The biggest reason Dana and I are breaking up is that she does not understand the world that I live in and I don’t understand hers. She thinks that when I’m talking to friends on Facebook that I am talking to people I don’t know. Since she doesn’t know to whom I am speaking, I think she thinks I sit here and get people to love me.
I do, but not my friends. You cannot be my friend if you are impressed by me. It’s for people who think of my feed as sort of “The Hot List.” For the ability to reach millions instead of just one. As for chatting, the only person I’ve ever really chatted with on a consistent basis is Argo. The rest are friends from middle school, high school, college, etc. I KNOW THEM. Like, on the ground. Argo is the exception to the rule, because we developed an unusual kinship by sharing stories and jokes and just talking about our lives. It was amazing how someone so far physically could be so close emotionally when I needed her the most. She just loved on me from afar, and her letters were worth as much as hugs to me, so when Dana said that she thought her life was better because she got lots of hugs from real people, I told her that plenty of people hug me. Plenty of people write to me and say that they want to hug me.
She then told me that she thought I had the ability to lead millions and she was somewhat jealous. Nice to hear from a former part of the dream, but meaningless to me right now as she tries to “manage a mental patient.” She, in fact, told me today that I was too much for her to “handle.” I felt like the biggest burden in the entire world, and my worthlessness loop went off in a hurry. Then I remembered that Dana doesn’t have to handle shit. She never did. The more she tried to “handle” me, the more I rebelled, because Dana comes across like my mother after ten years.
I do not want to be handled, and with Dana, I wonder when in her mind she decided she needed to. The more suffocated I felt on the inside, the more it showed on the outside. Without meaning to, she reinforced my worthlessness by taking care of my every need and telling me that she worried about me because she didn’t think I was taking care of myself.
I wasn’t…. but not because I couldn’t. I didn’t have control over anything, so I started wasting away to nothing and trying to make up for it with a smoothie now and then because that’s all I can manage. She has no idea how far her fist to my face set me back in terms of recovery from abuse, because while I am emotionally abusive, my abuse would never go to the place of physically injuring someone’s face. By the time there is that much rage involved, it should have been taken care of long ago and just wasn’t. That kind of rage doesn’t come from a fight with your wife. That kind of rage comes from being mad since childhood and only now having an outlet. That’s just conjecture on my part- I have no idea what she’s really thinking. She does not share and I do not want to know.
It has been the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me that Dana’s responses to my hospitalization run the gamut from “I’m so glad you got help” to “why didn’t they keep you longer?” to “it must be nice to have insurance and just be able to check out like that.” This, to me, demonstrated her complete and total inability to see that the setback she caused in my recovery led me to making plans to commit suicide and that’s why I checked into the hospital. I wanted the plans to stop, because I knew that was the very last exit before you get to SpongeBob HeadStone.
She did not believe me when I said that the nurse practitioner signed my release papers before I left because she didn’t think I would get much out of staying in group over the weekend. She thought I could get more done in outpatient, because that’s where the real work is. Why she didn’t just call the clinic and verify I was telling the truth, I don’t know. But it would have been very easy to prove
Now I have to listen as revisionist history takes place- on both sides- but at the same time, it incenses me that Dana thinks our relationship ended with a Facebook post and I say it ended when she punched me in the face with my glasses on while I was already crying, the fight in me a puddle on the floor.
She’s been saying we were going to break up since, oh, our first date. Her reaction to my new glasses was “you’re so hot now you’re going to leave me.” The more she tried to “handle” me, the more insecure I felt, especially in terms of my glasses. When I thought, “maybe I should take them off” just to please her, I should have known it was going to be our last fight ever.