Outside Looking In

As I sit here trying to collect myself after a sobbing fit, brought on when I had to answer the door to a gruff man asking for my husband (like he’s a common criminal) and hands me paperwork for family court. Lucky me, I get to be the recipient, and it’s not the first time. I am especially irritated when asked my name, age and height. I know he’s doing his job, but it took all my strength not to spit back at him, “Would you like my bra size and a DNA sample too?”

Happy effing holidays.

To be fair, this is not out of the blue, and it had to due with state regulations, blah blah blah and I'm sure it's nothing and will hopefully go away. I'm not blaming anyone for having to do the actual paperwork. I'm more upset at the way you're treated when these guys in cheap suits and shitty cars drop off this paperwork to your home. It's not fun.

As for the other stuff, well, I would like peace all year, and it’s something that I thought had been established. During the holidays, I would really like peace, compassion, and if a man is going to show up to my house in the middle of the day, he better be wearing a friggin Santa suit, spreading Christmas cheer, not interrogating me on the whereabouts of my husband.

I guess peace is a fragile thing. Maybe I don’t try hard enough. Perhaps I haven’t tried at all to be friends, let alone friendly, although I feel I’ve made attempts.  Those attempts just happen to feel constantly thwarted and there always seems to be a lack of compassion, understanding, and generosity when it comes to what we are going through.  And when my husband is getting criticized, judged, and attacked, then yes, my urge to be friendly disappears real quick. But come on, what do you expect?

The bottom line is, how do you not feel like you’re completely on the outside when someone has purposely put you there? In a glass box so they can watch, and then judge, everything you do? Use it to build an argument or agenda that you had no idea was bubbling below the surface? It feels like war, and I’m into peace, man. Love and harmony.  Just because I don’t send flowers or a hundred text messages (with smiley faces) each day doesn’t mean anything, except maybe I’m too busy.  Because I can get over getting treated like dog shit, each and every time. I can, I have and I will. But, understandably, it gets harder to want to try, and much easier to ask to be left alone.