When the Rules are Shattered

by Diane Sprague

My marriage was not good. It had a lot of abuse, violence, threats, and anger poisoing it. I used to put so much effort into covering up, hiding, pretending things were fine. I remember the horror of having to call the police to come to my house for the first time. Now people would see and I never wanted this madness to be exposed. People would see the anger I was living with for so long, as if it were my own anger, as if it my own shame.

It's funny how that is changing. Years of living with seething, bullying anger takes its toll. A lot of hurt builds up inside, but something else surfaces too. It's a strange new part of one's self that learns the utility of two small words: Fuck you.

It's so tiresome to keep up the niceties. There is immense pleasure that comes when we stop caring, when we stop playing the game. Who cares who knows? Who cares what they know. Whose lie is it that we are protecting? How about telling the truth and letting the others cringe. I cringed enough. Now it's their turn.

I remember once talking to a stranger on the phone about her computer issues. She kept mentioning to me that her son was murdered. I didn't understand that. I thought that is something that we don't mention to each other, especially to strangers who don't need to know, but she kept talking about it. Maybe once something that awful happens that restriction to be silent about such matters is shattered. Perhaps she wants to say it; she wants to demand that the world respond to the fact that such things indeed do happen. Our initial tendency is to tiptoe, but perhaps events can bring us to a point where our only comfort is to stomp.

I find it helps enormously to let go of the notion that things need to be hidden. That we should be silent is wonderful aid for those who would bully. They know they are extraordinarily cowardly, weak, and small, but if nobody says so they can pretend they are something else. Why let them pretend?

Why not say what is real, what is true, even if it is ugly, even it is likely to anger some? It's really simple once one sees through it all. What once mattered was just a big illusion. It was only a game we played for awhile when we could not see any other way. The notion that if we can pretend it we can make it be real is our biggest obstacle. We don't know why we are here, and one of the first ways we deal with our ignorance is grasping the notion that we can keep up with the rest. Our houses can be as nice as the rest. Our families can be as happy as the rest. Our children can be as perfect as the rest. Except that they can't. That's just not how it works. And when we are lucky enough to find it all collapse on us, we can make another choice. We still don't know why we are here, but now we can at least experience the tremendous relief of being able to give up pretending.

We can say what we want now. There is nothing to cover up for ever again. I lived for many years with someone's idiotic seething, bullying anger. I didn't define who I was. It wasn't my anger; it was his. It was his stupid choice. I was not mine. It was the ugly thing I lived with for so many years in a world where sons get murdered and police come to nice homes with pretty gardens, a cat, a dog, and hamsters to stop a monster from terrorizing his family with his brutality.

I can talk about it now. The rules are finished.