I'm lucky because I don't give a shit, anymore, how that moment will reflect my story, or who gathers around to hear it. I'm lucky because I've let go of any expectation I held about being treated with decency, by anyone. I'm lucky because I'm alone.
I don't even talk to God, anymore.
You Have ONE Message
Oh, but the X has been calling. She wants money for the boys, and she's screaming into my answering machine, and putting me down again. She's telling me I'm full of shit, that the credential isn't the issue. There are "other things" I'm capable of doing, she says.
Forget the fact that she hasn't asked if I've been pursuing those other things over the past year.
Forget the fact that she hasn't asked a single question about what I have done, or what I've been met with.
Forget the fact, while we're at it, that she hasn't stopped to consider what it must feel like to be destitute, despite all efforts to be anything, but that.
Forget the fact that I can barely provide for myself right now, let alone my sons, and how that might feel as a man, and a father.
Forget the fact, that to hear her tell it, this is my choice.
Forget the fact that she hasn't stopped to consider that being destitute does more than affect what I can buy my sons.
It affects the time I get to spend with them, and the state of mind I'm in, when I do spend any time with them, at all.
Forget the fact that the diagnosis of severe depression, and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, are, by themselves, enough weight to kill a man.
Forget the fact that if any one else she knew was in a similar position, there would at least be a show of false compassion, and quite publicly, I'm sure.
But it isn't someone else, it's me, so there's a traditional playground dog-pile, and all her disdain, and the weight of it, times a thousand.
I got a text from The X requesting that I come to the house that I was kicked out of, and told never to come to again, so she could berate me, about me.
I told her I was open, absolutely, to a discussion, one that allowed equal time to the participants, and the promise of civility, and being heard, for real..
Just not in the place she kicks me out of, if I disagree with what I'm being told, I'll do.
I asked that we conduct our "discussion" through email. That seemed reasonable, and productive. And it might have been, had we done it. Evidently, however, she didn't want a "discussion", at all.
My request was deemed unacceptable, and she's yelling at me again, in my voicemail.
She's yelling at my outgoing message, and telling it the credential thing is a lousy excuse, along with other unpleasant comments that destroy a "discussion".
Comments with nothing constructive about them except the intent to let me know that I'm small,
and worthless.
I can't wait for the day that I drive away without leaving a hint as to where I'm going.
I can't wait for the final "discussion", to be over.
'The X' only sees one thing when she sees me. She sees a place to spill the anger that is otherwise hers to hold. Its been 8 years, and I haven't heard a single kind word from her. Not one.
Does she really expect me to sit down, and have a "discussion", when the only "discussions" we've had have been her tirades about my inadequacies, and her anger?
I don't think she's capable of even considering how painful, or hard this has been for me, or how I already feel inadequate as a father in this situation, on my own. That's evidence enough for me, that the only person she's considering, is herself, and a dog-pile.
Divorce means it's time to find another guy to berate, and call names, and make small. This one's not available, anymore.
Leave a message while you can.
I'm starting my countdown to vanish.
BEEEEEEEP.
Talking To Myself
The only person I want to talk to about this, is myself, and I'll talk to myself in the same place I've held my discussions for the past year, and a half. I'll talk to myself on the pages of the blog that I write. The blog that no one reads, or at least, no one is forced to read. It's still a choice, I think.I'll talk to myself about nothing in the only place where my voice is still allowed, and where no one's listening.
I'll talk to myself here, and remind anyone who's eavesdropping, who wants to say I'm inappropriate, that perhaps they should take their ears elsewhere.
This is my forum.
You shouldn't be shocked by what I say here.
If nothing else, I'm redundant.
The reality is that when I do find consistent employment, I'll be giving my paychecks away. The debt I've accrued is so significant, I'm unsure I'll ever get my head above water, again.
I'll have enough leftover to rent a room in a house, with strangers, and to shop at the Dollar Store for groceries, just as I have been, for over a year.
The bigger reality is, that won't matter.
Not to her.
She'll leave her angry messages until she's seen proof that I'm dead. After that, she'll be alone with everything she's been accustomed to dumping on me, that isn't mine.
She'll be left alone with everything she's so desperately used me to rid herself of,
and avoid.
This may sound harsh if you're reading it,
and it may be to an outsider. If you're me, however, its just
Each of the three, most significant mental health professionals who I sought help from, told me to anticipate being stuck in this, with her, for awhile.
Each of those individuals taught me about the dynamic we created that fed it, and each of them said it would remain a necessity to her until one, of two things, happened.
It will remain a necessity until I am able to leave, and begin a new life elsewhere, where I can cut myself off, or until she has a new partner in her life who can fulfill the role that I left vacant. But as one therapist said to me, " I wouldn't anticipate that, Patrick. It's going to be very difficult for her to find another man with the extent of dysfunction that you had, and that fit hers, when the two of you were together."
"Until she finds one, she'll still need you to be the person you were, and she'll continue her attempts to convince you that you are. No civility. No kind words. They're too dangerous. If they were offered, you might believe she was acknowledging Human value in you, and if that were to occur, she wouldn't be able to characterize you as everything she needs to keep beneath her, to feel tall. Unfortunately, that's who you are, to her."
Pause
I think I'm alright with that.I'm alright with that as long as I can politely suggest our discussions take place through the medium of email. I'm alright with that now that I have a place to deposit my voice, a place where I feel heard.
I can live with that.
I'm open to any discussion she, or anyone else would like to have.
But if you leave me a voicemail full of criticism, belittling, and anger, I'll remain doubtful that a discussion is truly what you're after.
"Discussions", as I know them, are built into a framework of respect for the other person, and their story as they tell it, not as you see it.
Based on past discussions, and this most recent voice message, there's no indication that a "discussion" could take place, at all.
"So, Dying Year Blog that no one reads, thank you for listening.
Thank you for allowing me to voice my side of so many "discussions" that never took place. Thank you for listening, and not shouting, or calling me names."
No comments:
Post a Comment