We Know You're a Jerk...Did You Really Have to Reinforce It?

It's funny, with most people that show their assholian tendencies, you just stop hanging out with them, talking to them, associating with them, or whatever. A perk of being human is free will, and in general you can avoid people that are truly horrible.

Unless they're family. Or co-workers. However, both of those situations are usually short-term (as in, I guess I can handle the occasional get-together with totally miserable family members or sit in a meeting an hour a week or so where highly immature and rude co-workers think it's okay to make jokes about a rather structured colleague water boarding peers for stepping out of a meeting), and we all have our crosses to bear.

My ex-husband seems to enjoy being a cruel and emotionally manipulative force in my daughter's life, though. It is utterly unnecessary, and I will never understand why he (and others like him) can't just accept the terrible damage that they've done to others and walk the hell away. Reopening the wounds over and over again, for six years now, just drives home the fact of your douchebaggedness over and over...

He's playing this "I've found God" game lately, so I'd like to put this into language that goes along with that: a true and just God will make you burn in hell for eternity. No matter how many Facebook posts you make about the greatness of God and how amazing life is since you've found Him, I'm pretty sure that He hears actions louder than words, so really you should be quaking with fear if your religious claims are true. Douchebag.

My children are the most important thing in the world to me, and I'm especially protective of my middle daughter, Ari, because of the emotional torture she's had to endure (and the physical torture she's had to observe) at the hands of her biological father. Nobody needs to hear the saga beyond the fact that court paperwork is explicit that he is not allowed to be alone with her because of his "issues". That, I assume, speaks volumes.

If you aren't equipped to be a parent, if your presence is going to damage your child, nobody would blame you for walking away. In some cases, this would be the greatest gift you could give your child.

If you make the choice not to do this, however, then there is an implied expectation that you will do your best to make up for six years' worth of cruelty and mind games. 

One very small way to do this would be to answer the phone when your daughter calls (at the time you've requested, on the number you've requested) on her birthday. Seriously, picking up the phone and saying, "Happy birthday" is a very simple thing to do; it's a seemingly small gesture that nonetheless shows a degree of care, no matter how small.

Yet you couldn't be bothered.

And not because you were on a bender (which Ari understands because it's happened so many times) or were in jail/rehab/et cetera (been there, done that, many times, so she gets that as well).

Even though Ari primarily hates you due directly to your own actions six years ago and your constant emotional manipulation in the years since, there is still a part of her that hopes. Your daughter has a beautiful and giving heart, something you will never understand, and so she still wants you to answer the phone when she calls.

I am not going to tell her that you didn't answer the phone because you were too busy with your girlfriend's grandson that you somehow have custody of (you aren't allowed to see your own child unsupervised, yet you are allowed to raise a baby...what a sick world).

I would never show her this post your girlfriend made last night:

This was Ari's birthday:

She had a wonderful day, and she was surrounded by people that loved her--aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, sisters--but you taking twelve seconds to answer the phone and say happy birthday (or call back, or text, or whatever) could have been a positive addition to the day.

Instead, you chose to reinforce what a loser you are.

Why?

What You Leave Out is as Important as What You Put In

A number of people have asked me why I almost never blog about Henry.  People I know in real life, the blogosphere, and through Facebook and Twitter will say, "You never write about him."

So I guess I should ...

Or, at least, I should write about why I don't write about him.

Henry is my fiance.  He has fantastic taste in rings, right? (The question was asked and accepted back in September ... I'm pretty sure I didn't mention it on here and, if I did, it was peripheral)

And we've set a wedding date, have a location, are working on a guest list, arranged the JP, chosen the bridal party, and so on.  Really exciting stuff, but not anything I feel like I need to blog about.

Why?  Because ... well, it's just part of the happy, calm, non-drama that my life consists of now.

The most important thing, of course, is this ...

Okay, here's the thing ... I have absolutely no respect for people who change who they are based on the person they happen to be in a relationship with.  None.  I think it's sick and twisted and warped.

That being said, I have changed a lot outwardly since I started dating Henry ... but it's more that I have found the strength to believe in who I've always been, to face my fears, to stop taking myself too seriously.  The hidden pieces inside myself, the shards of my soul that had heard, "You're not worth anything, you're not good enough, you're not smart enough, I'll take care of it because you'd just screw it up if you tried" for so very long, have joined together and allowed me to become who I always was.

If that makes any sense at all ...

The most obvious example I can think of is that I've learned how to tackle fears I've faced for most of my life.  I got on an airplane in August (with a lot of Valium, yes, but I got on an airplane) and flew to Baltimore to visit my sister when she needed me.  As recently as a year before, I would have taken a train or driven.  If someone I love needs me, I have always been willing to be there, but it wouldn't have been on an airplane, a fear I've had forever.

And it's not like Henry went with me on the plane, which I mention because some people seem to be equate spending 24/7 with your partner as a positive and healthy thing, and the only way to give and receive "love" and "support"--a concept I disagree with as Henry's love and support is present even when he's not physically with me, which I suppose emphasizes its enormity and strength.  He did drop me off and pick me up at the airport (in fact, we had a fight when he picked me up because the flight was really turbulent and he was late and I just wanted to be home, so I was snappy with him), but that's it.

And I should mention that the very fact that we "fight" is kind of refreshing.

I can remember how proud I was, how sure that it was a sign of perfection, that my ex-husband and I never fought.  I didn't realize back then that two people will never agree on everything 100% of the time, that I was either being indulged like a child or pretty much brainwashed into having my mind changed so my opinions were no longer my own, that I trusted him to do everything because the impression was given over and over again that I was incompetent and incapable of doing anything on my own.  The irony, of course, is that the exact opposite was the real truth, that he was the one unable to stand up and get his hands dirty and do what needed to be done, instead choosing to crawl into a wine bottle.

I was the one with the strength.

It's funny, my ex continues to find women that pretty much want someone to "take care of them", to tell them what to do and how to live.  Stephen King wrote a short story called "I Know What You Need" available in the anthology Night Shift, and it gives me the shivers when I read it now.  I married a mask; that he seemed so interested in what I was, that he "took care of" things when I was afraid to, that he seemed to know exactly what my needs were ... my God, it's so pathological looking back now.

I mention that because what Henry and I have is pretty much the polar opposite.

Because we are both high school English teachers, many of our interests and experiences are a natural match.  We both love books, although our tastes dovetail at times; we have a longstanding debate, in fact, over Tolkien (I think Tolkien is completely overrated, while Henry thinks he set the stage for pretty much every fantasy writer ever ... I'm pretty sure that came long before J.R.R.).  Henry loves comic books and graphic novels, while I think they're pretty dumb; sometimes he'll reference an epic like Neil Gaiman's Sandman in terms of what I consider "real" literature, and I'll roll my eyes.  He does the same when I elevate Stephen King to golden statue status (although he enjoys King, too).  We disagree.  We talk.  We think.  We learn.  We grow.  It's freaking amazing.   

Henry knows pretty much everything in the world about the history of rock music.  His knowledge is fierce, and his collection of various shows, purchased music, and memorabilia is ridiculously extensive.  My eyes glaze over sometimes when he starts talking about this or that bootleg and how "Hallelujah" has been covered 239 times and how such-and-such a guitarist is so coked up in a YouTube video that his nose is bleeding, and so on, but that's okay.  I enjoy Henry's passion and little-boy excitement ("REM is releasing 25th anniversary CDs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"), and I love how it's okay that I don't know what he's talking about half the time.  That he is so willing to share of himself with absolutely no reservation is just ... well, refreshing.  And extremely endearing.

And there is no perfection ... which is, of course, perfect.  I can be a moody and difficult person.  Henry gets that ... he laughs at me and makes me laugh at myself.  Or he knows to give me ten minutes to get over myself.  Or he'll call me on it, which I need sometimes.  Or he'll give me a reason (not an excuse or a lie, but a reason).  We are doing Weight Watchers, and today is our weigh-in day.  He lost 4 pounds, I gained 2 ... as I was about to completely melt down, he pointed out that I'm taking prednisone and an antibiotic so am retaining water (which reminded me that it's that time of the month where fluid retention is at its peak as well), so instead of getting depressed and eating a couple of doughnuts and a bag of Cheetos since "it doesn't matter anyway", I'm good.

Probably my biggest pet peeve is when people say things wrong.  For example, I want to scream when someone says "supposably" instead of "supposedly" ... and I hear it all the time.  Not from Henry--that would probably have been a deal-breaker--but he does say "all of THE sudden" instead of "all of a sudden", which is also fairly high up on my irritation list.  He argues that either one is correct, but he's totally wrong on that even if he doesn't want to admit it (based on my research, "all of THE sudden" became acceptable because so many people said "all of A sudden" wrong ... so using that logic, maybe everyone should start saying "supposably" and it'll become acceptable under the either/or-due-to-ignorance clause).  So even though it drives me crazy that he says it wrong, I kind of like it at the same time because he has the balls to stand up for himself; he is not going to change who he is just because the way he says something irritates the hell out of me.

Perhaps the coolest thing about Henry, though, is his modesty.  He is freaking brilliant, but there is no in-your-face about it (he was a National Merit Scholar, an impressive achievement that he forgot all about until finding the 20+ year old newspaper clipping while cleaning his basement).  He does not pretend (nor feel the need) to be the best at anything, instead enjoying life as it comes.  You find out about his many and varied life accomplishments piecemeal, usually with a self-deprecating story (Henry did not pass the English Language Arts Praxis II the first time he took it because he had no idea what the source material for the essay was ... the second time he took it, the question was one of his areas of expertise, so he totally nailed it and got an award for achieving one of the top scores in the nation, which I just found out about a couple of weeks ago--and I should mention that my ex got the same award for the mathematics Praxis II, but he made sure it went on his resume and that everyone knew about it).

Anyway, the bottom line is that I don't write about Henry and our relationship very often is because I don't have to.  It just is.  The highs and lows (and there have been some pretty intense lows because sometimes life happens) just sort of fit into who I am and what I think ... I am exponentially enriched by having Henry in my life, but I am not fundamentally different.

Well, except for one thing ...

Public speaking is my greatest fear.  Presenting to parents at Open House nights used to be prefaced by copious vomiting because I was so nervous.  I almost chose not to get my Master's Degree after completing the coursework because of the presentation requirement (and I think I only received credit for that out of pity ... it was pretty bad).

The first day back to school after the holiday break, I gave a professional development presentation to the full faculty at my school on "Text-Based Discussions" in a student-centered classroom.  Even though it's an area of expertise for me, I was petrified ... didn't sleep the night before, spent some time with my head in a toilet shortly beforehand, the whole nine yards.  That being said, I did it.

And Henry?  He helped me organize my ideas, articulate my objectives in writing (written objectives are hard for me), and listened to me bitch and cry and totally freak out.

And then he helped me practice. 

Subtly Controlling

In case you've been living under a rock, Katie Holmes has filed for divorce from Tom Cruise.  I doubt many people are surprised, and I further question whether anyone really cares all that much.

Personally, I think she signed a five-year "I'll-stay-married-to-you-no-matter-how-crazy-you-are-because-I-don't-want-people-to-be-able-to-say-"I told you so!" clause and went just a little bit longer than that just so nobody would think that ... well, that there was such a clause in place.

But honestly, I don't care all that much about Tom Cruise or Katie Holmes.

What stood out to me is Cruise's constant need, since the early days of their courtship, to refer to Ms. Holmes as "Kate".  

This might seem silly and unimportant--it's entirely possible that it's both of those things--yet it got me thinking about the subtly controlling aspect of calling your significant other by a different name publicly, constantly, and frequently.

It reminded me of the times that many of my friends used to comment on how strange it was that my ex-husband (back before he was my ex-husband, way back to the days when he preferred me and the girls to Merlot or Chardonnay) called me "Katherine" (in fact, he still does).  Several of them inferred pretty strongly that it was subliminally controlling, and I can remember defending him (again, pre-alcoholism, he was a pretty good guy).

"He knows a lot of people named Katie, and he wants me to be special," I'd say.  (But it occurs to me now that he knew a lot of people named Katherine, too)

"It's an affectionate nickname," I'd say.  (But, really, what is affectionate about calling someone by a name that is otherwise only used in an official capacity--the DMV, say--or by my mother when she is mad at me?)

And so on.

With hindsight being what it is, I suspect that my friends were probably right.  

I don't think my ex-husband has called me "Katie" (which is what EVERYBODY calls me) since before we started dating.  Even when talking about me to friends and family, who always call me "Katie", he would say, "Katherine and I will bring the dessert" or "I'll see if Katherine wants to go to the lake this weekend" or whatever.  He didn't use it as a joke, either ... it was ALWAYS "Katherine".

And it's not like I'm famous or anything, either ;-)

So I wonder if Katie Holmes feels the same way about being called "Kate" by her soon-to-be-ex-husband, if she will feel relief when people are calling her by the name she chooses to use.

To be fair, I might be way off base here and everyone in her personal life calls her Kate, but it got me thinking ...

And when I get thinking, I try to share it with you, so you can weigh in and bring my thinking to a higher plateau. 

Honoring a Marriage That is Over

Nine years ago today, I got married.  I took marriage very seriously, and I certainly never intended for it to ever end.  As a child of divorce myself, it was vitally important to me that I make the commitment of marriage only if I was 100% sure.

Obviously, things didn't work out the way I'd intended.

Mental illness and alcoholism brought on by stress and long-suppressed memories changed the man that I married--and he was a good man--into an unrecognizable monster.

There are two people in every marriage, and there are two people that contribute to the destruction of one.  I have a boatload of faults, and I do not pretend to have been the perfect wife.  I wish that my ex-husband could have communicated his concerns to me before reaching for the bottle.  I wish that with all my heart, because we had a really good marriage for a very long time.

I will never be sorry that I was married to Pythagorus.  Ever. (And we had an extremely unpleasant phone conversation last night that falls under "bullying" and "verbal assault" as defined by my school and by pretty much anyone with a clear mind, so these words carry greater weight today, as far as I'm concerned, than they would have yesterday at this time)

The most obvious reason that I don't regret my marriage is obviously Belle, a magical, funny, beautiful, intelligent miracle of a child.

But there is a lot more.

The man I married had a wonderful sense of humor.  We spent hours laughing together, sharing stories from our days, discussing current events that crossed into bizarre territory, and finding entertainment everywhere we went.

He was unfailingly kind.  He would give the shirt off his back to a stranger, and I completely mean that.  I watched him, over the course of our marriage, offer assistance to human beings of every age and walk of life, and he did it without expecting anything in return.  I can't remember him ever raising his voice--much less his hand--to me for the lion's share of the years we dated and were married.

Pythagorus was a master at finding random adventures.  We would get into the car and just drive, talking the whole time, and ending up in many different and unexpected locations.  It's a rare person that can find excitement in the seemingly mundane, and Pythagorus was a genius at this.

Pythagorus unquestionably made me a better person.  I was at a very low point in my life when I met him, and his positive attitude and appreciation for things like sunsets on a mountain or flying a kite on a windy day dissipated the bitter, cynical attitude I had adopted toward life.  Many of the good parts of who I am today are because of the love, support, and patience that Pythagorus gave to me.

I do not trust easily, and there were things I never told Pythagorus about my past (in retrospect, I'm relieved, because he's turned into the kind of jerk that would find a way to use some of these things against me), but I did fully believe in him and completely trusted that he would always be there for me just as I intended to always be there for him.

My husband, for all intents and purposes, died several years ago.  It's only recently that I've fully realized that, and I still grieve for him.  I loved him very much, and I still miss him.

However, the man with Pythagorus' face today, the bitter and cynical and mistrustful liar that has taken over his body, is not that man.

Which makes it even worse.

When somebody that you love passes away, the pain is enormous.  Death is the ultimate closure, in a way, because you have to forge ahead with life and figure out a way to live without a loved one.  You can look back fondly, can visit a cemetery, can appreciate the difference someone made in your life and honor that person through words and deeds.

I lost my stepdad and my grandfather, both great men in terms of their families and of the larger world, within a few years of each other.  I loved them both very much, and I miss them every day.  Their legacies live on, though, through memories and stories shared at family events and, yes, through those of us they left behind.      

It is impossible to honor the Pythagorus that exists today.  There is nothing--not one single thing--noble or fine about him.

The fact that he was once a great man makes the cruelty of not being able to honor who he used to be even more difficult.  The face I once loved is still in the world, spitting out lies, bullying, manipulating, endangering the lives of other people, and thriving on mind games.

It makes it difficult to even mourn the man who was my husband, and that just breaks my heart.

But I can still honor our marriage, and so that is what I do today.   

Unsent

In 1998, Alanis Morissette released the album Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. It was no Jagged Little Pill, to say the least, but I was reminded of the song "Unsent" the other day. As the title suggests, it's a bunch of letters that she never sent. I never really got the concept ... I mean, if you want to send a letter to someone, just send the darn thing, right?

I understand very well now about wanting desperately to send a letter to someone yet knowing that it's not the right thing to do.

And I'm not going to be all, "You have a small penis and are crappy in bed and are an irresponsible, emotionally manipulative liar" because that would just be juvenile, plus it was not the state of mind in which I composed my "unsent letter" in my mind.

Anyway, here we go ...

Dear Rivershitter (that's an affectionate nickname),

I thought of you today for the first time in awhile. I don't miss you, exactly, but this made me realize how much less I laugh now. You were way deep inside my head, deeper than is healthy, but, man, was it great to have somebody around who found life to be as funny as I do.

Remember the crazy cashier that freaked the fuck out when we tried to give him a twenty and seven cents to pay for a $15.93 purchase so we'd get a five back instead of a bunch of ones and a handful of change (I'm off on my denominations and naturally off on my math, but I know you remember)?

Well, I met his twin brother the other night. Well, brother in spirit, anyway.

I'm at the gas station looking for Excedrin Migraine, and it's behind the counter with the girlie magazines and cigarettes and the freaking Sudafed (because we want no meth labs ... NO METH LABS). I say to the guy, "Could I get a pack of Excedrin Migraine, please?", and he reaches back and grabs a thing of Advil. "No, Excedrin Migraine," I repeat, and he comes up with Tylenol Cold and Flu this time.

I've got a pretty bad headache and just want to get rid of it, so I go around the counter and point at the Excedrin Migraine.

And the guy? He freaks the fuck out. He yells, "You can't come back here, ma'am! If you take one step closer, I'll have to press the button. I mean it ... my foot's on it!"

And I wished with all my heart for that one second that you were there with me, because we would have been peeing our pants we'd be laughing so hard. And, of course, we would have had so much fun just tormenting the guy (although there's little doubt in my mind that "the button" would have been pressed and there would have been police there, and that would not have been good).

Anyway, I backed up, put my hands up, and said, "Never mind, I'll go to Rite Aid," and thought of you for awhile and laughed a lot and got my Excedrin Migraine at the drugstore and wished for just a second that I could tell you that story or that you could have lived it ... it was one for the books, let me tell you.

The logical side of my brain says, "See, it's good you don't hang with him anymore because you would have ended up arrested ... or at the very least further emotionally damaged" ... but, God, I miss laughing sometimes.

:-) KL

Is Alcoholism "Recoverable"?

There are many wise people out there on the internet. In fact, there are many wise people who read this blog. Therefore, I want to throw this out there and get your input.

In your opinion, is alcoholism "recoverable"?

I know many functioning alcoholics. They are able to get up and go to work. They are able to love and support their families. Their alcoholism is a sickness, yes, and certainly has adverse impacts on many facets of their lives, but when push comes to shove it's between these people and their livers, not to sound cavalier or anything.

No, I'm talking about the don't go to work, don't pay the bills, get arrested for DWI twice in less than two weeks, be taken to the emergency room twice (TWICE!) with a blood alcohol level over .35, emotionally abusive, borderline physically abusive, lying, sneaky, irresponsible, not bathing regularly, continuing to drive when plastered, going to AA and claiming a week's sobriety when buying wine, having a session with a substance abuse counselor when under the influence, break the hearts of people who care about you alcoholics.

What do you think?

Communication Conundrums

I think the entire idea of communication is just fascinating. First, the fact that even tiny cells communicate (okay, they're little messages related to replicating, but still ...), wild animals, pets, all the way up to humans. Communication rocks.

It gets more complex when dealing with humans, of course; we're not just little cells sending out a sex signal (well, there are exceptions to every rule **cough** Paris Hilton). People have various means of communicating, and it's interesting to note the communication choices people go with.

I hate to talk on the telephone, for example (I'm sure I've said this before, but it bears repeating). I think AIM and Facebook are just the most amazing things--I can communicate via a computer in writing. I always sound far more intelligent when I'm writing than I do when I'm speaking. However, I know people that spend the greater part of their lives on the telephone. Then, of course, you get people like my daughter Addie that talks on the telephone, AIM, MySpace, and to the friend she has over all at the same time. I'd be so confused!!!!!!

The downside of communication between human beings, however, is undoubtedly the misunderstandings that crop up from time to time. I don't know about you, but if somebody says there's a "tone" in my voice that means I'm starting to get an attitude with them, it really bugs me. If there's a "tone" in my voice, it's usually because I just dumped a can of Coke in my lap while I was driving (you'd be surprised how often this happens ... I'm kind of a ridiculous klutz) or sped by a police officer going twenty over the speed limit.

I guess what I'm saying is that it's important to put things into perspective. If somebody sounds "off" on the phone, they might have a migraine, they might have an enormous amount of stress, they might have just received horrible news, they might be trying to do the dishes, and so on and so forth. If one of Addie's friends calls, for example (and this is an example that really doesn't happen since Addie has her own phone, but it's the closest example I can think of to what really happened, which is what set me off on this tangent), and asks to speak to her at ten or eleven when Addie has just gone to bed and I say, "Yeah, I'll see if I can get her up again" in probably not the most patient way, this has much to do with the fact that this phone call was the fourth in ten minutes, that I'm the person that has to wake Addie up and therefore suffer her wrath, and that my irritation isn't with the person that called but with the whole big picture.

Some people are so egocentric and narcissistic that they aren't able to see anyone's big picture beyond their own. The scope of their universe is solely on how everything impacts THEM. As far as they're concerned, if it's convenient for them, well then, hell, it had just better be convenient for everybody.

And God forbid you don't see things their way ... that's where the hard-core nastiness comes in.

Communication is at least a two-way street. That puts a lot of variables into the equation, and anyone that doesn't see that is at best short-sighted and at worst a selfish, spoiled, childish, ignorant moron.

Not that I'm talking about anyone specific, mind you ;)

Munchausen Syndrome

Rosie is a cranky, mentally controlling, manipulative old bird. She has spent many a year terrorizing her family and co-workers. She is too self-obsessed and mean to have any friends.

For a long time, Rosie has used a variety of either invented or exaggerated medical ailments to get attention. It seemed to be her only means of getting pity or any sort of attention that wasn't focused on, "Why are you such a difficult bitch?????????"

For the past six months, Rosie has had a legitimate medical beef. She's been going to a specialist in our area, but blatantly ignores the medical advice she is given because that might--gasp!--make her better, and then she'd lose any sort of power given to her by actually having a real problem. The doctors give medical orders, she ignores them, and then she gets to complain. Genius! Automatic attention!!!!!

Rosie's doctors wanted to admit her into the specialty hospital twenty minutes away from here earlier in the week. Rosie refused, instead going to the little country hospital right near her hometown up north. The little country hospital finally mandated her transfer to the specialty hospital since there's not much they can do for her. I'm sure she was driving them crazy, too.

Anyway, here she is. Pythagorus is down visiting her right now, so I'm sure she's in her glory. The problem is, the specialty hospital is very good. They'll get Rosie taken care of and back up to speed, discharging her more than likely in a matter of days.

And then she'll ignore what she's supposed to do and, once again, continue the cycle.

I do not understand Rosie. I never have, and I never will. Perhaps because I've experienced some fairly significant health issues myself (including a month-long hospitalization where I cried every day for the doctors to just let me go home), I cannot imagine bringing this upon yourself.

Does anyone know a person like Rosie? Can anyone relate to Rosie? Am I just being heartless here (there's a whole novel I'm leaving out, of course, since I'm trying to give Rosie a degree of anonymity)?

And, most importantly, what is the best way to handle Rosie at this point in time?