So, we have a “safety plan” co-authored by our respective therapists. It’s a real, written down, bullet pointed, numbered, itemized document. Not kidding. It outlines boundaries..all the can’t do’s, won’t do’s and mustn’t do’s, one to another, to facilitate detachment and therefore (theoretically) healing.h It sucks. If the pipes freeze, I can’t call Will to come and help mop up the mess in the basement. I do it on my own. When the snow turns to ice, who does the shoveling? Yep…me…on my own. When the dog gets out of the yard because the fence is down and its 10:00 pm and 15 degrees, I not only have to go find the dog in the dark by myself, but I have to try to fix the fence. Alone. Because he is not allowed on the property, we are not allowed to call, text or email each other except for one day a week for 30 minutes. He is not a safe person for me to be around. I get that. But, here is what I don’t get. While I am mopping up the basement, shoveling the ice, fixing broken stuff…he is going to lunch with his SA buddies, reading, spending time with our kids and grandkids, golfing, blogging, journaling….ya know…having a life. Nothing in my life has been fair and I certainly don’t expect any fairness now but, why am I still suffering the consequences of Will’s incredible selfishness and stupidity? I might be safe but, good grief, I’m still being abused. I’m being cheated on all over again.