The Spirit of the Good Looking Man
Confessions of an abused wife
Over the years I had a recurrent dream. It started differently each time, but it always ended the same. I was in a room, usually in a restaurant with friends. We were having a good time and then this good-looking man came into the room and sat down and started talking with us. He had charisma and I enjoyed listening to what he had to say. Next thing I knew, all of my friends were leaving the room, and I am left alone with this guy.
That’s when his whole demeanor changed. He started telling me all the things that are wrong with me, and he exaggerated every detail. He told me I was worthless, and that I can’t do anything right. He said that all the things that I want to do in life are never going to happen.
That was the point in the dream that I realized that this was just a nightmare. That was when my dream became lucid and I would say, “No! You’re a liar! Go away! I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”
Then I would wake up.
Funny thing, after having that dream a number of times, there were men I would meet who gave me that same vibe and no matter how good-looking this guy was, I knew that he was not someone I wanted to spend time with. It happened again and again.
When I met my current husband, I was relieved that I didn’t feel that about him. He seemed kind and sincere. He excited me like no other man ever had. At first, I was cautious though. I wanted to take my time getting to know this guy. Always in the past I had jumped into a relationship because during those times I thought ‘this is the one’ too, but they weren’t. Was this one any different?
I knew he wanted to sleep with me, but then every guy wants to sleep with the girl he’s dating. I have four brothers, so I knew that was true.
After about our third date, I tried to call him on the phone (back before cell phones) and his father answered. I knew almost immediately his father was one of those men with what I called, ‘the spirit of the good-looking man’. At the time I thought it was odd that his father should give me that vibe whereas he didn’t. Little did I know.
I remember the day I gave into my emotions toward him. I was in love! Head over heels! I floated through the next several months. He moved in with me and my boys. We had a baby together, our girl. I was happy. I thought this was the happily ever after dream that I had been looking for.
I remember the day that all changed. We had moved into the house with the elevator. He was truck driver and he had been out on the road for a couple of weeks, and he was finally coming home. I had put the baby to bed, and my older son stayed with our daughter while I went to the truck stop to pick my husband up. He arrived home and he was hungry. He hadn’t told me that he would want something to eat when he arrived home. It was ten o’clock at night when I picked him up. When we got home and I had nothing fixed for him to eat, he was livid. He started yelling at me and telling me I was a lousy wife and that I couldn’t do anything right. Sound familiar?
After that I made sure that I had food ready for him when he got home. Sometimes it wasn’t what he wanted so I had to fix something else. He said I was a bad cook if occasionally, I burned something, or something didn’t turn out exactly right. I couldn’t cook as well as he did. If the house was a mess because I got involved in some project, he would say I was a lousy housekeeper. I was a lousy mother because I let my child had a cold. He would tell me how my parents raised me all wrong, that having numerous children while poor was showing me, the eldest, a lack of love.
He started telling me that I tricked him into having a child with him. He said he had told me that he didn’t want another child with me. That didn’t make sense to me because he knew I wasn’t on birth control and yet he wouldn’t use protection either. Pregnancy was inevitable, and I wanted a child, specifically a girl. I should have left then, but I loved him.
Over the years the same story continued, and I finally started talking back. He said I yelled, but he was louder than I. I now don’t think that it was the volume so much as it was the pitch that made it seem as though I were raising my voice to him.
He has struck me a couple of times in our marriage. The first time he said was accident and I believe it probably was. He had been asleep. I tried to wake him, and he started pounding on me. He apologized. I believed him. Another time, I was physically ill, and he wanted me to do something. I said I couldn’t because I was sick. That’s when he hit me and threw me off the couch that I was lying on.
What finally scared me to the point that I realized I had to leave was when we were arguing, and he put his hands around my neck, and I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid for my life. I moved out. I didn’t take our daughter though. Partly because I didn’t value myself. Partly because I knew that he would not harm her. Partly because I wouldn’t have a decent home for her. The paradox was that her father truly loved her, but he didn’t love me because he said I tricked him into making him a father.
For the next a year and a half, I was essentially homeless. I lived with friends and family and did a lot of couch surfing. I never cheated on him even though I had opportunity. Then he asked me to come back. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Things seemed to go well for a couple of years. We didn’t argue. We enjoyed movies together. Then one day he said that he met someone else and that he was moving out.
He moved out. Then COVID happened and I moved here. He broke up with his girlfriend and I invited him here. At first, we worked together, and I thought that perhaps we could make a go of it again.
I went back to work teaching, and he stayed home and watched television all day and smoked pot. He got a couple of job for a while, but none of them panned out. One he had with my son, but quit because it wasn’t going the way he wanted. After work, I came home and did wifely things. Now I was the one who was dissatisfied, and he knew it too. I was actually relieved when he moved out. I knew he was unhappy with me, but it wasn’t my fault.
I was disappointed and heartbroken, but I am not bitter. I am happy with who I am, and what I am doing. I believe I am finally over him. I don’t think I want another intimate relationship though. I have friends that I spend time with, and I like my own company. I have my gardens, my chickens, and my cats as my constant companions. I think I am in a good place.