“I think you are angry at me!”
My brow furrows in puzzlement, but my veins constrict and my temples pulse with anger. “What good would that do? It’s not like you are going to change your behavior any more than I am.” Classic husband and wife argument. It all boils down to money. She is angry because I decided to take 50.00 out of the bank for replacement gear without asking. In my mind it is no big deal, after all, I am the sole earner in this family. Why should I ask? On a subconscious level, I get it. It is a sign of respect, but why must I ask permission? I am a grown man, who works 100+ hours a week. There is a disconnect somewhere in our communication. Lately, all we seem to do is argue.
Welcome to the beginning of the end.
If time heals all wounds, time decided to skip over us and heal someone else. Each day just adds to the bitterness and frustrations we both feel with the other. There is no making up, it has become a contest where both sides are keeping score of their grievances. In hindsight, the divorce papers wrote themselves. I paid two hundred bucks for someone to have them signed and notarized. The ensuing fallout from the divorce proceedings eradicated any hope of ever making up. Too much has been said, too much has been done, and forgiveness is a foreign concept which seems unreachable. “You are so angry.”
Facebook floats around a meme that states: “I don’t have an anger issue; I need people to stop ticking me off.” After dealing with stupidity all day in its various forms, the last thing I want to deal with when I get home is more dumbness. At some juncture, the circus must end. It doesn’t. Instead of us attempting to reach a compromise, I move into a separate bedroom. The rift grows larger. Years pass, and we are two strangers living in the same house. I become distant, silently shutting any doors the pain of my failure as a husband may use to get to me. Emotionally, I shut down. “If I don’t respond, I can’t be called angry.”
18 October will mark my eighth year as a divorcee. It irks me to no end for people to declare I am angry even now. “How would you know?” I want to shout this from the rooftops. Most of my friends and family have never seen me angry. Trust me, if you ever do-you won’t forget it. Anger destroyed my marriage, it caused me untold amounts of stress and it robbed me of my health. Today, when people accuse me of being angry it is a slap in the face. I don’t allow most people to be close enough to me for them to witness my anger. These eight years has taught me a valuable lesson, people will use anything they can get their hands on against you when anger takes the reins. Therefore, I attempt to limit the ammunition in which people can shoot me with. It is a wasted effort on my behalf. I am cursed with an angry face. Recently, my doctor made some observations about my health (mental, physical and emotional) and I can only assume the only reason he made said observations is because I smile too much.
I am doomed to be known as an angry man.
22 September 2019