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Part 3: More Tales from Kali-ville

More Tales from Kali-ville: Chapter 4

By "Tex," her angry, abused ex-husband

If you haven't already read the first installments, go here first!

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. - Elie Wiesel

When Tex began writing his story, somehow it evolved that my commentary would come at the very end.  This is the very end.  To get the most from this account, first read this  chapter. Then read this chapter with Dr. Irene's devil advocate comments. Will your sentiments or point of view change? You be the judge. Dr. Irene

December 21, 1999

             One of the hardest parts of writing my story is in knowing where to begin any given chapter.  There’s so much raw material to choose from.

             So, why not start with one of the more recent examples of insanity (hers and mine).

             First, some background on this year:  Kali has a boyfriend; a long-distance relationship.  When he’s in town, he stays at her house…just down the hall from our son, actually.  (This of course, directly contradicts Kali’s earlier demands that I not have people I am romantically involved with stay at my house when my son is there.  According to Kali, it confuses a kid, and it’s not right to keep bringing people in and out of his life.  But, as so often is the case with Kali, it’s different when she does it.)   Also, several times, Kali has gone out of town for the weekend to visit her boyfriend, or go on trips with him.  Once, it was for a week, inclusive of my birthday, and that, of course, was no big deal. (Let us ponder just for a moment what her friends would have said had I scheduled a weeklong trip with a girlfriend that coincided with Kali’s birthday.)   Additionally, about a month ago, Kali went out-of-town to Washington DC.  A friend of hers was in a Senate hearing, and Kali wanted to be supportive of her.  I had about three days notice to plan to care for our son before Kali jetted off for what was, in essence, a social trip that lasted two and a half days - in the middle of the week. 

             A consequence of all of these trips was that I had our son during those times.  This presents an interesting challenge for me.  I do not wish to treat my son like a burden…like some onerous sack of flour that gets passed back and forth between the two of us.  At the same time…we do split the time with him, and I have had him on more than a few prime adult recreational times (those weekends when Kali was frolicking with the boyfriend, for example, or during my birthday).  Nor do I want to pawn my son off on babysitters so I can attend to a social life in the evening:  he spends enough time without me.  

            I asked Kali to take our son one full weekend this month, so I could attend two office Christmas parties.  I scheduled this with her at least a month in advance.  Unexpectedly, I was asked by my employers to fly out-of-town on a Friday and Saturday.   I told Kali about this on Tuesday, as soon as I knew.

             Devoted readers of these pages know where this is going.  First, Kali complained about the lack of notice she was given regarding my work weekend.  (Apparently, there is no comparison between my three days notice regarding work-related travel, and her three days notice about her social trip to Washington DC).  Then, she mentioned that having our son on both Friday and Saturday was an awful lot. 

             I didn’t reply.  Kali told me she wanted me to “make a day” for herself, because she needed to get some things done for Christmas.  Could hire a baby sitter, just like she does, she told me.   She needed a day to take care of things for Christmas. 

            I took a deep breath and tried hard not to respond as she left.   I called my sponsor, who wisely suggested that I make other arrangements.   So I did.   I called Kali’s sister, and made arrangements for my son to stay with them the following Friday.  Let’s keep in mind, I did precisely what Kali asked me to do.  I made a day for her to get something done for Christmas.

             The next morning, dropping off some of our son’s things, Kali wanted to talk to me.  She didn’t want me to do what I did.  It wasn’t appropriate.

                        What?”

         It turns out that Kali wanted Saturday night free.   Fighting my rapidly growing annoyance, I explained that I did exactly what she had asked of me. She had said nothing about Saturday night.  Kali, offended, tells me that she doesn’t have to explain or justify herself to me.   Once more, I try to speak to the facts, and explain that I only did what she said she wanted me to.  Kali then snarled, “You’re interfering in my life, you’re just interfering, I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing on Saturday night!”

             I think it was that particular lie which enraged me the most.  The accusation that I was “interfering” in her life! I had never asked a thing about what she was doing! That, plus the fact that - one more time – when I did precisely what Kali asked, she found reason to bitch and complain, and threw in an irrational accusation to boot. 

            I was not pleased.  Even writing about it, I feel my anger and rage rising.  But, what else can I expect?  Kali is Kali, and this is what she does.  The facts, either about what she has said or what she had done, the facts are irrelevant to her own need to make me wrong. To make me the Great Satan.  

             It’s easy to write about them, about the drunks or druggies or the verbally and emotionally abusive people.  We have their wretched behavior at which to point.   But, what about me?  What about me?  

            That’s harder.  To figure out how I volunteered to be part of this insanity.   And even more difficult, is how to acknowledge that I stayed with this abusive woman without blaming or condemning myself. 

             That answer is not easy.  Just as there isn’t an easy answer for why Kali is the way she is.  For me, freedom will come from not repeating the same mistakes again.  This means I have to be honest about my own motives.

            Part of it was my own loneliness, I must admit.   I had this idea of marriage that was based on the concept of reciprocity. Or, to put it in more basic terms, I figured the marriage would be like it was when I was a kid.  Maybe it was this way for you, too:  You’ve got a best buddy, the one you just love to hang out with.  You go over to his/her house.  Whoa, bummer, they’ve got to mow the lawn.  Okay, so you pitch in and do it together.  While they’re mowing, you rake up the leaves or edge the lawn or whatever else is required…because the sooner the chores are done, the sooner you can both go play.   And, along the same lines, I had this idea of “Sometimes we do what I want, sometimes we do what you want.”  Taking turns, that simple concept.  I wanted that in my life, and Kali talked as if that was what she believed as well.

 But I married her, anyway.  The marriage alone calls into question any perceived intelligence that people ascribe to me.  One of the reasons I did not call off the marriage, even after it was amply clear that my feelings had no place in the relationship: fear of what people would say. I’d been married once before for a short time when I was in my early twenties.  (Just as an aside, what people would say is a minor inconvenience compared to the raging wreckage of a messed up marriage).

  Kali was a bully.  Admittedly, I let her be a bully, for a while.  I realize that when I was a kid, I never stood up to the bullies in my life  , and I have since judged myself harshly because of that.   With Kali,  on some level, I decided I was not going to run from another bully, I was going to stand up and fight back.   So one reason I stayed was to fight against her bullying.   Which, in one way, I think was good. 

 But another reason, which was not good, and did not serve me, was this: At one point, during one of her diatribes about my failings, something inside me shifted.  The Terminator woke up.  Something in my mind sat up, complete with metal skull-face and red-glowing eyes.  It was a part of me, which I’d never realized I had before - but looking back - I now see “it” perfectly clearly.  It was the part of me that would never forget, would never forgive, and would never quit.  It was a part of me that said, “This b**ch will not win.”  She could tell me I was not as good as her friends, or her friends’ husbands.  She could compare me to her old boyfriends.  She could ignore my desires, she could insult and belittle me, but she could not tell me I was never going to make it as a writer.  She could denigrate my dreams.  She was not going to win! 

 That was one big reason I stayed so long.  To prove that miserable b**ch wrong.  And I did.  I did have some success as a writer.  But was it a victory?  I stayed five years…building up five years of anger and resentment.  We had a son.  Our son is beautiful and innocent.  He’s one of the reasons I left: I was so angry at Kali that our marriage was making me into a terrible, short-tempered father.  My son does not deserve to pay for my stupidity in marrying his mother. 

 Because I was unwilling accept the reality of who Kali was, I rented a little corner of Hell for a while.  Ironically enough, there were some benefits from the tour.  I have my son, whom I love more than anything in the world. I learned I wasn’t an alcoholic.  And I learned that nothing was going to keep me from being a writer. 

But the most important lesson was that there are some fights and games not worth winning, much less engaging in.

 

Lately, I’ve been getting in touch with how much I, frankly, hate Kali.  I hate her for using me.   It’s pretty clear she married me only to have a child.  I doubt it was conscious on her part, I just don’t think she was honest about how much she wanted a baby.  She wasn’t honest with herself, nor was she honest with me. It seems to me that if Kali loved me for me, rather than for my sperm-production capabilities, then she wouldn’t have decided after the wedding that everything about me (from my goddamned shoes up) was wrong. 

 I hate her lies, the way she twists what I’ve said (or never said) to portray me as something I am not.  I hate how she has one face for the world, and another for me.

 I’ve had to give up a lot of crazy expectations of my own, too.  Like wanting her to apologize for: all of it.  For marrying me almost solely because she wanted to have a baby.  It’s crazy for me to expect her to apologize. She’d have to be honest with herself, she’d have to take a really good look at herself - and that’s not going to happen.   She won’t even apologize for the times she falsely accuses me of actions or statements I’ve never made.  

 C.S. Lewis’ line “Don’t pray for justice, pray for mercy” keeps coming to mind, even though I’m not sure I understand it (or more accurately, that I want to understand it). I have to give up my desire for justice, my desire that Kali should be punished for what she did to me. A therapist once told me that Kali and I couldn’t keep on hurting each other the way we were.  I’m not thrilled about that characterization. Kali took actions, she made choices of what she would say and how she would treat me.  True, in my more reactive moments, I wasn’t at my best.  My problem with Kali was her treatment of me.   Kali’s problem with Tex was my very existence (my dreams, my hopes, my past, etc.).  Which leads to my other current difficulty:  How do I forgive someone who made those kinds of choices?

Maybe in the spirit of the 12 steps, I have to give everything up.  Give up my desire (childish, no doubt) for someone to say, “Kali, you were wrong and cruel and unjust.”  Quit hoping for the cosmic referee to blow Her whistle and give Kali a penalty.  Quit hoping for her to apologize.   Give up wanting her to be treated by her boyfriend the same way she treated me. 

Only two things keep me in this City, near my son:  First, I love my son more than I hate his evil mother.  Second, I don’t want to be a father who abandons his child.  

I don’t know how to let it go.  Not only my anger at the betrayal and emotional abandonment and the undeserved attacks, but my grief over the family and marriage I “should” have had.  Let’s not forget my anger at her irrationality and lies in the present as well. 

 My hatred for her is poisonous, corrosive, and is hurting only me (and possibly my son a little).   I don’t run her down in front of him.  I dread the day he asks why we’re not married. What do I tell him that’s not hurtful, yet is the truth?   

“The good news is:  There is a way out of Hell."

“The bad news is:  You have to get up, and walk out on your own two feet.”      Tex

 Go to Dr. Irene's Devil's Advocate comments

  

Courtesy of Dr. Irene Matiatos and "Tex", Copyrightę 1999. The material on this website may be distributed freely for non-commercial or educational purposes provided that author credit is given. For commercial distribution ,please contact the authors at Doc@drirene.com