Parts of that night came back to me. That night that I was drunk again for the first time in a long time. I cannot control my emotions when I am drunk. Uncle Dick mentioned it that night “Enough alcohol for this guy.” He’s seen me drunk before and he knew if I drank more, bad news would ensue and it did.
Tune: “Match Me” by Sky To Speak
Mood: Sleepy and sad
Drink: Tropicana Orange Juice without pulp unfortunately
She was hyper and happy and she checked out the local clubs she wanted to go to. I didn’t feel like going due to my bladder problem. Somehow, she was in the kitchen eating wieners and we were talking. Somehow, I asked her to test me if I was really drunk or not. Somehow, she asked me to name 6 capital cities in Europe and I told her Vatican City was one of them. She told me that it wasn’t and somehow we got into a fight over that. I saw her face. She was expressionless. Then she laid down on the floor and she covered her face with both her hands.
Deep in my heart, I knew I was hurting her, yet my mouth could not stop. It felt like there was a child of me deep inside, in a dark place and there was a lot of space around me – too far for anyone or anything to grab onto. I watched her and I couldn’t hear anything but my own voice. My voice was full of pride. It was condescending and egotistical. I wanted to win and I was winning. However, I wasn’t winning over her. I was winning over my pride. My pride was stacking on top of each other. A part of me enjoyed her pain, as that child of me sat there with his head in his arms tucked away on his knees.
I did not hear her cry. As I stood there ranting pridefully, that child of me was in pain. I could not stop myself and I wanted to, but that pride, ego, that bastard loved hurting her because it felt like a currency for all the pain she put me through in the past.
I think for as long as I live, I will never forget that moment to see her lie there on the kitchen floor, covering her face in silence as I ranted in drunken stupor. Guess what ladies and gents? This was the same night Uncle Dick and Francis came over and we had an incredible evening. This was the same night I proposed to her and she said yes. Then I single-handedly fucked it up.
Thinking back on this past week; maybe it isn’t so much that she has a change in pattern of response and lovingness, but rather that I am just not showing her enough support and encouragement. A large part of me asks why it must be me to always be considerate of her? Why does it always have to be me to have to adjust to her feelings and limitations? Why can’t she do something for me for a change? Besides recognizing that she has changed for the better on many frontiers, I still do not acknowledge huge collective changes from her. However, for these questions, I believe I have one simple answer: it is because I am stronger than her. I have had almost ten years more experiences and my childhood wasn’t nearly as bad as hers. So I must be the more considerate one, the more caring one, the more cheerful, creative and charming one even when she can’t, even when she is short-breathed, even when she is moody, even if she is not talkative, even if she is a bit bitchy.
No Amber, it is not because you failed at not doing what you should have done under normal circumstances. It is because I failed at being the stronger, more collected person in this relationship. You complement my life, but I should complete yours. I’m sorry. I should have seen this sooner, but my pride and ego hindered me. It will still play a role in the future, as I cannot change so suddenly, but I will try.