I have always felt that my younger brothers have gotten preferential treatment over me. Back as a child and as now. When my youngest brother and his wife lived with my parents they were permitted to set up the three upstairs rooms entirely the way they desired. They essentially had an upstairs partial apartment. I’ve just been informed that the room that I had intended to set up two of my boys into will have for beds placed in it so that they will have space for guests whenever they arrive.
Yesterday I expressed concern that I didn’t think bunk beds would successfully fit in a room with slanted walls like that. This morning I expressed concern that I didn’t think for beds would fit without blocking the closet and still have space for dressers and desks.
I thought I was being polite and calm. Dad exploded on me and started yelling. Accusing me of bringing this up sixteen times already. I corrected him because I know this was only the second time. I also told him I didn’t bring this up to pick a fight, that I was only expressing a concern. He made it clear that my stuff wasn’t his concern. I flat out asked why it was that my brother and his wife got their private space and I did not. He said he was tired of not having control of his house. I told him I’m not asking for control of his house, I’m just asking to have a say over my personal space. He looked right at me and told me that I could just stay in that shit hole of an apartment then.
I find myself wondering why I’m constantly being the one given ultimatums. And why am I the one always stuck over a barrel. Yes… I could stay in that apartment. I haven’t given my notice of intent to move yet. I haven’t informed the schools yet. Nothing official has happened yet. Since I have made this decision I have watched Dad spend a lot of time working on the KITCHEN after he promised to fix up those rooms. He’s got that kitchen all tore up right now and he’s spackeling it, sanding it, and plans to paint it. And he expected me to move in by the end of this month. That’s not happening if he wanted those rooms done first. And the boys’ parties aren’t happening now either with all the bull shit going on as well – not with the kitchen the way it is and not with the money situation as it is.
It didn’t help that my husband’s father called yesterday out of the blue asking about the move and starting talking like it was only about the landlord. This man is in serious denial about his son. He knows his son has a juvenile record. He knows his son has been arrested, charged, and convicted of shoplifting multiple times. He knows I want a divorce. But for whatever reason he believes every word that comes out of his son’s mouth. Every. Word.
Today is a day I wish I could just disappear and be as truly as invisible as I feel.