Reading
Reading, that city changes a person
Before the day.
So about a few days before my long planned trip. I finally had spoons to bring a suitcase into the house. This ended up as I suspected into an argument.
While I admit when the party was announced I told my wife it was in reading on the 29th and did not implicitly say I was going (the logistics were not settled in my head) I was accused of saying I was thinking about it, and hiding this from her. The truth is I was tiptoeing around her temper as I had an application for promotion due and didn't have energy to face her temper tantrums and stay focussed on work.
I was accused once more of only dressing to “cat about”, at which point I was beyond exhausted explaining it feels good for me, to feel ok with me in the mirror. But also I just generally am irked by her immediate link to this being a sexual kink thing which we've been having over and over and over. I just felt ignored.
I was then challenged on how much it's costing, and that I had been on about how tight things are. I responded with how long id been planning a visit generally, had been putting small amounts aside as well as gift money to do so. But I was frustrated as I've been strapped for cash for years, paying off accrued debts we'd built up on my own, while she still has not quit vaping as promised years ago, not sorted out the storage unit I've been paying for since we arrived in the UK.
She asked for assurances that I wasn't going to cheat which I gave, but felt in a healthy relationship I shouldn't have to give, after all I trusted her many times when she has gone with friends to gigs while I've been home ensuring the cats are well.
Day 1.
Leaving for the event, I was left alone for most part, however we had constructive conversations (eg. Paper tickets, packing tips and pointing out and correcting me that I didn't have to switch trains at Swindon as I thought)
When my taxi arrived however she followed me out and went in for a kiss. I hesitated.
All I could think of is that her reason for not hugging me when I was ugly crying over my fears of cancer a few years ago was that is she is asexual and finds even hugging uncomfortable.
Looking back I just see this as pure manipulation. Physical affection only given when itnsuits her ends.
She then started once more blubbing (which didn't sound genuine), telling me to not cheat or “play kissy face with people” (I have no idea what that means) while I just kept having to tell her I'm married and I am not going to do that.
By the time I got to the train station the passive aggressive vague-booking had began.
I was just so exhausted emotionally at this point.
Arriving alone in Reading I found my way to my room. Dropped my bags off and went to get a bottle of alcopop to drink while I did my makeup.
8pm came. And went to find the pre-drinks rendezvous, nervously I left the room. On my own and not steeled by anger as last time, and the hooch didn't work, I zoomed past the reception in 5” heels and onto the street, avoiding eye contact with everyone. It was not until some women I passed called out and complimented my shoes and how fast I can walk in them did I loosen up.
Approval and not scorn for my footwear from people who owed me nothing was a defrosting moment. This feeling was brought back to reality when I tripped and fell outside the Blagrave arms, while checking my sat nav walking map thingy.
At the bar, I was first to arrive and not knowing anyone but my friend I went straight to the bar and asked (stupidly) for “something cheap and alcoholic for my nerves”. The wisecrack from the bartender half my age was himself. Shoulda picked my words better but the levity loosened me up.
A few minutes later my friend arrived with the grandness I was expecting. They walked in with the confidence of a monarch. They owned the door, the hall and the occasion. It was a moment I wish I could have captured on video to show the world what confidence in a wedding dress looks like.
Banging on the table I gained their attention to squeals of excitement. Finally we met in person after sharing lows and highs for the past 2 years.
Most of the night is a blur. But the friends I made were amazing. I felt equal to the women in the group. I felt appreciated for just being there, not in what bills were paid or nice things I gave. The blisters on my feet were gained in joy and pride.
At the end of the night someone told me I mattered and started bawling.
At about 2am Saturday I walked back to my room, took my makeup off, uploaded the photos and videos I took to the FB event page, and climbed into bed still with my breast forms glued on.
3 hours later I woke up a little more sober and while more comfortable than imagined with the forms still glued on, removed them begrudgingly, went back to bed.
Saturday proper, I had to check out by noon, and the train home was booked for 5pm.to go home. I had intended to travel back in boy mode, but still high on the success of the night I set myself a new growth challenge. I made a split decision to put on a face and use the alternative outfit I had for the night out to go home in. My parents were to meet Becca at the train station for the first time.
Messaged my friend to ask if they wanted a coffee (I'm autistic and immune to hangovers, I often forget people are not as functional as I am the day after). But generally my day was spent walking to the station with a heavy case, buying a Costa and waiting around, having a bit of an emotional crash after the highs.
At some point I inevitably needed the.loo and went to the gents, the station attendant did a double take as I went for the men's which boosted my ego, stepping out of the cubicle another gent stared confused at me until I said in my thick deep Welsh accent I'm a bloke in a wig, and in the right loo” which made him visually relax and return to washing his hands while I fixed my lipstick.
The train was looooooong and after 12 hours tucked (except for 3 toilet stops) I was just wanting home. My wife asked me to pick up groceries on the way and I mused about going to Aldi myself in my comfortable self, but slow discomfort in an awkward retuck in the train loo made me ask my dad to collect these for me.
Home I was greeted by cats and still having radio silence from my exceptionally hungover friend started to fall into a bad mental place.
Showered. Fed tasty food by my wife seemingly glad to see me, and mobbed by kitties. I was asleep in no time.
Today I have told my wife about the spill on front of the Blagrave to involve her and she turned stiff.. angrily tutted and walked off. This person who wants me to share with them just refuses to drink from the water I lead them to.
Meanwhile my sister admitted to being in happy tears just to see a toothy smile in pics while out, something she hadn't seen in a long time.
Reflecting on the passive aggressive social media activity, the statements of wanting to be involved and either later weaponizing it or making me feel small for sharing my joys has me really considering what I want in life.
Do I want to wait for her to come round (if ever), and enjoy life, and have that smile when I want to or keep on walking on eggshells in the home I am working without financial assistance from her to support.
A case in point I was just engaged in an argument while she “doesn't want to argue” because I'm smiling at my phone “the way of someone wistfull or talking to a lover, and not how (I) smile at (her)”.
I feel trapped, because of token statements to reduce her spending to the amounts we agreed on before cost of living hit. Her refusal to work due to heath and IRS concerns. Refusing to claim disability as they'd make her jump through hoops while pipedreaming about obscure self employment (which would exclude her from foreign taxed income exemptions by being self employed here).
If she was acting as most people do and wanting financial independence rather than embedding her dependent on me I'd just walk.
I have spent years cutting back on myself but not on her spending to get her through this but I now worry that I will need financial support to transition and can't rely on her.
Now I'm worried due to her vicious and often ‘lets destroy shit for me and you’ streak (evidenced by her trying to put me to my parents and mortgage provider on Halloween 2022) I'm really worried I'd be accused of being a financially controlling domestic abuser.
I have a lot of things to think upon
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