DD is perturbed by how angry I remain with my ex. It’s been more than two years since we separated, I’m happily in a new relationship, my life is is filled with lovely things, but the fury still simmers.
(I know it’s not healthy. The negative feelings are slowly ebbing. Two years isn’t really that long. Excuses, excuses …)
There’s the obvious reason for me being angry: the circumstances surrounding my ex leaving our marriage.
DD doesn’t really get why that rankles so much.
I don’t get why he doesn’t get why that rankles so much.
Probably because he’s never been through a situation like that himself.
But, if I’m to be honest, my anger with my ex blossomed long before he left.
So many of the blogs I wrote in the dying years of our marriage were filled with bile.
I’m not surprised my ex disliked the blog so much. Not only did I use it as an excuse to hide in the study and not interact with him, but it became a weapon I used against him.
All the things I wasn’t game to say to his face popped up in the blog under the guise of humour, but there wasn’t really anything funny about it. I was just being plain mean.
Like one I wrote in 2011 called “Venus and Mars”:
My New Year’s Eve went something like this …
Cooked bacon sandwiches for kids’ breakfast; did grocery shopping; bought Husband six-pack of beer for New Year’s Eve party; bought chooks 25kg bag of scratch mix; staggered to car with 25kg bag of scratch mix; washed and hung out two loads of washing; filled recycling bin with empty bottles and cartons; baked eggshells to make grit for chooks; assembled wraps for Husband and kids for lunch; baked banana bread to use up manky banana supplies; baked biscuits with Sprog 2, who doesn’t like banana bread; shut back door 50 times to stop plague of mozzies getting in; shut front door 20 times to stop plague of mozzies getting in; killed lots of mozzies; threw out old magazines and newspapers; put crap away from recent car trip; cleaned chook shit out of chook house; sorted three baskets of clean laundry; unpacked and repacked diswasher; returned to supermarket for forgotten essentials: toilet paper, broccoli, sparklers; cooked dinner; washed the kids’ hair and painted the youngest’s toenails rainbow colours for New Year’s Eve party; copped grief from Husband for painting the youngest’s toenails (some sexualisation nonsense); went to New Year’s Eve Party; reluctantly abandoned third glass of French champagne after being reminded of designated driver status; drove Husband and kids home from New Year’s Eve party; took Unisom; collapsed in bed at 11.50pm.
Husband’s New Year’s Eve went something like this …
Made craft turtles with kids; played badminton with kids, assembled worm farm with kids; dug up backyard looking for worms with Sprogs; filled worm farm using cutlery and plastic bowls from kitchen; left back door open 50 times; left front door open 20 times; played badminton with kids; played Battleship with the eldest; had a cup of tea; played Battleship with the eldest again; played a little more badminton; ducked upstairs for nap; went to New Year’s Eve party; drank lots of beer; crashed in bed at 11.50pm after hoovering up contents of fridge.
That was such an underhanded, passive aggressive way to express my anger.
I’m a bit ashamed of myself. It was wrong for me to write that blog and numerous other ones.
Somehow our relationship had deteriorated to the point we couldn’t discuss what was bothering us. So I grumbled via the blog and he became increasingly fed up with my failure to communicate properly.
I hope I don’t misuse the blog like that any more. I’m a bit worried I wouldn’t even realise I was doing it, since I (somehow) remained totally clueless to the fact back then.
Please pull me up on it if I do.
Song of the day: No Doubt “Don’t Speak”