A friend introduced me to the man who became my husband and we hit it off immediately. We had lots of shared interests, both in and out of the bedroom. To say we had a lot of sex is an understatement. We were doing more of that than anything else. He's given me full body massages with sensual oils and that also always lead to more sex.
My only real issue with him at this early point was the fact that he had inherited his house from an aunt. As well as a very substantial lump sum. He was living off this money and neglecting the house entirely. His cats had ruined all the furniture, the Siberian husky he owned (that had bitten him several times and scared the crap out of me) had defecated on the white carpets and he failed to clean it up. He was also very much a slob. He never picked up after himself, and had mountains of soda cans and ashtrays overflowing with butts all over the place. The few times I tried to clean up, he snapped at me.
Other than this, I was doted upon and spoiled rotten. He held my hand, gave me hugs and kisses, and told me he loved me. So after dating for six months we got married, and five more after that I found out I was pregnant. He was thrilled.
That's when everything started to change. Everything came to be about the baby. Except for when it was something that I thought needed to be done, like fixing the floors. I didn't want my baby to be crawling through dog mess, and even getting rid of the dog itself had been a battle of wills.
Eventually, I succeeded in getting him to relinquish the dog. I had to take her to be put down. I also had to find a contractor to fix the floors, replacing them with hard wood.
We were still in a hotel when our son was born, and that was when I might as well as not existed. All that love I once felt, that connection that we had vanished seemingly overnight. He'd failed to pay his taxes for six years, and the IRS cleaned us out. This in turn required him to go out and get a full time job. So we could have medical benefits for the baby. While he was off at work, I was at home by myself with a brand new infant. I had no support from my parents, or from his. I began to slip into a deep depression.
As our son grew, it became clear he had issues. He was destructive (gnawed on his wooden crib until we had no choice but to throw it away, later punching holes in his walls and stuffing them full of toys) and would finger paint his entire room with his own fecal matter. I had to deal with this all on my own, because my husband would come home from work and drop in front of his computer, unmoving. The only time he would really talk to me was when the baby was doing something that was bothering him, or to remind me to make dinner.
I found out I was pregnant again a year after our first, and miscarried at 7 weeks. I was devastated. Shortly thereafter we had a small kitchen fire, and I had to pass up on a job opportunity due to the fact that he wanted me to stay home and be a full time parent as well as manage the massive house repairs he decided to make. When it was all said and done, I had transformed our depressing raised ranch into something beautiful and relaxing. (Of course later, when I brought this up, he said I had very little to do with making the house nice. As he had paid for it all, and I never did anything in it to keep it nice.)
Because of the lack of anything really affectionate or emotional from my husband, I started in on this cycle of behavior. Rather than clean up after him, I let the house get filthy. I started to feel resentful of my son because he was getting all the attention from my spouse that I wasn't. It got to the point that I had to force myself to get out of bed. I stopped taking care of myself. He and I would argue, and I would get to peak proficiency doing everything. And he would spend all day making messes and playing on his computer. So I would stop doing things to see if he would pick up the slack. He would move the laundry from the washer to the dryer and then make a huge pile of clean laundry on the floor in our bedroom. He 'hated' folding laundry so he wouldn't do it. He 'hated' cooking, so he wouldn't do it. I would eventually give up and do nothing and we would argue. The cycle would restart.
Even after he lost his job two years ago, he would park himself in front of his computer and that was where he was, all day. His mother had 'found' another substantial sum of money, and so back we were at square one.
Whenever I wanted to do something, he always had plans or some excuse thanks to his online games. I eventually picked up on that, and it became part of my deal as well. Of course I was expected to drop everything the second he mentioned wanting to go somewhere or if he wanted something from me.
In the eight years we were together, I put on over a hundred and thirty pounds. My lack of dental care led to severe dental issues and the loss of many of my teeth. I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore. Towards the end, I couldn't function as a person either. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't take care of myself or the house.
About a month ago, he came and sat down next to me and asked me if I was happy. He told me he was not, and that he wasn't even sure he loved me anymore. He wanted to pursue marriage counseling (we went three times and then he stopped wanting to go). Soon after that, he said he wanted a divorce.
He wants primary custody of our son, and he has plans to move to Texas (when he manages to sell the house so he can go to college to be a vet). He'll be 39 this year! He won't listen to me on how hard that is going to be, and he feels that this is something he has to do and is still a valid option.
As I was a stay at home mom for eight years, I of course have no money, very little property of my own and no education outside of high school. I'm completely lost on what to do with myself, or how I would survive all this. I'm still living with my soon-to-be ex-husband, still cooking, cleaning and tending to our son. Nothing really has changed. Other than the fact that one day, sooner than I'm ready for, he's going to ask me to leave. Leave the home I made, the son I carried and gave birth to, and quite possibly the last man who will ever have loved me.