Monogamous relationships are abnormal

 A lot of writers write because they are crazy.
A lot of crazies go crazy because they write.

Writing helps me keep the demons out. I don’t mean demons in terms of the bible. I mean demons in terms of the fucked people that live within us, who sometimes get out and like to destroy everything around us. We both have them. Those other personalities need to be controlled somehow.

I know that if I can just bide my time this situation will correct itself.  Unless V. stops drinking, the two of you are destined for some more havoc. Since I doubt that she is ready to stop drinking, there is going to be some “I’ll show you crazy” time in the future.

Remember, when that happens again, call me. Call me in the middle of the night. Call me at work. Don’t hurt yourself.

I do not really know how to handle all of this. Do you really want a divorce? You are telling me that you are doing it so that your girlfriend can stay in the USA. It is only temporary. Nobody needs to know. Divorce is just a piece of paper. Since we don’t believe that the government needs to be getting into the personal lives of others, the government and their involvement into ours lives should be taken with contempt.

Yet, V. thinks that you are going to be monogamous. That means that you are telling her that you want to divorce me because you do not love me “in that way”.  You probably tell her that I am your “bestfriend”. You are also most likely telling her that you love her and want to be with her. That must mean that she thinks the two of us are finished.

Which one of us is being used? Which one of us is being told a lie?

It would be easy for all parties involved to get along if V. wasn’t so anti-male. She doesn’t have to sleep with me. She only has to ignore the fact that you do. If she could do that, we could live in total harmony.  I really don’t care if you have sex with her or not. I like the stories of your naughtiness. I like it when you tell me all of the kinky things that you do with your female lover.

I guess that means that I am the sort of person who deserves to have all of these type of problems. I am mentally disturbed and I like being with the mentally disturbed.

Naturally, being mentally disturbed is a judgment based on the culture a person is in. In a world where monogamy was abnormal, these type of relationship problems would be quite common. Considering how many people get married and then have extra-marital lovers, monogamous relationships are really what is abnormal. Lying about the desires one has is what is wrong. Having desire is not.


Some guy tried to rape my wife

I am not going to post much right now. I have to figure out my options.

I had a long conversation with my wife. Yes, the same woman asking to divorce me. She looked like she had been crying all night. She told me that somebody was going to rape her, but a friend showed up and saved her.

I am not sure what the whole story is yet. Apparently, my wife tried to get a job at a bar and grill. The owner told her that he interviews people by playing a game of pool with him. While waiting for the interview, she had a drink at the bar. Then, another. Eventually, she went into a back room with him where the pool tables were.

Here is where the story needs to be cleared up. She says she thinks something was added to her drink because she doesn’t remember everything that happened. She tried to leave, but the door was locked. The friend who saved her was beating on the door from the other side. The owner eventually let her leave.

Here’s how the friend came to be in the right place at the right time.

Apparently the friend was at the bar with my wife earlier in the evening. There were three people in total: a friend, an acquaintance and my wife. The friend had to go to work, the acquaintance was during her own thing and my wife was waiting for the interview at the bar. After an undetermined amount of time, the acquaintance called the friend and said my wife was acting strange, like she was drunk and to come get her. The friend left work and tried to find her at the bar. The bartender told the friend that my wife was in the back. She tried to get into the back room. but the door was locked. She beat on the door until my wife was let out.

Apparently the friend confronted the would-be rapist. He said, “She wanted it. She wanted it.”

Now, I am not sure how I am going to work the word banned into this post, but this guy needs to be taken care of. If he lured my wife into a “back room” under the pretense of offering her a job, then he has done this before. He has probably been successful at it.

That’s where the situation I am in now. What can I do? What do I do about any of this? I am 9,000 KM away. I can’t leave and go there. She won’t leave and come back. This fuck is going to get away with it. I have no evidence. Is it a crime to plot to rape somebody, but not actually do it? Is it a crime to be a sick fuck?

In any case, my suggestion is this. If you are a woman and you ever think that somebody has drugged you, go to the police or the hospital and have your blood taken and tested. That’s not word of mouth. That’s real evidence. Then the fucker can be dragged out into the streets and have his dick torn off by rabid dogs. Maybe the police will accidentally shoot the fucker as he reaches for his cell phone.

Troubled all the time

I logged in to Skype before going to bed last night. You left a message there for me. You wrote, “Sorry I missed you. Maybe we can chat tomorrow.” You ended your two sentence post with the little

Immediately I started to write all of my thoughts down.

I wrote,

After all this time, I finally understand what you were doing. It wasn’t that you were trying to hurt me by calling Andy’s parents, her work, her phone et cetera. It wasn’t that you were trying to betray me by sending her messages by text and email about private things that you and I had talked about. It was that you were trying to make her go away. From your point of you, you might have even been protecting me. All the times that I said I couldn’t trust you must have been really painful for you. From your point of you, you were doing what was best for us. From my point of view at the time, I thought you were trying to get my kids taken from me. I no longer think your were so evil. From your point of view, you were not doing anything wrong at all. It was, in fact, the exact same behavior that I displayed when I listened to your secrets and then told a certain person that he had a broken dick. I wasn’t trying to betray you. It was to drive a nail into a coffin I wanted buried. That’s exactly what you did. Even in our bad behavior, we are still very much a like. I understand now.

I thought a lot about that drive from Vegas. I dwelled on it for a long time, essentially driving the wedge deeper between us. I was thinking about it today. I was thinking about throwing the glass of vodka into your face and grabbing the steering wheel and driving us off the road into the black desert night. We immediately stopped fighting and immediately started working together to get the car back onto the road. Eventually, I had to push the car. You stayed in the car stepping on the gas. We rocked the car back and forth and in one unexpected thrust it shot out onto the road. It was in the middle of the desert. It was early in the morning. Nobody was around for dozens of miles. If you were really going to hurt me, you would have driven off in that moment. You didn’t. You stopped the car and waited for me to catch up to it and get back in.

You say that you are afraid that you are going to hurt me. I don’t think you could. I think that in your heart you know how deeply we love each other. I don’t think that you could hurt me. I don’t think that you would ever really want to hurt me. Those phone calls. Those texts. Those were not attacks. You were fighting for me in the most passionate, desperate way possible. I wish I would have understood that at the time. It took losing you to know that you really love me.

Well, talk to you later. (cat)

I know there is a lot of back history here that most people are not going to understand.

The “vodka in the face” makes me look like the aggressor. I was basically kidnapped and tormented for a total of four hours in a hide speed car ride through the Mojave desert. In the end, I decided the only way to end the event was to crash the car. I know. That sounds crazy. The driver, my wife, had been drinking vodka. She had a glass in the car. I threw it on her because I thought the police might be able to smell it and I grabbed the steering wheel forcing the car to veer off the road into the sand to stop the car. I still sounds crazy, but it worked. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted it to stop the car. The transformation was complete. She snapped out of her manic episode immediately and the event was mostly over.

Actually, now that I think about it, I really don’t care if anyone understands this or not. This is my therapy. Check in later. I’ll make some back history posts and link to them.

Anyhow, I skyped the long message and logged off. A little while later, I logged back in and deleted the whole message. Women are kind of crazy. They like it when they have to work for love. I deleted the message and wrote some one liner like, “Sure, sounds like fun. <3” and logged off again.

I am not really sure why she wants to chat with me. Is it going to be to tell me how sorry she is? Is it going to be to tell me how fucked up I am? Afterall, this is my version of events. All I can say is that (a) I never cheated on her (b) I never punched her in the face (c) I had sex with her whenever she wanted (d) I never went out to bars and came home slobbering drunk (e) I didn’t watch sports on tv (f) I tried to forgive the insane bi-polar outbreaks (g) I loved her with my whole being.

Anyhow, that’s about all I have to say right now.

Begging wouldn’t fix anything.

I wrote this a few days ago, but didn’t feel like it was really true. So I didn’t post it. Mostly I am just focusing on the moment. Anyhow…

“I don’t believe anything that you wrote. You are not saying you want to divorce me because you want to protect me. It just sounds nicer when you say that you are doing it for me. Maybe you don’t really like me. Maybe you want to be free because you want to be free. I don’t know. I’ve always been baffled by you. That’s part of why I am interested in you. I’m not going to beg for anything from you. If you don’t want to be with me then you don’t want to be with me. Begging wouldn’t fix anything. So fine. I like living alone too. I’m more productive without all the massive worry that I have felt for so long. I’m lonely, but that’s just a feeling like being cold, warm, hungry, tired. A person can live with these things without much long-lasting harm. They are just tiny annoyances.

I still like reading all the crazy things you write. I mean crazy in the good way. You have interesting perspectives. That’s mostly what I was crying about. I feel real sadness because I will never meet anyone like you again. I must not have shown it enough, but I am really fascinated by you. I feel like the sun has gone out. The sun is something everyone expects to always be there. It would be a real shock for it to just be gone one day. Then the world would freeze solid and we would be like any other dead world. That’s how I feel.

There’s no need to comment and tell me how wonderful being divorced is going to be.”

Like I wrote, that was a few days ago. Now I think: Yeah, whatever. I’ll do fine on my own.

Just keep writing, just keep writing.

Underground German Classics

How is your writing going? Is the demise of our relationship fanning the flames of the creativity within you?

You wrote, “I don’t want to hurt you when I told you that I wanted to file for divorce. I’m sorry that you slept poorly. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I hope you sleep well tonight.”

The truth is that I slept great. The first night was tough. I cannot say that I was totally shocked. You have been doing everything in your power to squash my love for you since the day we met. If I wasn’t mentally-ill, with the insane need to care for broken things, I would have left years ago. “The horror, the horror.” Still, there was something about living with a woman who has bi-polar disorder that was compelling, especially since I had no idea through the majority of our relationship that you have bipolar disorder. Everyday was an adventure. Some days were filled with intense passion and love, others were filled with inexplicable scenes of animal-like anger, sadness and self-destruction.

I don’t even think we need to get divorced. I think our 9,000 KM separation is just as good. I think the only reason why you want to get divorced is because you want me to sign over the house to you. It is a financial decision on your part. I’m baffled about what to do about it. I’m not angry and I claim to love you. If I love you, then I would not do you harm. Therefore kicking you out on the street would be out of the question. How can people get divorced and destroy each other? They could not have really loved each other if they are able to do such a thing even when they are wronged. Not only do people lack education, they lack character.

Apropos literature. The German Literature class was kind of a failure. It was more of a Literature Circle. Everybody there had already read the book. I thought we would be reading some kind of German underground classics, but as it turned it the book was by some English guy. I sat there for 2 hours listening to people discuss a novel that was unfamiliar to me. It was about fishing in the Middle East. First off, I hate fishing. It is animal torture in the worst way. One of the participants made a great point. He said fishing is only allowed because fish have no voice. They can’t scream. Because they silently suffer, people ignore their pain and misery. In fact, while people stand on the shallow banks of rivers everywhere in the world jamming hooks into the mouths of mute sea creatures, they all claim they do it to attain tranquility and peace of mind. It really makes me want to stomp down to my local river and beat people with a heavy-duty fishing rod. “Dance, motherfuckers, dance.”

After two hours of listening to people yammer on about this book, I felt like I had read it from cover to cover. I felt like it was a miserable piece of garbage. I had to hold back from saying, “what a fucking stupid idea for a novel,” and throwing my ignorance out for everyone to see. Afterwards they asked me what I thought of Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize for Literature and I threw my ignorance out for everyone to see.  I said it was a joke. They asked me to elaborate and I only managed to mutter two failed, grammatical incorrect sentences. It was a sad performance to be sure.

So, that was my evening. Because I slept poorly the night before, I was able to easily crawl into my bed with my two water bottles and sleep soundly. Thanks for being concerned.

I still haven’t decided what I want to do about all of this “divorce” stuff. How do you see the future? Do you really want me out of your life? I can’t imagine a universe without you. Yet, you hate my children. So I kind of want to say, “Fuck off, bitch!” Maybe I should just burn everything to the ground and be done with it.

Well, sleep well. Talk at you tomorrow.

Waiting for Something to Happen

I still don’t know what to think about everything that we talked about. I know that we never had a chance. There was just too much intensity between us. You say that you needed me to cry in order to get you to stop. I say that the sole defining element of my character is to be in defiance. Resist everything. Resist being made to cry.

Maybe you are right. Maybe we will be better friends. I’ll always love you even though you have made me feel more alone and more afraid than any other person. What horrible plans to you have for me know?

When I look back over the 12 years that we have been together, my main memories are all of the abusive incidents in our history. “The Terror Drive from Las Vegas,” always comes to mind. Nobody else on the planet would have sat in that car with you for four hours and endured that kind of abuse and not left you immediately upon finally getting back to safety. I remember thinking, I am just waiting to get back home. All I want to do is get home. “TELL ME ALL THE REASONS THAT YOU LOVE ME!! I WANT YOU TO LIST THEM.” I couldn’t think of a single reason. Why did I love you? Why do I love you? I had no idea. My mind was blank. I was just watching the speedometer breach the speed limit and hoped that you did not lose your control of the car and crash us into the desert landscape in the middle of the cool, desert night.

The part you do not know is that Las Vegas incident is actually the one that brought us to this point today. I sat in the car listening to you scream at me, listening to you telling me what kind of an absolute, waste of human existence that I am while hanging on to the thread of thought, “As soon as we get to California, I am going to leave you”.

It took a few months to come up with the courage. It always takes me forever to pick a path. Finally, I decided that I was going to go. I sold the truck, bought a plane ticket and left without saying goodbye. What a cruel thing to do! To just get into the rental car and drive away without a word, a hug, a passionate kiss, some promises. You want me to cry to break you out of your mania. The only tears that I have are those of continual loss. How is it that I can love you so much, yet leave without saying goodbye? Was I afraid that I would not have the courage to leave? Was it something else?

Whatever it was, leaving in such a fashion is what pushed you into the arms of another. It was such a cruel thing for me to do to you, you ended up having an affair to ease your sadness. And it was the affair that gave me the strength to decide that I did not care whether or not we stay together. It was an escape. I do not want to have another incident.

Am I surprised that you say that you want a divorce and that you say that you could feel that I want one too? No, not really. I love you dearly. I think you are the absolutely, most amazing person. Yet, I can’t handle the abuse anymore. Is it your abuse or my abuse. Who is the abuser here. Should I call it the self-perpetuating abuse that partially stems from your need to be understood and my refusal to understand. Does leaving you alone not leave emotional scars. Is moving to a country that you hate and staying here no matter what you say to get me to leave an act of violence — the coward’s way to end a relationship?

I could fix this problem right now by packing up my things and getting on a plane. I don’t need alcohol, so you would not have to worry about have bottles of vodka lying around to tempt you into the crazies. Yet, I can’t do that. Amerikkka is the death of me. Living there is like living in hell. Yes, Germany is tough too, but it is the kind of tough that makes a person stronger. I am more alive living in a world where I have to struggle. A world where being able to ask for directions is not to be taken for granted. I like living in a world where English is not spoken. I like the perpetual isolation.

That’s exactly why you hate it too. The isolation is too heavy.

I am sorry about everything. I am sorry about not being brave enough to ask you for a divorce 5 years ago. I am really sorry for isolating you, making you feel sadness and despair, for driving you over the edge of sanity, so that I would be brave enough to leave you. You deserved somebody who understood you more, somebody who knew how to catch you and pull you out of the darkness. I was not that person. I only made the darkness that you found yourself in worse.

That’s kind of it. I feel like I have driven you crazy by not loving you enough. If I would have been more loving and caring, you would not have lost your grip and called everyone I know 100,000 times in the middle of the night for a week straight. The incident that caused you to decide that you would rather divorce me than be with me.

I don’t really think it is your fault alone. I can’t believe that we are so weak that we can’t find a way to overcome our problems. In a world where children are dying horrible death by the thousands each day, are there not greater problems than our petty little grudges?

Those are my thoughts after not sleeping very much.

Nothing is true or can be trusted.

I am really sorry about writing in an open manner. It must be a horrible feeling to read a lot of our personal issues displayed like this.

The first thing I want to say to is that none of this is real. Neither the descriptions of our relationship not our existence is real. The readers reading our fake. The digital medium being used is imaginary. Nothing about anything I am writing is true or can be trusted. I’m making it all up.

Feel better. Now everyone knows it’s a joke and we can go on discussing our problems bionically without anyone paying attention. [Spell check error. That should have been “publicly” not “bionically”.]

I don’t blame everything on you. I wasn’t very kind to you. In fact, I have been angry at you for so long, it has kind of become a part of me. There is an underlining layer of me that wants to get back at you. I somehow want to break you down. I want you to see the errors of your ways and to course correct. There is absolutely no need for you to resist me.

That’s the thing about ego. I was angry and felt like I deserved to be angry. Naturally, you did have an affair with a man I disliked and you did lie about it for almost a year, but that’s besides the point. The affair really was just the final shovel-full of dirt on our dead and buried marriage. The first time that you left me and the way you did it really set the stage for all of this. After we got back together, I was still fascinated by you and wanted to be with you. Yet, I never really trusted you. Not for a single day. I tried to hide it, but you picked up on it. For almost a decade things were tainted by the anger, distrust and suspicion that I felt for you. I tried to hide it, but I obviously could not.

That’s kind of why I think I owe you. I stole ten years of your life, secretly hating you, and because you are a woman, and because women feel these things, I slow drove you mad. I know that I will probably never be able to ever trust you, because I will always be concerned that you will do the same things that you did then and are doing now. I will never treat you with the complete amount of love that you need. What I have to give will never be what you need. Therefore, your request for a divorce seems pretty damn logical to me. I don’t think that you know how I really feel. I’m sad, but I’m not crushed. I thought we were the superhero lovers that would be able to overcome all of our human defects. That we are just as fucked-up and weak as every other human is a disappointment to me. We are not better than everyone else. In fact, we are at the lower end of the scale of human worth. Just about everyone is doing better than we are.

As for that damn house. I am feeling two things about the house.

1) If I don’t give-up my half, I will enter my fifties with exactly nothing in terms of property, money and security. I kind of need my half, so that I have something to give to my children when I die. By giving everything up, I literally have nothing to show for my existence in this life.

2) If I give up my half of the house, then you will have a place to live. You will never be that toothless, homeless woman wandering around the desert waiting for someone to kill her. I’ve been to the desert and I’ve seen the homeless. I do not want you to be among them.

That’s about it. I am sorry that I hated you so much over the affair and break-ups. I’m learning from history. This time when you go (actually you left in April, but who’s counting), there will be no turning back.

I am really sorry that I have hated you for so long.

Talk to you later…