Men are the weaker sex. They die before women because they’ve had enough.
We are taught not to hit women. Fair enough. But women are allowed to hit men. How come that never got addressed? From a young age, we’re told that the “fairer, weaker sex” should be treated with kindness and gentleness. Fair enough. I still subscribe to that. For most women anyway. But no one ever says “women should not abuse men” or “women should not hit men” or “women should not emotionally torture men” or “women should not mock men” or “women should not take men for granted”.
I’ve never noticed the schools where girls are sent to learn these valuable life skills. It must be innate.
This all sounds misogynistic right? I’m about as far from misogyny as you could possibly imagine, but this post is not about my love of women. This post is about my ex. I doubt there are many like her. Look, I know you’re bored of this, but hear me out and offer me some advice. I don’t know what else I can do. I am trying to do the right thing, the adult thing, but it is all so messy when one is dealing with a hardcore schizophrenic blob monster.
My kids were dropped off tonight at 9:40. Earlier in the day, I had asked for them to be dropped off. I was informed that plans had been made for them to see a friend this evening - on my time - without notifying me. Strike 1.
When they were dropped off, I was informed by my eldest that they had to change, wait for their mother, then hand the clothes over. Obviously, I was unhappy this was being done while they were hungry, on my time, but I let it slide. Strike 2.
Then with Madame Harridan in the stairwell, she started to bark orders to my eldest about when they’d return tomorrow. Being reasonable, and seeing the concern on my eldest’s face, I asked “whenever you’d like”. The retort was “you tell me”. by this time, my eldest was getting visibly distressed, so I said I’d arrange a time in the morning. This was unacceptable and my eldest started to panic. So I asked her to wait in the flat while I went down to discuss things. She was not happy, she knows that often an argument ensues and she’d rather be in the middle than have an argument take place between her parents. Nonetheless, I have to be adult, because their mother is incapable of that.
My eldest ran down to tell her, even though I’d asked her to wait. While she was telling her mother, I heard Madame Harridan lose her temper and say “fucking” and “he” in the same sentence. Needless to say, I don’t like her using such language, though I know it’s routine for her. So I went down and motioned for my eldest to go upstairs.
I then told Madame to leave the building as her swearing was not good for the children and I didn’t want my neighbours to be witness to this nonsense. I told her she was not welcome here. When I do pick-up/drop-off, I have the courtesy to wait outside the building. I don’t make a scene. It’s really not my style. I prefer to vent my spleen online. That’s much more my bag. So we went out and I calmly told her that she shouldn’t be swearing and behaving so badly, that I would call her in the morning to arrange a drop-off time. That was unacceptable to her. I asked again “when do you want them back?”. She said “well if I had my way I’d have them back now”. And I countered “well if I had my way, you’d never have them back”. Plainly, an impasse. So she offered “4p.m.”. (Recall, I’m allowed 24 hours). I countered “7:30p.m.”. That was fine. She asked to see the children again. I said that they had been upset enough and that she had had several opportunities to say goodbye. She demanded to see them. I said “well, that’s not going to happen”
I then went inside and closed the door behind me. As I went up the stairs, she kicked the door, hard. Strike 3. You’re out. The building shook. My children were now sobbing. I had remained calm. When I went into the flat, my eldest was on the balcony trying to see what was going on. I went to the balcony and told the monster that I would call her in the morning. That if she continued to behave like this, I would have to call the police. My kids begged me not to. So once again, I relented. The excuse-for-a-mother-who-needs-strong-drugs-for-schizophrenia-because-if-you-met-her-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-lying-mouth buzzed my buzzer repeatedly. I repeated my warning, calmly, that if she was to persist in upsetting the children and creating a scene, I would have no choice, but to call the police. She demanded to see the children.
So let’s recap:
- She brings them late
- She faffs about with them repeatedly in the stairwell
- She uses filthy language to the children
- She refuses to be calm when I suggest I call in the morning to arrange a time for drop-off
- She demands to see the children
- She kicks the front door
- She repeatedly buzzes my flat
Of course, I send the kids down. What else could I do? Every time I have to let her win. Supposedly, there’s no negotiating with terrorists. But it’s my kids. Do I say to the terrorist “go on - destroy the kids”? She knows I won’t call her bluff.
She fucks off, slamming the door.
Meanwhile, it takes me half an hour to stop the kids crying. Holding them, re-assuring them. The terrorist has done the damage and has got off scott-free.
Come on, help me out here. You don’t have to tell me your name. What the fuck do I do?
Because part of me says “this is all hurting the kids and you just have to give up”. And the better part of me says “they are MY children. I can never give up on them. And if I do, evil will prevail. And no matter how much it hurts, me or the kids, I must always stand up to evil”.
Men die young because of women like May.
