Complicity

Wednesday, March 2, 2016


Some days are tough. Today was one such day. I forget what it was I thought this morning that I'd craft a journal entry about tonight. I had something lovely in mind, I know that. It was clever. It was funny. It was gaming-related. Perhaps I will wake at 3:00 a.m. and remember. What I know is that a child who went to the Department of Correction on the State's (i.e., my) recommendation was assaulted today while at the juvenile secure detention facility. There is no fix for what occurred. Other than for the county in which the incident occurred to perhaps file a criminal information against the culprit. Still, even seeking justice for a wrong act will not mean that the victim is any less injured. Although professional responsibility precludes me from divulging details to my family, I found myself desperately wanting the comfort of being held and soothed when I got home, but found none. Instead, I returned home to a spouse who was angry about something he refused to discuss, then called me that lovely word that men reserve for women when they wish to inflict verbal harm. He yelled and swore at the children, then walked out on us. What does one say to comfort four upset girls who are crying and confused? It's okay, my darlings. Your father loves you. I love you. He didn't mean it. He'll come home when he's calm. I worry I enable. I do not mean to. But I do not know what to do when my spouse flips out and storms off in a rage. I am realizing just how poorly equipped I am to handle someone else's ill behavior. Why it took me to the ripe age of 42 to realize, I do not know. TMI? Perhaps. But this journal is my catharsis, and so today you get another peek behind the veil into my life. I am generally a happy person. I love my work, I love my children. I like to run. I like my colleagues. I like listening to peoples' stories about their lives. I give hugs. I am, I think, a bright vibrant person with a lot of love to offer. But this spousal rollercoaster of uncertainty exhausts me. Too, I wonder whether I am a good helpmate to my spouse. Probably I am not.




No one is innocent.