Madness

At what point do we push over the edge of sanity, into the abyss of madness?

Is it a single moment, or a process? Does it take a second, or a lifetime of single hammer blows, chipping away at the edifice of our psyche, till one day it crumbles into wrack and ruin?

I was shattered, at most a ghost moving sluggishly through the haunts of a former life, at worst a mass of sobs and pain too indescribable for mere words. My days started with my son dragging me out of bed, aching, forcing me to get him to school and me to work. They were spend on the phone, reaching out to everyone and anyone who could, through the gift of conversation, or simply a sympathetic ear, ease for a moment the hurt where my heart should be. I the evening I would rush off to an al-anon meeting, or a therapy session, a place where I could speak my sorrow and find it ease. Then, home I would go, and to bed, wishing for sleep to end it all for a while.

I tried to call, connect, to discuss, to get answers, to find a way back. I begged, I pleaded. It was to no avail. She made it clear, she did not want to discuss this, she only wanted to discuss the kids and how we would get the divorce done, nothing else was of interest to her. She was brutal, she was cold. I stopped trying, it was pointless.

There are drugs they can give you to take the edge off the pain. I used them. My boss sent me home for two weeks, both a measure of the level of dysfunction I was feeling and the nature of his character and compassion. I will always be in debt to him for that gift, and for the way he stood by a person in distress who he barely knew.

My lawyer tried to get me to start some actions, her lawyer was the pushy, aggressive type, but I think he knew that I was broken, and so he kept it simple. He was also smarter than her lawyer, a bitch both greedy and none too bright.

I spent Christmas with my brother. He made his home a place of shelter that year and buttressed me and gave me good advise. We had never before been close, but now we are, one of the silver linings in this perfect storm cloud. Still, Christmas and New Year sucked that year.

She tried to connect with my son, claiming that she loved him and that he needed her, and became angry when he repulsed her advances. He had given her a chance, she had in his mind blown it, just like he expected she would.

She sent letters to my first wife and older daughter, telling them that I was the reason she drank and that she had to leave and that I was all kinds of awful. The first wife called me one day to tell me about it and to ask my lawyer to tell her lawyer to tell her to knock it off. They saw through her as well.

She sent me a letter too, full of justifications and "go with god" ( this from a life long atheist). I ignored it.

I was all over the map those first months. This was a shock, there was nothing in my memory or my experience to lead me to believe that she could do this, would do this, would want to do this. The speed, the dramatic cutting off of our life, so quickly was just incomprehensible. I wanted answers, none were coming.

In late January, I began to slowly come out of it, began to breathe again, though there were still many painful moments. I went to St. Louis on a business trip. One evening, I checked my home voice mail . Along with the usual, there was this message.

" Hi Maurice, you don't know me, but my name is Tara Silverman. My husband and your wife were in rehab together, and I wondered if you knew about their relationship. I would appreciate it if you give me a call. My number is......"

In a moment of sharp clarity, some things started making sense.

I met Tara that next week for dinner, after we had exchanged phone calls. She had phone records, e mails. She even had hacked his phone and had voice messages. Things were very clear. She had thought that Marilyn had also come back home, was surprised to hear that she was out. I was able to confirm her suspicions from what I knew. It turned out that her husband was her second, an alcoholic and an abusive piece of work that had convictions for spousal and child battery and a history of being in and out of rehab.

She was furious and hurt. I was furious and hurt.

Tara went home and confronted him. She asked him to leave. He lied, then he pleaded, then he hung around and wanted to talk about it.

Sometime that week, she came over to the house and I fucked her stupid, and she me. It was payback, it was "fuck you honey" and it was good. We kept at it for a while, it never was going to last, but we were bound on a mission together.. to pay those bastards back any way we could.

I called my lawyer and told him the story. "I am done with her, get that abusive asshole out of my daughter's life and get his slut out of mine!"

Like I said, I fight like Panzer Division. In that moment, all I wanted, all I could smell, was blood.

Cry havoc!

And loose the dogs of war!