His Side has left the building

... along with Elvis and my battle to balance hope and disappointment.

As an overachiever, I didn't end this battle after quiet contemplation. That's too simple. ::eyeroll:: There were neighbors... and cops... and domestic violence papers... and changed locks. Thankfully, two guests didn't show up to the party: Tears and Regret.

Lemme go back. His Side recently made a remarkable move. He reached out to medical professionals for the help he needed to fight his formidable demons. I supported him as a friend, allowed him to remain in my home, and actually witnessed a marked improvement. He stopped drinking, gave up his tendency to try and control everyone (but himself), and conducted himself like a rational person experiencing a prolonged moment of clarity.

Then came the lapse. The meltdown.

He decided to get drunk on the vodka we purchased for friends and lost his damn mind. Seriously. And literally. He went to that place where the light behind his eyes go dark, reality escapes him, and a target must be sought. As I sat silently waiting for the storm to end, he couldn't stand my unwillingness to engage... so he threw me to the floor. By. My. FACE. It was the mush heard round the world. I hit the floor like a rock and went straight for the phone to call the police. He twisted my arm until I let go the house phone and took my cell. I got my son out of bed, went to the neighbors, and called the cops.

To make a long story short, I opted not to press charges so long as he was removed from the home. To his cousin's he went in a police car, as I stared at the police report - wondering how I endured the patience and longsuffering of hope.

Even as I sit here, 3 weeks later, I have trouble finding the words to express how this has changed my life. I am so satisfied that my daily energy isn't spent trying to help somebody who floats in and out of helping themselves. I cook more, relax more, and enjoy the slow process of getting my house back into order. Yet somehow, I don't regret the time I spent loving His Side and hoping he would win the fight against his heavy baggage. Hell, I still love him, but from AFAR.

Even though his apologies have been heartfelt and sincere, I was relieved to see the moment he realized there is no way back into my life. While he fights a new demon - the weight of regret - I relish the freedom of releasing all of his baggage back into his care. Unlike the past, I don't feel concerned that he may not make it. I'm alright with his success or his failure because I let it go without the remnant of feeling any responsibility.

Sadness, embarrassment, and lonliness were fleeting feelings. But this satisfaction I'm feeling is permanent.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 3 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Continued from Part 2, which I had to break apart because it was becomming its own damn book...

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The weekend ended when His Side returned to his cousin's house, tried to call me, but I was on the phone with an old friend that I reconnected with. The old friend was a flame in my late teens, and we've had a good time catching-up on all the changes that 20 years can bring. His Side Lost. His. Mind.... first when the reconnection was revealed through the magic of Facebook friends lists, and then when His Side actually couldn't reach me because my phone was busy. The nerve of me using my phone. Based on the accusation, clearly old friends only reconnect to make plans for hot steamy affairs... right?

Anyway, I take ownership of three mistakes I made in this process:

1. I underestimated the challenge ahead of me and got loose on my watch.

2. I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be for His Side to fight his own personal battle with hope and dissapointment.

3. I didn't take the sage advice to go "no contact" for at least 30 days straight after the breakup. Somewhere deep inside me, a naive hopeful girl believes friendship should never die. Well part of that girl died this past weekend. She needed to. And the next time I see her, I'm gonna slap her in the mouwf.

Everything happens for a reason. (Dammit. Another cliche I couldn't avoid because of the unmistakable truth at its core. But I digress...) Even our mistakes become springboards for lessons that we need to learn. I count this the tuning point in successfully balancing hope wiht disappointment.

I suspect there will be a Part 4 to this series. Shit, I may do like Rocky, forget when to stop making more "parts," and just continue this until I'm too old to box I complete all the transitions that come with the territory.

Holla at me in the comments... even if it's to spank me for being dense. Y'all know I can take it.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 2 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Welcome to Part 2 of The Shittiest Lesson EVAH

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I have been working on Part 2 of this series for weeeeeks. The landscape of this battle changes so often, that my draft posts go stale before I have a chance to dot the i's and hit "publish."

But today I reached a place where I can say something important about the ongoing battle - a battle I never expected to present so many challenges. I have to thank Mark again for forcing me to pay attention.

Most of the time, I'd say 85% of the time, His Side and I have a great time re-exploring friendship without the stress of "working on relationship issues." Those issues became deeply distracting, and we owed it to each other to go to our separate corners to work it out. That 85% represents "Hope." But the other 15% of the time, OH GOOD LORDIE, we take randomly unexpected turns manifesting "Disappointment."

His Side fluctuates between two ends of the spectrum: Deep understanding of how much time it would take for us to come together again in the future and hurt frustration that wants to make it happen right now.

I stay firm on the expectation that reconciliation would take a looooong time, but find myself feeling frustrated at key times that he seems to avoid his personal business with eyes fixed on recreating an "us." Dammit, how is that time gonna come while I'm still young enough to have wild sex if you keep wasting the days on dumb shit?

Anyway, it isn't fair for either of us to dump our disappointment on the other. My style is to go all blue and get motherly about his decisions. His style is to have a blow out until he hits the right button and I go up like a flare.

This weekend was particularly bad. We spend time together every-other weekend, but this weekend he was on a deep romantic mission. He got nasty when I didn't flow with it, and he said more hurtful things than a single human should say in a lifetime. I was floored. And I reacted. Talk about a flare. I think my hair caught on fire.

He continued the rip bouncing back and forth between apologies and more frustrated words. For the first time, I wondered if this was a person I even wanted as a distant associate. I simply told him, "Friends don't treat each other this way, and there's no way I can count you a friend."

It was like the end of an era. It was like breaking up all over again.

Worst of all, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger who evokes fond memories because he bears a striking resemblance to a lost loved-one. Except it's not the loved one, and you have to deal with the reality of who is standing in front of you.

:: breaking the rest into Part 3, which will auto-publish in 2 days, because this is a long one ::

Green-eyed jealousy and irrational rage - Dickhead outdoes himself this time.

Dickhead perpetrated an epic fuckup this weekend and the whole sordid evening changed the landscape of our relationship. It ended with my very calm and resolute words, "I can't do this. I don't want to be with you anymore." So now lets rewind the tape.


A mutual friend invited us to a dinner party. The dinner party was to celebrate his father-in-law's 68th birthday who Dickhead and I never met. We packed-up my nine-year old son and made our way over. I was actually excited, and you would be too if you ever tasted the mom's cooking.


Anyway, we arrived and met the birthday boy and other guests. Things seemed fine until Dickhead started doing tequila shots and another couple arrived at the party.


Dickhead immediately doesn't like the husband. Sure. The husband talked a little too loud. He was a bit flamboyant. And he kept getting church calls like he was the Pastor of a huge congregation with a direct red phone to God's private office. But so what? We're in somebody else's home meeting their friends. Social grace and basic laws of socializing dictate that you make small talk and keep dat shit moving.


Long and short - Dickhead starts slumping in his chair and staring glaring at the husband during a three-minute conversation about cell phones old vs. new. He appears to be seething about stupid cell phone small-talk. I see this, give Dickhead a smile, take his hand, and say, "Sweetie. You look like you need a cigarette. Come on outside with me."


What happens next? Arnold Alkie almost falls down the porch steps on the way out and finally stops stumbling in the middle of the street. And the house isn't really that close to the street. The stumbling was acrobatic and poetic as I marveled over how he stayed on his feet. (Note to self: Dickhead is a ballerina). I had to quietly call him about TWENTY FUCKING TIMES from the side of the house to get him out of the street. When he finally moves, The King of Stunted Social Growth loses his damned mind on me outside. Really. Out of the blue, he cussed me out about talking to the gentleman at the party. Reason? Because "I can see he wants you."


"But I'm here with you, baby. I don't know what you're talking about."


"But I can see it. You're gonna be WITH HIM!"


"I don't even KNOW him."


Thinking to myself, "If I didn't think I would end up on the news, I'd slap every tooth out of your mouth and make you search through these white garden rocks to retrieve them."

But my body went into appeasement mode to stop the tide I saw rushing towards the shores. This drunk asshole is losing his mind over small talk at a dinner party... the same small talk his dumb. ass. was having with the man's wife. And when he went into ranting how "he wants you and you're gonna be with him..." I knew it was time to grab the kid get get outta there before he could embarrass me beyond showing my face ever again.


I apologized to our friend, who I straight up told that "Dickhead had too much to drink and was tripping again." I apologized to him. Gave beautiful smiles and good-byes to the rest of the house, and left with my heart in my feet. Our other friends hadn't even arrived yet, and once again I had to implement Plan Damage Control for a crazy fiance who took his drunken jealousy out on me.


I honestly don't see how else I could have handled that situation. I was almost whining - almost begging him to calm down. It was like watching myself in a movie, except I was in the audience screaming, "Leave him you dumb bitch!" That night, on the way home, that's exactly what I did. I broke up with him.


He's the love of my life. He's still in the home. And we're still friends. But intimacy will cease as we return to "friends" and he takes time to work out some issues - ones that I wanted to help him bear but can't anymore. I don't want to be an enabler. I especially don't want to be a target, and I actually feel relieved. Right in the middle of feeling guilty for being so happy about the decision, one of my closest girlfriends said this:


"You were able to make that decision without second-guessing yourself because your actions originated in love, honesty, and purpose."


I couldn't find better words than that. I love Dickhead, I live honestly with him, and I see the deeper purpose of him getting over his frightening jealousy while outside this relationship. The pull of his problem was starting to weigh me down. He made me the object of his irrational jealous behavior and the load simply got too heavy. So for now, I'm a best friend helping her Dickhead male friend deal with some issues.


He is overly concerned that this is the end for us. I want him to recognize this as a new beginning for him. There is not "us" so long as there's an angry, unstable, and unhappy him.


He may breeze through here and talk about this. I am pretty sure a history of cheating ex-wives and his own insecurities over his joblessness are major factors - but the depth and fire in his reactions speaks to something even deeper.


I thank you for reading. As a woman, what else could/should I have done after the jealousy fuse was lit?


Bonus PS: Dickhead reads all of these posts, so it's not like we're talking behind his back or anything. He knows very well that I find just the right words to describe the depths of his insanity.

Conflict Escalation from a Fighting Pro

Today you did battle at your job. It was a horrible day after which you renamed your boss The Shiftless Tyrant. Your major accomplishment was maintaining the self control to not quit. You arrive home, kick off your shoes, and hit the porcelain throne. When the golden rain is over, you reach to your left and hit that familiar empty roll. The Mr. used the last bit again and you're stranded.

You have a few choices here, but you go with Plan B, which allows you to give the Mr. all the lip you wished you could have given the boss at work. You request a new roll of toilet paper, but it sounds more like an owner asking a slave to go fetch some cotton. (Well some toilet paper does have cotton in it, right?)

Anyway, not to be outdone or summoned like chattel, the Mr. senses the slave reference and fires back with something you're not even sure you heard right. You have an emotional blackout, and soon the two of you waste 1/2 hour screaming about everything from dirty dishes to who was dropped on their head at birth. And you're still stranded on the toilet.

How does an empty toilet paper roll end in insults and tears? Unnecessary conflict escalation. And that's not good for anybody's relationship.

My house has seen a number of these incidents - some starting with a simple misunderstanding. When the dust finally settles, we both lament over the exponential escalation factor that left us both wounded.

In the toilet paper example, who was wrong? Should the Mrs. have stuffed her bad day at work and not carry the attitude into the house? Or should the Mr. have understood and simply brought a new roll? The point is, assigning fault is less important than making sure you're never any part of the escalation process - whether you "started it" or not. The argument may only last for minutes, but things said during these useless battles aren't often forgotten. You wound your mate for nothing and the cumulative effects can chip away at intimacy.

Pride, human nature, and even selfishness drive folks to "attack when attacked." But we aren't supposed to see our mate as an enemy when something goes down. A deep breath and a "yes honey" go a long way in killing the monster called conflict escalation. That's true for MEN AND WOMEN.

Now go home and stop acting like a spoiled jackass.

My Fiance is an Insolent Dickhead, And I Love Him Like Crazy

Fvck trying to start this blog with a feel-good post. My plan was to begin with some flowery-ass description of why we called the blog "Battle Scars and Exit Wounds." You'll have to wait for that, 'cause I have something else to say.

Love is a bitch. That much is true. I'm engaged to a man I am proud to call my best friend, but some days I want to carve the word "shithead" onto his dick. With a dull cleaver. Really. And every woman on this planet knows that feeling, and sent me a cyber-high-five for being honest.

The dickhead (who will be known to you as "His Side") and I decided to start this blog because too few couples are honest about what makes love work. Parents try to shield children from the truth - out of protection or pure embarrassment - and nobody gets to hear the raw story of how a marriage lasts longer than 5 minutes.

So here we are, taking over for the whack parents trying to appear as angels, to cover everything from communication to great sex. No. Not "mom and dad procreation sex," but the stuff teenagers fantasize about during boring History classes.

Today, the dickhead showed his ass because he didn't get enough sex last night. Okay, he didn't get any. And like the mature man he is, he pouted all day and basically terrorized me at work. Every time the phone rang, I said a little prayer it wasn't him. Okay. No need dragging the Lord into this. I didn't say a little prayer. I really said, "Dammit. Here we go with this shit again."

This blog will be the source of many fights, because we agreed to (1) be brutally honest while (2) giving the other person a chance to respond with their side. If it gets bloody, just turn away and move along. That's why you pushed the damned button that said you're mature enough to read this shit in the first place.

Now keep it moving. I must go upstairs to enter the Pout Zone.