Fallen In!

This picture reminds me of how I feel about us right now! Very scary!

What Happened

What happened, part I (my version—I haven't heard his yet)

 

We had decided Saturday to go to Elmwood Cemetery and The Heidelberg Project on Sunday, the one day Keith has off because he works 6 days a week.  We needed a place that wasn't too far away because we were having dinner at ML's at 6 and picking up Graham.

 

Keith made breakfast while I worked on Silk Creek Review and in the shower this morning, we discussed an agenda.  We decided to pack our gear at 1:15 and at 1:30 leave so that we would have sufficient time at both places and plenty of time not to be late to ML's.  If we got done early, we planned to go home first and then to ML's.

 

We packed the car and started out and Keith asked if I knew the way to Camp-O'Fun where I'd theoretically be taking Graham in the morning.  I said, "No, how would I know?"  I probably sounded slightly annoyed (because—HOW WOULD I KNOW?  It's in a new place this year, different from last year or the year before etc.)  I don't live there, never have lived there, and do not know my way around. I literally had no idea at all where this place was or what it was called or anything else about it.

 

So he said he was going to show me and started driving.

 

We drove past a woman riding a bike and he made a negative comment about people riding around in their underwear.  (It was not the first remark of that nature).  I turned as we were just coming next to her and she was on my side so I looked closely.  She was wearing something that looked like a bikini top from a bathing suit or a halter top.  It was yellow and had flowers and I looked closely to see if it had bra-like attachments.  It did not.

 

I said something to him about being a stodgy old man and he said "that's what happens to men when they get old."  I said "that's stupid," and he said, "that's your opinion," and I said, "yes it is, and you could make different choices," he said, "YOU WANT TO CHANGE WHO I AM."  I said, "no I DO NOT," he said, "Yes you do."

 

And then he said, "here's the school," and pointed at it and I said, "I have no idea how to get here, I forgot to pay attention," (because we were arguing), and he said, "Does that mean you don't want to drive Graham here tomorrow?" and I said, "No, it doesn't mean that, it simply means I don't know where it is," and he said "The whole point of this exercise was for you to see where the school was," And I said, "We could go back and do it over, or better yet, just let me out.  Goodbye."  And I got out.

 

I attempted to retrace the route we had taken and got very frightened for a while, because I had no idea where we were and all the streets had unfamiliar names.  But I kept walking and hoping I'd recognize something and eventually, I did. 

 

It turned out it was very simple and had he taken the time to explain it or draw a map or in any other way be nice or helpful, I could have done it with no problem.  But never once did he say, "OK, now, we're turning left at Richard, OK, note that Ridge turns into Waterloo and Waterloo turns into Vernor (?) etc and it's right here at the corner of Waterloo and Cadieux where Waterloo turns into Vernor and also it's right on Kercheval.  If I had driven him somewhere in Baldwinsville like that and then expected him to remember the way, he would have been pissed.  What happened to the Golden rule?  And I couldn't watch because we were arguing.

 

When I got back, I wrote down the directions carefully and drew myself a map.  At that point, I was still intending to drive Graham to Camp O'Fun both Monday and Tuesday.

 

1)I was annoyed about the whole showing me the way when he said nothing and pointed out nothing and made no mention of where we were turning or any landmarks.  I was also annoyed that he immediately assumed I did not want to drive Graham and was shirking my duty, which was totally untrue.  (The tone of his voice was angry and negative).  I have a lot of issues with not knowing my way around and hate it when he assumes I know something I couldn't reasonably know.  He had pointed it out in passing once a while before, but I had no idea WHERE WE WERE at the time and didn't even get a look at it, and nothing further was said.

 

2)I was upset about his remark about the woman in her underwear.  A.  It wasn't true (that is, it wasn't underwear), and  B.  It seemed misogynistic and puritan.  C.  It seemed like a slap at ME, since I would like to be able to be cool and comfortable.

 

3)I was upset because he told me for the second or third time today, "You want xyz."  That is a form of ABUSE.  No one can know what another person wants, thinks, or feels.  He often says to Graham "you think qrdst or you feel uvw, and he will NOT start saying it to me.  He did not ask me if that was how I felt or if that was what I wanted, he stated it as the truth.

 

4)It was NOT the truth.  I don't want to change him.  I love him as he is.  I might want to change his OPINION, but it is my understanding and belief that an opinion is not who we are.  For example, when I met him, he told me he was too old to camp, and that he was born too old to camp, but now he camps.  Is he no longer himself?  Is he no longer Keith?

 

5)If that particular stupid opinion IS ACTUALLY PART OF THE CORE OF WHO HE IS, then I need to reevaluate our relationship.  I am not sure I want to continue to love a man who would invest his heart and soul in putting someone down for riding a bike in a halter top.

 

6)I was very upset when he said, "The whole point of this exercise . . ." Because of the mean abusive lecturing way he said it (like past abusive partners) and even more so when I saw how simple it really was and how easily he could have just explained it to me.

 

Richard Chamberlain (or someone) wrote a book called "Don't Sweat the Small stuff."  Any one of those things by themselves would probably not be worth getting too upset about, but they were coming fast and furious, all at once.  And as a poet, I have a problem, in that I tend to see things as symbolic.  I read more into events that they perhaps should have read into them.  As "Courage says, "Sometimes dirty dishes are just dirty dishes."  [And not symbolic of an uncaring partner, for example.]  My problem is, when he acts abusive, even in relatively small ways, I am afraid it's a "red flag" and a harbinger of worse things to come.

 

I will not live with abuse.  I will not stay in a car with it, or in a house with it or in a relationship with it.  I will simply remove myself if it begins to occur.  I will remove myself permanently if it continues to occur.  I would rather be alone than be in an abusive relationship.  I would rather be dead.

 

I was sorry to miss Elmwood Cemetery and the Heidelberg Project, I was really looking forward to it.  I was sorry to miss dinner at ML's.  I was sorry to leave and drive across Canada alone in the dark.  It wasn't how I wanted things to be.  I was sorry to miss our one day together.  I am sorry to be home alone.  I miss Keith and Graham and would prefer to be happily with them.

 

But if it all happened again, I probably would do the same thing. 

 

I love and miss Keith and Graham and I also still feel upset about all this, and worried.

--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary

The Re-hanging

I do, in theory, believe in not going to bed mad or not taking leave mad, but in practice, it is much harder.

Keith and I were going to ML's together for dinner at 6, to pick up Graham and visit with ML. When it was time to leave, he said, "I'm going to be leaving for ML's shortly" or something like that. I point is, he said "I," meaning himself, and did include or invite me.

And since I had been planning on going and looking forward to it, as an opportunity to hopefully make up with him because we would be forced by circumstances to to be civil and polite to one another and I could possibly arrange to accidentally TOUCH him in passing (mmm), I was DEEPLY offended.

I felt it like a slap in the face.

So, in return, I said, "I'm thinking about driving to NY."

Since I was disassembling my computer to take to NY (it wasn't working), it was probably somewhat convincing, though actually I had in mind putting it and some other stuff in the car to be ready for Tuesday, or if we didn't make up, Monday. Not tonight.

He went out to the car and drove away to ML's without me. Which is NOT what I wanted. I wanted to go with him. But then, since I said I was thinking of going to NY and since he abandoned me, I felt I had to go. I didn't want to go, I was tired and it was late and I just wanted to make up with Keith and be happy.

It took me a while to pack up my stuff and fill water bottles etc and I kept hoping he'd call, but he didn't, so by the time I was ready to leave, I was hungry, tired, and cranky and felt abandoned, so I took off my ring and left it on the counter, along with the keys to his car.

That was really stupid, because it was just the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted to be in his arms.

But dammit, he was being so stupid.

Two people being stupid, that's how these things happen, and how they escalate. SO I drove home alone, sad and lonely and tired and hungry.

I had purchased two pasties to celebrate our 3-year anniversary, and since I felt unloved and abandoned, I brought them with me, and I just ate one for supper. A late supper. It was good.

It reminded me of the way we met. I was looking for pasties and the old man told me to go to Tahquamenon and there were Keith and Graham. Sigh.

When I was trying to plug the computer in in the dark, I knocked down the picture of Keith and me from the wall. I thought briefly, is that symbolic of our permanent parting? Is this IT?

I set the picture down (because I had my hands full), but I just got up and hung it back up.
--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary

Portrait of Keith in Filtered Black and White

Portrait of Keith at Belle Isle in filtered Black and White, by Mary Stebbins. I love this picture of Keith, but he doesn't like it because his underwear are showing. I want to retake it and replace it, but meanwhile, I really like it. It's the filtered black and white version of the color one published on the portraits blog. Mary

Keeping in touch.

One time, my friend Dick Farnell emailed me to tell me he had not been killed in the earthquake in California. Since he lived in Alaska at the time, and he hadn't told me he was traveling to California, it only occurred to me to worry after I had heard from him.

Dark Light

There have been a lot of layoffs at GM lately. S told me her husband's hours had been cut back and asked about Keith. I said not yet, he seemed OK so far. Then he came home to tell me that his hours had been cut back from ten a day to 8 a day. This may seem like a more reasonable work load, but Keith is upset because we get about $400 less per week and we are supporting two households, since my house is sitting empty and not sold.

And all those bills.

He used to work from 6 Am to 4:30 and get home around 5. He now works 6 AM to 2:30 and gets home around 3.

Yesterday, when he got home, I thought we were going to pick up Graham's bike at his Grandmother's, ML's. We had talked about it the day before, and I thought Keith had said that's what we were doing. I pictured calling ML and going if she was home. I even thought she might invite us to dinner. (I was having a fit of laziness brought on by fibro pain which is exacerbated by cooking.)

When Keith came home, he wanted to shopping and when I said I thought we should get Graham's bike, he got angry, and rather than discussing it with me, he stormed out the door. I went with him, which was a mistake. He was so mad that when some old person was terribly show in front of us, he started cursing horribly and swearing in a terrible voice. I got out of the car and told him I was walking home. It took me twenty three minutes to walk home.

It was brilliantly sunny and hot, but not as humid and not unbearable. I was unhappy--the sun gave off a dark light.

When Keith returned, he was in a better mood, thank God. But he said that someone had wrecked Graham's bike, and Graham wouldn't be able to ride it, so the point of the trip became moot. I had the paranoid thought that Keith in his anger had arranged this to prove Graham and I wrong for forcing him (which I never intended to do) against his will to drive over and get the bike. But I don't think he's that mean. Just a little temperamental, occasionally. I wish instead of flying off the handle, he'd talk to me and express his hopes, concerns and plans.

I was anxious for him to get the bike because I'd been listening all day to Graham complaining about not having it. But willing to negotiate. It so often seems that what I am picturing happening which is a pleasant family outing, for example, turns into something so different without my understanding how it happened. My vision of the proceedings is very different, apparently, than his. But he does not express his so I cannot attempt to alter it of offer mine as a counter point. There can be no negotiation if no one places their cards on the table.
Only misunderstanding and disaster.

Irridescent Butterfly

Irridescent Butterfly at Cranbrook, photo by Mary Stebbins.

The butterfly has been used for hundreds if not thousands of years as a symbol of transformation. They were painted on the walls of the Nazi prison camps and in caves where people hid from the soldiers. I offer this image as a ray of light and hope that somehow I (and you) can continue to work through our issues and become transformed. Let our souls be full of shining light and love, and let that love transform us and our relationships.

Ironically, this butterfly is dead.

And--did you notice its number? Lucky or unlucky, depending on who you are and what you believe. A witch's coven has 13 members, very lucky, if you happen to be a witch. And why not?

Wallowing

Whenever I write something like "ATTACK" (the previous post), I then feel terribly self-indulgent. I think of all the "real" and terrible suffering in the world, and my little suffering seems so insignificant and absurd. I think of Barbara Kingsolver saying in High Tide in Tucson, I think, that needs, real needs are so small that they rattle around in a buck. That really stuck with me. My suffering seems just that small. It would certainly be forgotten if my leg was blown off by a land mine or I was raped or my child was killed or maimed. In the face of war, disease, and famine, I shouldn't be wasting time wallowing in little pains. OK, I'm ready to move on now.

ATTACK!

Keith and I love each other. We have a great warm comforting affection for each other. We enjoy each other company and have fun together. And we fight. The last few times we fought, Keith accused me of having started it, and I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he started it.

So I decided to pay attention when it happens again. To watch the dynamics, to study how it evolves. Today, Saturday, he left me to stay home all day while he went to work. The man was coming to fix the air conditioner. It’s going to cost $3000. Not fix it, replace it. Basically. It’s going to take all day.

I’m leaving Tuesday to go back to NY. Keith said, “Well, since we can’t do anything, I may as well go to work.”

Meanwhile, I’d been picturing us having a leisurely breakfast together, working on my study, maybe working on Graham’s room. Spending time together, since I’m leaving. On the other hand, since I’m unemployed, he’s helping pay my bills, and lots of them, though I am still paying some, like the mortgage etc. And that’s a big expense, the air conditioner. So if he works, he gets, what, time and a half or something, since it’s Saturday. I complain, but I agree he can go. I’m not happy about it. I feel a little rejected and unloved.

He goes off to work and forgets his cell phone, so if there are any issues with the installation of the new air conditioner, I can’t call him. He calls me at ten, and there are no problems. “I love you sweetie,” I say, a little sad, but not angry. I ask him to call at 11 and 12. I imagine there could be a problem any time. Meanwhile, it is horribly uncomfortably hot. I can’t go anywhere or do anything. I work on my poetry. I work on tomorrow’s submission for BetterPhoto.com. I make a submission of 5 poems for Avocet. I sweat and get water on things and my feet swell and hurt and I wait and listen for a call at 11 and a call at 12 and none come. I imagine something has come up and he can’t get to the phone and worry if there’s a problem. But the air conditioner man doesn’t speak to me. Except to say, “where is the outdoor outlet” and “I’m going to take a little lunch break.”

At 2:00, the phone rings and Keith says, “Oh, you’re there, I didn’t think you’d be there.” Suddenly, I am absolutely furious. I wasn’t angry when he hadn’t called, because I gave him the benefit of the doubt. That he was busy. But now, I feel I am being attacked. He says he has called every hour on the hour. I was LISTENING for the phone and never heard it ring. I tell him, “The phone never rang.” Maybe it did. I sure didn’t hear it, but I heard it at 2:00, so why not before? Why does he think I would be anywhere else when the man is here and was supposed to be here ALL DAY? I am flying into a rage. I feel as if I am being attacked.

When he comes back, he touches me, and I draw away and I say, “I don’t love you any more.” I am still very angry. I do not understand why he would think I wasn’t here when a man was repairing the air conditioner and I had to sit here all day. He is amazed and says he wasn’t attacking me. I say, “where did you think I was?”

And he says, “sitting right there.” Then why did he SAY, very clearly, “Oh, you’re there. I didn’t think you’d be there?” DUH?

There was some failure of the phone or my hearing or something. It could lead to divorce, except we aren’t married.

I need to carry a tape recorder to catch these moments. He never sees how the things he says set me off. He accuses me of attacking him. And I feel attacked by his thoughtless remarks.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Sigh. It’s the small stuff that gets us every time. If I wait a little while, I’ll forget what happened. My mind is too crammed and my memory too short. I might remember I was annoyed, but I won’t remember why.

And then hopefully, I’ll forget the whole thing. Right now, I am still feeling overly hot, swollen, and cranky. I start looking forward to leaving for NY instead of treasuring the time we have together. I don’t even want to be near him when he says things like that. To me, it felt as if he was saying that I wasn’t doing my assigned job, that I wasn’t here, on task. A false accusation. I was here. I was doing my job. I was being a good girl. I was NOT a bad girl. I wasn’t Daddy, I wasn’t.

I want to cry. I feel like a little girl. I want to curl up in a ball. I want to shut out the bad bad world.

I am cast into the darkness, the unbearable darkness of being. All that darkness rising like a black cobra from the basket of a single thoughtless sentence. Or two.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff. Don’t make mountains of molehills.” But you know, that cobra mountain rose up fierce and toxic in a millisecond, before those words had completely left Keith’s mouth, the great spitting cobra was throwing poison. I can see how “small stuff” can start wars. End marriages. Start family feuds. Because behind the small stuff are mountain ranges of unresolved issues. Guilt. Buckets of pain.

Usually when I feel like this, I go out alone for a long long walk, and sit somewhere by myself until my desire for Keith, for his company and his touch, outweighs my anger. But it is too hot today to walk. Sometimes, when I feel like this, I want to commit suicide. It’s the only time I do. I feel as if the Black Cobra of toxic pain and rage is too big and too poisonous and too powerful and I will never be able to stuff it back down and live a normal happy loving life. That I might as well be dead, that everyone would be better off without me.

It sounds ridiculous and melodramatic, but that’s how I really feel. Hope I don’t actually ever do something bad when I feel like that. Mostly, I am too cowardly, anyway, and then after a while, I feel better. Usually, what I really need is for him to hold me for a long time until I recover. But first, I have to get over the hump of hurt.

I feel as if I am the only one in the world who is so ridiculous. But I know that’s not true, because I have observed other people have fights over some totally ridiculous things. I just don’t know what’s REALLY going on with them. What really hurts, and why.

Meanwhile, Keith is joking with the air conditioner man and I feel totally left out. Isolated. Abandoned. Unloved. Rejected. And rejecting. Because if he comes over here, I still want to push him away. AK!

I want desperately to push him away and pull him to me. Help, I’m being ripped in half! Right down the middle of my heart. And all because the phone didn’t ring or I didn’t hear it and he thought I wasn’t home. Hello? Land mines? Grenades? Folly?

Suffering

I hate to wallow in my own pain when so many other people have deep and terrible problems, when there is so much real suffering in the world.

I must be feeling better. I only start feeling guilty about my own suffering when it subsides somewhat!