When Hoping Weird Stuff

I sit here writing, hoping he doesn't come home for a couple of hours.  Hoping that I won't be expected to interact.  Hoping that he doesn't try for intimacy.  It doesn't make me feel desired, it makes me feel used.  Bought.  Cheap.  He doesn't take time to comfort me.  To meet my needs.  To care.  but, he believes that sex is to be expected.  Other "vows" don't matter.  And I sit here, still hoping that he'll get a job offer at a sister company in another state.  And I feel like it must be wrong, but sometimes, it's the only way I can make it through another day. 
I hope that I just won't scream.  Or lose my mind.  I hope that I'll be able to be kind.  I hope that the shaking will stop.  I hope that he'll take a long trip.  I hope that he just goes away. 
It's sad.  I really did used to hope for the good things.  For our growth.  For our marriage.  For our commitment.  I really had it together.  I just can't do it anymore.  And I can't pretend that I can.  I can be nice.  Because why not?  I am not particularly mean.  I just don't want to live like this anymore.  It's not that I want to punish.  I just want to choose what I need to survive.
He told me it's not my choice.  I can't have my own life if I want it.  Not my decision.  How long have I lived with someone who doesn't view me as equal?  Who doesn't care what I need?  Who has no compassion on my heart?
Longer than he has lived with someone who has drawn a line and said that she's done with the sham.  That's only been months.  And he thinks it's totally unfair. Sometimes life sucks, "dear".....that is the message you have given me.  Happiness is not the goal.  Don't expect joy.  Just be committed.  So, it is a tad funny to watch him being committed to..........what, I'm not sure, but doing it nonetheless.  It's certainly not to me.  To marriage as an institution perhaps. 
When my mind started hoping the weird stuff.  I mean, deep down inside, not even as a little joke....that was when I knew that I needed him to go away.  At least for awhile.  I asked for a simple sabbatical.  Not even a separation. Not my decision, apparently.  I can't do that.
But you know what?  I can.  Now I have to decide if I will and what it will look like.  If I don't get the time, we will never heal.  Because I cannot live like this.