What she's done - certainly it hurts, not sure if it's abuse.

What hurts the most?  The dismissal?She'll ask me a question, and then walk away and start another conversation with someone else while I'm answering.  I bought a new piano.  I wanted the first song I played on it to be special - so I played our wedding song, 'All I ask of you' from Phantom of the Opera.  She walked away and went upstairs to fold laundry halfway in the first verse.I called her in the middle of a panic attack.  I was suicidal here at work.  I called her for help.  She stopped talking to me to have a conversation about my son bumping his head on the table with her friend she was with.  And then another conversation about her friends' dog.All right, so she's not paying attention.  That's not terrible, right?I'm not perfect, I get that.  I'd like a little time when I get home to sit down and just not think about anything, pull my kids up into my lap.  Maybe play the piano, work out, let off a little steam.  Usually, she doesn't let me.  Gotta get the homework done, entertain the kids while she cooks, clean up the living room, take out the trash.  If I do take that little time for myself, I know sure as shooting that I'm going to hear about it later - not necessarily in a fight, but at least I'm going to hear 'well, you need to do this for me, because I let you play the piano this afternoon instead of helping me.'I built her a headboard for christmas two years ago.  I'm incredibly proud of it.  She didn't want me to build it. 'Where are you going to build it?  Have you thought of that?'  I'm going to build it on the back porch.  'How much will it cost?' I've got my blueprints and spec sheet right here.  'You're just going to cut off a finger.' I worked as a carpenter for years.  So, i built it.  Padded backrests, integrated power, bookshelves, storage compartments...  Christmas morning.  'You didn't think about how you're going to get it up the stairs' I measured the stairs when I built the thing.  'Why didn't you paint the bottoms of the shelves?'  I can't win.I always forget the sauce, or the fact that she doesn't want pickles, or not to get the rind in her lemonaid, or that the toothbrushes go up here and not down there, or she doesn't like caffeine too late at night, or that I should have known that she pulled out hot dogs for dinner, or that the kids don't like to eat fish, or that "I told you we would be having dinner with my parents this weekend.'Ugh.  The fights.  They come out of nowhere.  I've told her before it feels like she just walks up behind me with a frying pan and pops me on the back of the head.  Then is amazed when I dare to complain or defend myself.  No matter what they start out as, they always circle back around to me being lazy, to me not helping around the house.  'I never take out the trash' except that I did, just this afternoon. 'Well, yeah, and thank you for that, but the rest of the time you never do.'  Then there are the ones I start.  There was one where I cleaned out the spice cabinet, organized it nice and neatly.  I was apparently a monster because I didn't consider that now she isn't going to know where anything is.  I've gotten similar results from cooking the wrong thing for dinner, cleaning the bathroom, and I've learned to my great sorrow never to reorganize anything without permission.  "You never stop to consider my feelings, what I might want."  Sometimes I ask to start a conversation about our kids growing up, expanding their boundaries.  Moving my son out of his crib, taking the baby gate off the stairs, taking the doorknob protector off his door, moving him to a booster seat instead of a carseat, potty training, playing in the front yard for a minute while the rest of us finish getting our shoes on... Those turn real fast into 'I can't believe you don't care if your son hurts himself and is killed, just so you can have your way.  Why are you still arguing for this?!'  Even in calm moments, when i ask her, she says 'well, of course you care if the kids live or die.  But sometimes I wonder...'If I don't back down, don't apologize, it soon turns into 'Never mind.  i don't know why I brought it up - I never win fights with you.'  Then if it keeps going, she starts to gets violent.  Not with me - with herself.  She starts by telling me that she's so upset that she wants to go get a knife and start cutting herself.  It isn't long beyond that where she'll claw at ther arms, pull her hair, and punch herself - she's bruised herself pretty badly.  And then the kids walk in, and it all vanishes.   And then I'll bring up some of the hurtful things she said, and it's either 'I never said that' or 'I was upset.  You said some pretty hurtful things, too.'  Even my mother, when I describe these fights to her, tells me I must be misremembering.  But I'm an actor - I'm TRAINED to remember phrases and words.  I KNOW what I remember is true.  But everyone tells me I'm either wrong, overreacting, or crazy.It's a fight if I'm more than 15 minutes late coming home.  She controls the budget.  I only hear that things are tight, that I need to save money - and then aren't I proud that she spent less than a hundred dollars on the kids at the mall today?  But it's ok that I stopped to get a dollar burger on the way home - just try not to make a habit of it, ok?  I really enjoy the fights where she complains that I never buy her little gifts anymore - sure, I'm not allowed to go to the store by myself, and I've got no money to spend if I did.  Sure, sometimes she gives me a 20 or so - and wouldn't it be nice if I bought her a little something, now that I do have money?She picks out my pants for me, but lets me pick which shirt I want to wear.  Unless it makes me look fat.  Then I have to change.  I've lost 35 pounds.  The last time I changed my shirt in front of her, she still made fun of my 'man-boobs.'Jealousy... I can understand some.  Sure, my best friend was a younger girl.  That would bother anyone.  But the last time I saw her was when my wife called her over as I was drunk as a skunk.  The last thing I remember hearing from her was my wife telling her 'it'll be kinder if you just have no contact with him whatsoever - no emails, no texts, no phone calls... it's for the best.' And then she said 'Ok.' and walked out.Ok, that one friend is a threat.  Understandable.  But i've gotten the third degree from her again and again.  'What did your mother tell you?'  I think I ought to be able to have a covnersation with my mom. 'Well yes, but I don't know that I trust that she'll give you good advice.  What is she saying?  What are you telling her?'  I've been at work, logged onto facebook, having a conversation, and she'll log into my account and be reading along, and telling me what to listen to, what to ignore, what's not fair, and what I should say.  The one friend I have left that's helping me through all this grief, she's fighting with.  Told her 'I can't talk with you anymore - you've taken his side.'  Cornered her 14 year old son to nail down his opinions on what he thinks of this whole 'abuse' thing.  My mom, my dad, my male friends, my married friends - even when I've decided to spend time with myself instead of her.  The only reason I feel the kids aren't on that list is because I rarely get to spend time with them without her.  and if I do, I have to remember to 'take lots of pictures, and tell me all about it when you get home!'I had terrible acne in high school.  Pretty badly scarred from it.  I've told her how humiliating it was.  When I get a pimple now - or an ingrown hair, or a blackhead, or sometimes a mole or a freckle, even... 'Doesn't that bother you?  It's driving me crazy.  Here.  Let me help.' and then the pops my pimple.  I've stood there, clenching my jaw and fists, tears streaming down my face as she pinches me, 'just trying to make sure i got it all.  Here - hold on - there's another one over here.'  I try to tell her that's a mole, not a pimple. 'well, just let me check to make sure.'  I plead, I beg, I command - it doesn't stop until she's satisfied or I bat her hands away.  'There's no need to be upset - it's only a pimple..."  There's been times I've pointed out pimples to her after a fight, just to cheer her up, make her feel better.  That's pretty disturbing to remember, after the fact.It's all so innocent sounding.  Just bad communication, and it's not like I've told her to stop it.  I didn't have very clear boundaries.But I can't deny the results on my psyche.  It feels like death by a thousand papercuts - and I'm getting close to the final two.But she isn't like this to anyone else.  She doesn't want to be this way towards me.  She loves me.She just needs to be in control of me.That's what hurts most.  The knowledge that she expects to own me.  That I've let her.