Blows
This is going to be short and sweet…more detail to come later.
But I got suckered into going out to dinner with Seamus so we could talk. He promised it would be short and pleasant. It was longer than it should have been, he was drunk when I picked him up, which he lied about I’m sure, and he just got worse.
It ended with him spouting his typical torrent of abuse, snarling at me to leave (we were at a restaurant), baring his teeth like an animal and calling me names…whereupon I leapt on him where he sat in the booth and started hitting him. Not slaps, but punches…first at his shoulder and arm, but then I got one good blow in to the side of his head. I paused for a second, realized what I had done…then launched in on him again, raining down blows to his head…luckily, I’m a puss and can’t hit very hard. When my hand started to hurt, I got off him, grabbed my Pepsi, and flung it in his face.
The patrons were sure shocked.
Anyway, he wasn’t bleeding or anything, but he yelled at the staff to call the cops. They just stood there, staring. I think they realized it was just a “lovers spat” and didn’t want to get involved. Still I was on pins and needles thinking that Seamus was just mean and vindictive enough to send the cops to arrest me for assault and battery. There’s no denying it…even without witnesses, my knuckles are bruised and black…the wrong knuckles, closer to the middle of the finger…I hit like a girl.
I’m sure Seamus was most shocked of all. He had boasted once that despite his prickly personality in a bar setting, no one had ever really gotten in a fist fight with him. He’d come close, but people usually kept the person he was antagonizing from hitting him. Well, I might not have done much damage, but maybe he’ll think twice before verbally abusing someone…he won’t know when they might snap, like I did.
To make matters worse, he’s got public service duty on Monday, and I have no work to get out of the office with. I wonder what he’ll do. I mean, what would you do if you had to return to work with a girl who had just beaten the pus out of you and thrown pepsi in your face? Would you go to your supervisor and warn him to keep the girl away. I can’t wait to see my supervisor’s face when I tell him what happened…I know him, he’ll get a good laugh out of it.
I’m not sure how I feel about it, other than strangely satisfied. I’ll probably miss him later, but for now, I feel pretty good. Kind of sick.
Curing My Own Blindness
First and foremost, thank you for your supportive words and thoughts, my Canadian friend. I’m glad you drop in and read a bit, as I keep you on my RSS feeds to keep up with what’s new with you, too. And I know you’re absolutely right about Seamus (and about Canadians… I love Canada, I’ve been there several times and the people are great). It was hard to come back and respond, though, because of the tremendous conflict I’m facing within. Your words are right on the money, but they were still hard to read in a way. What I need to be able to do is think the same way about Seamus…that should be easy, right? Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t.
The funniest thing, though…I can’t believe that this has happened to me. I thought I was smarter and stronger than this. I never, ever thought I’d be involved in an abusive relationship of any kind: verbal, emotional, or physical. I thought I couldn’t be suckered. I used to see these “true story” TV movies about women in horriffic relationships that ended in murder or violence or terrible deceptions. I remember how scornful and derisive I was of them for not seeing what was so plain to be seen, and proudly proclaimed that I’d never be that stupid.
Yet, here I am. I’m right in the thick of it. I’ve been reading as much free information on the web that I can find, and Seamus’ behavior is as clear cut an example of verbal abuse as one can find. And I’ve always known that. But I’ve made excuses for him. You know: He’s sick, he can’t help it. Maybe he’s not taking his meds. He’s wounded, or at least he feels wounded by society. He’s frustrated by his loneliness. He really hates himself, so he has to take it out on someone. He just needs to be understood. He’s really good inside, but his illness brings these outbursts. Yadda yadda yadda.
I don’t know if any of you have seen the movie “Reign Over Me” with Adam Sandler and Don Cheadle, where Adam Sandler’s character is Don Cheadle’s ex-roommate from college, but since their school days, Adam Sandler’s character has turned into a withdrawn, disturbed, angry, and paranoid man who’s subject to explosive and violent outbursts. Almost like Seamus…except, they give Adam Sandler’s character an “excuse”. His family was killed on 9/11, according to the movie. After that, he was never the same. I thought that was sort of a cop-out. It would be more interesting to see how people deal with loved ones who don’t have “excuses” but still don’t behave according to social standards. See, every time Adam Sandler’s character did something bad, the others looked at him with pity because something happened to him.
But what if something hadn’t happened? What if there were no “excuses”? How would they look at him then? Would they be as compassionate? I don’t know. Should I be compassionate? Or is mental illness still an insufficient excuse for how Seamus treated me? Does being ill mean that he has to be abusive? Am I saving myself, or am I abandoning him for something he can’t help? Or can he help it? I don’t know anything anymore.
What I do know is that I’m facing a long battle with recovering from this. The fact that I still find any place for thinking about Seamus is a sign that the repair has only just begun. I’m really just in the first phase…I blew up because I was finally fed up. Now I just have to dodge all the pitfalls that could lead me back to him…which I will want to do…guaranteed…despite all that happened…defying all common sense and good judgment…the literature all says that it I’ll struggle with this, and my own heart confirms it. But awareness of a problem is the first step to a cure, so let’s see how I can progress from here.
I Need to Remember
During this ridiculously tough week without Seamus (tomorrow, it will be one month since our break-up), I’ve found myself waxing nostalgic about all the good times we shared: the walk on the beach, the exclusive and romantic restaurant with the fabulous view of the city, the laughs we had when we were running around together. Then I think of the other things, the mean and cruel things, the attacks and the hate and the anger and the anxiety. When I look back, I focus on the good stuff, but I’m beginning to realize that there was a disproportionate amount of bad. So, I’ve been repeating some of the not-so-lovely things Seamus used to say to me so I can keep my resolve and not go back to a verbally and emotionally abusive relationship, no matter how guilty I feel for abandoning someone who’s sick and no matter how much I miss the good times that we had.
“Can you not begin to understand, you fat f*cking b*tch?”
“Why are you here with me instead of with the man of your dreams? I’ll tell you why: because you’re fat and because you’re ugly. I’m sure it’s held you back.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re an idiot who’s devoted herself to television, celebrities, and oversized magazines with big glossy pictures.”
“I don’t give a f*ck what you think. You’re a morbidly obese tw*t.”
“The only thing you have going for you is that you’ve got a c*nt.”
“You’re just a pot-addled fool who’s devoted herself to games and partying and getting high, so don’t try to tell me what’s up.”
“God, shut the f*ck up before I slap you. This is why I hate you.”
“What’s a girl got to do to get some penis around here, right? Hahaha, in your case, lose 100 pounds.”
“Let’s go to the Sportsman’s Lounge so I can throw some darts at your fat ass.”
“Look this up on the internet for me. Come on, move your chubby fingers and just do it.”
“You vile c*nt. You’re a racist, airheaded tw*t who just wants to f*ck the biggest monkey in the tree.”
“You realize that all these people are laughing at you. They look at how fat you are and they laugh behind your back when they see you talking to me.”
“Women are nothing but racist airheads devoted to celebrities and gossip and f*cking the biggest monkey in the tree. No man would chose a woman as his intellectual partner. They’re idiots.”
“Shut up! Shut the f*ck up, fatso!”
“You’re a racist, nordic-loving tw*t. Why don’t you go suck on <insert enemy-of-the-month here>?”
“I’m sick of hearing your denials, you lying c*nt. You know they’re talking about me, and you’re purposefully holding back. You tw*t.”
“You really think that guy was looking at you? I doubt it. Unless he’s never seen anyone that fat before.”
“Married, to you? That would be nauseating.”
“I’ll knock you up, if I can stand to look at you.”
“Look at that cute Chinese girl. I mean, who wouldn’t want to eat that p*ssy? I know I want to.” – while we’re on a date.
“Asian girls are the best. They have straight hair, they keep their figure. I mean, if I have to put up with an idiot, at least she can be someone f*ckable, not like you.”
“I hate everything about you, who you are, what you look like. You’re a bloated, oversized, morbidly obese tw*t who wants to suck on the tallest Nordic guy you can find, except they don’t want you either.”
These are just memorable outtakes. But these phrases were often used together, or they were part of a stream of criticism and hurtful words. The statements are taken out of context, granted, but in almost all the situations they came from, these were unprovoked attacks as far as I coult tell. Seamus’ interpretation of circumstances is usually far different from mine. And these were just the attacks on me personally. Our long conversations were usually mired in his hatred for other people. Sometimes it was individuals, sometimes it was some group he had classified and singled out. But it was full of ugliness, threats of violence, cruelty, and hate. I was expected to go along with it, or face cruel comments like the ones above. So I went along with it. But it was tiresome and caused much anxiety, as if I were walking on egg-shells to avoid Seamus’ wrath. Oh sure, his wrath involved mainly words (sticks and stones, right?), but once he turned it into physical violence and broke my windshield by kicking it from inside the car during a rage. My stomach was in knots everytime I spoke with him, whether via telephone or in person, because I never seemed to be able to say the right things without some criticism or cruel remark.
Seamus’ words were poison. I’ve caught myself thinking and sometimes saying things that sound like Seamus. Sometimes, I’ve caught myself saying cruel things to people in a voice that sounds just like him. I know I’ve thought some really terrible things about some people that they don’t deserve, but each time, I realize it’s Seamus’ words leaching out of me.
I’ve got to keep my resolve to stay away from him long enough to rediscover who I really am and what I really stand for…and to try to get some self-esteem and confidence back. I keep looking at myself in the mirror, and where once I saw an intelligent, pretty but overweight girl who had quite a few male friends, I now see this bloated, fat, ugly toad that no one would want. When I meet a new guy, I think to myself, “God, who am I kidding? Why the hell would this guy be interested in someone like me? I’m totally fooling myself here, I’m sure he’s just being friendly and has no interest in an old cow like me.” I didn’t use to be this way.
I hope I can find my way back before it’s too late for me. Although I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never meet someone who I’ll fall for like I fell for Seamus, and I might never be truly happy again. But I’m not happy with the status quo, either. I don’t know. From time to time, life seems absolutely worthless.
A Comet Appears
“One hand on this wily comet,
Take a drink just to give me some weight,
Some uber-man I’d make,
I’m barely a vapor
They shone a chlorine light on,
A host of individual sins,
Let’s carve my aging face off,
Fetch us a knife,
Start with my eyes,
Down so the lines,
Form a grimacing smile,
Close your eyes to corral a virtue,
Is this fooling anyone else?
Never worked so long and hard,
To cement a failure,
We can blow on our thumbs and posture,
But the lonely are such delicate things,
The wind from a wasp could blow them,
Into the sea,
With stones on their feet,
Lost to the light and the loving we need,
Still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it’s growing,
With burnt sage and a forest of bygones,
I click my heels,
Get the devils in line,
A list of things I could lay the blame on,
Might give me a way out,
But with each turn,
It’s this front and center,
Like a dart stuck square in your eye,
Every post you can hitch your faith on,
Is a pie in the sky,
Chock full of lies,
A tool we devise,
To make sinking stones fly,
And still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it’s growing.”
- The Shins, “A Comet Appears”
That song has been stuck in my head all this week, it’s so meaningful to me right now. I’m having a tough time this past few days. I really, really miss Seamus, but we need this distance (don’t we?). Besides, he hasn’t tried to contact me anyway, so I should take that as a strong hint. It’s three weeks today since the break-up. I hope this grief and pain is just a passing phase. I’m so desperately unhappy. I just keep telling myself that it’s all for the best. I can’t wait until I actually believe that.
