Weaponized Incompetence

He takes up so much space in my home and destroys everything in his path. Completely disregarding my living room layout, he pushes my armchairs into corners and breaks my ottomans, and whenever he gets frustrated over how I rearrange my furniture, he swings around and smashes the TV. He gracelessly lumbers up and down the stairs, scuffing the floorboards and trekking dirt through our home. And whenever he destroys a precious family heirloom by sending it flying into the wall, it’s my job to clean it up. He’ll just smash it and leave it. It’s like nothing matters to him—not permanence or my happiness, not my labor or my love. I’ve lost so many valuable things in my home since he moved in, including my peace.

He also never cleans. Never offers to sweep or vacuum. Never wipes down the countertops after dinner. He doesn’t even do the laundry. He’ll throw up in the bathroom and walk away like nothing happened, and I’ll be the one on my hands and knees scrubbing vomit off the tiles. One time I got him to help me power wash the side of the house which was above my expectations. Then I tried to get him to weed the garden with me, but he ate all the cherry tomatoes off the vine instead. I feel like no matter what I try to do, no matter how many times I attempt to include him in making meals or contributing to the household chores, he simply makes it ten times harder. My friends call it “weaponized incompetence” and that he’s taking advantage of my kindness, but it just sounds like my parents’ marriage to me. 

I also think he’s stashing food around the house. I found bags of chips underneath the couch and crushed cans of soup in the crawl space. I also stepped on ant-infested watermelon in the shed, but he acts like he’s never seen it before. Which is ridiculous—he eats more than anyone I know! I don’t understand why he’s hiding snacks as if I don’t feed him enough. And it’s just way too much food waste. 

Ever since I watched my grandmother’s antique vase sail across the living room and smash into the wall, I’ve wondered if it’s even worth letting him stay in the house. I don’t want to live with a guy who destroys my things, and also, who hurts me. He hurts me all the time, and even though I know he’s a big guy and he probably doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s left me with a giant purple bruise on my leg in the shape of Pangaea. He broke two of my toes back in April and pinned me against the wall with his body a week later, suffocating me as I struggled to get out from under him. We never talk about what happened, but I’ll never forget it. I’ve seen him differently ever since. 

The problem is, even if I did kick him out, I fear he’d break down my door trying to get back in. He’s capable. I’ve seen him dent car hoods and smash storefront windows. I’m not sure if I should risk it, but I want to get my sanity back. I talked to my friend Jeff about it, and he said we could always lock him in the barn on his grandfather’s property. I’m worried he’ll figure out how to escape the barn, but Jeff said he and his buddies can hang around in their trucks and make sure he stays put until he tires himself out. When he eventually falls asleep, they’ll sedate him and put him in the back of a cargo truck going to Kentucky, so when he wakes up he’ll lose all sense of direction. I feel as if at that point, he wouldn’t make his way back to my house and I’ll be safe, but it’s hard to betray someone you love, even when you know they’re not good for you anymore. 

My friends say it’s the best and safest option. I can’t take on someone bigger and stronger all alone. I might call Jeff and his buddies later and ask if they got the anesthetic from animal control yet. A big order was placed two weeks ago when we called about our situation and an animal control officer advised us not to take action until we had reinforcements. I’m not sure how much anesthetic we’re talking about, but I bet we’d need a lot to take out an ankylosaurus.