It's long distance, there's kids involved on both sides, and money is an issue. All reasons not to do this but the reality is my biggest hesitation about jumping into a relationship with this woman, is that her Lil' Sis is like a little sister to me. Nobody messes with Lil' Sis, and I'm pretty sure dating someone's sister behind their back, counts as messing with someone. "You have to tell your sister, if we're going to do this" I told the Librarian as the only condition to the relationship.
The bottom line is I feel like I have a life again for the first time in a long, long time. I feel like I have hope and a mission and that someone just gives a crap about me again. Sure, I still live alone, in the middle of nowhere, and I can't even see more than two neighbors houses from any point in my yard, but I'm not dismal. My life isn't on pause anymore.
Except that my ex-wife still torments me. I decide to apply for a position at our old employer. By "our old employer" I mean the one that I, my ex-wife and now my current girlfriend all worked for years. Good old Dining Services. It's not the same position I used to have, but I liked it there. Immediately after the open interview I pick up the kids, still dressed in my good interview clothes. She asks me why I'm dressed up and I tell her ... for some stupid reason. I grab the kids and head home. By the time I get home I have two Facebook messages from mutual friends (including the Librarian because we're not exactly advertising this relationship, especially to my ex) telling me "I must have really done it now."
Apparently the ex is making bitchy Facebook posts because I have no right to apply for a job where she had been *thinking* about applying. Whatever. She never said anything, so how was I to know? I sure as hell don't want to work with her again. Her friends are apparently encouraging her to apply anyway because that's fucking smart. Sunday swapping kids again, I make some off handed comment that, while she claimed not to care that I applied there, she sure acted like it.
Deja Vu. I get home and I have a mess of angry messages from people. I piece together that apparently the ex-wife decided to dramatically and randomly unfriend thirty-two of our mutual friends. Including my girlfriend, so there was a plus side to that. I apologize to them for what I'm not quite sure. I always tell people you can tell who was right and who was wrong in a break up by who gets custody of the friends acquired during the relationship ... and she just handed over thirty-two of them to me. Some of them were her friends, long before they were shared friends.
Deja Vu. I get home and I have a mess of angry messages from people. I piece together that apparently the ex-wife decided to dramatically and randomly unfriend thirty-two of our mutual friends. Including my girlfriend, so there was a plus side to that. I apologize to them for what I'm not quite sure. I always tell people you can tell who was right and who was wrong in a break up by who gets custody of the friends acquired during the relationship ... and she just handed over thirty-two of them to me. Some of them were her friends, long before they were shared friends.
What kind of crazy bitch cuts ties with thirty-two people, only two of which told me anything? And really, the only one who did anything that was worth getting upset about was the woman I was dating? I'm convinced the entire reason I didn't get the job was because our mutual Facebook friends who still worked there didn't want to get dragged into all the drama. Can you blame them?
Things are going well with the Librarian. Often I grab my kids on the way to her place and we spend the weekend together, sometimes she comes to me. Sometimes my kids are there. Her daughter always is with us, as BioDad isn't around, by his stupid choice. Sometimes I feel guilty about spending more time with her child than my own and we skip a weekend. But for the most part we simply spend time together doing, for lack of a better word, family type things, taking the kids to Chuck E. Cheese, a beach or just lying in bed on Sunday morning reading books and playing with toys. In many ways it felt more like what I wanted a family to be, than it ever did with my ex-wife.
Then one day it happened. It was an ordinary day, we were doing ordinary things. The Librarian was doing her homework for her masters degree on her computer. Her daughter, Dino, and I were watching SpongeBob Squarepants. The light over the entryway flickers and goes out. I decided to do the manly thing and take charge of the home repairs. Yeah, I know not much of a repair, but still. I get a chair, climb up, take off the glass cover and replace the bulb. I then rejoined the girl on the couch watching cartoons.
Twenty minutes later the glass cover spontaneously falls shattering into a million pieces on the tile floor. SHIT! ... SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! I freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses up. My mind goes into defense mode and I wait for the barrage that's sure to come. The Librarian looks at me, sort of shrugs and says to me "Broom is in the closet" and motions vaguely to her right.
Uhm ... okay ... yeah. Broom. Dust Pan. I can do this. I sweep up the glass. I move everything and sweep again. I put it all back and sweep again. I sweep another two times even though I'm not finding anything because I'm so freaked out. I throw away the broken glass, put the broom away and slip upstairs without saying a word.
I collapse on her bed. What the hell just happened?!? I just legitimately made a fucking mistake and ... and ... nothing. She didn't yell. She didn't scream. The fallout didn't take three hours. The only thing that happened was I had to clean it up. Me. I ... cleaned it up. Unsupervised. Unverified. Unceremoniously. What was this?
Why didn't she yell at me?!? Doesn't she care about me at all!?! If she's not screaming at me then she must not care! Why doesn't she care?! I should have been yelled at for at least two hours for that. No, at least three. Three hours. Oh God? Why did I clean it up? I can't be responsible for that. What if it's good enough? She didn't even check to make sure I did it right. It's broken glass, someone's going to get hurt by the glass and it's going to be my fault. Oh God, what just happened here? She ... she ... doesn't care about me.
No ... No! No, no, no. She doesn't care ... that I accidentally broke a light. Accidents ... happen? She also then ... trusted me to fix my mistake? Is that what happened? I don't know what to do with this. Oh God. This is ... this is ... this is ... uh ... this is normal, isn't it? I don't ... Wait. Normal. What?!? Huh? This is how normal people react isn't it?
I'm sobbing uncontrollably now. Partially because all my defense reflexes kicked in and went unused, partially because I had this moment of panic because I feel like she didn't give a shit about me because she wasn't screaming and then finally ... because I realize exactly how fucked up that thinking is.
The floodgates have opened and I realize exactly how much I'd been lying to myself for the twelve years my wife and I were together. She treated me like shit. She yelled and screamed at me for everything. She was so convinced that everything I did was part of some elaborate plot to make her miserable that she did nothing but yell at me. I got yelled at for cleaning the house because I didn't do it right. I got yelled at for bringing her flowers because they die and that's a waste of money. I got yelled at for neglecting the house and yard, and when I tended the house and yard I was yelled at for neglecting her and the kids. At the end I wasn't even eating any more because I was being berated for my cooking. I was told I was a selfish ass for deliberately making Ramen noodles too spicy for her to eat. Heat water, insert noodles, add packet. That's all I did. Nothing was ever right and nothing was ever good enough.
Things are going well with the Librarian. Often I grab my kids on the way to her place and we spend the weekend together, sometimes she comes to me. Sometimes my kids are there. Her daughter always is with us, as BioDad isn't around, by his stupid choice. Sometimes I feel guilty about spending more time with her child than my own and we skip a weekend. But for the most part we simply spend time together doing, for lack of a better word, family type things, taking the kids to Chuck E. Cheese, a beach or just lying in bed on Sunday morning reading books and playing with toys. In many ways it felt more like what I wanted a family to be, than it ever did with my ex-wife.
Then one day it happened. It was an ordinary day, we were doing ordinary things. The Librarian was doing her homework for her masters degree on her computer. Her daughter, Dino, and I were watching SpongeBob Squarepants. The light over the entryway flickers and goes out. I decided to do the manly thing and take charge of the home repairs. Yeah, I know not much of a repair, but still. I get a chair, climb up, take off the glass cover and replace the bulb. I then rejoined the girl on the couch watching cartoons.
Twenty minutes later the glass cover spontaneously falls shattering into a million pieces on the tile floor. SHIT! ... SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! I freeze. Every muscle in my body tenses up. My mind goes into defense mode and I wait for the barrage that's sure to come. The Librarian looks at me, sort of shrugs and says to me "Broom is in the closet" and motions vaguely to her right.
Uhm ... okay ... yeah. Broom. Dust Pan. I can do this. I sweep up the glass. I move everything and sweep again. I put it all back and sweep again. I sweep another two times even though I'm not finding anything because I'm so freaked out. I throw away the broken glass, put the broom away and slip upstairs without saying a word.
I collapse on her bed. What the hell just happened?!? I just legitimately made a fucking mistake and ... and ... nothing. She didn't yell. She didn't scream. The fallout didn't take three hours. The only thing that happened was I had to clean it up. Me. I ... cleaned it up. Unsupervised. Unverified. Unceremoniously. What was this?
Why didn't she yell at me?!? Doesn't she care about me at all!?! If she's not screaming at me then she must not care! Why doesn't she care?! I should have been yelled at for at least two hours for that. No, at least three. Three hours. Oh God? Why did I clean it up? I can't be responsible for that. What if it's good enough? She didn't even check to make sure I did it right. It's broken glass, someone's going to get hurt by the glass and it's going to be my fault. Oh God, what just happened here? She ... she ... doesn't care about me.
No ... No! No, no, no. She doesn't care ... that I accidentally broke a light. Accidents ... happen? She also then ... trusted me to fix my mistake? Is that what happened? I don't know what to do with this. Oh God. This is ... this is ... this is ... uh ... this is normal, isn't it? I don't ... Wait. Normal. What?!? Huh? This is how normal people react isn't it?
I'm sobbing uncontrollably now. Partially because all my defense reflexes kicked in and went unused, partially because I had this moment of panic because I feel like she didn't give a shit about me because she wasn't screaming and then finally ... because I realize exactly how fucked up that thinking is.
The floodgates have opened and I realize exactly how much I'd been lying to myself for the twelve years my wife and I were together. She treated me like shit. She yelled and screamed at me for everything. She was so convinced that everything I did was part of some elaborate plot to make her miserable that she did nothing but yell at me. I got yelled at for cleaning the house because I didn't do it right. I got yelled at for bringing her flowers because they die and that's a waste of money. I got yelled at for neglecting the house and yard, and when I tended the house and yard I was yelled at for neglecting her and the kids. At the end I wasn't even eating any more because I was being berated for my cooking. I was told I was a selfish ass for deliberately making Ramen noodles too spicy for her to eat. Heat water, insert noodles, add packet. That's all I did. Nothing was ever right and nothing was ever good enough.
I'd often ask her "What can I do to make you happy?" On a good day her answer was "Nothing." Most days the answer was "Don't fuck up to begin with." God forbid I ever actually really do something wrong like accidentally break a light.
That adds up over years. You slowly give up on things. First things that you enjoy, because you're trying to avoid the screaming and insults. When those things are gone, you start letting go of things you don't mind, to avoid the yelling and the put downs. Then when all you have left is things you hate, you find yourself clinging to them trying to hold onto something that doesn't incur wrath. The you wind up hating everything because everything you do reminds you of the yelling and insults. You lose track of what normal is, an miserable and happy are interchangeable.
I wander downstairs to talk to the Librarian. I sit against the wall beside her and tell her where I've been for the last hour. "So you were upset because ... I didn't yell at you?" she asks. "Yeah" "It was an accident right?" "Yeah" "Do you want me to yell at you?" I had to stop and think about it for a moment, "No?" "Okay, then there's no problem" and back to work she went. I don't even think I apologized. That's what I try to teach my kids. It doesn't matter if it was an accident or not, you apologize anyway.
I don't think she realized what a huge moment that was for me. I wasn't exactly free of the mental prison, but I think I was finally aware it was there, and the cell door was unlocked. One that had been closed for a very long time. Damn, I'm pretty screwed up, aren't I?
This is my life now.
That adds up over years. You slowly give up on things. First things that you enjoy, because you're trying to avoid the screaming and insults. When those things are gone, you start letting go of things you don't mind, to avoid the yelling and the put downs. Then when all you have left is things you hate, you find yourself clinging to them trying to hold onto something that doesn't incur wrath. The you wind up hating everything because everything you do reminds you of the yelling and insults. You lose track of what normal is, an miserable and happy are interchangeable.
I wander downstairs to talk to the Librarian. I sit against the wall beside her and tell her where I've been for the last hour. "So you were upset because ... I didn't yell at you?" she asks. "Yeah" "It was an accident right?" "Yeah" "Do you want me to yell at you?" I had to stop and think about it for a moment, "No?" "Okay, then there's no problem" and back to work she went. I don't even think I apologized. That's what I try to teach my kids. It doesn't matter if it was an accident or not, you apologize anyway.
I don't think she realized what a huge moment that was for me. I wasn't exactly free of the mental prison, but I think I was finally aware it was there, and the cell door was unlocked. One that had been closed for a very long time. Damn, I'm pretty screwed up, aren't I?
This is my life now.
You've taken the first step by writing your story. Healing will take time, but you can do it. It's going to be confusing, it's going to hurt like hell, it's going to take time. I've walked the same road. Email me if you want to talk.
ReplyDelete