Hell Hath No Fury

17/08/24

Having spent months, back at the start of this breakup, wanting the rage to kick in, I’m now at the stage where I’d like it to stop popping up.  Never happy, eh?

As long as thoughts of, or interactions with, EH can trigger any form of emotion bigger than, “Meh“, I’m still emotionally invested. I’m clearly still emotionally invested, because right now I’m so furious I could happily rip off his arms and beat his brains out with them.  

I should probably put some context to this whole situation: through work he has access to insanely reduced-price grocery items, which he now and again drops off here. I asked him if there was any butter on the go (have you seen the bloody price of it?!), and he brought some over.

Up until relatively recently these ‘drop offs’ have been a tiny bit pleasing because it provided an excuse for contact.  I’m happy to say, the reasoning behind those excuses has altered and become a little healthier with the passage of time.  Still not healthy enough though.   

Anyway, as soon as it was arranged for him to bring the stuff, a little niggle that I didn’t really want him here started up; I hoped he’d do it early enough that I’d not be home from work and I’d just find them left in the prearranged ‘safe place’.  

Before he actually arrived with the stuff today, I knew I wouldn’t be asking for or accepting anything from him in that way again. It was identical to the feeling I had, when I knew prior to the event, that the hairdresser lift which was the last, would be the last.

So, I already knew I didn’t want or need his help anymore; the rage resulting from the subsequent texts just gave me the impetus to padlock the switch into the off position.  

He came in and had a coffee; our conversation was civil enough, if somewhat stiff and with an unacknowledged undercurrent. I was glad he didn’t stay long.

Just as he was leaving, he suggested that his sister’s partner, who works at the same place as him, and lives pretty close by, could drop grocery items off for me so I could get them more frequently.  

I utterly failed to hide my shock and horror at this suggestion, blurting out “God, no! They’re nothing to do with me – they didn’t accept me when we were together, why would I want them in my life now?”

His face darkened and something I couldn’t quite read flashed across it.

We then politely said goodbye and off he went.  

After thinking about it for some time, I felt there was room for improvement in the way I’d reacted. Not in terms of him or his feelings or anything like that; I mean with regard to how proud (or not) I feel of the way I expressed myself, the self-control (or not) I had exercised when I spoke.  

So, strictly for my own benefit, I sent a text, apologising at the harshness of my response to his suggestion, but letting him know that his suggestion was astounding to me, particularly given how comprehensively he’s cut my family out.

Thus began the chain of texts that led to the single sentence, which shook the ground, and caused the volcano of pure rage to erupt in me  

It’s an insanely trivial (in the scheme of things), and stupid thing that set me off.  

I essentially invited him to apologise to me (it wasn’t that blunt, and it wasn’t about anything specific), which he lukewarmly did.   

Am I being churlish with the ‘lukewarm’? Don’t know, don’t care.  

I was consciously poking at him with the invitation rather than actually needing any apology, so I feel fairly dispassionate about that lukewarmness; it causes no pain. I merely observe that it wasn’t an apology that was deep, heartfelt, or full of understanding of his own behaviours. It did acknowledge he’d been a twat, so credit where it’s due, he managed to tell the truth about himself, even if he doesn’t really believe it.  

He went on to say it hadn’t been all bad and listed things he’d ‘gained’ from being with me, which boiled down to him saying thanks for being a teacher and substitute mother. Not spectacularly flattering, but I was just a bit cross at this point, still able to piss-take in my responses, still not at the rage yet.   

I was also able to have a private moment of wry amusement that at least he could come up with some good things.

I genuinely can’t find a single good memory that isn’t tinged, shadowed or contaminated with some level of anxiety, distress, pain, fear, self-loathing, or insecurity.

It was never safe enough for me to be able to just enjoy, therefore I currently find myself unable to agree with his assertion that it wasn’t all bad.

I didn’t tell him any of that.  

Then he indicated that he expects me to be mean and bitchy to him when we interact, so, ya, know, to him it’s no big deal that I was a bitch earlier, when I reacted to his suggestion to have groceries dropped off for me.   

Now the rumbling of tectonic plates shifting inside me is starting to be felt.  

He stated that he behaved like a shit and didn’t help the marriage at all. Yup, nothing to add.  

Then it came, the sentence that caused the blow up:  

“I needed more, that’s all”  

Just writing it out is making me rage all over again.  

I was very self restrained and didn’t let him know I was furious; he doesn’t get given my power like that anymore. But fuck me!!!!!  

He needed more? What the actual fuck? Like I fucking didn’t?

Did I seem like the picture of contentment when I was pleading for him to cuddle me, hold my hand, let me in, be close?

Selfish waste of skin and air. Like he wasn’t what stood in the way of ‘more’.  

Should have given more shouldn’t you, you self-obsessed prick.   

How fucking dare he imply that it was due to something I was lacking that the marriage failed.  The absolute fucking cunt. I will not take all the blame, whether or not he accepts his share.   

I’m damned if I’m going to internalise that shit anymore.  Carry your own can you narcissistic twat.  

…Breathe…  

I’m far from saying I played no part in creating the difficulties of the marriage, but by his own multiple earlier admissions, he played no part in trying to mend it.  And then has the fucking cheek to tell me he ‘just needed more’.  

Wow! My rage at those words is still unabated.  

I’ve stepped away for a while, made a brew, phoned Lena, taken some deep breaths… still raging!  

Lena questioned, as have several others, why I continue to have interactions of this type with him. I think I’ve been less than successful in explaining this, and I doubt my capacity to do better here but I shall try.   

The things he says and does are still following the same patterns as when we were together, less overtly hostile, but generally unchanged. I am changing though, seeing things differently and recognising unhealthy behaviours both in myself and in him.  

Now that I’m not expending all my energy on what’s going on for him, and am able (mostly) to be a step removed during our text conversations, I’m finding this to be incredibly good practice for me in recognising how all of this has worked – the manipulations, the guilt tripping, the blame shifting.

In text world I get to stop, think, recognise what may be rising in me, think some more, yell swear words and spew hatefulness into the pillow, stop, let it go, and then respond, very differently to the appeasing, ‘approve of me’ way I once would have done.

I’m changing those dance steps – he can do his same staid, boring, old Medieval-style promenade, I’m learning to jitterbug. So that’s one reason.  

Another is that I’m listening to my gut and that currently tells me the time’s not right for total cut off. As with all other healing things so far, when the time is right, I’ll be able to snip that thread.

It’s a bit like clearing the house of associations of him – it happens in seemingly illogical stages – what was ok, suddenly isn’t and it has to go.  I’ll get to the total removal of him from my life; it’s about allowing the steps to happen when they’re right and I’m ready.  

The final reason is plain and simple, I’m still in a slightly petty/spiteful stage of this breakup.

You know that thing about success being the best form of revenge? And that revenge is a dish best served cold? Well, if he’s been cut out completely, I can’t send him messages and pictures, he can’t see me acing life.

When I’m travelling the world, fitter and healthier than I was even 20 years ago (when I had a desk job, still smoked, and enjoyed far too many afternoon-to-evening boozy lunches), making new friends, having meaningful relationships… I can’t serve up that lovely cold revenge pie if he’s not at the table.  

I know, I know; this is further evidence of my continued emotional investment, and I’d genuinely much prefer to be at the “Meh” stage, which is obviously (surely it is obvious?) what I’m aiming at, and where I will eventually find myself.    

As things stand, I’m going to allow myself some passive aggressive text responses and the odd malicious daydream; I don’t think it’s at all unreasonable, albeit not desirable as a permanent state.  

And the rage has eased.  A little.

TLDR: I was married to a fuckwit who can still enrage me, but I’m moving towards dispassion. 

MUSIC OF THE DAY: Break Stuff – Limp Bizkit

JP