27 April 04: Short Story, Big Insight

I was sitting on my red leather sofa; it was well after midnight. I was re-reading Catch-22 as if that would give me some sort of insight into life I had forgotten about.

The rattle of the garage door startled me. My eyes looked away from the letters on the page for a fleeting moment. I did not want him to see me looking at him. Returning to my book, I stared at the page but could no longer make sense of the words. My pulse had started racing and my head hurt (worse) something awful. Who would walk through the garage door? The man that left twelve hours ago to get an oil change? A belligerent idiot? A raging asshole? Or perhaps the man I married only a few years ago?

That was the problem. I was constantly fooling myself into believing that the man I loved was in there somewhere. And not only would I wake up with him in the morning, he would remain beside me throughout the day and night. We would not bicker or battle or say words we would later regret. Or at least, words I would later regret.

As I pondered these fleeing thoughts, the rattle of the door to the house shook me back to reality. He walked in. His eyes were too glassy to be sober.

I hated it. I hated what my life had become. No longer did I want to mistrust this person I once thought was my soul mate. Was I even still in love? When you are in love do you sneak a smell at your loved one’s breath?

He was loud as he banged around in the kitchen not caring that our daughter, only a little over two years old, had finally fallen asleep. She sometimes cried out at night for her dad to comfort her. Mostly, he was not there. Not lately. As he grabbed the gallon of purple Gatorade and took a swig out of the container, I felt his eyes on me. My pulse quickened. Would he say something to me? Would it be nice? Would I be able to be nice back? Or would I flip out like the crazy woman I had become.

Okay, well perhaps I was always a little on the insane side. But never like this. No longer did I recognize myself. Or the words that seemed to spew out of my mouth as a result of the hurt I felt; the anger that brewed inside of me. The resentment towards him for changing my live in a negative way changed who I was. It enveloped my entire being.

“Sup?” he slurred to me.

I shrugged my shoulders as if to say not much. I was afraid if I opened my mouth ugly words would come out that could not be taken back. He started rambling about bacon and politics and the future of our life together. I truly believe he felt that somehow all those things blended together like peas and carrots. Like we used to blend together. But to me they made no sense.

Just like the words on the pages of my book still could not make sense. I could only concentrate on him, his smell, his voice, and his eyes. When would he start to pick on me? When would our fight begin? Where was the person I fell in love with? What happened to us?

I remembered those early days were drinking together was a social thing. I was truly blind to any sort of problem. He always offered to be the designated driver- and really would be. Social events were not an embarrassment. Well, rarely. I guess as time went by the signs were all there. The depression, the decrease in self-confidence all were clues.

He feared marriage, but wanted it more than anything in the entire world. I began to want it more than I wanted anything in the entire world. We got married. We had a baby. Things were okay. But suddenly, everything changed.

Well, if I think about it they did not change over night. The change was gradual and purposeful. I became a “nag” and a “ball-and-chain” because I wanted us to eat dinner together on a Friday night. I “made” him drink to the point of annihilation because I was such a bitch.

I did become a bitch.

There was no other way I knew how to respond to behaviors that made no sense to me. Why would you stay out all night on someone’s couch when you had a warm bed at home? Since when did Sundays on the couch getting wasted become better than Sundays barbecuing with the family? I don’t remember when exactly I realized something was really wrong.

The fighting got worse. The words became uglier. Our daughter never knew what to expect. She never knew which parents she would have on a given night. She has been suffering immensely most of her life, and does not realize it yet. Or does she?

I still did not want to look up from my book. But suddenly everything that was wrong with our marriage and my life came flooding into my head. All the nights I went to bed alone. All the cleaning up after him I had done. The names I had been called, that we had called each other. The fact that I was living the life of a single parent but had the anxiety of someone in a very problematic marriage suddenly became very real to me.

My book flung itself from my hands and missed his head by mere inches. I jumped off the couch and started screaming like a maniac. I screamed about the pain that I had been feeling. Cursing about my fears, my nightmares, my anger, and my anxiety. I am unsure if I made any sense. I do not even remember what I said exactly.

“You are the problem. I would rather be at a bar drunk than be around you.”

That was his words to me. They still ring in my head. He is gone now. Off somewhere hitting rock bottom or putting his life back together now that I, the problem, am not around. I cry a lot. I cry for our daughter, I cry for me. Sobbing I think about what could have been and what should be. I debate how I could have handled the situation differently, earlier. If somehow I could have fixed things and made them better. Changed them. People tell me otherwise. But still, to this day, I do not really believe them.

I think it is my fault. Never would I admit that to anyone. I talk big and say all the right words. That is my way. But at night, late, when I am alone and it is quiet- I hate where I am. What things have become instead of could have been. I will always wonder if I made the right choice. I will always regret my decision. But, you only get to travel down one road at a time.

Something Like This

She woke up a little later than usual. The exhaustion was like straps around her arms and legs that kept her from being able to lift herself. Her mind was foggy but she vaguely heard the sound of the children playing in the other room and realized how much she had to do.

Shaking through the restraints, she slowly pulled herself up. As if it was not hard enough for her to wake up, she was still recovering from surgery and in the midst of everything, sleeping at night was not going well.

Still she awoke, to check on the children when she realized he was still in bed, snoring away, as if he had had a hard few weeks also. He was supposed to be there to take care of the children and the house and look for a job while she recovered, and worked, and mothered to the best of her ability. More promises is broken. She has lost count over the years- of broken promises, disappointments, and the many occasions of blame and verbal abuse.

Remembering the important stuff she had to finish before she left for work or the children left for school, quickly she got on the computer and finished up what she had not by 2:30 AM- just a few hours before. So much for staying at home and raising her kids. Life had changed.

Over and over she attempted to awaken him, reminding him to pack snacks and make breakfast before driving off to school. He arrogantly answered each time saying "he was awake and would do it if she would just leave him the fuck alone".

So for a bit she did. And as the children played she finished her work and got their stuff ready for school, changed the baby's diaper, and moved through her painful fog. All sense of time had been lost.

It was getting late and still the alarm was blaring and no sign of him or breakfast. So she sent the oldest one in to beg him to awaken. Finally he did.

When he stepped out of the kitchen, he started screaming at her for still being in her pajamas (as if he wasn't) and not feeding the children (which neither had he) and fucking around on the computer for her "real job" that as usual implied her working was not real and just some sort of facade.

Continuing on, he called her into the kitchen and very slowly and loudly in front of the children, explained to her the basics of putting a waffle in the toaster oven detail by detail and how to pour some more milk. As if she was a small child or an inadequate adult that needed a play by play in detail of how to use a toaster.

Frustrated she goes into the other room to finish getting ready for work.

"I'm not finished talking to your lazy ass that cares so little about your children you can't feed them breakfast", he yells.

They all hear. They move around uncomfortable. One spaces out as if nothing at all is going on. One cries. One is still young enough to be saved, hopefully.

The harsh words continue into something she tunes out; still tears fall.

She knows she is not incompetent. These children have been taken care of by her for over five years now. Because he has taken some responsibility the past few weeks does not make him an expert on their needs and routines, nor does it make him the authority on how to toast a waffle. It certainly does not give him the right to talk to her like that.

But he does. She tells him to stop. Stop in front of them. Stop or leave. Still he continues. Louder with sarcasm literally dripping from his mouth. He does not leave. She does nothing to make him out of the fear he has put in her.

Such a simple thing; a miscommunication on breakfast. But not in this house.

And the argument and patronizing does not end after a simple statement- if that is what one would call what just had happened. It continues on. And on. Tears flow and angry words fly back in defense of really nothing because deep down she knows she did nothing wrong.

He does this to put in her head doubts that maybe she is incompetent. Doubts that maybe he is better at these things. Doubts that he really is helping and will be a financial provider and a loving husband and a caring father. Doubts that he should be there. Doubts that maybe she really is the one in the wrong. Doubts that he is right and she is the angry/abusive/negative one.

Deeper down she knows that this is happening again. The next phase in the cycle has started and the honeymoon period is over.

She is smart and knows better. Her dreams seemed shackled to her. A little more breaks inside of her and she knows this is not love and it is not right, but does not know what to do. How to go on. Make it right. Holding the children, she knows that something so simple should not be blown out to a proportion like this that lasts for over an hour. Each minute is patronizing and hellish and she scratches at the dirt above her in the hole and cannot seem to get out because every time she catches her balance and starts to climb, he knocks her back down.

They say it is because he is afraid to lose her, the children, his dream. She thinks he just likes to try and break down someone internally and spiritually stronger than him to help his own insecurities.

She drives off and spends the day working. Worrying. What will be next? What will he do wrong and blame on her? And will he do it again in front of the kids? Do they think this is normal and will it happen to them? Or worse, will he pretend nothing is wrong and grope her and ask why she doesn't seem to like him or want to hold him anymore? It must be stopped, of this she is sure, but she cannot remember how to stop it. And is afraid what will happen this time. Where will she go? What will the children think? Will they get over their resentment and sadness and confusion? How will she put the next meal on the table? Is the occasional trip to the store alone and him spending time with the children worth the pain? Are the few moments of happiness and comfort worth the long cycles of criticism?

That day she only receives angry phone calls and messages while she is at work and he is home. On her couch. Probably plotting how to destroy her more so she thinks she needs him. Or at least that is what she now believes he does. He calls her crazy if she says that to him.

Maybe she is crazy because she lets him.

Three days later while she works, he packs up what few things he has reaccumulated at the house and kisses the children good-bye saying he is off to do laundry and would see them later.

She returns once again only to pick up what mess he has left her. Knowing it has to end, she does not know even where to begin again.

Oh!

I'm getting ready. I'm getting there. Ideas-a-flowing.

Need time. More than 10-15 minutes at a time... Like an hour. Including some research.

But oh! I'm getting ready.

Someday. Somehow.

It's time.