Hate

“Hate is the assembling of anger and disgust,” said my therapist today when I was telling her there was an anger in me so primal it surprised me.

At 8:22 a.m. last week I was screaming, from my car, at the top of my lungs, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” to my ex in the car in front of me. Mind you, even at the moment of disclosure I don’t think I ever said or even felt as angry as I was in that moment in the car. I told my brother, later, I was a little afraid I was like a Heroes show character that might make the earth crack with the force of my rage or that the clouds would suddenly start raining oil. What horror had he done that elicited this response? He missed an exit, with our child in his car on a way to a performance where we were already running late. We were running late because he sworn it only took seven minutes to get there and because I did NOT listen to my gut about arriving a half hour early and left later than I was comfortable with. So I was mad at myself as well. And so I was already tense, and child wanted to ride with Daddy but Daddy couldn’t get the shoes on and was flabbergasted and rushed and no doubt stressed because my mother and aunt would be at the show and he has not seen them once since we’ve been separated.

Intellectually, I get that he’s human, can run late, get stressed, make mistakes, lost his way. But in the moment, I realized the size of the rage in me. It was enormous and it felt good to let it out of my gut and my belly in the quiet and safety of my car.

The judges at the performance let our child go on solo, though only after a tearful and frustrating entrance into a room of a few hundred. And, after the performance, father kept apologizing and to hear, “It’s o.k. Daddy, it’s o.k.,” honestly made me more angry because I was thinking, “Don’t make child try to make you feel better just be the parent.” This was not a huge event but it was triggering for me in realizing how controlling I was in the relationship, how inept he could be when stressed and how much WE BOTH RELIED on my taking charge at certain types of things. This time, I backed off, and I did not control everything and I know there are things I can learn and am learning. And sometimes, things won’t go well, and that’s part of life. But, there was a part of me, later in the week that just cried, because I thought, our child is going to meet the flaws and the gifts of father whether sex addict or not. We can’t protect our children from our own flaws and that is hard because the world is hard enough. But, we can teach them to be kind to the self and to act with integrity but also to accept being human.

My ex, is not just a sex addict. He is a well-respected professional who makes people laugh, is well read, politically savvy and also can be oblivious to the comfort or needs of others, is easily forgetful and distracted and not always able to listen, can do many of the things that honestly pained me at times even when I THOUGHT we were happy. How happy were we? What was real? What wasn’t?

This brings me to rage round two. It was my birthday and the birthday gift I got from child and ex was great. Child was so excited to give me my gift, for days, the one purchased with Daddy. It was wonderful to experience the anticipation of my child and all the clues about the gift, “It will make you know things,” was one. Well, it was A PERFECT and GENEROUS gift! It was a GPS for my car. And I DO love it and I was so happy. But also, I was hurt because it doesn’t work in my car because the cigarette lighter and charger doesn’t work which father knew as we had talked about both of our cars (that are the same age) having this problem and how it was a hassle because we couldn’t charge our cell phones. Again, not a big deal in the big scheme but child was disappointed and child wanted to see how it worked. It will get worked out. I’ll get something else that does work if the charger can’t be fixed. But a gift turned into a project and that is also something that is more “typical” of my ex. Now that we aren’t in love these traits are more noticeable. And honestly, I don’t love feeling bitter and pissy. I am grateful we exchange gifts and our child really loves doing it. We ride back and forth to his apt. and my house and we are easy about which toys and clothes go here and there. He is a decent father. I believe he is. Still. And he’s not perfect. And I’m not either.

But then he gives me a birthday card, in front of our child, that is tender, gushing and effusive about how great and wonderful I am and how I deserve peace, joy and happiness and how I am so kind and generous to friends and family and how I deserve the best in life. It’s nice. It’s the type of card that years ago I would have kept out for six mos., copied in my journal, read and re-read. But this year, I thought, “You don’t get to send me a card like this. It’s too intimate and you don’t know me anymore.” I wanted to say, “I’m actually NOT as good of a friend because I’m a better friend to myself and that’s part in thanks to you so thank you for that because it’s a good thing but you don’t even know.” But the anger felt strange. It’s the disconnect because, as my therapist said, “It doesn’t acknowledge the blow dealt at his hand, a wound you are still healing from and though some of the lessons are wonderful they weren’t lessons you chose or experiences you got a choice about having.” Crying. Head shaking. “Yeah…. all that,” I affirm.

The good news is I am different and I have grown. I also realized that for SO MANY YEARS his regard for me, his high regard, was my fix and something that made me feel worthy. Well, it didn’t actually work because I didn’t value my own worth but I valued him and I thought IF HE THINKS I’M ALL THAT I CAN’T BE HALF BAD BECAUSE HE’S AMAZING. And, as I shared with therapist, I ignored how he had to be asked, EVERY TIME after grocery shopping, “Can you get a bag?” because he’d just walk into the house in la-la land. Or, how he never made social plans or kept in touch with his family or whatever other things I didn’t think I had a “right” to mad or judging because that seemed so, well, judgmental.

But, I am hurt. We don’t have the intimacy we once did and pretending we do or slipping into it is uncomfortable for me and also feel fake. So, before I can let go of the anger I have to acknowledge it. I will figure out whether or not I’ll ask him not to exchange cards or mention that the intimacy level in the content made me uncomfortable or what action I want to take. I’m surprised at times at what can irk me or can hit a layer of pain. When decorating the Christmas tree I sobbed one night. There were eighteen years of personalized ornaments saying, “Soul Mates,” and “I Love You” and ones with pictures and the first year as a couple, as a married couple, ornaments as a family. Was I living fiction and calling it non-fiction? What can be kept and what should be discarded? Do I save objects for child as if to say, “We had the illusion of family in those years,” or do I toss them as history as it once was no longer exists. For now, the ornaments that make me cry are boxed. Last year I could not hold them in hand enough to even put them away in a box on a shelf. This year, when less raw, I could. I don’t have to decide what to do with them today and I can protect my heart from coming across them next year.

I understand addiction better and better as time goes on. I realize I have lost respect for my ex and how much of this is because his was deceptive, took dangerous risks and put our family in jeopardy because obsession pulled rank in the brain and how much is because I simply don’t feel the say knowing what I know and how he has been when the truth was out? I don’t know. I don’t. There is an element of disgusted disappointment as well as shame and sadness for the tragic nature of sex addiction and for the grim way my soul can feel when I think of how ill-considered it was. However, I can protect my heart and my soul, choose when and who and how to trust and when and who does not deserve my truth or for me to hold theirs. I can observe how people treat the ones they love most in the world, including how they treat themselves, and contrast it with the way they treat others or how similarly they treat others and make judgments about who and how much to invest. I am not dying to be liked or well regarded and can live with making my own judgments knowing they may change as I grow but that I can’t pretend to be more or less than I am.

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