Life After Divorce

{December 3, 2008}   Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones may break my bones

But words will never hurt me

Whoever made up this little rhyme was a.) full of crap and b.) an idiot.  Here’s the deal.  Words do hurt.  I have personally found the more insecure you are about something, the more the words hurt.  I know that I am not an idiot, so if someone calls me an idiot, I just blow them off as having a severe mental retardation and possibly Turrets.  But, if someone comments on my weight, or something that I am insecure about – I lose it.

Unfortunately, the ones who can hurt us the most are the ones who know our every insecurity and plays off them to their own advantage.  This is one area where my roommate husband excels.  He knows exactly what to say to hurt me.  Every.  Fucking.  Time.

When we moved into the one-bedroom apartment in February 2006, it was a difficult time.  We were trying to cram as much crap out of the 5 bedroom house into a 1 bedroom, while still being able to move.  We were constantly surrounded by boxes.  Dogs were everywhere.  The place was a wreck… and I couldn’t breathe.  In July 2006, Steve took a 5 week trip to Alaska.  It was FABULOUS, because I had to stay home and work.  During this time, I managed to get the place unpacked (finally!) and organized.  I was so proud of it.  I even made him a plate of cookies to welcome him home.  When he came home – he blew it off, saying, “It doesn’t look that good.  What were you doing the whole time?  Those cookies weren’t homemade.”

Unfortunately, during this time, we also lost our tenacious dachshund, Major.  I came home from work one day to notice him limping (he was not limping when I went to work).  I took him immediately to the emergency vet, who thought he might have disease in his back (common for wiener dogs) and recommended taking him to his regular vet first thing in the morning.  Unfortunately, I had to teach a class the next day, so my mom agreed to take him in for me.  I got a call 10 minutes before the class started that Major had actually ruptured a disc in his back and would have to be put down.  Talk about heartbreaking!!  I gave the go-ahead and sobbed until it was time to teach.  When I made it home, it was dreadfully quiet, and the poor other dog, Pico, didn’t understand where Major had gone.  He kept running to the crate and looking at me like, “Let him out!”  I had to throw the crate out, because I couldn’t bear looking at it.


Steve’s response every time someone brings up Major, “You killed my dog.”  Fucker.

Other bits of love from Steve:

  • I am going to marry a really pretty girl next time.
  • I will go on and get married again and be happy… and you will always be unhappy and alone.
  • I am going to find a younger woman and have a baby with her right away (OUCH).
  • You would make a terrible mother.
  • If I could afford to support myself, I would be out of here.

He also accuses me of being bitter and angry.  Gee… I wonder why that is?

No, Mister Bad Poetry… words hurt.  A lot.  The emotional scars from this kind of abuse are long lasting and damaging.  But the great thing is that I now know the following things:

  • I have a job with good pay and benefits and can completely take care of myself.
  • I have a wonderful network of friends and family who support me in whatever I do.
  • I have my degrees (Bachelor’s and Master’s) under my belt.
  • I am a good person.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jerk.  Hmmm… Maybe…. it’s YOU.



Eileen says:

Did Steve and T.J. study at the same school? It seems as though they’re quoting from the class entitled:

“How to slowly strip your lover’s self-worth away, one word at a time, while still holding on to her and everything she owns, Semester 1 of 4.”

I love you, Liz, and I support you no matter what.

…….but I’d rather see you happy :p

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