Never ever thought I'd be saying this...

My (soon to be ex) husband hit me last night. Yeah, you frickin' heard me. He frickin' HIT ME.

The first straw was that I dared to buy myself some clothes. I am working full-time, making my own money, and I needed some spring/summer outfits, so I went out and got a couple. He FREAKED. "Why the hell do you get to buy new clothes? I never buy new clothes!" Yeah... well, maybe you should. You dress like hell. I told him it was my frickin' money, and that I don't have to answer to him. So he starts going though my bag, looking at price tags. Screw that. I told him to get the hell out of my stuff.

He got all pissy and took off for the evening. I was so glad. The less time I have to deal with him the better. So I went to karaoke at Big Louie's as usual.

When I got home, apparently I accidentally woke him up. He decided to go all evil on me for disturbing his precious sleep. He didn't even have to work today, so I don't know what the hell his major malfunction was. Anyhow, for the rest of the night, every time I started to doze off, he'd hit me hard in the back or punch the pillow right next to my head. It's like he was just laying there, waiting for it. I didn't get any sleep at all, and I had to work a full day today.

I nearly got up and left. I was going to go spend the rest of the night at a hotel, but somehow I just couldn't justify dragging my kids out of bed in the middle of the night, and there was no way in hell I was leaving home without them. I couldn't even go out and sleep on the couch, because our youngest son was sleeping out there for some strange reason. So I just laid there and took it, hating him more and more with every smack.

So now I'm sleeping on the fold-out couch in the basement. He should be the one sleeping elsewhere... it's MY damn bed. It belonged to my parents. But he refuses to go.

The thing that really pisses me off is that there are a number of people out there who still think he's this great, stand-up guy, and that I'm the bitch who's tearing his world apart. They've never heard him call me fatass, never heard him call me lazy bitch, never heard him tell me I'm stupid and whacked and delusional, never heard him make fun of my thoughts and feelings, never heard him insult everything from my appearance to my parenting skills to my cooking skills to my speech to my mannerisms, never saw me waiting up for him all night long in tears when he wouldn't answer his cell phone or his pager, terrified that he was dead or in jail, only to have him stumble in drunk at 7am, insisting that he could do whatever the hell he wanted and didn't owe me any explanation. And most people who know him will never know that last night he hit me.

Holy hell. Is it any wonder that I'm leaving him? Is it any wonder that I am miserable? Is it any wonder that I never, ever want to get married again?

I cannot get out of this damned house fast enough. I cannot get out of this trainwreck of a marriage fast enough. Just a few more weeks of this hell, and then I'm out.

I never thought I would say this, but I am learning to hate the man I married. Hate him, hate him, hate him.