Married to a Moron

So, I was now married to a Moron. Funny how the earth did not move, nor did the married life seem any different than my former one.  Actually that was not true.  I became even less of a "partner" to this man to whom I was betrothed. If that was even possible.

I was no Domestic Goddess, but I could cook, and my housekeeping wasn't spotless - but I was clean. When I cooked dinner, most of the time the Moron would purposely choose to make his own, as I sat there in awe...

When I would make his lunches for work, the Moron would purposely leave them on the counter, and get mad because how dare I choose to decide what he ate for his lunch.  He would bring canned goods to work.

And come any work function, I was always the butt of every joke.  And there were many of them.... And we would sit down at our table, and we would start to eat, and then it would start...

"... nice to finally get a home cooked meal, eh?"

"... better then the canned crap you eat at work?"

Looking back I can see the cruelness in his everyday, and it is pointless to dissect the why. For it doesn't matter, it is done and over.  More important to me, is the why I stayed, and allowed myself to be treated that way, as I am sure all of you are thinking...

Years of abuse takes its toll, and denial is a warm blanket used to comfort oneself when the truth is too cold to bare. You laugh along, and choose to view the world as you want to see it. Especially when you cannot conceive of the cruelties that others spew, it's easier to give the benefit of the doubt, or laugh rather than cry.