Leaving The Fury

Who's Crazy

 

I’m going to sleep on MY side of the bed, never crossing that center line.  And when you’re not in bed with me, the whole bed is mine.  There is now no room for you.  I take up the middle of the bed and I spread out.

I no longer want you in this bed.  I don’t want you in any way.  Your comfort is not desired.  There is no longer any room for you.

I say that when I left my ex-husband it was an impulsive act.  In some ways it was.  When I left that day, I ran quickly.  The suicidal thoughts that began to plague my mind that day were too scary to think about.  I remember praying on my knees and then singing out loud, “Amazing Grace”.  The decision to leave came to me like a flash.

However I do now remember the weeks preceding my departure.  I recall not wanting any part of him.  I remember the thoughts I had while going to bed.  I no longer even wanted a spot for him.  There was nothing left to fight for.

We had been fighting (or was it me) for years and years, though his anger would always return.  The day I RAN I remember being in my mother’s driveway in my car, and he was there – yelling, “Go home.  Cut this shit out.”  I sat immobilized in the car.  I was in a fog not knowing whether to move.  Even to think at that moment and make decisions was too much for me.  It was divine intervention when my mother came home and she saw him yelling at me while I sat in the car.  Her motherly instinct took effect.  She saw the desperation and confusion in my face.  “What are you doing?”, she screamed at him.  “This is exactly why you are going to lose her”, she said.  His response, “This is who I am.  She has to get use to it”.  But how do you get use to his yelling, the demeaning, that ANGER??  He had tried anger management a few times, but when someone doesn’t truly think they have a problem, will it ever work?

She decided for me what I needed to do.  I no longer had the ability to know.  My ability to think clearly at that moment was gone.  It was being controlled by the rage, and fear.  I saw in her eyes the recognition of my inability to understand or rationalize.  My mind was unable to process what to do, as I sat dazed.  “Kelsy, get in the house”.  I followed her directions.  She continued to be the protector, and she managed to get him to leave her house.

I suppose there was an early recognition that I no longer could deal with the rage and the ridicule.  That day, in particular, was a hard one.  “Fuck off”, he said as he left.  Within a couple of weeks all of the kids would be gone and off to college, or living on their own.  This was the time.  Taking care of me was now what I needed to do.  So run, I did.

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