"Playing Telephone With Van Gogh"

 

Why did you have to keep pushing?

Why?

I know I screamed for you to just stop so many times. I begged you in so many, many instances with my whole heart, what part of my voice that gripped the edge of the cliff:

"Your words have consequences."

I guess it was my recent lack of verbal combat and commitment that let you think I wasn't serious. God damn it. It's so stupid to think about it now, but hindsight is 20/20 after all. Every time it got to screaming, cussing, name calling, insults, verbal hellfire...I asked you with those words...I pleaded with that phrase...it was with hope and love and want to end the fighting that I said that to you.

Over and over and over and over.

I fucking begged repeatedly.

...and more and more came along...

I remember that look in your eyes when you screamed at me that I better not come back without boxes. That was truth. Your words were 100% solid and real. You wanted me gone. Without question. Post haste. So when I got those boxes, loaded the first set into the house and at that first screech of tape sealing the bottom, got immediately belittled, insulted further, screamed at like I wasn't human, told I wasn't shit, a parent, a man or even human.

I kept taking it. No return fire. No counter attack.

Even in that moment where I did what was asked of me, having seen the conviction of truth in your wide eyes, then getting reprimanded for following directions...a moment where most would've gone on the defensive, attacked back, lost control...I sat, listened, took more of the shit and remained calm. Even then...I knew my previous angry actions and how they made things worse...so intelligently, didn't repeat those same toxic things.

"You're dragging your feet, you're not even looking for another place! What the fuck kind of 'man' are you?! You're not a man! You'll never do anything on your own! You'll never be a parent!"

I stood in the living room, 3 feet or so from the entertainment center, you were close to the kitchen doorway and I was facing you in the direction of the hallway. I made myself so clear that I wasn't going to argue, start shit, make trouble, be rude, close off or anything like that while I was waiting to hear back on a place. You seemed fine with that.

"Oh good, he's not actually dragging his feet or prolonging things. He's listened to me. He heard my voice. He's not making me guess or wonder."

I honestly thought things were okay. No more fighting needed to happen. No more screaming matches. No more insults or name calling. No more waking up and just anticipating the next round of getting my ass handed to me.

So it took a little bit of time for the news.

Then the morning came. I told you that as soon as I knew something about a place you would be the absolute first to know. I made that promise to you and I kept it. I will say the way I went about it was...cold. I felt like as long as I told you the truth then maybe that day wouldn't erupt into chaos.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Instead, it became the worst display imaginable in that situation. Sans violence...that was probably the worst it could've been. More screaming and insults and hatred. The same hate I saw in those eyes when it was:

"Get the fuck out!"

"You better not come back without fucking boxes!"

"You need to find a fucking place and get the fuck out of our lives!"

So now we aren't together. That's how it stands. It's very clear that there is no way to repair. There won't be a reunion, a silver screen love story or a new beginning.

This is very, painfully, true and I firmly accept my mistakes and hang-ups that brought about the end of a relationship that was truly wanting of more and more until the horizon line blurred. I won't attempt to make it easier on myself. It wouldn't solve a thing so there's no point in trying to.

...I wish that phrase had rang clearer...stronger...truer...earlier...

"Your words have consequences."