Toxic Snake-Bites from the Author’s Journals
Log of ‘Snake-Bite’ Put Downs*
My new wife was a local politician. Charming and gregarious, she was popular with everyone. But she revealed another side to her character soon after we married.
Early on there were red flags.
People admired her for speaking her mind frankly, fluently and unsentimentally. The truth is, she gave little regard to people’s feelings. A war victim, lamenting death and destruction on TV news, wiped a tear with a finger. She snapped “Don’t these people ever carry a handkerchief?” Her advice to a homeless rough sleeper was “Get a job!”
Lack of reciprocity and mutuality were other early clues. When I passed a flattering remark, she didn’t return the compliment or express thanks. She simply responded “That’s good!”
She disparaged supposed inferiors. Sitting in a restaurant, she would pick apart someone on the next table who was overweight or untidy or misusing their cutlery. “Look at the uncouth way that woman is holding her knife, as though she is about to stab someone!”
Soon, she would turn on me—declaring love one minute, and putting me down the next. Domestic abuse is often assumed to involve violence. Emotional bullying, such as belittlement or ‘snake-bites,’ where no violence is involved, can also be abusive. At the time I felt hurt. Now, with hindsight, I see humour in the following insults. Perhaps you will too.
Cartoon courtesy of toonytool.com
Returning from a trip out, my wife looked at me with mock concern “Are you all right?” I replied “Yes, why?” She said “You were sitting in that position when I left.” (You’re idle.) When she heard me make a morning appointment, she smirked “That’s a bit early for you!” (You’re lazy). If I opened a door or window for fresh air, she sneered, “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?” (You’re soft.) When I misplaced my keys “This is becoming your habit.” (You’re losing the plot.) Any time I admitted a failing, she looked scornful, rolled her eyes and laughed “That’s not like you.” (You’re always failing.) At suppertime “I expect you’ll want pudding on top of your big dinner?” (You’re greedy.)
Whenever I reached for the salt, she moved my wineglass. (You’re clumsy, you’ll knock it over.) When eating she was liable to point noisily “You’ve spilt wine all down your front!” or “You have food all over your face!” (A crumb in the corner of my mouth or a spot of wine on my shirt.) She would roll her eyes, cast a dehumanising look and mock “I’ll have to start buying you patterned shirts” or “I’ll get you a bib.” When she wanted help with a job around the house “I know you’re very, very busy, you have such a lot to do, but could you possibly find time to…”
She was often perfectly charming. Another time she might be demanding or prickly-precious, like the fairy-tale princess bruised by a pea under her mattress. Any petty incident could provoke an almighty reaction. For example, if I inadvertently nudged her, she would scream in pain as though stabbed. Then she would berate me as if I had purposely attacked her. Any slight mishap triggered a monstrous reaction. Like, if I accidentally touched her shoes lying on the floor as I shod myself. She would shout at the top of her voice “Please don’t kick my shoes!” Another time she yelled “Don’t walk all over my shoes!”
Cartoon courtesy of toonytool.com
I started a daily journal and used positive reinforcement, applauding courtesy and ignoring hostility or rudeness. I spoke about actions and consequences, but she laughed “I can’t see why anyone would want to look back. It’s past!” I made a point of expressing my hurt feelings and put to her some of the upsetting remarks she had made. At first, she denied her behaviour or made light of it. She snorted that I had misheard or misinterpreted her. When I quoted from my journals, she called me “A weirdo” for writing about her.
Anyone else’s gaffes or blunders were portrayed as characteristic of me “Well, you would know about that wouldn’t you?” Followed by peals of laughter. She would look at me and laugh as we were about to go out; then find a hair or invisible speck to pick from my jacket. When I bought clothes for myself they were always the wrong size, shape, colour or style. My deodorant triggered her hay fever, any marks around the house were tea stains (I was the tea-drinker); fluff on the carpet was sock fluff; spot remover was always needed when washing my clothes, etc.
Cartoons courtesy of toonytool.com
It was impossible for us to discuss anything sensibly because I had my own ideas. If I offered a different view she repeated, curtly, “We’re not communicating” or “You don’t understand.” When I made a suggestion, she charged me with bullying “Stop telling me what to do!” And she scolded “If I want your advice I’ll ask for it!” Disagreement was taken as a personal insult. She would explode and divert the topic or blurt a word salad. It fed her rage when I tried to rationalise and defend myself – she appeared to enjoy negative attention.
If directly contradicted she erupted and barked insults, “Shut up!” “How dare you!” “Piss off!” or “Get lost!” I objected to her outbursts, and she fumed “Why are you being horrible to me?” Then she stonewalled me. She often blanked me out for hours, looking through me like I was invisible.
When I dared to address her bad behaviour, she accused me of trying to bully her. Or she played victim “It’s very stressful having to stop and think before I talk in case I offend you.” or “You’re always criticising me, I can never do anything right for you.”
Challenging her behaviour got nowhere. I objected when she told me to “Shut up,” but she claimed I was “blowing things up out of proportion.” Professing love, she laughed “There’s something wrong with you. You’re so fragile.” When I persisted, she blared “Get over it!” and “If you’re upset that’s your problem!”
Cartoons courtesy of toonytool.com
I tried to set boundaries on disrespectful conduct and she warned me firmly “You’re domineering! Stop trying to control me!” She projected her controlling behaviour, telling everyone I was “A control freak.”
She swore she loved me, but when I asked why, she was confused. Emotionally barren, she responded “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Pressed, she said “Because you’re odd.” I replied “that’s a funny reason” and she said “Well, you are odd.”
Lacking empathy, she mistook attention for affection. She couldn’t bear being ignored. If she was watching a programme on TV which did not interest me, she complained that I was a poor companion “It’s bad manners to read when you could be talking to me.” If I failed to react promptly, she turned up the TV volume to distract me. In a typical exchange I suggested that she might like to read too. She replied “Why are you being beastly to me?”
Paradoxically she was super sensitive to offence. When seeking directions from a fresh-faced shop assistant, the youngster offered to ‘Google’ directions for her. My wife took that to imply that she (being older) would not be up to speed and could not manage a smartphone. She was outraged, and accused the assistant of ageism “How dare you make assumptions based on my age.”
Cartoons courtesy of toonytool.com
Sometimes she would talk to me slowly, using words of one syllable, as though speaking to a three-years-old child. This put-down could be hilarious, although any hint of being amused would trigger a furious burst of outrage.
When driving to a destination I was familiar with, but she had never been to, I suggested, “I think it’s quicker to go that way.” She replied, “I’m driving and this is the way we are going, I don’t need your help to find my way.”
Weighing herself one morning she eyed the scales with a frown. She looked across at me and jeered “You’ve got sparrow’s legs.”
Any blunder I made was a put-down opportunity. For example, we drove separately from work to visit friends. When we got back home afterwards, she adopted a patronising look and asked how it happened that we left together but I arrived home after her. Of course, she guessed how, but she wanted me to admit that I had made a mistake by taking a wrong turning.
If I lost her in a crowd, she would hide and enjoy watching me look for her without revealing herself. It was an amusing game for both of us; the first time.
She told everyone that she never agreed to marry. I had got her drunk before proposing and she couldn’t remember me proposing to her or her reply.
Cartoons courtesy of toonytool.com
If I failed to notice that she had emptied her wine glass, she would push it towards me without a word and point her forefinger demandingly inside. I soon learned to ignore her but then she stonewalled me for the rest of the day.
When I didn’t hear and asked “Pardon?” she rolled her eyes and repeated more quietly so I had to ask again. Then she told me I was deaf, tossed her head and snarled that she can’t be bothered to keep repeating. Sometimes she screamed a reply at the top of her voice. I said “You don’t need to shout” and she shrieked “I have to shout because you’re deaf!”
I like dancing, but when we were learning new steps, she complained I was “wooden” with “no sense of rhythm.” I told her that wasn’t a helpful comment and she explained “How would you know your faults if I didn’t tell you?” She often deserted me without a word and asked another man to dance. Afterwards she would say what an excellent dancer the other chap was. “He has such a good strong lead I know exactly what he is going to do next.”
Following my cancer operation, she talked wistfully of where she would live and what her life would be like when I was no longer around. She reinforced this spiteful put-down by telling stories of how much happier two widowed friends were after their husbands died.
By unleashing an emotional roller-coaster at home, my wife displaced feelings of insecurity in the outside world. In public she changed chameleon-like, from an adversarial partner into a model of communal amiability. Intensely image-conscious, she donned her Oscar worthy ‘party persona’ at social events and circulated, seeking attention. We arrived first and left last to maximise exposure, and she was admired by everyone, including my folks. However, her friendships were cherished on a superficial level. Behind their backs she described my daughters and their families as “pond-life.” My brother was pronounced “crummy.” (She split people into two camps, “good value” or “crummy,” with no gradation.)
She made negative comments about my friends to change my opinion of them and make them less worthy. In setting my crowd apart, our social diary became filled with her circle and her events. Amongst those with whom she shared history, she steered the conversation to private anecdotes. At the time I didn’t see this was done deliberately to marginalise me. My wife worked hard to support and manage her network of friends to secure her supply. Gatherings were choreographed in advance for socialising and seating.
She admitted she could never be a caregiver. She was repulsed by shuffling and spluttering geriatrics, and she let me know “If you start dribbling you’re out” or if I missed a step out walking “Once you get doddery I’m off.”
I talked of my hurt feelings from upsetting remarks she had made. At first, she denied her behaviour or made light of it. Pressed to respond she got angry, yelling “I apologise and I accept full responsibility for everything.” “What do you mean by everything?” I said. “All the things you accuse me of.” I told her I was not accusing her and not looking to allocate blame, I just wanted her to understand her behaviour was hurtful. Her answer was “I promise never to say any of these things, ever again. Will that do?” For the rest of the day, whenever I spoke, she acted like I had ceased to exist.
Looking up from my paper one morning, I idly commented “Women are still disadvantaged in many ways.” She shot back “No they’re not. You don’t know what you’re talking about – again!” She would swear black was white to contradict me, and her expression showed she took these games super seriously.
After seeing mementoes from my late wife, she quietly threw them out. I had kept them in remembrance but she didn’t want anything to distract my attention.
In company one evening I cracked a joke and took the spotlight for a while. Back home she said (by way of helpful support), “Try to use fewer words, you make jokes too complicated.” and “Did you have difficulty hearing? You kept repeating what had just been said at the other end of table.” She told me I had talked for too long, and explained how pained everyone had been, listening to me “wittering on.” She regularly ‘informed’ me of friends with a low opinion of me.
When I was preparing a meal, she hovered saying “What a mess!” Then she started clearing up around me while I was still trying to cook. If I made a fuss, she would protest that she was only trying to be helpful and stonewall me for the rest of the evening. Often, when I was cooking she would say haughtily “Can I persuade you to …” and go on to describe how it should be done her way and not the way I was doing it or any other way. If questioned, she would say “But this is the best way.” Or “It irritates me when you insist on arguing with me.”
One day I bought home a gift of her favourite Eccles cake. To my dismay she pointed out, “Behind every fat person there is a feeder. You’re a feeder!” Nothing I did was right, yet for many years that didn’t stop me trying to please.
Later the put-downs were more open. At a pub quiz night stuck on a question, she glanced towards me and said “No good asking him, he won’t know.” Ironically, at another time in a group discussing a subject I knew nothing about, she turned towards me sarcastically “Let’s ask the man who knows everything.”
On one occasion I lost my temper. I said sorry, and she replied “No point in apologising, you don’t mean it. You’ll do it again.” (In a similar scenario, my late wife had responded “You wouldn’t be the man I love if you didn’t get angry now and then.”)
She resented me making new talk. For instance, as I was introducing myself to some guests at a party, she sallied up and laughed, “He’ll never remember any of your names you know!”
She had always given humorous cards, but one birthday she gave a romantic card and wrote loving lines. “Oh, that’s really touching.” I said. She beamed “I knew the sort of romantic card you like and that’s why I bought it for you.” She had chosen the card, not to communicate how she felt, but to please me. I often write my own verse in cards to convey feelings of love and happiness, but these emotional delights were sadly lost on her.
She laughingly recounted my ‘failings’ or any embarrassing moments, but she didn’t laugh with me, she laughed at me. When she felt insecure, she framed every expression, every gesture, every utterance, in a disparaging way. As the famous Yogi Paramahansa Yogananda said: “Some people try to be tall by cutting off the heads of others.”
Eventually I became weary of being her punchbag, sympathy had faded and I pleaded for divorce. Her attitude suggested she would agree, but to my dismay she went ballistic. “You can’t do this to me” she screamed! Oblivious to emotional need, she protested loss of her practical wants. “I built my life around you, you’re destroying my world!” Calling me “selfish,” she railed “I’m not going to let this marriage go. It’s your fault you feel hurt, you’re too sensitive.”
She could never accept responsibility for any failing. After I divorced her, she blamed me for misinterpreting her. I “didn’t understand teasing” I “couldn’t join up the dots.” She said “You can’t translate conversations or interpret cues, so you take everything I say literally; you miss the nuances.” She wrote to friends that I was “a high functioning asperges” (sic), a “coercive controller” who didn’t understand language.
Bereft of natural warmth, she adopted emotional charades. Hoping I might be won around, she feigned love and claimed to be heartbroken by our parting. She sent me a poignant message saying “I loved you from the moment we met, and I still love you.” But it emerged later that she had already advertised her profile on the online dating service, OurTime, and she joined other dating sites. She went on to write “Who will ever dance with me like you do?” Before, she had told me I was “Wooden, with no sense of rhythm.” Her message ended “I’ll never stop telling you I love you.” However, while writing these words of love she opened a private bank account and was secretly siphoning off our money. That was snaky – our lifestyle was funded mostly by me. She wrote that she was sorry. Not sorry for the hurt or the deception, but sorry to have failed “…it’s such a terrible waste.”
* A ‘Snake-bite’ is a put-down comment that seems innocent. The victim may not realise the bite was barbed and toxic until reflecting on it later. This venom works snakily beneath the surface, killing a relationship.
Cartoons courtesy of toonytool.com
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