Of course, now I write “angry” and hear Lewis Black’s voice, but anyway.
Personally, I think I’ve been doing fairly well for the past month. True, I was 90% ready to join a convent (not hyperbolic) and I cancelled my new couch, which I loved, because it shared the same name as Asshat. Other than those two things? Oh, and I did scream at my Wonderful Slovak Brother in the middle of Zürich. Other than those three things. I’ve been doing well.
Until the anger came last week.
I’m seriously angry. Not at The Violent Ex and not at Asshat. I’m angry at God and I’m angry at myself for being such an idiot.
I’m a decent person, I’d say. It’s not that I go to Mass every Sunday and that makes me decent. It’s that I make it my life’s mission to give out as much kindness as I possibly can before I go to Mass every Sunday. Then, during the service, I take deep breaths in, make the sign of the cross, and go out to do that same thing again. Every week. I actually practice what I profess. It’s shocking, I know.
But, given that I’m at least a 5 on the “good people” scale, why didn’t God protect me? I had one man that I loved almost kill me and another one that actually hurt me far worse, which I didn’t know was possible. After church one day, at the beginning of our “relationship,” Asshat said to me, “I want people to say about me that I always do the right thing.” I thought, “Wow. This is the guy for me. He’s seriously grounded in his faith. Lucky me.”
There was a day when I could barely move, the back and neck pain were beyond excruciating. Asshat was coming over and it took me an hour just to get some food prepared, to open the Asshat door, and to get back on the couch. He came over, ate, watched some TV, fooled around with me (remember, I was in major pain), and left me on the couch at 3 in the morning. We hadn’t argued, he just decided he wanted to drive to Bern because he felt awake. All the lights were on, he kissed me and walked out of the door. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t move myself to my bed.
I had hours to sit on the couch and look at Asshat’s mother’s pigs all around me. I remember thinking, “He’s lost. He’s a good man. He will find his way. Just be a patient, positive part of his life. That’s what he needs after all he’s been through. Show him the compassion he lacks.” Augh. I just sigh now. Thinking of how clear it should have been that it was all a lie, this “Super Catholic” character he was playing. It wasn’t real, but I was too busy being compassionate and giving him my Texas sunshine to see the truth.
I think the Angry Phase is the worst for someone like me. It would be easy if I was angry at either of the men. I’m not.
I’m just angry with myself and with God, and to be angry at God is difficult. It’s also not new, I’m not even the first one today to share these thoughts, I guarantee you. Feeling abandoned or left vulnerable by God. People turn their backs every day. Not me.
No, we will get through it, me and God. There is only one thing that will always be constant in my life and that is my faith. Until my last breath. I actually think a faith crisis, which is what this is, makes people of faith stronger in their beliefs, not weaker. A nun told me two weeks ago, “Scream at God, He can take it.”
No problem with that, Sister.
And, I’m an opera singer, so I hope He can not only take it, but that he has some fancy pants Bose headphones. He’s gonna need ’em.