The Tortures of High-Conflict Divorce


Sometimes, the most sobering and the hardest part of the high-conflict divorce is the constant barrage of reminders of what a f@#*ing moron you were.

The signs were there, but you weren’t thinking straight.

A friend tried warning you, but it was a half-hearted attempt, and it was too late.

You’d been burned by love in the past, and  in the state you were in you were willing to settle for something a little bit less.

You’d been living in isolation, and it distorted your judgment.

You know that you should just put all of this behind you. You try to, every day. However, when you are chained to the rock of co-parenting with a psycopath  narcissist  someone with Borderline Personality Disorder  a difficult person, it’s hard, if not impossible, to do so.

So it’s Sunday, and we there’s a big informational meeting about our son’s upcoming trip to Israel. All the travelers and their parents are gathering at a Jewish day school about a half hour away. I will be driving the Kid as it’s my weekend. The former wife asks if I’ll be staying until the end–she needs to return to help a friend who is preparing chocolates for Taste of Boston. I say, sure, but I have a condition. She grumbles and rants, afraid that I’m going to ask for something reasonable, like she actually return something of mine that is a family keepsake that she decided to appropriate in the divorce. No, I ask for her to bring one of the chocolates. (I like chocolates). She says she’ll see if she can. I say, If you can.

I get to the meeting first. The organization running the camp is quite smart, at least in terms of self-preservation, and they bill me and the former wife separately. They also make us separate packages of the informational material. They’d rather go to the trouble of sending out separate bills and info than to have to listen to us call and accuse each other of being the bad parent.

Because I get there first, I grab the heavier packet. The packets are identical, except that the heavier packet has two luggage tags in it. The kids are supposed to use these luggage tags so that everyone in the group can have their bags identified by anyone in the group. I take the heavier packet. Why? Why not? I know that the former will have a strong sense that she is entitled, for chissà quale ragione,  to be the keeper of whatever keys need keeping. This belief is also reinforced by its correlate, that I am not capable of handling things. (In fairness, many women subscribe to this myth: men would be dead in their houses with their guts being eaten by the cat within days  of last contact were it not for the intervention of the Ever-Feminine.)

True to form, when the former arrives she comes up and asks for the luggage tags. When I answer that I’ll hold on to them, she goes on to demand them. Loudly, vocally, and of course, without regard for the fact that we are in public.

We are reliving our bad marriage all over again, in a microcosm.

It’s not a big deal, the luggage tags. But the assumptions and treatment are galling. So I say, calmly, I think I’ll just hang on to the tags.

The former wife stomps off, loudly, “Well, then you can’t have any chocolate!” IMG_0211 Play my way, or you can’t have any candy. Story of my married life.

 

(Social) Media Shabbat


kiddush-cup
Ein simcha ela b’yayin

 

My iPhone gave up the ghost yesterday, which will definitely aid in giving my weary psyche a rest. I bought a replacement plan, but the phone is back-ordered, so I’m phoneless for a few days. I’ll survive.

The kids are with their mother this weekend, and do I miss talking to them. In their teenage distraction, they do NOT miss talking to me. I’m OK with that. I hope that they’re having fun.

The craziness continues.

This weekend the Republican Jewish Coalition is meeting in Las Vegas, at Sheldon Adelson’s (Jews We Wish Were Gentile) Venetian Den of Iniquity and Gambling Hall. Among the assholes that the RJC wishes to honor are Dick Cheney, whose qualifications are  promoter of false intelligence, war profiteer, torture advocate and guilt-free accomplice in the death of over 4,000 American soldiers and marines and who knows how many civilians; Cheney’s evil homophobic spawn; and Mike Pence,champion of turning the United States into a Christian theocracy yet sell-out to perhaps the most un-Christian president in US history. FYI to Jewish Republicans: Christian theocracies have not been good to us. cf. Spanish Inquisition vs. Golden Age of Jewry in Spain.

 

Take a break, everyone. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

 

Depression in Teenage Girls and Young Women: Is it getting worse?


menace-1-1
From Hyperbole and a Half, a great blog on depression

 

Yes, that does seem to be the case, in spite of increased awareness, better medications, and supposedly less stigma.

This from NPR

This from MarketWatch

And this from the peer-reviewed journal Pediatrics

RESULTS: The 12-month prevalence of MDEs increased from 8.7% in 2005 to 11.3% in 2014 in adolescents and from 8.8% to 9.6% in young adults (both P < .001). The increase was larger and statistically significant only in the age range of 12 to 20 years. The trends remained significant after adjustment for substance use disorders and sociodemographic factors. Mental health care contacts overall did not change over time; however, the use of specialty mental health providers increased in adolescents and young adults, and the use of prescription medications and inpatient hospitalizations increased in adolescents.

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