being a mechanical valve warfarin patient. And I recall they’d been increasing my dose at the time at least twice leading up to it. Pretty certain I wasn’t eating that much vitamin K in foods for such an increase. It was odd, looking back.

Anyway, my team of doctors from my previous 6 week hospital stay and then-only open heart surgery were informed that I was back! Scan time. Heart echocardiogram. Let’s see how the shiny valve looks now!

“What is that strange texture? says one cardiologist looking at an area of my heart wall next to my shiny, literally ticking new heart valve. “That shouldn’t be there…” answers the other cardiologist. More cardiologists appear. They are all suddenly concerned. One is right in front of the scan staring at it and he’s puzzled.

All I hear is “that shouldn’t be there.”

Later, my Mom goes to the vending machine floor to grab snacks. As the elevator doors open, who should appear? My life-saving heart surgeon! He looks up and recognizes my Mom, “what are you doing here?”

That was in April 2003. My valve was replaced September 2002. It took months of multiple various types of scans to monitor and determine the threat level of this thing that shouldn’t be there. I was otherwise asymptomatic.

Leading up to Christmas 2003, I finally had the big boss of heart tests to see what the monster looked like, a heart catheterization. They likened it to a pseudo-aneurysm.

Basically, a section of my heart wall next to my new valve had thinned out. So much of that area had been infected and damaged that it had to be scraped off, removed. Over time, the beating of my heart started having an effect on this area of wall. It started to balloon out, filling with blood with every pump. So as blood was pulled through my new valve, some pushed out into this weakened section, just like a balloon filling.

I will never forget watching it on the heart cath monitor.  After ballooning outwards, then followed by the next pump, that blood was pulled out from it and went through my shiny new valve. Next pump, repeat with the ballooning.

Another open heart surgery was likely needed. My cardiologist looked at me and compassionately apologized because that was our worst fear. And right before Christmas. They recommended either the Mayo Clinic or Cleveland Clinic to handle this monster, and all of its risks, that didn’t belong there in my chest.

Over the next couple months, my Mom found the best cardio-thoracic surgeon at Cleveland Clinic to look at my case and massive stack of records. Finally, my 2nd open heart surgery was scheduled for March 10th, 2004.

Had this strange texture that didn’t belong, and eventually developed into a continuously reinflating balloon of blood, never been discovered…

I could have simply dropped lifeless to the floor, one day, out of nowhere.

I was asymptomatic the entire time.

It was a complete fluke, a cascade of synchronicities, that allow me to still be here alive 20 years later.

A strange synchronization of so many little things all working out together to reveal that something had gone unexpectedly wrong in my ticking heart, while healing from the first go round in saving my life.

And it all worked out.

My 2nd heart surgeon was able to close this burgeoning hole in my heart. Life saved again. To experience such luck twice in the same life is uncanny.

I’m quite certain that this is proof from the Universe that I fucking belong.

Did you know?

“About 1.5 million Americans have RA — and about three times more women have it than men. The disease acts differently in each gender, too.”

Find out more here:

https://www.webmd.com/rheumatoid-arthritis/ra-and-women