Echoes

Anger hurts. Getting mad means someone will be getting even. Some things never change.



I should explain... but where to begin? One of my favorite songs runs through my mind at this point: "Where to begin/Let's start at the end/This black and white photo/Don't capture the skin" (Carbon Leaf, "The War Was in Color") So, I guess I'll start at the end. Or maybe the middle...



Craig's sister had the kids overnight last night. She likes to take them every once in a while, I think it's mostly a form of birth control. LOL Take five kids under the age of 13 overnight and see if you can survive: instant birth control! At any rate, we dropped them off about 2 o'clock and they came home about 11 this morning. That's the longest "date night" Craig and I have had in quite some time. And the longest we've been home overnight alone since I got out of the hospital and a longer time before that.



After the fight we had Friday night, I knew that something was coming, something I probably didn't want to see. After the fight had passed, leaving that tingling feeling like you get right after a close lightning strike, he had talked to his best friend to see if they had plans for yesterday or if they'd like to get together. She had plans with their kids; he was free. Craig and I planned to go to a movie and out to eat. Craig told me, before he went to bed, that he had "made arrangements" with them for him to come over while she was out with their kids. And I realized just exactly how angry he had been. I still felt cold, numb, and very, very calm. I told myself it was just because the kids would be gone and I pushed it away.



What I want to know is why did the shrink bring it up? Why last week? Why then? Before, when he found about about that particular aspect of my life, he had stumbled on it accidentally right after an incident had happened. I freaked out, totally lost it. After several weeks, he convinced me that he had not spoken with Craig and he was not in league with Craig and did not intend to contact Craig about it, neither about me telling the shrink nor to "make arrangements" of his own. I don't think I ever thought he intended the latter of those possibilities but he had raised my paranoia level to an extreme.



The shrink hasn't mentioned the topic since he got me calmed down about it. Then, last week he brings it up. He scared me and forced me to really think about it. And I put my thoughts onto paper, then onto the screen, then I destroyed the paper. I dreaded this coming Wednesday. No chance of a reprieve on talking about it. He learned my game and hasn't let me get away with it since. I've been nervous, but I trust my shrink.



And then the fight. I don't fight. We've known each other 16 years and in that entire time, I can count on 2 hands the number of times we've actually fought - raised voices and all fought. I just won't do it. My whole life I have been that way. I won't fight and I won't even fight back. Got the stuffing knocked out of me in middle school for not reciprocating in a fist fight. I would rather that happen than to actually fight back. Some people think that makes me a coward or a weakling or just plain stupid. Maybe they're right, maybe not, I don't much care.



On the other hand, Mama Bear is vicious and would kill to protect the children. Me, who would not lift a finger to save my life, would take the life of someone else to protect my children. Craig pushed me too far on Friday night. He lost his temper. It was completely my fault. I could go on forever about the ways I created that situation Friday night. Anyhow, the point is that he lost his temper. And he went thundering up the stairs. I did nothing. I was scared. But then I could hear him screaming at the kids, I could hear my oldest son crying as hard as he could. And I heard a thumping and Mama Bear got all fired up and every shred of fear was replaced by an irresistible need to go stop him, to make him leave them alone, to protect them. I stormed up the stairs and found him in the little boys' room and I was telling at him to leave them alone.



We actually squared off, facing each other, legs spread to shoulders' width, breathing heavy, shoulders firm, eyes blazing. I screamed and he glared. I told him to get out. I told him to away. Then I lowered my voice very quiet and almost growled: I think you need to go downstairs now. And I took a step towards the boys and away from the door. He left, stormed, actually.



I calmed down all the kids and reassured them and told them it wasn't their fault. I told them he shouldn't have yelled at them like that. I told them it was my fault, that he was angry with me and taking it out of them and that wasn't right but that it wasn't their fault. I didn't tell them that it was okay for Craig to have done that but I took the blame for him being angry, as it should be, and made it very clear that it isn't their fault.



After I had them calm, I had to go downstairs and face Craig. That's when I got scared. I had no idea what was going to happen. I didn't know if he was still there or not - there had been a lot of slamming and thumping and even the door slamming so for all I knew, he had stormed off somewhere. Or he could be down there but still so furiously angry that he would beat the shit out of me. I rather deserved that, confronting him in front of the kids, screaming at him, challenging him. And if he had raised a hand against me, I would have taken it without protest. It would have been justified. I was scared of it though. I don't overly like pain, deserved or not.



He was there, in the kitchen. And he was angry. He was still furious. The anger and (I hate to say it but it's true) hatred were coming off of him in waves. He glared at me and if looks could kill, I'm dead a million times over. I stood in the kitchen and looked at him, not in the eyes. And he looked at me like he couldn't decide whether to ignore me or kill me. And all the fear drained away. The Voices grew quieter in tone if not quantity.



"Do you want to talk about this?" My words were so quiet I barely heard them myself. I'm not sure who said them, which Voice. I thought he was going to hit me just then and I am more than certain that it crossed his mind in more than a passing thought, as did leaving and not coming back. Time hung heavy in the air, tangible, thick, charged. It lasted forever, that single moment.



And then he said, almost as quietly, "Alright."



I started talking, low, gentle, careful, like trying to sooth an animal spooked into violence. The more time that passes, the less I remember about what exactly I said. I remember telling him I was sorry for yelling at him in front of the kids. I remember telling him that words can hurt as much as fists. I remember telling him I understood. He's stressed out and most of that is my fault. It's my fault because he works his tail off, then has to come home to a trashed house and hyper kids. I talked for 45 minutes, trying to calm him down, trying to make him understand that he just can't do that. I told him that if he felt that angry, like he had to scream or hit someone, that he should scream at me or hit me. It's my fault that he feels like that anyways. I would deserve it (although it didn't say that last part to him because it would have made him more upset instead of less). It took 45 minutes but he calmed down.

I ran out of things to say. I started looking at the floor; couldn't meet his eyes anymore. It's like, once I knew he was calmed down and the kids were safe, I didn't have any confidence left, any courage. I suddenly felt like I'd been trying to reassure a feral dog as if it were a cute puppy and just figured out it didn't want to play. There was silence for what felt like forever. He was kind of backed into the corner of the counter and the most logical way out of the room was past me. But going past me would have come off as an aggressive move and I thought perhaps that was why he wasn't moving or speaking.

Out of the corner of my eye, since I was looking at the floor, I saw the dog's food dish. It was empty. I think I mumbled something about being sorry and I grabbed the dish and left the room to feed the dog and to give him a safe way to leave the room without having to go by me. I took a long time. When I came back in, he seemed fine, though he hadn't left the kitchen. When I came in, he was on the phone. I put the food down and stood in the far corner, feeling like a kid waiting in the principal's office.

When he got off the phone, he looked me square in the eye (WHY did I look up?!) and told me that his best friend was going to join us for a little while Saturday since the kids were going to be home. The shrink's question slammed into my head. The Bitch pushed it away. He opened his arms to me and I crawled into them. He held me the way he used to. I burrowed into his shoulder, let my cheek feel his heart and his strong arms cocoon me. Everyone in my head was talking at once, a million different feelings pulling a million different ways. And then they pulled back, slowly fading into the background, still there but not important.

Then he went to bed. I was cold. I was so very quiet and so very calm, extremely, extremely calm. I turned, as I always do, to my computer. I could push it away into cyberspace and not think about it. It didn't quite play out that way. I talked to a dear friend about the fight for a while. My head wouldn't wrap all the way around it. The pain I had caused and the pain I hadn't acted quick enough to prevent. The calm gradually faded into a desperate sort of nervousness. The Bitch tried to keep the phone call buried. She pushed and pushed and I kept it down enough to not mention it. I worked so hard to keep it down that I couldn't write down the fight.

I had to confront him, didn't I? I had to protect the children. He was so angry. He had completely lost his temper. I had to protect them. Did I have a choice?

There is always a choice.

I made my choice. I paid for my choice. I would make the same choice again, even knowing what would come of it. I have to protect them. I have to stand between him and them when he can't stand on his own. When he loses it, I will be there. I will be on their side. I will stop him. I won't hear him screaming and disappear until it's over then pretend it didn't happen. I won't see the signs of him losing his temper and run. I won't see strange things and walk away like I saw nothing. I will fight for them, no matter what come sit. I will make sure they know that I am here, that I care, that I will fight for them. And I will do my best to make sure they never know what happens afterwards. I WILL PROTECT MY CHILDREN!

"Making arrangements"

It sounds so simple, so mundane. What does the shrink know about this? Why did he bring it up last week? What will I say this week? I didn't know that he was still so mad. I didn't know it wasn't over. I guess it wasn't over. Last night, it wasn't over. I didn't know he was still angry. Even after the afternoon, I guess he was still angry.

What is the deal with sex? How can it be the best thing in the world to one person and a weapon to another? How can it be important to some people and just another to do task for others? How can it be an entitlement in some situations and a reward in others? How can it be different things to the same persona at different times? How can someone who is practically perfect in so many situations become a totally different person in others?

I have to find something else important to talk to the shrink about Wednesday. I can't go there right now. How did he know? Why did he ask when he did? I didn't know anything was on the horizon and my radar isn't too bad. I'm sending this out into the cyber-world to make it go away. I'm sending it into the void so it doesn't take up any more space in my mind. Sending it away... What will I tell the shrink? How did he know? Did I tell him that I was setting Craig up for failure? Did he know I was going to end up making him so mad that he would... be mad all weekend? It must have been obvious that I was doing things all wrong and that Craig couldn't take much more. He must have known, was maybe trying to warn me. And I didn't get it. I still screwed up. He still blew his top. And I went off. And... it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter.

This too shall pass...

"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."