Psychotic Episode Surfaces

There are many times when I’ve referred to my ex-husband as a psychopath. Most people tend to think that I’m referring to him like this out of hate, or begrudging anger, or animosity due to the divorce. But most people don’t know me, and don’t know that I don’t harbor such feelings for other people.

So long as I’m not being at hurt, I can not hate for what you’ve done in the past or may do in the future.

In this sense I don’t hold a grudge. In my husband’s case, I’d have had to love him first to be able to hate him. But I didn’t. I don’t hate my ex husband. I don’t feel anything for him except the fact that he’s the father of my son and thus we must respect each other.

I was finally able to reach him this morning. As calmly as I could I told him what I was thinking, about going back to Canada to getting a degree and I explained that I’d like to bring our son. Within seconds of the realization of what I was suggesting, the man went into an anxiety attack, “No. No. No. Are you crazy? You know I can’t ever do that! No. My son? What? No! What about my family? No. No. No.” His breathing went into an abnormal state and his words were no more than panicked thoughts messing up the calm in his mind, being spat out without recognition that he was even talking.

“Calm down.” Once again, I found myself in a situation where the tone of my voice and every word I said would determine whether the near future between me and this man would become hell, or stay just as stable as it has been, “You know I can’t do anything without your approval. You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t even try. You have complete control, and I’m only asking you to consider this suggestion.”

”No. I can’t even consider it. I won’t even sleep now.” His breathing was heavy and irregular.

I continued to explain to him as lightly as I could, that the maid was leaving this year, our son was meant to start school, that it’s not the same when a father is taken from a child and when mother is taken form a child; that he’d always have easy access to him, even if that meant him coming and staying there with us in Canada for some time, or us returning on school breaks. To everything, he responded with a paranoid, on the edge, “I can’t. You know I can’t. I can’t even consider it.”

The conversation continued until I found myself almost apologizing for asking, in order to calm him down; while I myself was becoming a mess, realizing that there’s no way it’s ever going to happen. By the time I closed the phone, he was asking me about whether or not I’d found work; a conversation that he only initiated because I’m sure he noticed me trying to disguise my now, pouring tears.

And that’s it. I’m not going to Canada to study. My son called me this morning to tell me he was angry at the maid for bathing him and getting soap in his eyes. He then told me I had to come and get him. That’s what I’m off to do. I’m picking up my son and bringing him to my mother’s house for the day.