I know how to fight dirty better than anyone I have ever known. In the heat of battle, I can end our argument before it even starts and you will lose… but so will I.
I have always had this uncanny ability to recall my opponent’s weakness and then target it with a nuclear offensive. Sometimes, that weakness is something that my opponent is ashamed of or, perhaps, that one truth they choose to ignore. Sometimes, it is as simple as a name, that I know they cannot bear to be called. It is always, however, something that was shared in confidence... while we were allies.
I will hold you close and, when you are most vulnerable, you will tell me what hurts you… and I will use it to destroy you. This is my weapon of mass destruction.
After much soul searching, I have found that this behavior is indicative of emotional immaturity and deep insecurities. After all, if I can’t express the emotions that I am feeling and I become vulnerable, what choice do I have but to declare Global Thermonuclear War?
“Maybe if you weren’t such a shitty lay, your husband wouldn’t have cheated on you,” I said to someone once.
We no longer speak to each other.
This is probably the flaw that I am most ashamed of. Though I’d like to say that this behavior is never premeditated, the ability to store a loved one’s Achilles’ heel in the archives of your mind and use against them at a moments notice is, to me, a pretty ugly predisposition. I have always struggled with the question of whether it comes from some evil inside of me or if it’s learned behavior. After all, there is nothing more devastating than learning what the word bastard means after you have been repeatedly called one.
I have worked really hard in the past few years to eliminate this part of me and I have been incredibly successful, so much so that the behavior had become foreign to me… until today.
Luca and I squared off this morning. He had a nine-year-old attitude and I had the weight of 45 minutes to feed, clothe, and have a family of four out the door in time for church. When he was called out by his father, he started to cry… and then the insults flew from his mouth. “I hate you and I hate being here and I only come here ‘cuz mom makes me, and I hate talking to you on the phone because, I don’t even know why you call me, because I never have anything to say to you, because I hate you.”
Global Thermonuclear War
In one run-on sentence he managed to attack everything that I hold dear -- our love, our time together… our telephone calls. On the day that I left my marital home I made a promise to Luca that, even if we weren’t together, he would hear my voice every morning when he woke up and every night before he goes to bed. For nearly five years I have kept that promise.
There was no question about how I felt at that moment. I was hurt and I was very angry.
Although I didn’t stoop to his level, I certainly made my feelings known, noting that I would stop calling him if he so desired and that if he didn’t want to come over anymore, it was “no skin” off my back!” I didn’t let it go either.
Later, I reminded him of all the boys that he knows who haven’t seen or talked to their fathers in years. “Do you think they’re better off,” I asked. I even went so far as to point out how difficult it would have been for him to pick out and purchase a nice gift for his mother’s upcoming birthday, without my help. He didn’t respond to any of it. He knew that his behavior had hurt me and I could see that it hurt him too.
At church, rather than take his usual seat next to Joanna, he opted to sit next to his dad. Throughout the entire service, he nuzzled my chest, held my hand… hell, he even kissed me at one point. It wasn’t until he was gone, however, that I recognized his behavior.
He’s feeling vulnerable. Summer is over. Tomorrow he goes back to school. Next Sunday he starts Sunday school for the first time. Soon, there will be scout meetings, homework, and a lot more interaction between his parents who, historically, can’t seem to get it all straight without a fight. That must be terribly frustrating for a nine year old. I just wish I had picked up on it sooner.
He’s just like his father.
Hopefully he’ll figure it all out sooner than I did.
I have always had this uncanny ability to recall my opponent’s weakness and then target it with a nuclear offensive. Sometimes, that weakness is something that my opponent is ashamed of or, perhaps, that one truth they choose to ignore. Sometimes, it is as simple as a name, that I know they cannot bear to be called. It is always, however, something that was shared in confidence... while we were allies.
I will hold you close and, when you are most vulnerable, you will tell me what hurts you… and I will use it to destroy you. This is my weapon of mass destruction.
After much soul searching, I have found that this behavior is indicative of emotional immaturity and deep insecurities. After all, if I can’t express the emotions that I am feeling and I become vulnerable, what choice do I have but to declare Global Thermonuclear War?
“Maybe if you weren’t such a shitty lay, your husband wouldn’t have cheated on you,” I said to someone once.
We no longer speak to each other.
This is probably the flaw that I am most ashamed of. Though I’d like to say that this behavior is never premeditated, the ability to store a loved one’s Achilles’ heel in the archives of your mind and use against them at a moments notice is, to me, a pretty ugly predisposition. I have always struggled with the question of whether it comes from some evil inside of me or if it’s learned behavior. After all, there is nothing more devastating than learning what the word bastard means after you have been repeatedly called one.
I have worked really hard in the past few years to eliminate this part of me and I have been incredibly successful, so much so that the behavior had become foreign to me… until today.
Luca and I squared off this morning. He had a nine-year-old attitude and I had the weight of 45 minutes to feed, clothe, and have a family of four out the door in time for church. When he was called out by his father, he started to cry… and then the insults flew from his mouth. “I hate you and I hate being here and I only come here ‘cuz mom makes me, and I hate talking to you on the phone because, I don’t even know why you call me, because I never have anything to say to you, because I hate you.”
Global Thermonuclear War
In one run-on sentence he managed to attack everything that I hold dear -- our love, our time together… our telephone calls. On the day that I left my marital home I made a promise to Luca that, even if we weren’t together, he would hear my voice every morning when he woke up and every night before he goes to bed. For nearly five years I have kept that promise.
There was no question about how I felt at that moment. I was hurt and I was very angry.
Although I didn’t stoop to his level, I certainly made my feelings known, noting that I would stop calling him if he so desired and that if he didn’t want to come over anymore, it was “no skin” off my back!” I didn’t let it go either.
Later, I reminded him of all the boys that he knows who haven’t seen or talked to their fathers in years. “Do you think they’re better off,” I asked. I even went so far as to point out how difficult it would have been for him to pick out and purchase a nice gift for his mother’s upcoming birthday, without my help. He didn’t respond to any of it. He knew that his behavior had hurt me and I could see that it hurt him too.
At church, rather than take his usual seat next to Joanna, he opted to sit next to his dad. Throughout the entire service, he nuzzled my chest, held my hand… hell, he even kissed me at one point. It wasn’t until he was gone, however, that I recognized his behavior.
He’s feeling vulnerable. Summer is over. Tomorrow he goes back to school. Next Sunday he starts Sunday school for the first time. Soon, there will be scout meetings, homework, and a lot more interaction between his parents who, historically, can’t seem to get it all straight without a fight. That must be terribly frustrating for a nine year old. I just wish I had picked up on it sooner.
He’s just like his father.
Hopefully he’ll figure it all out sooner than I did.
