I Thought the Fat Lady...part 2
You will notice I dedicated an entire blog entry to my "Who shot John" competition with my ex-husband, Fred. I forgot to put 'stupidly' before that 'I dedicated.' I thought, pretty much anyway, that would be the end of it. I wouldn't need to drone on and on about that whole situation again. Okay, I forgot to put 'foolishly' after that 'I thought.' Some things you never get over. Loving and losing Fred, actually giving him up, is one of those things for me.
Anyway, that's not the point I want to make. In February, Fred was sentenced to four years in State Prison for aggravated assault. He tackled his new wife in the street as she was taking off with his car and his phone. He told me it was "the perfect tackle," one that should be in the Hall of Fame. Perfect. Apparently, one of his neighbors isn't a football fan. Or maybe one of his neighbors is an NFL scout. Whichever, one of them called the boys in blue. It seems they do not appreciate a "perfect" tackle.
Part of me feels that he got his just desserts, part of me feels she did. I've been on the receiving end of domestic violence, I never, ever blame the woman. But this one likes to push the buttons of someone who is already emotionally unstable. That, there would be the point. Emotional instability. Fred's. Unfortunately, his perennial emotional famine became mine for too many years. Until it threatened my sanity, I believed one day, he would love me as I loved him. Fat chance. I'm a bit of a slow learner: it took twenty years to learn that lesson. I got tired of waiting.
I wonder how prison will affect his psyche? Will he develop some coping skills taught by a prison psychologist? Or will he just learn how better to hide his aggression and frustration until it fizzes inside of him, and blasts out of him, like carbonated soda shoots through nostrils?
The world waits in anticipation...
Anyway, that's not the point I want to make. In February, Fred was sentenced to four years in State Prison for aggravated assault. He tackled his new wife in the street as she was taking off with his car and his phone. He told me it was "the perfect tackle," one that should be in the Hall of Fame. Perfect. Apparently, one of his neighbors isn't a football fan. Or maybe one of his neighbors is an NFL scout. Whichever, one of them called the boys in blue. It seems they do not appreciate a "perfect" tackle.
Part of me feels that he got his just desserts, part of me feels she did. I've been on the receiving end of domestic violence, I never, ever blame the woman. But this one likes to push the buttons of someone who is already emotionally unstable. That, there would be the point. Emotional instability. Fred's. Unfortunately, his perennial emotional famine became mine for too many years. Until it threatened my sanity, I believed one day, he would love me as I loved him. Fat chance. I'm a bit of a slow learner: it took twenty years to learn that lesson. I got tired of waiting.
I wonder how prison will affect his psyche? Will he develop some coping skills taught by a prison psychologist? Or will he just learn how better to hide his aggression and frustration until it fizzes inside of him, and blasts out of him, like carbonated soda shoots through nostrils?
The world waits in anticipation...