Saturday mornings, precarious stuff. Weekends occasionally erupt into some kind of fight. Usually for no reason.
The ex and I got into a heated fight that escalated from mere shouting, (Level 1 – Level 3) to the ex getting aggressive enough to grab my shoulders, then threatening to punch me. (Level 8 – A miniscule fist was thrust in front of my face.).
Of course, if any punches are thrown, I’m confident I could put up a pretty good (but seriously lame) fight. But there’s just no coming back from that point, in terms of a relationship I mean. (that’s a Level 10 and I don’t know how that could ever be fixed)
The ex, in all fights, threatens to throw me out of the house, and ends all arguments with :
“Well this is my house so you can just f**k off!”
“Well I don’t even want you here. I’m telling you to leave now. So fuck off!”.
We’ve been together for 7 years now. Seven!
I don’t even have a home here. There’s nothing in the house that I don’t have to battle for. The tiniest bit space becomes this territorial battlefield. Putting stuff in the loo, was a Battle Royal. Then my drawing, then my books, another Galactic style fight. It’s a small house, I know that, but does every inch of ceded space have to be fought for??
Yet the ex complains that I take no pride in the house, I don’t care about paying for things to be fixed and so on. But I have no rights in this house. I’m no tenant, nothing. I pay rent, but I can be thrown out at any time. So why the should I pay more for upkeep when I have the guillotine of being chucked out hanging over my head. A guillotine that the ex never forgets to remind me of. Fuck that shit. You can’t have it both ways.
I’m sure I shouldn’t be blogging about this but it makes me so fucking mad I want to smash-up everything right now.
The weekend is completely ruined.