I am crying.
I am crying because I am tired. Because I have had a long week of exceedingly early mornings, late nights, and not much down time in between, and I have had my two kids with me almost the entire time with no break, no rest, no help.
I am crying because I am sexually frustrated, and because I feel unwanted unless he's aroused and desperate, and blamed when he's frustrated because I am exhausted and don't wake up when he climbs into bed after I've fallen asleep, and makes advances.
I am crying because while I was working all week a crockpot full of pot roast was rotting on the counter, even days after I asked him to please empty it, because while I was away last week he put it on to warm but then left it out, so it has been festering for 8 days.
I am crying because one of the cats has suddenly started peeing and pooping on the table, the kitchen counter, in the hallway, and on the clean laundry in the hamper that I haven't folded because I haven't had time.
I am crying because I am supposed to be sewing a quilt for a charity auction but I can't seem to get it done; every time I try someone or something else needs my attention, and so for the first time in my life I will break my word and be a worthless oathbreaker.
I am crying because the dryer vent hose keeps detaching from the wall vent, and he said he would fix it more than a week ago but hasn't, so I have had to squeeze into the tiny space between dryer and wall and try to fix it so I can do laundry.
I am crying because he gets angry at the mess I haven't cleaned up because I am trying to clean up the beer bottles, the bottles caps (which I usually find with my feet), the spilled booze, coffee, water, seasoning mix, vomit in the sink, shit on the toilet seat, and other assorted messes he leaves behind but swears he doesn't.
I am crying because I have pulled or done something to a muscle in my neck/shoulder area and it hurts, hurts, hurts and I can't do anything about it because there is so much I have to do around the house and holding the toddler makes it worse but she WILL be held or whine, whine, whine, cry, cry, cry and I will scream at her to shut the fuck up because I will break, have broken, and can't stand the fucking noise, noise, noise.
I am crying because he went somewhere to meet someone and got lost and called me to get directions to a place I have never been and don't know and then screamed at me and hung up on me and called me back and yelled at me because he told me three different places he was at and expected me to instantly find him on the map and give directions, and my phone died and he called the other phone and chastised me even more because I didn't answer when he hung up on me and then called back, then yelled at me again because I was trying to give him the directions he asked for and it was wrong because he wasn't at the place he said he was at, but somewhere else, and I don't know where that is and can't just instinctively find it on the map but actually have to look...and he has a mapping app on his phone that he could use but for some reason doesn't.
I am crying because I feel like I have nothing left to give, or at least nothing left that anyone wants.
I am crying because my life is inundated with the stench of shit, piss, rot, and filth.
I am crying because I am cold and don't dare turn up the heat, I am hungry but am weary of being the only one who cooks for the family and even if I have just fed the kids if I make anything for myself they want it and circle me like buzzards begging to share with me and I don't have it in me to deal with that right now.
I am crying because I feel awfully alone when it comes to dealing with these kids, unless there is criticism to be offered and then I have plenty of people, even strangers, happy to tell me how I am doing it wrong and ruining my beautiful children who love me despite my ineptitude, and how I should be raising them instead.
I am crying because in the beginning I thought he loved me, believed he loved me, and now I think he just resents me for what I cannot be or do and wishes he wasn't trapped in this festering life with me, could leave me behind and think of me only as that fat, nasty bitch who tried to ensnare him and didn't care and treated him so poorly and how lucky he is not to be stuck with HER any more.
I am crying because I want love but know, deep down, I don't deserve it and don't get to have it, but that doesn't stop me wanting it so much I ache constantly and sometimes try to believe I can have it but then find it's just an illusion and I don't deserve love, I deserve scorn and derision and abandonment and to be shown over and over that I am worthless, useless, not worth the effort.
I am crying because I am a curse, and anyone who is involved with me soon has cause to regret it because all I do is ruin lives.
I am crying because I have swept the floor three times this morning and it is messy again.
I am crying because I wonder if I will ever be able to just love and be loved without it turning to shit because it's me and that's what I am due...shit...
I am crying because even when I am away, I am responsible for what happens here, and there's no peace, no quiet, no rest at all and I worry about his drunkenness and anger and what is happening to the house, the animals, the children, worrying about the mess I will have to clean up when I get home despite having left a clean house before I left, because I am the only one who should be doing that sort of work, I am the woman and the mother and why should anyone else do it, and people are judging me and I am selfish and horrible for asking for a few days in a year, how dare I?
I am crying because there is no one here to see and feel burdened by it, because I don't get to cry or feel bad when there's a witness because that's an imposition and no one wants to suffer through that, it's too much to ask, really, and anyway I have no right to complain because I deserve this, I brought it on myself, and since everyone else is so much wiser and better than I am I should listen to them and live my life according to their advice and since I don't, I can just deal with it alone because I am too stupid to listen.
I am...crying...
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
EnvyGrief
So.
A friend passed away a few months ago. Her family held the memorial this past weekend.
For more than a month I have had to ask, cajole, remind, and worry about whether He would watch the kids so I could go. He agreed to, but sometimes...a lot of times...he forgets things. Alcohol and pot will do that to a body. It worries and frustrates me, and I have to constantly take memory loss into account when making plans.
I went to the memorial, a trip that meant I was away from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. I wanted to leave earlier on Friday, but it didn't work out. The Boy's father picked him up on Friday, so He only had the girl to contend with. I even arranged for a friend to come over and help out Friday night and Saturday morning.
At one point He was irritated because he had worked all week and now he wasn't getting to have a weekend. I bit my tongue. When's the last time I had a weekend? Hell, when's the last time I had an hour, or even fifteen minutes???
I went, came home. He was somewhere else, but brought the Girl home. Then he left again, went off to have some "quiet time" because he's had the Girl for all that time.
I don't get to have quiet time.
Then he was gone for hours - off playing at the lake with some friends, diving in the water, drinking, smoking pot, having a fine old time.
I didn't know where he was, and he did't let me know he'd be late. I got dinner. Got the Girl bathed, got both kids to bed, and wondered.
It isn't nice to feel lonely, superfluous, unwanted. How on earth is one lonely when one has two kids, a man, four cats, and assorted other critters about? I manage.
When He told me what he'd been up to, I thought it sounded nice. And I was glad he'd had fun. But...I had some unhappy thoughts, too. Thoughts I couldn't voice because he would take them wrong, take them as a judgement, as offensive.
I wondered what would happen if I just...left...saying I was only going to be an hour but not coming home until midnight or after? What would happen if I didn't call or text or let him know where I was or what I was doing, if I left him home with the two kids and went off and had my fun and never once thought about how he was?
I can't just take off for some peace or to hang out with friends. I must bring the children with me or find someone to watch them, or else I have to ask and ask and be willing to endure the bitterness, the talk of inconvenience and how HE can't do what HE wants because I need an hour here and there, or because I would like to do something that cannot include the children. I feel like I have to beg to simply run to the grocery store, and of course even that small thing is a big deal because it means he has to parent, and how dare I ask him to do that? And when I DO manage to get a little time for me, it is broken up by phone calls, texts, questions about where's this or what's that or how the kids won't behave or he can't find something or something has gone wrong, angry voice, angry words, on and on.
The thing is...the Girl loves her father. She adores spending time with him, is always excited when he comes home from work, delighted to have his attention and to share the world with him. And he loves her. He loves watching her play, loves playing with her...but only on his terms, when he feels like it...and if it gets in the way of anything else, he becomes bitter and angry.
I was thinking, last night, that it must be nice to be able to just take off without worrying if someone else is having to take up the slack or work around your absence. I wonder what that's like...
A friend passed away a few months ago. Her family held the memorial this past weekend.
For more than a month I have had to ask, cajole, remind, and worry about whether He would watch the kids so I could go. He agreed to, but sometimes...a lot of times...he forgets things. Alcohol and pot will do that to a body. It worries and frustrates me, and I have to constantly take memory loss into account when making plans.
I went to the memorial, a trip that meant I was away from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. I wanted to leave earlier on Friday, but it didn't work out. The Boy's father picked him up on Friday, so He only had the girl to contend with. I even arranged for a friend to come over and help out Friday night and Saturday morning.
At one point He was irritated because he had worked all week and now he wasn't getting to have a weekend. I bit my tongue. When's the last time I had a weekend? Hell, when's the last time I had an hour, or even fifteen minutes???
I went, came home. He was somewhere else, but brought the Girl home. Then he left again, went off to have some "quiet time" because he's had the Girl for all that time.
I don't get to have quiet time.
Then he was gone for hours - off playing at the lake with some friends, diving in the water, drinking, smoking pot, having a fine old time.
I didn't know where he was, and he did't let me know he'd be late. I got dinner. Got the Girl bathed, got both kids to bed, and wondered.
It isn't nice to feel lonely, superfluous, unwanted. How on earth is one lonely when one has two kids, a man, four cats, and assorted other critters about? I manage.
When He told me what he'd been up to, I thought it sounded nice. And I was glad he'd had fun. But...I had some unhappy thoughts, too. Thoughts I couldn't voice because he would take them wrong, take them as a judgement, as offensive.
I wondered what would happen if I just...left...saying I was only going to be an hour but not coming home until midnight or after? What would happen if I didn't call or text or let him know where I was or what I was doing, if I left him home with the two kids and went off and had my fun and never once thought about how he was?
I can't just take off for some peace or to hang out with friends. I must bring the children with me or find someone to watch them, or else I have to ask and ask and be willing to endure the bitterness, the talk of inconvenience and how HE can't do what HE wants because I need an hour here and there, or because I would like to do something that cannot include the children. I feel like I have to beg to simply run to the grocery store, and of course even that small thing is a big deal because it means he has to parent, and how dare I ask him to do that? And when I DO manage to get a little time for me, it is broken up by phone calls, texts, questions about where's this or what's that or how the kids won't behave or he can't find something or something has gone wrong, angry voice, angry words, on and on.
The thing is...the Girl loves her father. She adores spending time with him, is always excited when he comes home from work, delighted to have his attention and to share the world with him. And he loves her. He loves watching her play, loves playing with her...but only on his terms, when he feels like it...and if it gets in the way of anything else, he becomes bitter and angry.
I was thinking, last night, that it must be nice to be able to just take off without worrying if someone else is having to take up the slack or work around your absence. I wonder what that's like...
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The Woman Who Doesn't Care
This is how she thinks, the woman who doesn't care:
"There are only ten meatballs left. Okay, well, if I only take two that will leave eight for him, which should be okay. I don't really need them, any way."
And:
"Oh, how I would love some corn on the cob. but he doesn't like corn on the cob. I guess I'll cook green beans, instead."
And:
"I haven't roasted a chicken in a while, and I am craving it...but...he says he hates chicken...so...well...something else for dinner then. Maybe I can make chicken when he's not here one night..."
And:
"I really want this book...haven't had a new one for years...but...if I buy this, then he will not have money for beer. Oh, well...I can always try and find a book at the library if I can make it over there."
And:
"Oh, my shoes are worn so thin I can feel everything through the soles. Thirty dollars for a new pair...whew...but then he won't have the new glass carboy he's been wanting...well, these shoes will last another year..."
And:
"I need clean clothes, but there's only a little bit of detergent left. I guess I can wait...the kid need clean things and he needs to run a load of socks..."
And:
"I'd really like a little time for myself...but I am working this weekend and he'll have to watch the kids, so I can't ask him to watch them now because that wouldn't be fair, so I will just take them with me and give him a little respite before the weekend."
And:
"I'm so tired...and I got to bed later than him because there were all those dishes to do and I wanted to write a little and I can only do that when the kids are in bed, but he's asleep and the baby's up, so I'll get up with her and let him sleep a bit more, and maybe I can catch a nap with her later..."
But don't let what she thinks, says, or does fool you - he says she doesn't care so often, it must be true.
"There are only ten meatballs left. Okay, well, if I only take two that will leave eight for him, which should be okay. I don't really need them, any way."
And:
"Oh, how I would love some corn on the cob. but he doesn't like corn on the cob. I guess I'll cook green beans, instead."
And:
"I haven't roasted a chicken in a while, and I am craving it...but...he says he hates chicken...so...well...something else for dinner then. Maybe I can make chicken when he's not here one night..."
And:
"I really want this book...haven't had a new one for years...but...if I buy this, then he will not have money for beer. Oh, well...I can always try and find a book at the library if I can make it over there."
And:
"Oh, my shoes are worn so thin I can feel everything through the soles. Thirty dollars for a new pair...whew...but then he won't have the new glass carboy he's been wanting...well, these shoes will last another year..."
And:
"I need clean clothes, but there's only a little bit of detergent left. I guess I can wait...the kid need clean things and he needs to run a load of socks..."
And:
"I'd really like a little time for myself...but I am working this weekend and he'll have to watch the kids, so I can't ask him to watch them now because that wouldn't be fair, so I will just take them with me and give him a little respite before the weekend."
And:
"I'm so tired...and I got to bed later than him because there were all those dishes to do and I wanted to write a little and I can only do that when the kids are in bed, but he's asleep and the baby's up, so I'll get up with her and let him sleep a bit more, and maybe I can catch a nap with her later..."
But don't let what she thinks, says, or does fool you - he says she doesn't care so often, it must be true.
Friday, November 16, 2012
If This Is Love...
Why am I the only one who can change a nappy, do a dish, do laundry, feed a child, clean the floor?
Why is it that when I don't get something done, it's an affront to humanity, but when others don't follow through it's no big deal?
Why am I the one who gets up with the baby at night and in the morning while he sleeps as late as he likes?
Why is it that it's okay to play music or the TV as loud as desired when I'm sleeping, but the slightest whisper of noise cannot be tolerated when he's at rest, even when he's at rest until the middle of the day?
When I want comfort, touch, sex, it's okay for him to be too tired, too busy, too grumpy, but when the shoe's on the other foot? It must mean I don't love him any more and want to replace him.
How is it that it's okay for him to go meet other women, to chat and flirt online, to tell others that I am fat and nasty, to post requests for hot, sexy women to come meet him for sex, but I can't even have a conversation with someone I have never met, don't wish to meet, have made it clear I'm not interested in, then I am actively looking to replace him and must not want him any more.
Why is it okay for him to meet these other women, tell me he's NOT going to have sex with them, then have sex and not tell me, but if I don't disclose every detail of every conversation I have with another man, I am lying, cheating, and hiding from him?
Why is it okay for him to pull a blanket off of me while I sleep (sick, no less) so he can fuck his other girlfriend on the ground outside camp, but I can't even smile at another man without wanting to be rid of him?
If I don't talk about the bills I can't pay or they way I'm feeling or what I "need" or remain silent when I don't like something, then I am not treating him like a partner. When I do dare to speak, I'm told to shut up, told my feelings are invalid, interrupted, silenced, ignored, walked away from, or treated like an imposition.
If I don't answer the phone when he's calling, I am left nasty messages and yelled at, but if he doesn't answer when I call it's just fine? And why is it that he can call me even when he knows I am in the middle of something (maybe even something important), and if I am not ready to drop everything for his call I'm a bitch and don't care, but if I call him and so much as interrupt a computer game I am treated with impatience and rudeness until I hang up.
Why is it okay for him to hang up on me, but if I do the same rather than endure vituperative rants and abuse I am a bitch? Why is it okay for him to call at all hours and be angry and bitter if I don't answer right away and immediately ready to help, but I can't call in the middle of the day without being an imposition?
Why is it my fault he stayed up until the wee hours, long after I went to be, and he's sexually frustrated because I am not ready and waiting for him when he finally settles down?
Why is my weariness an affront to him? But it's okay for him to be too tired...
How am I rejecting him when I reach for him and he turns away?
If I don't ask for help, I do't want him. If I do ask for help, I'm being a bother.
I try to make sure that at least once a week I take the kids out and give him some quiet time because he needs it. I do not receive the same consideration.
I try to make sure that he has ample opportunity to go out without me or the kids so he can have some peace and decompress, and that's fine, but on the rare occasions when I ask (because I have to ask, it's not offered) for a few hours for myself, time not related to working or running errands, I may as well be asking for the moon and am creating a huge imposition.
I have to write, clean, eat, and sometimes even sleep holding the toddler to keep her from whining and crying or risk hearing shouts and angry words, but when others are on the computer (playing games, mind you, not exactly saving the world or anything) and she makes noise, it's an irritant and cause for hard words and anger because I can't make her shut up.
If it needs doing, no matter what else I am doing or have done, I am the one who is supposed to do it, even if I'm sick, hurt, tired, or holding the baby. If I fail to get it done, I don't care about him, don't want him, or am nasty.
Why is it okay for him to be angry with me for days, ignore me, say rude, angry, or mean things, but if I'm not instantly over his anger I am a bitch who is holding a grudge?
Why do I work and work and work, listen and listen and listen, helping him work through his issues, but I can't even finish a sentence when I try to share my thoughts?
Why is it okay for him to interrupt me, cut me off, or silence me, then get angry when I don't speak? And why is it that, just by asking him to let me finish what I'm saying, I want a silent man, I don't care about him or what he has to say?
Why is there always money for beer, but never enough for tires, or nappies, or to pay bills, or buy toilet paper or medicine for the baby? How is it there's money for motel rooms to nmeet other women in, but not to buy warm clothes for the children for winter? And why is it all my burden to carry?
How can anyone claim they care about how their actions impact others but keep on acting like they don't care? And what right do they have to be upset when I don't believe them any more?
Now the toddler is crying, and I have to stop writing because if I don't silence her, I don't care about his need for rest...but if I ever get to "sleep in", it's just fine for her to cry, whine, make noise, for him to play music or the TV as loud as he likes, and if I ask him to turn it down, or if I close the bedroom door, I'm being a bitch.
What the hell?
Why is it that when I don't get something done, it's an affront to humanity, but when others don't follow through it's no big deal?
Why am I the one who gets up with the baby at night and in the morning while he sleeps as late as he likes?
Why is it that it's okay to play music or the TV as loud as desired when I'm sleeping, but the slightest whisper of noise cannot be tolerated when he's at rest, even when he's at rest until the middle of the day?
When I want comfort, touch, sex, it's okay for him to be too tired, too busy, too grumpy, but when the shoe's on the other foot? It must mean I don't love him any more and want to replace him.
How is it that it's okay for him to go meet other women, to chat and flirt online, to tell others that I am fat and nasty, to post requests for hot, sexy women to come meet him for sex, but I can't even have a conversation with someone I have never met, don't wish to meet, have made it clear I'm not interested in, then I am actively looking to replace him and must not want him any more.
Why is it okay for him to meet these other women, tell me he's NOT going to have sex with them, then have sex and not tell me, but if I don't disclose every detail of every conversation I have with another man, I am lying, cheating, and hiding from him?
Why is it okay for him to pull a blanket off of me while I sleep (sick, no less) so he can fuck his other girlfriend on the ground outside camp, but I can't even smile at another man without wanting to be rid of him?
If I don't talk about the bills I can't pay or they way I'm feeling or what I "need" or remain silent when I don't like something, then I am not treating him like a partner. When I do dare to speak, I'm told to shut up, told my feelings are invalid, interrupted, silenced, ignored, walked away from, or treated like an imposition.
If I don't answer the phone when he's calling, I am left nasty messages and yelled at, but if he doesn't answer when I call it's just fine? And why is it that he can call me even when he knows I am in the middle of something (maybe even something important), and if I am not ready to drop everything for his call I'm a bitch and don't care, but if I call him and so much as interrupt a computer game I am treated with impatience and rudeness until I hang up.
Why is it okay for him to hang up on me, but if I do the same rather than endure vituperative rants and abuse I am a bitch? Why is it okay for him to call at all hours and be angry and bitter if I don't answer right away and immediately ready to help, but I can't call in the middle of the day without being an imposition?
Why is it my fault he stayed up until the wee hours, long after I went to be, and he's sexually frustrated because I am not ready and waiting for him when he finally settles down?
Why is my weariness an affront to him? But it's okay for him to be too tired...
How am I rejecting him when I reach for him and he turns away?
If I don't ask for help, I do't want him. If I do ask for help, I'm being a bother.
I try to make sure that at least once a week I take the kids out and give him some quiet time because he needs it. I do not receive the same consideration.
I try to make sure that he has ample opportunity to go out without me or the kids so he can have some peace and decompress, and that's fine, but on the rare occasions when I ask (because I have to ask, it's not offered) for a few hours for myself, time not related to working or running errands, I may as well be asking for the moon and am creating a huge imposition.
I have to write, clean, eat, and sometimes even sleep holding the toddler to keep her from whining and crying or risk hearing shouts and angry words, but when others are on the computer (playing games, mind you, not exactly saving the world or anything) and she makes noise, it's an irritant and cause for hard words and anger because I can't make her shut up.
If it needs doing, no matter what else I am doing or have done, I am the one who is supposed to do it, even if I'm sick, hurt, tired, or holding the baby. If I fail to get it done, I don't care about him, don't want him, or am nasty.
Why is it okay for him to be angry with me for days, ignore me, say rude, angry, or mean things, but if I'm not instantly over his anger I am a bitch who is holding a grudge?
Why do I work and work and work, listen and listen and listen, helping him work through his issues, but I can't even finish a sentence when I try to share my thoughts?
Why is it okay for him to interrupt me, cut me off, or silence me, then get angry when I don't speak? And why is it that, just by asking him to let me finish what I'm saying, I want a silent man, I don't care about him or what he has to say?
Why is there always money for beer, but never enough for tires, or nappies, or to pay bills, or buy toilet paper or medicine for the baby? How is it there's money for motel rooms to nmeet other women in, but not to buy warm clothes for the children for winter? And why is it all my burden to carry?
How can anyone claim they care about how their actions impact others but keep on acting like they don't care? And what right do they have to be upset when I don't believe them any more?
Now the toddler is crying, and I have to stop writing because if I don't silence her, I don't care about his need for rest...but if I ever get to "sleep in", it's just fine for her to cry, whine, make noise, for him to play music or the TV as loud as he likes, and if I ask him to turn it down, or if I close the bedroom door, I'm being a bitch.
What the hell?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
I Don't Have Answers
There are so many things I don't understand. So many things I do not know. So many things I cannot do...and in trying, I can but fail.
The Angel is a person of words. She speaks, in earnest, and that is all she has. All I have.
Words won...what? What can words win when there is no faith in them, when they mean nothing, less than nothing, are tossed around like so much chaff to be swept away and forgotten?
Why should I bother speaking, when it has no meaning? I cannot fathom how the two things...words won...they're just meaningless words...how the two things are supposed to coexist. Ether they are, or they are not, real. I have no in between.
What more must I do, what more must I give or give over, before there is faith, trust? Does anyone believe in me? Have they ever? Or has it all been words, words, words, empty, useless, stupid, manipulative, worthless words?
I'm tired of words. I'm tired of wondering what things mean when they clearly don't mean what they're supposed to. I do not have a dictionary, a lexicon, that gives me insight into the warping and twisting that others so clearly comprehend. I speak several languages, but apparently not the right ones because I feel, more and more, that I am lost among strangers who have no care for my confusion, only for their own needs which I can clearly not meet because I do not understand them.
I'm tired of hearing sweet words and wondering where the barbs are hidden. I'm tired of hearing sweet words and wondering when the hard words will follow.
I would like to believe, again, in the one thing that gave me a sense of power, of strength, of ability, of pride...the one thing that I now find failing me completely.
I would like to be done with words, since they're so useless...but as useless as my words are, as useless as I am...they're all I have.
As I cannot be done with them, I suppose I will have to learn how to empty them of meaning, to speak or write empty things and keep myself to myself...excepting here and one other place...so not entirely silent or devoid of content, but only where I live and with people who are more real to me that you few who linger here in the shadows with me, as ephemeral as my own self is to you. You shadows will have the truth of me, then, and the people who should know, well...they won't see and won't miss what they clearly never had or wanted in the first place, if I am to believe their words more than they believe mine.
Do not ever tell me that my words have meaning to you. I cannot afford to believe, to hope, that there's truth somewhere in the lie, not again, not any more, not when I will be constantly waiting to hear that they're worthless, after all.
The Angel is a person of words. She speaks, in earnest, and that is all she has. All I have.
Words won...what? What can words win when there is no faith in them, when they mean nothing, less than nothing, are tossed around like so much chaff to be swept away and forgotten?
Why should I bother speaking, when it has no meaning? I cannot fathom how the two things...words won...they're just meaningless words...how the two things are supposed to coexist. Ether they are, or they are not, real. I have no in between.
What more must I do, what more must I give or give over, before there is faith, trust? Does anyone believe in me? Have they ever? Or has it all been words, words, words, empty, useless, stupid, manipulative, worthless words?
I'm tired of words. I'm tired of wondering what things mean when they clearly don't mean what they're supposed to. I do not have a dictionary, a lexicon, that gives me insight into the warping and twisting that others so clearly comprehend. I speak several languages, but apparently not the right ones because I feel, more and more, that I am lost among strangers who have no care for my confusion, only for their own needs which I can clearly not meet because I do not understand them.
I'm tired of hearing sweet words and wondering where the barbs are hidden. I'm tired of hearing sweet words and wondering when the hard words will follow.
I would like to believe, again, in the one thing that gave me a sense of power, of strength, of ability, of pride...the one thing that I now find failing me completely.
I would like to be done with words, since they're so useless...but as useless as my words are, as useless as I am...they're all I have.
As I cannot be done with them, I suppose I will have to learn how to empty them of meaning, to speak or write empty things and keep myself to myself...excepting here and one other place...so not entirely silent or devoid of content, but only where I live and with people who are more real to me that you few who linger here in the shadows with me, as ephemeral as my own self is to you. You shadows will have the truth of me, then, and the people who should know, well...they won't see and won't miss what they clearly never had or wanted in the first place, if I am to believe their words more than they believe mine.
Do not ever tell me that my words have meaning to you. I cannot afford to believe, to hope, that there's truth somewhere in the lie, not again, not any more, not when I will be constantly waiting to hear that they're worthless, after all.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Things Left Unsaid
What I say here isn't meant to hurt. I know it doesn't matter, though. Tonight, it seems, I could neither do nor say anything right, and rather than further burden anyone with my blubbing, I'll just type this shit up and be done with it...until it's read, and there are consequences. Although...how can there be consequences when I don't matter, when what I say, think, feel are inconsequential?
~~~~~
Can't sleep. Head aches. Stomach aches. Heart aches.
Fuck you, he said.
Because I asked what happened. Because I wanted to offer help, if it was needed.
Fuck you, and a tirade about how horrible his life is, and why the fuck would I even ask something like that.
So many thoughts crowding my mind, some there for a while now. I shouldn't write them down...writing things down gives them over to others, opens them up to be misread, misinterpreted, used against me later when all I wanted was simply to have done with them...but fuck it, why the hell else did I start this blog if not to empty the dark things out of my mind? I'm not supposed to have to bite my words any more, hold them in my teeth to keep them from spilling out into my world. I'm supposed to have this place to release it all without fearing what follows.
I asked what happened and was told Fuck You, among other things. In words unsaid, I was called stupid. I though I later heard a shut-the-fuck-up, as well. Earlier today it was I can't even drive away...and so I know he feels trapped here, that he wants to escape, and it's my fault he can't.
I don't have the luxury of crawling off and licking my wounds - I had to make the Boy's bed, read him a story, get him settled. I folded laundry and spoke not a word the rest of the evening...and was not missed. Clearly was not missed.
Was not wanted. Clearly was not wanted.
Was invisible.
And all the while, my head has throbbed, eyes aching, stomach roiling.
I lay in bed, finally, because I could do nothing else without being intrusive, without thrusting my obviously unwanted presence into his. I lay in bed and cried and cried and felt alone. Scared and alone.
I know I'm worthless. I know. I know it's stupid to hope, even a tiny bit, that I am important, that I might even come first sometimes. I know better. Still.
I hoped.
I hoped that my need, that my hurt, might be noticed, might having meaning. Stupid, me.
My love is worthless, it seems, and pointless, and foolish.
I thought I had done with crying myself to sleep alone. Damn fool, me.
He mumbled I'm Sorry as he fell asleep...but he did not reach for me, did not touch or seek to comfort.
I will never, ever, come first. I will never, ever, matter. I will never, ever do or be anything of consequence. Worthless, pointless, stupid...these things I am and will always be. Tonight that was made abundantly clear to me.
I come last, period. I get it.
I'm sorry, too.
I'm sorry I have forced him into a corner, made him feel like he has nowhere else to go, no choice but to stay here where he doesn't want to be. I'm sorry that my wanting him here is a chain. I'm sorry my love is a burden. I'm sorry I ruined his life, and I'm sorry he can't just say so but instead feels he has to smile and be nice about it...until truth finds its way out, here and there, slips through his teeth in fits and starts...
I'm sorry he sees that I'm a bad mother, and now has to worry that I will fuck up our child as much as I'm obviously fucking up the Boy. I'm sorry if this baby just makes things worse. I'm sorry that I can't seem to get it right, and my wrongness just makes things harder for him.
I had a thought, tonight...that when this baby is grown and on his/her own, then I'm done. No one will need or want me any more...so I thought to myself, OK, then when this kid's grown up, then I will, for the first and only time in my life, break my word. I will finally do what I should have done when I was sixteen, and finish the job. Surely I can manage to make it another twenty years, and I KNOW I can finish what I started, because all that's kept me from it so far is my refusal to be forsworn.
No one will miss me, and more than one will likely ask what took me so long.
~~~~~
So yeah, if you think this is about you and you want to discuss it, I'm game...but please don't feel you have to. I hate being an imposition. That's why I hide when I cry...I don't want anyone to feel obligated to care when they'd rather not. I'm not trying to lay on a guilt trip, here. And you should know...these thoughts...they're real, they swirl around in my mind...but...I know they aren't real, at the same time. They still hurt, though. I had to get them out. Please understand.
And my head still aches...
~~~~~
Can't sleep. Head aches. Stomach aches. Heart aches.
Fuck you, he said.
Because I asked what happened. Because I wanted to offer help, if it was needed.
Fuck you, and a tirade about how horrible his life is, and why the fuck would I even ask something like that.
So many thoughts crowding my mind, some there for a while now. I shouldn't write them down...writing things down gives them over to others, opens them up to be misread, misinterpreted, used against me later when all I wanted was simply to have done with them...but fuck it, why the hell else did I start this blog if not to empty the dark things out of my mind? I'm not supposed to have to bite my words any more, hold them in my teeth to keep them from spilling out into my world. I'm supposed to have this place to release it all without fearing what follows.
I asked what happened and was told Fuck You, among other things. In words unsaid, I was called stupid. I though I later heard a shut-the-fuck-up, as well. Earlier today it was I can't even drive away...and so I know he feels trapped here, that he wants to escape, and it's my fault he can't.
I don't have the luxury of crawling off and licking my wounds - I had to make the Boy's bed, read him a story, get him settled. I folded laundry and spoke not a word the rest of the evening...and was not missed. Clearly was not missed.
Was not wanted. Clearly was not wanted.
Was invisible.
And all the while, my head has throbbed, eyes aching, stomach roiling.
I lay in bed, finally, because I could do nothing else without being intrusive, without thrusting my obviously unwanted presence into his. I lay in bed and cried and cried and felt alone. Scared and alone.
I know I'm worthless. I know. I know it's stupid to hope, even a tiny bit, that I am important, that I might even come first sometimes. I know better. Still.
I hoped.
I hoped that my need, that my hurt, might be noticed, might having meaning. Stupid, me.
My love is worthless, it seems, and pointless, and foolish.
I thought I had done with crying myself to sleep alone. Damn fool, me.
He mumbled I'm Sorry as he fell asleep...but he did not reach for me, did not touch or seek to comfort.
I will never, ever, come first. I will never, ever, matter. I will never, ever do or be anything of consequence. Worthless, pointless, stupid...these things I am and will always be. Tonight that was made abundantly clear to me.
I come last, period. I get it.
I'm sorry, too.
I'm sorry I have forced him into a corner, made him feel like he has nowhere else to go, no choice but to stay here where he doesn't want to be. I'm sorry that my wanting him here is a chain. I'm sorry my love is a burden. I'm sorry I ruined his life, and I'm sorry he can't just say so but instead feels he has to smile and be nice about it...until truth finds its way out, here and there, slips through his teeth in fits and starts...
I'm sorry he sees that I'm a bad mother, and now has to worry that I will fuck up our child as much as I'm obviously fucking up the Boy. I'm sorry if this baby just makes things worse. I'm sorry that I can't seem to get it right, and my wrongness just makes things harder for him.
I had a thought, tonight...that when this baby is grown and on his/her own, then I'm done. No one will need or want me any more...so I thought to myself, OK, then when this kid's grown up, then I will, for the first and only time in my life, break my word. I will finally do what I should have done when I was sixteen, and finish the job. Surely I can manage to make it another twenty years, and I KNOW I can finish what I started, because all that's kept me from it so far is my refusal to be forsworn.
No one will miss me, and more than one will likely ask what took me so long.
~~~~~
So yeah, if you think this is about you and you want to discuss it, I'm game...but please don't feel you have to. I hate being an imposition. That's why I hide when I cry...I don't want anyone to feel obligated to care when they'd rather not. I'm not trying to lay on a guilt trip, here. And you should know...these thoughts...they're real, they swirl around in my mind...but...I know they aren't real, at the same time. They still hurt, though. I had to get them out. Please understand.
And my head still aches...
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Swarms
I woke up this morning with words swirling through my mind. Words, thoughts, about my life, my timeline. This post isn't made up of those words, though. More words came along, pressing me with their need to be written. They were nearly scattered when the phone rang, but they were tenacious...and so, I will give them such voice as I can and hope I don't make a complete hash of them.
I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. Please understand...and if you cannot understand...if you can see this in one light or another, see it as written from a place of love and compassion, deep and abiding, and not as a judgement or cry for help.
~~~~~
I'm no stranger to fear. I am full to the brim with fears. They swarm at me, a hive of buzzing, stinging little things. Mostly, I ignore them - they are not the sort of fears that nature gives us to aid in survival...look close enough and you will see them dressed in a fool's motley, ridiculous things that are barbed but useless.
So...when I see someone else wrapped in a swarm of their own, I empathize. It's not easy to breath when the little buggers crowd around. It's not easy to see, to find perspective. It's not easy to stand on one's own feet, maintain balance, look to the future. Hell, it's not always possible to look to the future,
I've invited anger into my life.
I'm not afraid of it.
It's not dangerous, this anger. It's not violent. It is words (which can hurt, yes...but only when meant to)(or, if they pain, it is not with intent but more a by-product of the hurt they sprang from) which are not directed anywhere but inward to the source...and outward to such gods as listen.
It's an anger rooted in hurt, in disappointment, in loss. It's fed by the frustration of a soul that has been knocked down every time it stood, so that it is almost afraid to stand again. It's being fed by hope...the hope that this time, when it rises, it won't fall again, which is itself a frightening contemplation.
I'm not afraid of this anger.
I fear its consequences. Not to me. I'm stronger than I appear, stronger than I make myself out to be. But I fear the consequences to the source. Anger of this kind...it so often turns inward and gnaws...
I am not afraid of this anger.
Sometimes, though, I am like a whipped cur when the anger raises its head. I cannot look at the source, cannot meet his eyes. I slink away, try not to be seen, make myself small. He won't hurt me...I truly believe he would smash himself to pieces before he hurt me...but the child I was (not the woman I am) remembers other anger, older anger. She wants to assuage, to smooth the way, to fix it, or if she cannot do these things, she wishes to go unnoticed until it passes.
I can't fix it. And I won't hide from it. The only way to deal with it is face on.
I am not afraid of this anger.
But I am not brave.
I have my swarms, buzzing and humming...and I can't always see or hear what I need to do to help. Not to fix. Can't fix. But to help...
Do you know The Healer's Laws?
No?
I'm not surprised. I may be the one person who has them written down in any coherent fashion...
Perhaps I made them up entirely. It has been known to happen.
The first law - you cannot heal others unless you yourself are whole. That doesn't mean one must be perfect...it's complicated...but if a body, a mind, is so imbalanced that it's lost within itself...well, it's not very useful for helping others, is it?
The second law - you must wait for them to ask. You can't just wander around fixing people without their permission, without their knowledge. They have to know they are hurting, have to want help, have to ask for it. It's part of the process. Until someone asks...their hurt is their own, and what right has anyone to take that away? You can offer...but you can't just thrust your will onto them.
The third law - sometimes, you have to fail.
There are more. I won't bore you with them.
What has this to do with anything?
I am not afraid of this anger.
My instinct is to sooth, to repair. Last night, I had to remind myself of the second law. I had to be firm with myself...until I couldn't bear it any more, went to the source, and damn near begged to be asked.
I'm sorry.
I had no right.
But my little swarms, my little clouds...they clouded my judgement, and I can only hope I did more good than harm in thrusting my hand past them, past the anger, to reach for the soul choking on its own clouds, its own swarms.
I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. Please understand...and if you cannot understand...if you can see this in one light or another, see it as written from a place of love and compassion, deep and abiding, and not as a judgement or cry for help.
~~~~~
I'm no stranger to fear. I am full to the brim with fears. They swarm at me, a hive of buzzing, stinging little things. Mostly, I ignore them - they are not the sort of fears that nature gives us to aid in survival...look close enough and you will see them dressed in a fool's motley, ridiculous things that are barbed but useless.
So...when I see someone else wrapped in a swarm of their own, I empathize. It's not easy to breath when the little buggers crowd around. It's not easy to see, to find perspective. It's not easy to stand on one's own feet, maintain balance, look to the future. Hell, it's not always possible to look to the future,
I've invited anger into my life.
I'm not afraid of it.
It's not dangerous, this anger. It's not violent. It is words (which can hurt, yes...but only when meant to)(or, if they pain, it is not with intent but more a by-product of the hurt they sprang from) which are not directed anywhere but inward to the source...and outward to such gods as listen.
It's an anger rooted in hurt, in disappointment, in loss. It's fed by the frustration of a soul that has been knocked down every time it stood, so that it is almost afraid to stand again. It's being fed by hope...the hope that this time, when it rises, it won't fall again, which is itself a frightening contemplation.
I'm not afraid of this anger.
I fear its consequences. Not to me. I'm stronger than I appear, stronger than I make myself out to be. But I fear the consequences to the source. Anger of this kind...it so often turns inward and gnaws...
I am not afraid of this anger.
Sometimes, though, I am like a whipped cur when the anger raises its head. I cannot look at the source, cannot meet his eyes. I slink away, try not to be seen, make myself small. He won't hurt me...I truly believe he would smash himself to pieces before he hurt me...but the child I was (not the woman I am) remembers other anger, older anger. She wants to assuage, to smooth the way, to fix it, or if she cannot do these things, she wishes to go unnoticed until it passes.
I can't fix it. And I won't hide from it. The only way to deal with it is face on.
I am not afraid of this anger.
But I am not brave.
I have my swarms, buzzing and humming...and I can't always see or hear what I need to do to help. Not to fix. Can't fix. But to help...
Do you know The Healer's Laws?
No?
I'm not surprised. I may be the one person who has them written down in any coherent fashion...
Perhaps I made them up entirely. It has been known to happen.
The first law - you cannot heal others unless you yourself are whole. That doesn't mean one must be perfect...it's complicated...but if a body, a mind, is so imbalanced that it's lost within itself...well, it's not very useful for helping others, is it?
The second law - you must wait for them to ask. You can't just wander around fixing people without their permission, without their knowledge. They have to know they are hurting, have to want help, have to ask for it. It's part of the process. Until someone asks...their hurt is their own, and what right has anyone to take that away? You can offer...but you can't just thrust your will onto them.
The third law - sometimes, you have to fail.
There are more. I won't bore you with them.
What has this to do with anything?
I am not afraid of this anger.
My instinct is to sooth, to repair. Last night, I had to remind myself of the second law. I had to be firm with myself...until I couldn't bear it any more, went to the source, and damn near begged to be asked.
I'm sorry.
I had no right.
But my little swarms, my little clouds...they clouded my judgement, and I can only hope I did more good than harm in thrusting my hand past them, past the anger, to reach for the soul choking on its own clouds, its own swarms.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Mixed Messages
"I love you... just wanted you to know...I'll always love you...I said I was going to tell you that so you wouldn't forget... to remind you...until you tell me to stop..."
Ten minutes later, he's out the door, heading for his girlfriend's place. Oh, wait...she's not a girlfriend, just a girl who's a friend...whose bed he sleeps in...but they're not having sex...even though he asked me to buy him some condoms...
Umm...
THAT'S not a mixed message, is it?
For the record...I don't mind that he has a girlfriend. When we were still married, I TOLD him to find a girlfriend, that it was fine with me - he could even bring her home if she would do chores. I wouldn't have minded if he had sex with another woman, or man, as long as he was honest and up front about it.
I DO mind that he made me feel like shit for asking if he could watch the boy Wednesday night because he mumbled something about having plans...after he had clearly told me a few minutes before that he would be home all week.
Again...not like that's a mixed message or anything.
I mind that he said he would watch the boy tomorrow so I could run some errands for someone else, a few hours out of the day, that's all, of being a parent...and now he says I should call him when I'm headed out (ostensibly with Bird in tow) if I haven't heard from him before then.
Not mixed, at all.
Is it too much to ask that someone honor their word? If you tell me you'll be here...then bloody be here! If you say you're going to call...then bloody call!! Don't leave me hanging here, dangling in the wind, wondering what the Hell happened...
I know I'm no lady...but still...you should never keep a lady waiting...even if she DOES mean less to you than the computer, the TV, or whatever has you so frikkin' distracted you don't hear your own words, let alone her...and of you're going to be that way, can you really wonder if she thinks maybe you don't love her, after all?? Not like she's getting mixed messages...
Ten minutes later, he's out the door, heading for his girlfriend's place. Oh, wait...she's not a girlfriend, just a girl who's a friend...whose bed he sleeps in...but they're not having sex...even though he asked me to buy him some condoms...
Umm...
THAT'S not a mixed message, is it?
For the record...I don't mind that he has a girlfriend. When we were still married, I TOLD him to find a girlfriend, that it was fine with me - he could even bring her home if she would do chores. I wouldn't have minded if he had sex with another woman, or man, as long as he was honest and up front about it.
I DO mind that he made me feel like shit for asking if he could watch the boy Wednesday night because he mumbled something about having plans...after he had clearly told me a few minutes before that he would be home all week.
Again...not like that's a mixed message or anything.
I mind that he said he would watch the boy tomorrow so I could run some errands for someone else, a few hours out of the day, that's all, of being a parent...and now he says I should call him when I'm headed out (ostensibly with Bird in tow) if I haven't heard from him before then.
Not mixed, at all.
Is it too much to ask that someone honor their word? If you tell me you'll be here...then bloody be here! If you say you're going to call...then bloody call!! Don't leave me hanging here, dangling in the wind, wondering what the Hell happened...
I know I'm no lady...but still...you should never keep a lady waiting...even if she DOES mean less to you than the computer, the TV, or whatever has you so frikkin' distracted you don't hear your own words, let alone her...and of you're going to be that way, can you really wonder if she thinks maybe you don't love her, after all?? Not like she's getting mixed messages...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Not Asleep
Sigh.
I thought if I wrote about the eclipse and some of my thinking afterwards, I could maybe go to bed, get some sleep.
Want to make the gods laugh? Tell them your plans.
No sleep. Not yet.
A hot shower didn't help. That voice was nagging me. About saying "fuck", and being lonely, and how it's my own damn fault.
Hey, voice? Guess what? It isn't. Not entirely.
You see, I would have been lonely anyway. I was lonely when I still thought my husband and me had a chance. I was lonely because he was more interested in the computer than his wife. More interested in the television. More interested in the stereo, the iPod, the cell phone, the video games, the latest gadget or gizmo.
I was lonely back when I went to bed alone more nights than not (despite my best efforts), and cried myself to sleep I hurt so much inside. I was lonely when I had to squeeze a pillow tight because it and the cats were the only sympathetic things in the room. I was lonely when I would have given anything for my husband to touch me, just touch me, instead of sitting at the computer surfing the net for one more political post, one more opinion, one more...I don't know what...
I was lonely when I would (rarely) get sick, and hope for some sympathy but instead received a litany of why he was sicker, why he hurt more...and never, not once, did he just hold me, offer comfort.
At least this sense of loneliness and loss has more to do with distance and the foreignness of loving someone and feeling loved in return than with being in a house with someone who says they love you but doesn't notice your sorrow and pain...doesn't or won't.
Yeah, I'm lonely tonight...the kind of lonely that cuts deep and bleeds freely...but it's a bearable loneliness. It's one that can be remedied, that can be soothed by hope. And I would have been as alone with T in the house as ever I am when he's gone.
So shut up, stupid voice. Quit keeping me awake with doubt, hurt, fear, and recrimination - I know I'm doing the right thing.
Know how I know? Because I made this choice before I was graced with loving Someone. I was determined to end this marriage before I ever hoped and then knew Someone had feelings for me. I believed that I would end up alone with my son, walking my path on my own for the rest of my days, and I made my peace with that. No one wanted me before...I know how to live with that. I could live with it again...and even better than before, because now I know what folly it is to try and pretend that believing someone wants me is enough...and I won't be that cruel ever again. If I'd known then I was being cruel...well...things would have taken a different course. I'm not evil, stupid voice.
Sad, yes. Pathetic, probably. Miserable, often. Evil, never.
So yes, stupid voice, I am lonely and frightened by the prospect of being alone - but it won't make a difference.
Lonely can be gotten through, stupid voice, despite what you want me to believe. So piss off and let me sleep...please...
I thought if I wrote about the eclipse and some of my thinking afterwards, I could maybe go to bed, get some sleep.
Want to make the gods laugh? Tell them your plans.
No sleep. Not yet.
A hot shower didn't help. That voice was nagging me. About saying "fuck", and being lonely, and how it's my own damn fault.
Hey, voice? Guess what? It isn't. Not entirely.
You see, I would have been lonely anyway. I was lonely when I still thought my husband and me had a chance. I was lonely because he was more interested in the computer than his wife. More interested in the television. More interested in the stereo, the iPod, the cell phone, the video games, the latest gadget or gizmo.
I was lonely back when I went to bed alone more nights than not (despite my best efforts), and cried myself to sleep I hurt so much inside. I was lonely when I had to squeeze a pillow tight because it and the cats were the only sympathetic things in the room. I was lonely when I would have given anything for my husband to touch me, just touch me, instead of sitting at the computer surfing the net for one more political post, one more opinion, one more...I don't know what...
I was lonely when I would (rarely) get sick, and hope for some sympathy but instead received a litany of why he was sicker, why he hurt more...and never, not once, did he just hold me, offer comfort.
At least this sense of loneliness and loss has more to do with distance and the foreignness of loving someone and feeling loved in return than with being in a house with someone who says they love you but doesn't notice your sorrow and pain...doesn't or won't.
Yeah, I'm lonely tonight...the kind of lonely that cuts deep and bleeds freely...but it's a bearable loneliness. It's one that can be remedied, that can be soothed by hope. And I would have been as alone with T in the house as ever I am when he's gone.
So shut up, stupid voice. Quit keeping me awake with doubt, hurt, fear, and recrimination - I know I'm doing the right thing.
Know how I know? Because I made this choice before I was graced with loving Someone. I was determined to end this marriage before I ever hoped and then knew Someone had feelings for me. I believed that I would end up alone with my son, walking my path on my own for the rest of my days, and I made my peace with that. No one wanted me before...I know how to live with that. I could live with it again...and even better than before, because now I know what folly it is to try and pretend that believing someone wants me is enough...and I won't be that cruel ever again. If I'd known then I was being cruel...well...things would have taken a different course. I'm not evil, stupid voice.
Sad, yes. Pathetic, probably. Miserable, often. Evil, never.
So yes, stupid voice, I am lonely and frightened by the prospect of being alone - but it won't make a difference.
Lonely can be gotten through, stupid voice, despite what you want me to believe. So piss off and let me sleep...please...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Angry Response I'll Never Post
Or, at least, not on the original site.
My husband wrote a blog post (he just started blogging, a means to garner my attention and vent his feelings) yesterday that provoke a very negative response in me. Oddly enough, I rarely read his blog, because I am living with the reality of his emotional state and don't need the idealized words he writes.
Anyway.
I wrote a point-by-point response to it and set it aside, thinking I would not place it anywhere he could see it...but I ended up sending it to a friend, needing someone to see and understand that there are two perspectives to this thing.
And the Lament is my place to dump the darkness. So...here it is (items in italics are his words, the rest are mine):
T posted this on his blog...and it's so full of incorrect facts and memories...I don't understand, sometimes, how we were in the same room, having the same conversation...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What do we do about RA? Who gets the tv? What about the wedding pictures?
We will make certain that our son has his father in his life as much as possible, that he doesn't suffer privations, and that her continues to be the bright, sweet, loving boy he has always been. We have four televisions...take one, any one, I don't care which, they have never been as important to me as they have been to you. The photos can be copied - they're a small detail.
K has moved pass the getting upset about all of this.
No, I haven't...I just contain it better.
She has never shown any weakness during this divorce.
Because I cannot, lest you misconstrue it, try to delay, to mend what is broken beyond my ability to repair.
I didn't know that life could hurt so bad, and it doesn't help that she puts on this I don't care attitude.
You forced this "I don't care" attitude on me, T, when you wouldn't (and still don't) listen, really listen, to what I say.
I don't have anywhere to go, so my mother told me to come down and stay with her. She is 76 years old and isn't able to do much for herself anymore. Last month there would have been no way that K would have let me move back with my mom. She even said that if something happened between us, she would not let me move out until I had a place away from my mom's house. My how things have change.
No, they haven't - I still don't think moving into your mother's house is the answer...but if it's that or you never make an effort to find a place, I will have to let go of my need to see you established in a healthy environment...I have no right to care where you live, anyway...although, I DO care...but you don't want to see that. Again, you need me to be the hard-ass bitch, so I will oblige, though it run counter to my nature and it pains me...
Last night she told me she really needed me out of the house asap. When I told her ok she asked where I was going. I told her that right now my mom's is the only place I have to go. I told her that I am working on another place but it might be 30 days before I could move in. She told me as long as it was not permanent, that I should go live at my mom's. What could have changed her mind about me so quickly.
I said no such thing...not that it matters...because you have always remembered what you wanted to, and not what I clearly said or did. You have twisted my words, my thoughts, my actions this way and that to make them pierce all the deeper, and there's nothing I can do about that. but I won't sit back and let you make your misinterpretations shout forth from a public forum without correcting you.
About 30 days ago everything in the W house was going great.
You keep saying that life was perfect, wonderful, amazing...well, it wasn't. not for everyone in this house. You had a terrific life - a wife, a son, a home, free reign to live as you pleased, to do as you pleased...of course you were happy. I have been miserable for so long, we both stopped noticing...and when I tried, TRIED to engage you, to make you see...you ignored, turned aside, invalidated me, did nothing...
We went to movies together, played with our son, and did all the things a normal family would do. We were even looking at new matching titanium wedding rings. She met met someone at the track who had one and she started looking into styles and prices. She was emailing me web sites and pictures.
This?? Was LAST YEAR!! Not this year. And it's an example of how you are twisting what I have said or done to suit your need for pain.
Well I guess I don't have to worry about the rings I was giving you for our 9 th wedding anniversary.
You mean, if you actually followed through with an idea rather than simply tell me what you would have done, if only?? A gift I wouldn't have to find, show you, and practically order, wrap, and give to myself? How novel...
Anyway, about 30 days ago she started an online friendship with him. She says he is in Houston but his phone # is located in Austin. But that's nether here nor there. In the last 30 days their friendship has turned into a relationship. If that's what it takes to make K happy, then I'm happy for her. All I want is for the love of my life to be happy. So in 30 days I went from someone she loved enough to want to get new wedding rings with to a roommate that he wants out of the house today.
This man? Has nothing to do with this...and I won't have you impugn him. He's innocent in this...and I won't have you attaching blame or responsibility to anyone besides me or you. This marriage failed because of US, and no one else.
Cell phones come from all over. I get calls from someone whose phone is listed in Atlanta, but she lives in Asheville - and that's neither her nor there, either, but since you felt compelled to mention...
So when she got home last night after being gone all weekend with her friend K2. (They were doing some work) I asked her to sit down with me to talk about a few details about the upcoming divorce. We talking about the splitting of the assets and most importantly how we would handle our son's well being. I thought that we had decided that RA would stay with his mom and I would have always be able to see his son whenever I chose. But this time when the subject was brought up she said a friend had told her that the courts would have to decide how RA would be handled. She said she was also told the courts would have to decide how much child support payments would be. Anyway in the middle of this important talk her cell phone rang. It was him. You could tell by the way the tone in her voice changed when she picked up the phone. In that one second we went from a serious talk about our son's future to her talking to him. Seems like the last two weeks anytime her and I need to talk about the future he calls and I am sent to my room. Not once has she told him "Can I call you back. I'm in the middle of something important". He is a big reason for her wanting me out of the house so fast. She told me she would not feel right having him or any other man come to stay with her while I'm still here.
I sat and listened while you said the same things over and over again, and I hope I may be forgiven for my silence when I have nothing more to add. How many times must I answer the same questions, the same implications, the same statements in the same way before I may stop?
It wasn't a friend who told me these things - it was Mum. Being a lawyer, I respect her opinion and knowledge of the law. I also didn't say the courts would decide custody or visitation. I clearly said I would be happy for you to be part of our son's life as much as you chose to be...all I ask is you never promise him you'll be there when you won't. It was child-support - something YOU brought up, by the way - that I said would have to be decided by the court...because that's what I was told...
I took the call to ask him if I could call back later...but before I could say more than "Hello...", you fled the room...and I am tired of chasing...so I took the call. I haven't interrupted every talk with calls - you've often interrupted my conversations with him and others with your need to talk, waiting until I was involved with something else to demand time and attention...and I have tried to give them to you, despite the cost to me.
The conversation we had about not wanting you in the house was weeks ago, and that statement was made in answer to your implication that I had already cut another pony from the herd, well before I was talking to someone who actually LISTENS...
K, I know that he is now a very important part of your but RA and I both still need you in our lives.
And I'm here...as I have been for years...even when YOU WEREN'T...and I'm listening, even when you DON'T, and I will always put our son and his needs first...and I have never broken and will never break my word to him, you or anyone...can you honestly say the same???
You are my Heart, my Soul, my Life, and my Love.But most of all you are my Friend. I Love You.
Somehow, I doubt this...at least...I doubt you mean it when you say the things you do...
My husband wrote a blog post (he just started blogging, a means to garner my attention and vent his feelings) yesterday that provoke a very negative response in me. Oddly enough, I rarely read his blog, because I am living with the reality of his emotional state and don't need the idealized words he writes.
Anyway.
I wrote a point-by-point response to it and set it aside, thinking I would not place it anywhere he could see it...but I ended up sending it to a friend, needing someone to see and understand that there are two perspectives to this thing.
And the Lament is my place to dump the darkness. So...here it is (items in italics are his words, the rest are mine):
T posted this on his blog...and it's so full of incorrect facts and memories...I don't understand, sometimes, how we were in the same room, having the same conversation...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What do we do about RA? Who gets the tv? What about the wedding pictures?
We will make certain that our son has his father in his life as much as possible, that he doesn't suffer privations, and that her continues to be the bright, sweet, loving boy he has always been. We have four televisions...take one, any one, I don't care which, they have never been as important to me as they have been to you. The photos can be copied - they're a small detail.
K has moved pass the getting upset about all of this.
No, I haven't...I just contain it better.
She has never shown any weakness during this divorce.
Because I cannot, lest you misconstrue it, try to delay, to mend what is broken beyond my ability to repair.
I didn't know that life could hurt so bad, and it doesn't help that she puts on this I don't care attitude.
You forced this "I don't care" attitude on me, T, when you wouldn't (and still don't) listen, really listen, to what I say.
I don't have anywhere to go, so my mother told me to come down and stay with her. She is 76 years old and isn't able to do much for herself anymore. Last month there would have been no way that K would have let me move back with my mom. She even said that if something happened between us, she would not let me move out until I had a place away from my mom's house. My how things have change.
No, they haven't - I still don't think moving into your mother's house is the answer...but if it's that or you never make an effort to find a place, I will have to let go of my need to see you established in a healthy environment...I have no right to care where you live, anyway...although, I DO care...but you don't want to see that. Again, you need me to be the hard-ass bitch, so I will oblige, though it run counter to my nature and it pains me...
Last night she told me she really needed me out of the house asap. When I told her ok she asked where I was going. I told her that right now my mom's is the only place I have to go. I told her that I am working on another place but it might be 30 days before I could move in. She told me as long as it was not permanent, that I should go live at my mom's. What could have changed her mind about me so quickly.
I said no such thing...not that it matters...because you have always remembered what you wanted to, and not what I clearly said or did. You have twisted my words, my thoughts, my actions this way and that to make them pierce all the deeper, and there's nothing I can do about that. but I won't sit back and let you make your misinterpretations shout forth from a public forum without correcting you.
About 30 days ago everything in the W house was going great.
You keep saying that life was perfect, wonderful, amazing...well, it wasn't. not for everyone in this house. You had a terrific life - a wife, a son, a home, free reign to live as you pleased, to do as you pleased...of course you were happy. I have been miserable for so long, we both stopped noticing...and when I tried, TRIED to engage you, to make you see...you ignored, turned aside, invalidated me, did nothing...
We went to movies together, played with our son, and did all the things a normal family would do. We were even looking at new matching titanium wedding rings. She met met someone at the track who had one and she started looking into styles and prices. She was emailing me web sites and pictures.
This?? Was LAST YEAR!! Not this year. And it's an example of how you are twisting what I have said or done to suit your need for pain.
Well I guess I don't have to worry about the rings I was giving you for our 9 th wedding anniversary.
You mean, if you actually followed through with an idea rather than simply tell me what you would have done, if only?? A gift I wouldn't have to find, show you, and practically order, wrap, and give to myself? How novel...
Anyway, about 30 days ago she started an online friendship with him. She says he is in Houston but his phone # is located in Austin. But that's nether here nor there. In the last 30 days their friendship has turned into a relationship. If that's what it takes to make K happy, then I'm happy for her. All I want is for the love of my life to be happy. So in 30 days I went from someone she loved enough to want to get new wedding rings with to a roommate that he wants out of the house today.
This man? Has nothing to do with this...and I won't have you impugn him. He's innocent in this...and I won't have you attaching blame or responsibility to anyone besides me or you. This marriage failed because of US, and no one else.
Cell phones come from all over. I get calls from someone whose phone is listed in Atlanta, but she lives in Asheville - and that's neither her nor there, either, but since you felt compelled to mention...
So when she got home last night after being gone all weekend with her friend K2. (They were doing some work) I asked her to sit down with me to talk about a few details about the upcoming divorce. We talking about the splitting of the assets and most importantly how we would handle our son's well being. I thought that we had decided that RA would stay with his mom and I would have always be able to see his son whenever I chose. But this time when the subject was brought up she said a friend had told her that the courts would have to decide how RA would be handled. She said she was also told the courts would have to decide how much child support payments would be. Anyway in the middle of this important talk her cell phone rang. It was him. You could tell by the way the tone in her voice changed when she picked up the phone. In that one second we went from a serious talk about our son's future to her talking to him. Seems like the last two weeks anytime her and I need to talk about the future he calls and I am sent to my room. Not once has she told him "Can I call you back. I'm in the middle of something important". He is a big reason for her wanting me out of the house so fast. She told me she would not feel right having him or any other man come to stay with her while I'm still here.
I sat and listened while you said the same things over and over again, and I hope I may be forgiven for my silence when I have nothing more to add. How many times must I answer the same questions, the same implications, the same statements in the same way before I may stop?
It wasn't a friend who told me these things - it was Mum. Being a lawyer, I respect her opinion and knowledge of the law. I also didn't say the courts would decide custody or visitation. I clearly said I would be happy for you to be part of our son's life as much as you chose to be...all I ask is you never promise him you'll be there when you won't. It was child-support - something YOU brought up, by the way - that I said would have to be decided by the court...because that's what I was told...
I took the call to ask him if I could call back later...but before I could say more than "Hello...", you fled the room...and I am tired of chasing...so I took the call. I haven't interrupted every talk with calls - you've often interrupted my conversations with him and others with your need to talk, waiting until I was involved with something else to demand time and attention...and I have tried to give them to you, despite the cost to me.
The conversation we had about not wanting you in the house was weeks ago, and that statement was made in answer to your implication that I had already cut another pony from the herd, well before I was talking to someone who actually LISTENS...
K, I know that he is now a very important part of your but RA and I both still need you in our lives.
And I'm here...as I have been for years...even when YOU WEREN'T...and I'm listening, even when you DON'T, and I will always put our son and his needs first...and I have never broken and will never break my word to him, you or anyone...can you honestly say the same???
You are my Heart, my Soul, my Life, and my Love.But most of all you are my Friend. I Love You.
Somehow, I doubt this...at least...I doubt you mean it when you say the things you do...
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Unkindest Cut
I have nowhere to direct the ever-present anger. I bite down on it, clench it in my teeth until my head aches, my neck aches, my whole body aches from the strain. I can't seem to find relief from it, nor can I release it, let loose the flood, pour it forth in a stream of vituperative, toxic words until I'm spent.
I must consider how I speak to my son, sweet child, little boy who trembles when he approaches me as I clean, muttering to myself, he trembles when he walks into the room and in his small-boy voice says, quavering, "Mommy? Mommy, I love you..." huddled in on himself and ready to fly if I move too quickly toward him. I've never struck him, never lashed out at him in anger...but he knows it is not safe...and he knows he needs to tell me...sweet boy...he loves me and doesn't understand.
I cannot let the angry words slip out into his world, so I chew on them, swallow the bitterness, and try to turn it into sweet smiles, cuddles, hugs, try to buffer him from it all.
I cannot speak to the people in my life - they have made their feelings plain, they don't want to hear it any more, they are bored with it, tired of it, can't bring themselves to care, to offer support let along help craft a solution.
So.
So, so, so.
What is the Angel to do?
A few days ago, I found myself staring at a knife, thinking about slicing, about pain and blood and release. I can see it, feel it, in my mind - just a small cut, tiny, it wouldn't have to be visible, and if anyone saw it I could blame the cat's claws, her startled jump at some noise or motion, it's happened before and I almost always have a scabbed over scratch or fine crimson line on some portion of my anatomy.
Anatomy.
I'm well schooled in anatomy. I could cut just the right places, feel the fiery burn shiver along its course, a slender tracery of the anger marking me, of the scarlet web encircling my psyche, holding me in, down, apart. I could make patterns, designs, a horrible sort of artwork out of it. Who would notice? I could hide it for days, months, years if I wanted to, always careful with my secret until the work is done.
I could.
I don't. I won't.
But I want to.
Oh, how I want to.
The unkindest cut...perhaps...is the one I haven't made.
I must consider how I speak to my son, sweet child, little boy who trembles when he approaches me as I clean, muttering to myself, he trembles when he walks into the room and in his small-boy voice says, quavering, "Mommy? Mommy, I love you..." huddled in on himself and ready to fly if I move too quickly toward him. I've never struck him, never lashed out at him in anger...but he knows it is not safe...and he knows he needs to tell me...sweet boy...he loves me and doesn't understand.
I cannot let the angry words slip out into his world, so I chew on them, swallow the bitterness, and try to turn it into sweet smiles, cuddles, hugs, try to buffer him from it all.
I cannot speak to the people in my life - they have made their feelings plain, they don't want to hear it any more, they are bored with it, tired of it, can't bring themselves to care, to offer support let along help craft a solution.
So.
So, so, so.
What is the Angel to do?
A few days ago, I found myself staring at a knife, thinking about slicing, about pain and blood and release. I can see it, feel it, in my mind - just a small cut, tiny, it wouldn't have to be visible, and if anyone saw it I could blame the cat's claws, her startled jump at some noise or motion, it's happened before and I almost always have a scabbed over scratch or fine crimson line on some portion of my anatomy.
Anatomy.
I'm well schooled in anatomy. I could cut just the right places, feel the fiery burn shiver along its course, a slender tracery of the anger marking me, of the scarlet web encircling my psyche, holding me in, down, apart. I could make patterns, designs, a horrible sort of artwork out of it. Who would notice? I could hide it for days, months, years if I wanted to, always careful with my secret until the work is done.
I could.
I don't. I won't.
But I want to.
Oh, how I want to.
The unkindest cut...perhaps...is the one I haven't made.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
How Did It Come to This?
Sometimes I get so angry...and I am lost inside it, this relentless rage that simmers, bubbles, erupts...and I feel defeated, remembering how I used to be, so gentle, so compassionate, so kind...but now, I am nothing but rage contained in a burnt-sugar crust, looking solid but belying the heat beneath, so ready to burst forth at the slightest touch.
I want to scream at my husband "Don't fucking touch me, not now, not ever, don't you fucking dare. Don't breathe near me, you stink like rotting flesh. Don't look at me. Don't speak to me, because the sound of your voice makes me want to stab myself in the ear with a chopstick. Don't try to make excuses for why you failed, yet again, to follow through with your promises (direct or implied) and left me holding the bag, left me changing plans at the last minute, left me doing without because you just. Don't. Give. A. Damn."
I want to kill him, I'm so full of frothing hatred. I want to strangle him, choke the life out of him, make him feel what he's done to my spirit. I want to stab him, watch him bleed, feel the warm, stickiness on my hands, smell the hot copper of it. I want to poison him, to watch him twitch, convulse, his face a rictus of pain and horror.
I want to hurt him, torture his mind, kick him in the psyche until he's nothing more than a quivering husk, huddled in the corner, crying out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." until I believe him or grow weary of his mewling and end our combined misery with a bullet to his brain.
How does love turn into this?
How does a loving, gentle, compassionate, caring, kind, decent woman become the kind of person who has these thoughts? How did I grow so very angry...where did it come from? And what do I do about it? I can't act...and even the thoughts make me ill...but I can't seem to stop myself fantasizing...maybe...what if...?
I want to scream at my husband "Don't fucking touch me, not now, not ever, don't you fucking dare. Don't breathe near me, you stink like rotting flesh. Don't look at me. Don't speak to me, because the sound of your voice makes me want to stab myself in the ear with a chopstick. Don't try to make excuses for why you failed, yet again, to follow through with your promises (direct or implied) and left me holding the bag, left me changing plans at the last minute, left me doing without because you just. Don't. Give. A. Damn."
I want to kill him, I'm so full of frothing hatred. I want to strangle him, choke the life out of him, make him feel what he's done to my spirit. I want to stab him, watch him bleed, feel the warm, stickiness on my hands, smell the hot copper of it. I want to poison him, to watch him twitch, convulse, his face a rictus of pain and horror.
I want to hurt him, torture his mind, kick him in the psyche until he's nothing more than a quivering husk, huddled in the corner, crying out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." until I believe him or grow weary of his mewling and end our combined misery with a bullet to his brain.
How does love turn into this?
How does a loving, gentle, compassionate, caring, kind, decent woman become the kind of person who has these thoughts? How did I grow so very angry...where did it come from? And what do I do about it? I can't act...and even the thoughts make me ill...but I can't seem to stop myself fantasizing...maybe...what if...?
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