I think I’m ready to begin processing what had happened to me in Oklahoma City. I had been in a relationship with this woman since the beginning of May that I wouldn’t call committed since breakups were early and often and the writing was on the wall in the form of dents. She cost me my business, my home, and threatened my life.
And knowing now that attempting to determine her ways to be a futile endeavor, I’ve decided to settle on a snapshot to help myself process and to help others to hopefully learn to recognize that which misrepresents itself. Also, here's a link for anybody else who finds themselves in a similar situation and needs help or inspiration to find their way out.
This particular night was a Friday (10/16/21). She had worked early and I had worked late, we both worked as servers. When we arrive home, we arrive to a place that is yet unpacked, we had moved in together that Wednesday. This was the first night we were to stay in our own place. Earlier that day I had assembled a table and unpacked a tote into a cupboards. This was something I had informed her of as to prepare her mind for shock. This still produced a stress response so great that I had to record it. She was mad because the table was facing the wall and that some of the items were unpacked incorrectly in her professional opinion. She moved the table to another wall a few days later.
The following is the recording:
Her: “No, this is not your space. Put your shit in your fucking room. This is not your space and it never will
be. That’s
your room. You have a room, I asked you,
take all your dumb shit, put it in your room.
Put it allll in your room and
pack your room with your shit, your clothes, your dumb shit and put it in there. Not expanding
into the living-room. I don’t want your
Wingspan game, it doesn’t need to come into the living-room, no! Pick up your shit and put it into your
fucking room.”
Me: “I’m sorry, who paid for all this?”
Her: “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need you. Where are you going to put all your fucking
bullshit? You’re going to put it on the fucking bookshelf? I don’t want your
gaudy-ass games and someone walks in and sees your stupid fucking games sitting
in a beautiful architecturally-sound place and seeing Wingspan, fucking no. Like I
said, if you’re going to have the basement and a room and I have a bedroom,
this is common, this is comfortable, you have your own fucking room,” then in a
dramatic whisper, “put it all in there.”
Me: “This may be agreeable once you start paying half.
You’ve paid nothing.”
Her: “Yet! But I will.”
Me: “Well then do that!
Do that and then start telling me what to do.”
Her: “Get it out.”
She starts sliding totes in the living-room toward my room.
Me: “I get it, I know, I just started unpacking. You just
got home, drunk, to tell me what to do and you haven’t even paid half.”
Her: “This place will be beautiful with your shit out and
you unpacking dumb shit and putting food that you could have left in a bin and
put it in to the cabinets. And now I
have to take all this shit out and redo it when you could have just kept it in
a Tupperware.”
Me: “You’re a really cool partner, you’re a realllly cool
partner.”
Her: “You’re a really dumb partner,” she says something
about my family tree I can’t make out.
Me: “Just because you can’t reach anything!” she’s too
short.
Her: “There is a pantry right beside me. That is not for
spices!” indicating a drawer by the sink. “You’ve never actually worked in a
kitchen so don’t touch a fucking kitchen.”
Me: “You’ve never actually unpacked any of this!”
Her: “Yeah because this is how you dumbassly fucking have
some bitty tall bitch beckoning…Go back, I’ll be better off.”
Me: “I can’t! You
brought me here to be with you!”
Her: “Go back with *your ex.
I don’t want to be with you anymore.
I haven’t for fucking months.”
Me: “That’s not what you said!”
“Like you said, we all pretend,” she says.
“Okay…”
“*Your ex makes a mockery by dating this skinny little
fucker that’s smaller than you and stupider than you, probably, but that’s alright,
go back.”
“But I’m not trying
to go back!”
“I don’t give a fuck because I don’t want to be with you. If
you want to pay for her car and everything else, by all means, go. Please go back.”
“If you want to pay for this house, then fine!”
“I can find someone else and the door opens because there’s
something else, somebody else in this house that’s been telling me ever since I
walked in this house it keeps telling me in dreams about you that’s telling me
not to be anywhere near you.”
“Okay. Find somebody
else, that’s fine!”
“You keep talking to her anyway and you want to go back!”
“I don’t!”
“You already texted her and I already saw it you’re like
‘Ohh, why’d you move? Oh, I want you to come back!’ Pay for her bills. Pay for
her shit. You get on my ass about paying
for me but we’re in an actual relationship and you’re not with her, but you’re
still paying for her shit and she’s in a relationship…I don’t…You’re a piece of
shit.”
“We have an agreement.”
I’m not actually paying for her (my
ex’s) shit it’s just that some of the
payments still go through me because it saves both of us money and it’s too
much of a hassle to bother sorting out.
Not that it’s any of this woman’s business to begin with.
“It’s not an agreement, you didn’t tell me that, that’s not
an agreement. An agreement is like us, and you suck. You suck and you want to hold back anything
that I owe you, and yet you’re still paying for dumb bitches’ fucking
payments. Fuck off. Fuck her. Fuck you. And if you think I have a problem, get the
fuck out of this house and I will fucking take everything, tell you to suck my
dick, sit on a fucking rock and kill yourself.
I have no problem. Fuck you. Fuck *your ex. Fuck all your fucking
friends. That’s all. Bye! Bye! I haven’t wanted to be with you for days upon
weeks. I’m not happy. That’s why I don’t
fuck you. Disgusting. I’m not going to take this back. I’m literally done. I’ve
no want, nothing. You have selfishly fucked me into a corner with dumb shit
from day one numerous amounts of times where now I have my balls and I’m done
with you and I don’t care. Fuck *your ex.
Go home. Do whatever you want. Like, I’m great, I will figure this shit out.
Bye. You’ve left me, you’ve manipulated, you’ve ruined me, you’ve (done
something) multiple times and still talk to other people? You have no love for
me and no respect for me so I have none for you and I will never I don’t think
I ever can, I don’t think I could ever trust and/or respect you because you’ve
left me in my darkest places for shitty fucking people that you think that ‘oh
I did this I like that…’
“What happened to the part where you love me? According to you…”
Nah, well I thought I did, I thought I did until I got to
see the real truth, and if you’re still so in love with your ex, fuck her fat
ass. She’s fat and ugly and stupid and relied on you to pay for all her bills
and didn’t have a strong personality and you’re so in love and that’s your
friend and you want to go back to *your ex to get your car. You already told
me…”
She starts a mock cry-whine of what’s supposed to be my ex,
“Why didn’t you tell me you moved to Oklahoma? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my
God I want to see you!” and then back, “Fuck off. Go to her. Get the fuck out of the house. Please bye.
Bye. I do not love you. I don’t like
you.”
“That’s fine, but I’ve paid for this and you have not paid
for anything!”
“Mmm…I can go back on other things.”
“Yeah, you can go back on a lot of things, obviously,
because that’s what you do.”
“And so do you with your dumb fat bitch ex.”
“I have not done anything with her!”
“No, but you sit there,” and now mocking again, “I want to
see you!” “And then your text…”
“She’s a friend!”
“I don’t care, get the fuck out of my sight. Please get the
fuck out of my sight. Get the fuck out of the house! You want to ask your best
friend, your best friend, ‘Oh I cry when I miss her!’ Call your fat,
chubby-armed, fucked up teeth like yours, fucked up mad fucking vampire mouth,
it looks like you guys have fucked up veneers, call your fucking Buffalo bitch
who looks like a buffalo and go. Bye. Bye.”
“Alright, this is left-field.”
“Yeah, bye. You’re gross. You’re both gross as fuck to
me. Fucked up teeth. Fucked up
personalities. Chubby arms. Fat, tall, stupid. Bye. New York can get the fuck away from me. ‘Cause that’s not even New York, that’s the
retarded parts that no one wants to go to, hence like, who would ever want to
live in Buffalo? I know what I’ve known,
and even Dave said, ‘who the fuck would want to live in Buffalo?
Dumbasses.’ And you’re like, ‘oh there’s
so many bars, everybody’s so…’ cause they’re drunk and fat. Bye. Bye. Bye.”
This whole interaction took about 10 minutes, real time.
"It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman."
Proverbs 21:19
