Victim Morphing or 50 Ways to Make Everything About You and All the Wrongs Done to You

I learned a fantastic new term that I think sums up Cousinfucker.  That term is victim morphing and it refers to the way the cheater always manages to turn things around so that he/she is the victim.

I think this goes back to the very beginning.  He pushed people away and then complained he had no friends.  He was the victim.  To this day he whines about no one showing up at the airport to greet him when he got back from the war.  My guess is he told no one when he was coming home.  I know when he got home to his home town his mom had a party for him and he drove around trying to kill time so that he didn’t have to go.  Poor, poor baby.  I remember them telling me the story of bringing a damn recliner across the country to him and after about 3 days he asked them if it wasn’t about time for them to be going back home.  Push ‘em away and then cry victim.

He loses his job while I’m pregnant and it’s all about how he’s feeling down.  He needs support.  I’m crying in the shower and don’t dare let him know how anxious I am about it.  Because he needs me to be strong.

When he began a new job it required traveling.  That meant that I was left at home by myself juggling an extremely high needs infant who thought sleep was optional, dogs, cats, a household, and a full-time, then part-time, work from home job, with no child care.  And yet he was the poor put upon victim in this scenario.

I bundled up an infant every Monday and drove him to the airport because he was too precious to take a cab.  These were always early flights- 6 or 7 in the morning at least.  This was before 9/11 so not only did I drive him there we both stayed with him until he boarded his plane.  Then I would head home and hopefully get in an hour or so of work while the baby slept. The rest of the week I would get up at 7:30 when she would get up.  I would change her diaper, get her dressed, feed her breakfast, and then around 9:00, when she was ready for her morning nap, I would head upstairs to the “office” where I would work in snatches of 10 and 20 minutes (because my child did not sleep and after 10-20 minutes she would start screaming for me to hold her).  I alternated between working and entertaining her all day long, with a break for lunch.  I would generally call it a day sometime between 5 and 6.  I’d go downstairs, have dinner, play with my baby, watch some TV, wait for his phone call between 9 and 9:30 and get the baby down for the night.  Then I would go upstairs and work until around 1 am because I could work for several hours uninterrupted.  I would go to bed and sleep until my daughter woke in the middle of the night to be fed, usually around 3:30.  I’d be up for 15-30 minutes, go back to bed and then wake up at 7:30 and do it all over.  I actually tried to get all 40 hours in before Friday, or time it so that I would only have to work a few hours on Friday so that I could clean up the house before I left to go pick up my husband.  I cried every day.  And then on weekends I would cook for him (because the poor thing had been on the road all week, eating at restaurants and he so missed a good home cooked meal) and do his laundry.  I complained once about the grueling schedule and how stressed I was and he shut me down, telling me how it wasn’t easy on HIM either.  He missed us.  He was up in the middle of the night, too.  Yeah, once.  Once when the damn alarm went off at the plant.  That doesn’t exactly equal what I was going through, Mister.  I was up every night around 3:30 tending to OUR child.  And that was after going to bed at midnight or later every night so that I could get my work done.

Hell, come to think of it, every time we moved I was always expected to realize how hard it was for him.  So hard to be alone and apart from us, even though when he was with us he isolated himself.  Yes, living in a furnished apartment and having to take care of no one except yourself must be hell.  Why, being left with two young children, trying to keep the house picked up for showings, trying to get rid of things and sort through things, keeping up with the dogs and cats and guinea pigs, running around to keep the kid’s lives as normal as possible during this time of transition… all of that was a piece of cake.  You betcha!

He cheats and it’s all about him and how he hasn’t been happy.  Hey, you think I’ve just been dancing the happy dance all these years, so happy to be partnered up with the greatest husband and father ever?  Oh, no, honey, not even close.  But here’s the difference.  I tried to work through it.  Or I figured things would get better as the kids got older and didn’t need me as much.  You, on the other hand, you decided to seek out your white trash whore of a cousin.  And after he’s found out it’s all about what I’ve done and can do to make things better.  He was never remorseful.  He was never willing to do the hard work.  It’s so blatantly obvious now, looking back on it.  HE was anxious.  It was difficult for HIM to look back on everything.  Of course!  Because having to listen to you tell me how the two of you said, “I love you!” and planned a future together, reading messages where you’re bragging about marrying the whore, learning of her plans to tattoo her love for you on her body, knowing that you were telling her horrible things about me… why that’s a walk in the park!  Can’t think of any other way I’d rather spend my time.  So much fun for me, so very difficult for you.  Poor baby.

We moved constantly because he was unhappy.  He wanted something new and different. The new job was always going to be so exciting and wonderful.  The move was always supposed to be worth it.  And then he would become unhappy once again.  Seriously.  He hated it at Company #1 so we moved to a different state so he could work at Company #2.  He got disappointed at the pay raise when he was promoted to superintendent so he left there after 2 1/2 years.  We moved to yet another state so he could begin working at Company #3.  We made friends; settled in, laid down roots.  I loved my life there.  And what happened?  He ended up losing his job at Company #3, probably because he was an asshole.  Went back to Company #2.  Complained about GM #1, then bitched about GM #2.  Got transferred out west, talking about how it was such an honor and a privilege.  “I never thought they’d want me as the production manager for that plant!  That’s their show plant!”  8 years later he’s bored, unhappy, and declaring he’ll go insane because he feels so isolated.  Now BFE is supposed to be Mecca.  Only within 6 months he’s once again whining and oh look, also fucking his cousin!

It didn’t matter if we were all happy where we were.  It never mattered.  He was the only one that mattered.  Yes, I went along with it.  I might have been a spineless fool but he was the breadwinner; we supported him and whatever he wanted to do.  So, even though we were all happy in Utah we moved to Virginia anyway.  I was scared shitless even though I was on board with it.  Get there, fall in love with it, get involved, make friends.  As I said eight years later he’s crying about how he thinks he’s going to go crazy if he has to stay there much longer.  He hates it there.  Oh, he makes noises about learning to love it and deal with it, but he knows I’ll come to the rescue and let him off the hook.  No, no, Cousinfucker, we’ll all move.  We’ll all give up our lives here so that YOU can be happy.

Once again he’s cheating and he again takes the victim route.  With his own kids, nonetheless!  He tells our son we’ve never had a happy marriage.  He tells me we need to forge a new relationship, one based on us both being happy in our new lives.  Hey, dickhead, where’s my new life?  I don’t have a warm body in my bed every weekend, telling me everything is going to be ok and I’m so pretty and so wonderful and that you deserve to be cheated on.  No, I’m doing this divorce thing all by myself.  Well, by myself while navigating two teenagers through it.  Because their dickhead father can’t be bothered.  He even whines about me throwing out all his clothes and all “his memories”.  Oh, fuck off (and take a look around the house, specifically the guest room, instead of whining and maybe you’ll find your shit)!  Tells me we have a history together and I can’t erase that no matter how much I want to.  Well, that just makes everything all better then!  I want to hate him but we have a history together, you see.  Every time I want to hate him for moving me and my kids 2000 miles across the country, ripping our lives apart all so that he could get closer to that low down white trash whore of his, why I just think of our wedding day and I’m filled with peace and love and hope and I just can’t bring myself to feel anything but joy!  FUCK THAT!  He actually whines to our daughter about how he’s unwelcome in his own home!  Oh the horrors!  The best I can come up with is he’s upset that I’m no longer fixing him his dinner and bringing a plate up to him.  Believe me, you don’t want anything I would bring to you.  He totally ignores anything she brings up, instead turning everything around to how hurt he is.  He’s the victim.  He writes letters to both of them, telling them how much he loves them.  Meanwhile, he’s spending a fortune on the whore and her kids, while neglecting his own.  Ever heard the phrase talk is cheap? Or how about actions speak louder than words? That’s you, dickhead.  You can talk out of your ass all you want but they know the truth.  Yet he continually acts the victim.  Poor, poor baby.  He’s unwelcome.  There are BELLS on the door.  The door is locked when he leaves.  I don’t leave the porch light on for him anymore.  He pays all the bills and he’s still unwelcome.  He STARVES while we eat.  He is so mistreated.

Remind me again which one of us is cheating?  Which one of us was taking less than half of the paycheck and paying bills, and which one was taking over half of the paycheck and spending it on whores and hooligans?  Which one of us is ignoring his kid’s texts and refusing to pony up their allowances or buy a yearbook or a fundraising t-shirt?  Guess maybe that $800 you spent on the whore’s kids tapped you out.  Which one of us is taking care of the kids and which one of us is off every fucking weekend to fuck a whore?  Oh wait!  That’s right!  He only does that because he’s not welcome here!

Victim morphing.  There should be a picture of my fuckhead husband right next to the definition!

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