confront
I bet you thought that was the start of a happy little reminiscent romp through my painful adolescence. But oh. No. It was simply a ruse to distract you from the fact that it will likely be yet another trudge through my present pain.
Last entry, it appears, I spoke too soon. So much for happy endings to my blissful wedding saga. After yet another exhausting, horrendous night at work, during which I had to forcefully refrain myself from slapping a few people, I returned home at 5am to discover a nice little email waiting for me from my father.
Oh yes. There's no real communicating in this family. No way! Who are you kidding! Email is the way to go, apparently. Even while living under the same roof.
So yeah. Awful awful email. Excerpts anyone? "There is simply no justification for Richard’s position unless you are just a comfortable source of pleasure, a convenient “girlfriend“ or someone who can help with his financial
issues. By having you around he does not have to take time away from
his research to make the effort to get a girlfriend for those social events
where couples are the norm. He does not have to go through the effort
to find girls who share his non-commitment philosophy and just want him
for the sex and the social benefits."
Ahahaha. Okay, so that part is kind of funny, if not tragic. Richard the social studmuffin, using me as a trophy girlfriend at all his big functions.
He basically goes on to say that Richard is a controlling manipulative bastard who does not love me and will never commit, and that I am making the biggest mistake of my life and it's not too late, and I shouldn't let my pride get in the way... etc etc etc.
I was gobsmacked, to say the least. First of all, how could he get Richard so, so wrong? Second of all... well... I dunno what's second of all. It was not shocker to learn that he disapproved of the marriage. It was just the presentation that got to me, I guess. And how do I respond to that?
Well, my first reaction was to hide. By the time I read the email, my dad was due to wake up in about 15 minutes. Rather than have to interact with him in any way, I locked myself in my room and tried to distract myself by reading old journals. I don't know if it exactly helped reading about my angsty adolescent self. I think I cried a bit. Probably. Eventually I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up a few hours later to an empty house. Thank god. I had to pull myself together somehow. But first, a good sob. Oh yeah. That helped. I forwarded the email to Richard, figuring he'd appreciate it (ha!) and installed a new computer game, hoping to numb my brain for a few hours. Then my mother came home, acting as if nothing had happened. I played along for awhile, until I couldn't take it anymore and broke down sobbing in the kitchen while preparing lunch. Nice.
She actually did not know about the email. So I gave her a copy I had printed out, and she read it. "Couldn't have expressed it better myself," she said afterwards. Great. We had a heart to heart in which she basically insulted Richard and me and I cried and... yeah, it was pretty useless and served only to make me more upset. Great. I ended up back in bed, crying until I had no more tears and my head hurt and I felt like I might actually gag. I stayed there for at least an hour or two. Then my mom left for awhile and I tried calling Richard about a million times, to no avail.
The worst part of the whole thing is, I was left with the horrible feeling that I will end up leaving Richard, that this was signifying the end for us. Maybe they're right, I thought. Maybe I shouldn't settle for anything less than a full commitment. And if he can't give it to me, then I'll just have to move on. Better to do it now than a few years down the line, when I've wasted even more time. I already feel like enough of a failure as an adult. Imagine what I'll feel like at 30, having to start over again, still with nothing, now also a divorcee. Potential misery, times ten.
Then again, I'm guarenteed misery if I stick around here just now and start again without Richard. It's a question of do I take the risk for potential happiness, or play it safe and take less of a hit now? I was never a gambler.
Dinner was an awkward affair, as my dad was home, yet I wasn't about to confront him then and there about it, even though I had been agonising all day. I somehow managed to avoid all eye contact and conversation and finished my meal in record time, retreating to the basement, to the computer and the telephone. I was dying to talk to Richard, but he still wasn't home, despite it being nearly 10pm there; and now that my parents were home I wouldn't get much privacy. Eventually I reached him, and we had a teary talk. He was devastated to read what my father thought of him, and offered to talk to my dad, or at least send his own email. I told him I didn't think it would help, as the commitment thing is the major issue, and he's not prepared to do anything about that. Once again, there was no resolution. What could there be?
When I hung up, I bit the bullet and went upstairs to confront Daddy dearest, tissues in hand, headache now raging, probably from dehydration. He had just turned off the TV and was standing up, clutching a book. I told him I had received his email, and plopped in a chair, tears already coming - god, I'm a baby. He didn't seem to have much sympathy. Didn't even sit or look me in the eye. Just stood awkwardly as I told him Richard is not at all like he said, and that I was hurt he would think those things. His reaction: "Well, I'm just telling it like I see it. At least now you know how I feel." The conversation carried on for a few minutes longer, before he said he was going to his adult cathechism class and that maybe we could discuss it later, when I had calmed down.
Oh dear. That set me off. I was seething as he walked out. And sobbing too, of course. I called Richard again. Then I took a long hot shower and came here to vent. And...
Shit, he's back. As I was writing this, he came down for Round 2. I stayed at the computer, he sat in a rocking chair in the adjacent room. This way, there was no eye contact whatsoever, just disembodied voices. And perhaps it helped, because things went rather more smoothly, and I barely cried. I'm not sure if anything was accomplished. I maybe convinced him that Richard is not the devil. I maybe explained some of his behaviour. He still demands some sort of public acknowledgement of our love, as he states it. Hmmm. I dunno. I think maybe inroads were made? Ack. As he left he said "Ah well, I'm glad we can talk about it," and I don't think he was being sarcastic.
I've been gulping down water to try to make myself feel better. I'm tempted by beer, but I'm guessing that would be a bad idea. At least I can begin to breathe again. For now.
