Help me, some one please.

 

Today the wife calls me from the cell phone.  She’s being pulled over and given a ticket.  Unsafe lane change or some crap like that.  I try to stay supportative of the situation, but she interprets my lack of emotional response as condemnation and turns on me.  Suddenly it’s my fault some how that she got a ticket.  Suddenly it’s fault that I don’t support her when she needs it.

 

Let me back up a few days.  Saturday night we’re coming home from the movies and she starts in on me about something, I can’t even remember what it was.  I tell her over and over again that I don’t want to drug back into this argument.  That I won’t do it.  That I can’t stand being at the center of her anger anymore and I would rather sit her and ignore her than involve myself in her petty arguments.  She of course will not accept this as a solution and begins instead calling me names, and saying that because I won’t fight back I obviously don’t love her (that’s the gist of it anyway).  So I’m resorted into fighting with her.  At some point I can’t take it anymore I’m about ready to start breaking things, so I again plead with her to shut up, but it’s an angry plea, full of desperation and wanton fear of the possibilities.  She instead does not and continues on with “It’s all your fault!”  I scream and start pounding the steering wheel. This frightens her and she demands to be let out of the car.  I pull the car off the road and roar away the minute she steps out.  The door closing by shear momentum.

 

I drive two blocks before I start to feel guilty about leaving her on the side of the road.  But I’m torn, should I go back?  She didn’t when the shoe was on the other foot.  She let me walk the 5 miles home with out even thinking about stopping to get me.  And, she was only one half a mile from the house.  But nonetheless I didn’t really want her to get hurt.  So I turned around.  I couldn’t find her.  It turns out she walked to her church and called her only ‘friend’ whom came and took her home.

 

So today, she decides that since I kicked her out of the car on Saturday, that I don’t love her, and that since I wasn’t willing to be so angry with the cop, that I don’t love her. 

 

This all happened at 9:45.  I hung up on her after five minutes of having to fight with her about this whole thing.  Then for the next 20 minutes the phone didn’t stop ringing.  Over and over and over it again.  Put I knew that it was she and I didn’t pick up a single one, instead I waited to see if she’d leave messages.  She only left one and it went something like this, “[Crying] Since now I know you don’t love me, I don’t care if I live!  You better call me back…if you ever want to see me again!  Joshua is going to be with out a mother…” I hung up the phone at this point.  I didn’t need to hear anymore.

 

At 10:20 I’m paged to the front…apparently I have a visitor.  Low and behold it’s my wife (apparently I didn’t need to call her back).  Come to embarrass me in front of my fellow employees.  Oh it wasn’t enough that she could get me to scream at her on the telephone.  No, she had to draw my boss’s attention and drag it out in front of other people.  I had half a mind to allow her this spectacle.  I was willing to allow her to yell and scream in front of the receptionist, just so that someone else could finally hear her ranting insanity!  But I knew that no matter how much fun that would be, it would be bad for the employment, so I drug her outside and yelled at her.  How dare she just show up at my work!  How dare she!  Of course her response was, “How dare you hang up on me!  How dare you keep pornography at your desk, hiding it from me!”  Well, folks, the porn she’s referring to is 2 GQ magazines.  One May 2001 and the other March 2001.  I’ve just gone all the way through them again looking for anything that could be construed as porn (as defined by the southern Baptists: nudity or sexual innuendo) and guess what?  Aside from a single cartoon on the Dr. Smooth Column there wasn’t a single naked body or act of sex by actual people.  In fact the magazine is so clean that the ads in the back do not contain a single 1-900 number.  And the cartoon on Dr. Smooth was jokingly done (without actually showing anything at all).  For this what does she say to me: “Just tell me the truth (about the porn in GQ)!”  I yell, “I am telling you the truth!  I always tell you the truth!  In fact, I should have never started with the truth!  I should have built this relationship on lies!  At least then the way we feel right now would be justified! I’m not going to feel guilty!  I’m not going to feel like a bad person!”  I stormed back toward the doors of the office and heard this as I was going, “Fine!  I’ll just go back inside and tell your boss!”

 

I have no idea what she meant by that.  I understand that she is upset, but to threaten an attempt at getting me in trouble with my boss is just plain stupid.  After all, I’m the one that pays the fucking bills, if she gets me fired, the bills won’t get paid. It’s biting the hand that feeds.  But, let me tell you that she doesn’t have to worry.  Oh no, her family would come to her rescue.  She’d never have to live in the street and my guess is her bothersome aunt would make the house payments for her.  So my wife has all the right to destroy me, because she knows that it wouldn’t affect her, she’d be safe from it all.

 

I’m dying here.  This woman is killing me.  She is completely lost and I don’t want to hate her, but I can’t stop thinking that I would be better off just to run away.

 

Damn me, damn it all.