It’s over

Well, that’s it. We have called it a day.

I’m not sad. I tried. I tried way more than I should have in fact. We will still be friends and I will continue to support him but I won’t have us sailing into the sunset in my mind anymore. It’s a shame but it’s for the best.

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It’s over

I won!

I had my tribunal on Wednesday. I won. They will backdate the money they erroneously stole off me.

The joy was short lived. Chris got an ESA50 form on Friday. He is now panicking that the same thing is going to happen to him. I have explained that he has a lot of evidence and it’s a continuation of an existing benefit, not being transferred to a new one. Obviously I am worried but I don’t think that’s going to help so I’m keeping that under my hat.

In other news, he actually apologised for his behaviour in the supermarket car park. He remembered my tribunal was on Wednesday and sent me a message the night before. I’m really impressed he managed to do that.

I won!

Jealousy

Chris is jealous. There isn’t anything I can do about it.

Thirteen years ago, just before I became a student, I had the presence of mind to buy a flat. It was a shitty hole but it was mine. As the years have gone on, I’ve improved it. Nothing is original now to when I bought it. I’ve just had it valued and it’s tripled in price. He is angry with me because I bought and he didn’t. I only met him six years ago! I’m not quite sure what he expects me to do. He jokes about me being loaded. Of course, it isn’t real money. I am going to sell it, but I have to buy something else. I’m not suddenly going to be wealthy. I have to buy a place smaller than this so I’m actually downsizing. Still, that isn’t good enough.

We had a fight tonight, in a supermarket car park, about my flat. He stayed here once and didn’t look after it. I told him that I was now having to put right his damage but he wouldn’t accept any responsibility. He just went on about draughty windows and an erratic boiler, both of which have now been replaced. He stormed off and got a taxi home, despite me offering an olive branch and staying in the car park. He has sent me the obligatory vile text(s). I haven’t read them and have turned my phone off. Always having to have the last word, he took to Facebook. I replied asking if he really wanted to air this in public. He usually deletes my comments. This time he’s deleted me.

I don’t really get it. He has had significantly more money than me in his life. His family had money and mine didn’t. This has turned out, in the end, to be a good choice but for the six or seven years my flat was in negative equity, it didn’t feel like a good choice. When I ended up in court for not being able to pay my service charge, it didn’t feel like a positive. I couldn’t afford to live in it then and the rent I got didn’t cover the mortgage and service charge. Around the same time I was almost declared bankrupt. My mortgage provider decided to try and recall the loan, twice, and it felt like a fucking millstone then. I had so many suicidal thoughts. I ended up in a psychiatric hospital a couple of times.

Why can’t he just be supportive for once? Why can’t he be pleased for me that it’s actually worked out?

Jealousy

Dinner failure

I never know when the outbursts are coming. They just appear without warning and I’m left wondering what the fuck is going on.

We were going to go out tonight. Nothing unusual. We see each other a lot. Rather than playing text ping pong, I rang him to ask where he wanted to go. “Anywhere. I don’t care. You choose.” I’ve been caught in this trap before. I means that he doesn’t know and I have to suggest 20 places for him to sneer at. I play along and suggest some places. None of them are good enough, as always. I suggested watching a film on Now TV. “I don’t have anything to play it on remember?!” He was burgled a few days ago but he didn’t tell me he’d lost his Roku box. I gently remind him of this and he starts yelling again. I then suggest I take my Now TV box over but he refuses.

“Oh, I know!” He jumps in with. “Let’s go to that cafe I like!” This particular place serves mostly fish, which I hate. There’s literally 3 things on the menu I can eat. I said we could go there but is it open on a Sunday. I get my iPad to check and he explodes. “I don’t fucking care if it’s open. Why can’t you be spontaneous? I just want to go there and find out. Why is that so fucking hard for you to understand?”

That’s all very well but this place is an hour’s drive away. I try to explain this but he is still screaming at me. I then told him to go out with someone else and he hung up on me. I’ve now received a text, which is standard. It is extremely abusive. He’s declared he doesn’t want to see me until I’m feeling better. I have to put up with his abuse but he can’t cope with me being mentally and physically tired.

Why is it so hard to just go out for dinner?

Dinner failure

Paranoia

It seems we are both suffering a bit from paranoia.

He’s worrying about his migration to PIP, because mine has been fairly unpleasant. His DLA award doesn’t run out until mid 2017 so he’s starting nice and early. I’ve tried to be calm and point out that we will know more about the process once I’ve been through it. There is nothing to say his experience will be worse either. We don’t have the same issues. Being rational is futile. Sadly, rational is my natural position concerning other people. Obviously it doesn’t apply to me.

I’m suffering too because of the seemingly never ending women. I’m usually better equipped to handle it but, due to my enhanced, PIP related, issues, I’m not coping well at all. He can’t (or won’t) support me, which is really hard to take. Every withheld number on my mobile makes me jumpy. If I fulfill their unknown arbitrary stipulations then will they give me back the pittance I’ve been living on for seven years? I’ve been told I should be grateful for getting an award and that I shouldn’t appeal. Why not? It’s wrong. They are literally torturing me.

I ask you, how do the criminal fraudsters do it? Being genuine is enough to push you over the edge but knowing you’re lying? That’s some balls.

Paranoia