I rarely make rash decisions. Even quick decisions have a lot of thought behind them. Granted, that thought can be massively flawed, but I do put a lot of thought into it. When I come to a decision, I’m pretty confident in that decision. When that decision is based on my “fuck it” point, you see, I’ve already gone past a lot of “Beware!” and “Last Exit” signs before reaching my “fuck it” point.
If I make the decision to terminate a relationship, a metric shit-ton of thought and soul searching have gone into that decision. It’s not something I just willy-nilly do. I don’t terminate every relationship every time a cute blonde starts up a conversation. I’m a man, yes, but I’m not some 16-year-old horny kid. No one person can sway me enough to terminate a relationship. A single person can open my mind to bullshit, but that alone is not enough form me to end anything. I take all of the data collected, all of my observations, and I carefully process each item. I look at previous behaviors, cross-referencing that with personality types. I look at generic human behavioral patterns and see what the most likely outcome would be if I left or if I stayed.
I made the decision to pull the plug, to pull the ripcord. Now the desperate cry out like versus in the Bible talking about Hell. At first, it is sobbing, begging, and pleading, trying to pull at my heartstrings. Does it hurt me a little? Ahh… I’m past hurt. I don’t like seeing it, but my facial expressions do not change. We’re in the denial/anger phase. Today, she made the decision that we’re not getting divorced. I don’t think she gets what divorce means. Getting a divorce isn’t something you go to the supermarket and pick up. One party “sues for divorce.” The other party doesn’t have to agree to it. If they don’t show up for the court hearing, oh well. Anyways, here are where all the right words are said, although, I do not put much faith in those words. It’s words I’ve heard before.
Last night, during the begging phase, I kept bringing up the last two-three years of ignoring me and the family, treating me like shit with condescending put downs. All of her praises for the last two years are followed by a put down. “I made this dinner just for you, but if you don’t want it, I’ll just put it up.” That was said last night. First of all, she doesn’t pay attention to my likes and dislikes. Making a “healthy” chicken dish does not include dumping a pound of cream cheese in it. Second, she should know that I am not a big fan of cream cheese. A little bit is fine, but any more than that is a turn off. Third, why take a phrase meant to be positive and drag it down with negative shit?
I apologize for that little tangent. After reminding her of all the bullshit she has done for the last two years, leading up to the divorce decision, she keeps begging for another chance. I asked her, “If your boyfriend beat you all the time, and you told him you’re leaving, and he cries and begs you not to go, what do you do?” Her response? “I’ve been there, and I went back.”
That’s just fucking stupid. It both proves my point and misses it at the same time. Sure, you did, but the guy is in prison for slitting a guy’s throat in a hotel room. That’s not exactly helping your case!
This morning, she made the decision we’re not getting divorced. I didn’t correct her or say anything. I’m tired of hearing the same words repeated ad nauseam. My ears are clogged from allergies, and I’m dizzy and can’t hear shit very well, so I just relish in that misery for a moment.
Then, things get creepy. I’m not sure if this is foreshadowing or an honest thing. She looks at her phone in the morning, scrolling through Facebook. She brings up Johnny Depp and how disturbing it is with Amber Herd and the accusations. She then starts saying how she could beat herself up, go to the police, and they would arrest me without question. I’m thinking to myself, excuse me? Is that a threat? If it is a threat, you’re fucking stupid for telling me your plan, but you’re even more dumb if you think that is going to sway me to not divorce you by some form of fear. Homie don’t play that. I fucking hate clowns, but if Homie the Clown could have been there to smack her with that sock thing, I would allow it. Then, she’s talking about how people say they were raped, but they just had sex, all to fuck over the guy. This was 10 minutes after saying she wanted to have sex. What the literal fuck? For once, I’m happy my hernia incision is still pretty sensitive, and I can get out of that.
There have been so many mixed messages in the last two days, whiplash isn’t even a good enough word for it. Words are not enough to erase years of shit. At this point, actions aren’t enough to erase years of shit. Where were you when I was begging for two years to be part of the family? Where were you when I was begging to take steps to be healthier? Where were you when I begged you to come to bed, but you were too drunk and mean to care? All of this action is just a little bit too late, a day late and a dollar short, as my dad would say.