He Will Never Read This Anyway...

It's said that anger is an emotion that allows your mouth to speak without at first consulting your brain...and everyone knows you cannot retrieve words once they are spoken. Be very careful with your words, I've admonished you more than once. I always try to do the same. I always try to monitor my tone of voice; I try not to fall into the trap of being accusatory. I try to remain calm and be an active listener. I try to offer positive feedback before being critical. I try to say, "I feel this way..and I feel that way"...and not attack you with "You do this, and you do that!" I learned these skills at an early age, and still employ them the best I can.



Let me tell you something: I am the best audience you have ever had.



Over the past three years, I tirelessly dedicated myself to your endless complaints in regards to your much despised career path. "I sold myself short," you continue to explain to me as I do my best to sympathize and reassure you with encouragement despite how you feel about your own self. I allowed you to unload your frustrations with me and air your grievances. I simply desired to take away some of the unbearable weight; to help you bleed away some of your frustrations. I do this with the loving spirit of a wife who will always be your rock, your best friend and confidant.



I've told you countless times that life is far too short to spend it everyday in such dissatisfaction. I understand men, to a larger degree than you might believe. A man's identity is so closely entwined with his occupation it is nearly impossible to separate the two...I try to remind you of this fact, but my rationale never makes a ripple in the vast ocean of your discontent.



Your Grandfather is still very much alive in your mind. I will assert that his continued existence in your mind is akin to the point of pathology. You are obsessed with an old man,  a person who has passed over into the next plane well over a decade ago. I venture to say that I feel like I know the man personally, despite his death in 1991. In life, and even in death he is your hero, your idol, the symbol of contentment and protection from the complexities of this world. You worship a dead man, a man who's ashes remain in a nondescript urn sitting on your Grandmother's dresser.



And the stories! The anecdotes! To live so deeply in a past that will never return...I simply think it's insane that I know more about a dead man than you do about your own wife.



You allowed yourself to rely on the past, a dead past, one that was based on a dangerous concoction of promises simply impossible to see through to their fruition. You eagerly swallowed the boastful, prideful words of an inebriated old man as a tow-headed little boy who only worshipped this diminutive hero as a God-like being, and never saw him as a mere human, complete with faults and impossible, grandiose promises. Placing his memory on a pedestal doesn't even begin to describe the level of worship you maintained all these years. Your Grandfather sat in a Golden Throne in your consciousness. I knew all of this from the very beginning: after hearing you speak incessantly of the promises he made you...but alas, I am jaded enough to take everything you were promised by him with a grain of salt. It's shameful you never learned these lessons at an earlier age...and yet, on the other hand, I envied you your blind faith. I envied how you could nurture and protect such an idyllic, protracted fantasy well into your adulthood.



Then, one day, not so very long ago, I made a decision to free you from your illusions. I did this with the knowledge that you might hate me, resent me, and blame me for something that was already broken. I did it for the love of you. Because I wanted you to stop living in the Past; I wanted to force you to open your eyes and to understand the true reality that would serve to expose the fantasy which kept you hostage for your entire adult life.



"Kill the messenger." I knew you would try; I knew the backlash would be dire. I prepared myself for the inevitable fallout of your discovery, but I underestimated the toll this type of psychic damage would unleash on you.



I am a catalyst for change. It's my gift and also my curse. It's a gift because I often find myself in a position to actually have the power to awaken those who are sleeping and those who have been brainwashed. I force open the eyes of the ones who prefer the blindfold. It's a curse, because the Truth hurts and I am always resented for unveiling the pain that lay covered and dormant until I decide that the harm of living in a false reality far outweighs the freedom of understanding situations with a clarity most people are afraid to face...



Why did I do what I did? I did it out of LOVE. You called me a "snitch" and a "rat", amongst other abusive names. Like droplets of water, these rolled off my psyche. I understand what normal reactions are in times of such crisis. The truth was right in front of your face and you failed to recognize it. I never did anything to you that hadn't already been done to you in the guise of keeping the fantasy alive. You simply had no idea of what the reality truly was. In a family full of secrets and deep emotional scars, I knew my actions would prove to be a catalyst for change, whether you were ready for the changes or not. And I knew I faced uncertainty and possibly dire consequences for my efforts. But I did it out of LOVE.



So I did it. I blew the whistle. I held up the mirror; I held up the magnifying glass; I asked the right questions; I uncovered the Truth. I did it because I love you, and it was time to move on and past the fantasies you inadvertently imbedded into your consciousness and identity.It was time to become the man you wouldn't allow yourself to become. With tears streaming down your face, you said I ruined your family. I assure you, I did not. The only action I took was with the full intention of destroying the illusion you nursed so carefully throughout your adulthood and well into middle age. These illusions you kept so close to your heart stunted your growth into a healthy adult man. I ruined the mirage. I ripped apart the lies, the misconceptions, and false promises. I freed you. And you despised me for it.



I might have gone on and continued to listen to the falsehoods you maintained with what I can only describe as a desperate attempt to continue to feel a sense of security in a life that is by it's very nature is fraught with the same challenges all adults face on a day to day basis. I might have agreed to continue to shut my mouth and allow you to persist in your daily habits of using me as a soundboard, or as a mere receptacle to place your dissatisfaction on....But when I realized that my husband desperately needed the Truth in order to survive this thing we call "adulthood" I made my decision. And then one day, when the opportunity presented itself to me, I didn't hesitate to snatch it up and to begin the much needed demolition of these falsehoods.



I cannot take all the credit for this. Understand, that I seek the Truth, but your actions were the fire I needed to get moving. You lit the match, and as I saw it burning down to the quick, I knew the time had finally come. I could no longer allow you to live under the guise of an adult child continuously enabled by his elderly parents out of guilt and their own misguided love for you. Once, you told me, that your parents "Love you to Death." And so I decided to pull the plug on these behaviors. After all, part of my job as your beloved wife is to protect you, and to help you grow.



I realized long ago that your insults and emotional abuse you project onto me is a habit of yours whenever things aren't adhering to your ideal construct of reality. These painful moments started as isolated events early in our marriage and gradually reached a point to where I refused to accept them. It's a known fact that if a person emotionally abuses another consistently and for long enough, the abused party generally begins to accept these assaults on the Self as being a genuine assessment. When things don't go your way, your insults take my breath away and make me feel worthless. You told me I was a Cancer from the day you met me. That comment was one of the ugliest things anyone has ever said to me, and this, coming from my husband! Even though I gave up alcohol a year ago, you still insist on calling me a "dry drunk." I feel that you secretly want me to relapse so you can congratulate yourself on being correct.



You told me once that this is your modus operandi: It is far easier to make your partner hate you and leave on their own terms than to end the relationship on your own personal grounds. You shirk against the responsibility of being honest with your relationships in this way. With all the women you were involved with in your past, this is the escape route you default to. The thing is, my love, I refuse to play your game. You see, I pay close attention to you. I know how you operate.



Yet, still you blamed me for the destruction of something that was already destroyed and lost. You ran out the back door screaming of you loathing for me. Resolutely, I followed you out to the backyard, where I found you on the ground, crying for the heart that was ripped from your chest. I picked you up and we walked together into our home. I kissed your face. You said "Stop! Don't touch me!" through your tears and anguish. You told me you hated me, just to make sure I didn't hear you the first time.



And then I told you: "There is nothing you can say to me that will make me not love you. I know you don't hate me, because I know something about the human heart that you do not: Listen to me now. The opposite of Love is Indifference. And the opposite of Hate is Indifference. Right now, you are full of emotion. That is not indifference. I can accept your anger right now; but I will not be fooled into believing that you hate me. Go ahead, Love, be angry. But soon enough you will realize the true result of what you consider to be my betrayal. Because I didn't betray you at all. I showed you the Truth. And that is why you are heartbroken."



I left you then. I had to go to work. All day long you had to yourself to do as you pleased. I didn't want any part of that Pity Party.



But the scars of this event remain. I know that reparations take time and patience, which are two concepts I find challenging. I am certain that over time, you will thank me for my actions. I am certain that I opened a locked door for you in your psyche and pushed you through it, albeit forcefully and with intent. Your ability to see this clearly will take time, I know. But I'll be patient. Because I have deep love for you.



But I would be doing myself a disservice if I didn't address my own feelings, my own insecurities, my very own negative thoughts regarding this marriage that is still so young but has already been through so much adversity. You see, I started thinking. And my brain can be a poisonous place when I am left to draw my own conclusions. Based on my observations over the duration of our union, I began to realize that the indications that my inner life was never important to you. For example, you never inquired about my day, or my emotional well being. You never took an interest in my daily activities, and never asked me questions that made me feel interesting to you. I began writing again, to hone my craft, a talent that I was sure was gone forever due to lack of practice. Not once did you inquire about what I write about, or what I might be working on. You've made it abundantly clear to me that you don't give a fuck for me. I feel that you find my pursuits incredibly petty.  Perhaps it is merely a symptom of the self-absorption you carefully nursed throughout your adulthood....



Or maybe I just don't interest you....



....Which is totally strange to me, because if you would shut your mouth for longer than two seconds, and actively listen to me, you might find something you have been too self-involved to notice about me....



Even though it was you who rescued me from self-destruction a mere 3 years ago; I've grown stronger than you. And there is no shame in that...One hand washes the other.



And now I will confess my greatest disappointment:  I've always been number two. Maybe even number three or even four...I only know how I feel inside...and frankly, my love, I feel inconsequential quite a bit more often than I'd like to admit.