Personal Journal

Jailbreak of my Anger

Since around 1 o’clock, I’ve been wanting to pick a fight with Jean. It didn’t happen for 5 hours, and when it did, it didn’t make me feel like I wanted it to.
I don’t know why, but godamn that woman can get under my skin like no other human being ever has. And at this point in my life, I’m not holding in emotions too much. I let it loose, threw a pillow, didn’t really shout. Just said, “You go upstairs, and I’ll stay down, or vice versa.” But really, I needed to get out of the house.
Yeah, I regret it. I regret it. I meant it at the time, but it was wrong, and what’s worse is that I knew I was armed and I didn’t do anything about it. I guess I tried to set things aside, took a walk with her and talked, was normal. Then I cooked for us, and it’s when we got to talking about cooking that my anger seized its little window and pounced.
So where is it all coming from?
I know part of it today was that it was bill-day. I got paid, I promptly handed over more than my paycheck on bills and the mortgage. And she doesn’t want to be bothered with the details, and as long as that continues, I’m gonna continue to get upset about that.
And cooking.
This week, I’ve … oh hell, the details don’t matter, because even if I write them down, no one who reads this will be able to get Jean’s side of things. She’s got her perspective, too, I know.
She’s unhelpful, you see. She causes me to expend more energy on things that bring me no real joy or sense of peace. Housecleaning (she’s two grades shy of filthy). Cooking (she doesn’t, and doesn’t make amends by cleaning up afterward). Yeah, if you’re a mother, I know, you’re used to this shit.
Honest question (and this whole entry is one you’re welcome to e-mail me about, because feedback and personal anecdotes from others may help me through this):
How do you handle people who make more work for you and express no gratitude, no remorse, and no real interest at changing (lip service only).

Goddamn, I’m so fucking tired of the mess she makes.
I’m going to Baltimore for two months here in a bit. I wonder – will I be happier? Will I be more at peace in a place that’s not my home, if it means that I’m in solitude, in control of everything that happens within my personal space…

Do I want to end this thing with Jean?
What’s holding back a decision is that I don’t want to be wasteful of something that does have potential – I don’t want to ignore that potential.
Yes, yes, my conscience is perfectly clear at this moment:
I was gunning for trouble, and I found an opportunity to make it. That’s wrong, and something for which you should (MUST, it says) apologize. And I don’t want to apologize, dammit. I want to be wrong and say fuck it. I’m entitled to choose wrong.
Yes, I am, but it’s not right, and so long as YOU choose wrong, you’re not going to get any feeling of peace from it, and if you’re not at peace, why bother?
Right. Got me there.

Peeling it back, I’m angry at Jean, I have real reasons to be. I’m going broke for her while she waits for her damn ex to sell that house so she can pay me back 4 K and so we can refinance the house. There are a lot of little things that I don’t sweat, but fucking christ, being owed 4 K, being near insolvent because I have this financial burden of the credit card (most of which is my fault, but the critical straws are those 4K I finance for her). And she don’t give a shit. It’s a little thing to her, and she doesn’t concern herself with my goddamn money.
Well I do, and I must.
I don’t enjoy my fiscal responsibilities, not a whit, and I know if I’d write off Jean and the house, there’d be a payoff financially, and god knows, I’m tempted.
But we get along at times.
And yeah, I’m not sure it’s a great relationship. I’m not sure it’s just not “average” and some “don’t-quit” stoicism gene is firing off inside my soul. And I’m TIRED!
I have trouble with fantasy. What my life could be. A thousand images flitter through, I could live in England, I could move to Thule Greenland for work and stay two years and come back and payoff my house. I could move to Mississippi. I could move to Boulder… Don’t distract me with that shit. I’m not afraid to start anew, I have just chosen to take half measures, and try to build on them, and it’s more fucking trouble than it’s worth right now, but I stick at it.
Fucking romanophile that I am, I’m finding that quote in my head, the ability to put off gratification today for something larger in the future is the mark of true intelligence, something like that.
It’s 7 o’clock, and I’m in the office, writing.
Confused. Listening to music. Needing so badly to maintain – to create a place for my own goddamn mind to be at peace that this is the only place for me to go. Yeah, Starbucks was an option, but I have 3 bucks to my name right now, and it’s faster to type my thoughts than write them.

I’m angry at her. I’m angry at her, that’s the reality, and I deal with it most days be suppression. Then something happens, and it works itself up a few layers, and it makes pacts with the people in my head in the background, and they conspire to let it out. I knew what was going on. I knew they were up to something, just wasn’t thinking it through, because like them, I wanted it to let loose.

Righteous anger.
I don’t have an anger management problem, or at least, if I do, it’s new in my life. I threw a pillow, I was terse, hostile…
Because I think I’m justified. Justice has her anger, Dr. Wren said. It just wanted out, it just wanted to make a scene. That’s not the way to resolve this. But I don’t know the proper way. We talk about money, she goes into her tirades, “what can she do to force her ex to do anything”. Each of us is caught in a position where we feel we’re helpless. Her helplessness, though, it doesn’t affect HER, like it does me. I’m paying for this. I’m asking her for fucking money, and it’s got to end.

Words don’t defy me frequently, but I am so frustrated with this situation that it makes my goddamn testicles hurt when I think about it. That’s the best I can do to explain. My teeth and fists can clinch, and I could scream out at the top of my lungs until blue lightning shot from my eyesockets. And when it would be all over, I would still be here, exhausted of every drop of strength, and having to find a way to face tomorrow. And she wouldn’t want to hear a goddamn thing about it. What can she do, she’d say.

You could start by getting the fuck out of my sight, that might help me. It might not, though. I might just end up feeling badly about what I’ve done, the way I do tonight.
It’s not right to hurt people if you can avoid it. With my wife, I had to. I don’t have to with Jean, even if we do end up splitting.
So, like any impotent mortal, I pray. I just pray. I pray for patience and for a resolution, whatever it may be. I have faith that I will endure and find a way to prosper, whatever may come to pass.

When I go back, I have to apologize to her for being angry, but I’m not going to explain anything. She has a right to an apology. She doesn’t have a right into my thoughts.

Now, granted, she’ll be angry at me, and I’ll have to deal with that. I’m better at forgiveness than she, and that’s something I can use to my advantage, at least for my own psychological arsenal and armor. Apologize I must, for her, and for me…

It is never too late to be what you might have been. -- George Eliot
Courage to start and willingness to keep everlasting at it are the requisites for success. -- Alonzo Newton Benn