The Brotherhood of Dwarves

This post will be highly personal, so if you don’t like that sort of thing, stop reading and find some cat memes. There’s a high probability that I’ll use a considerable amount of profanity, too. Just so we’re clear, this post won’t be optimistic or upbeat; it won’t be about my children or my books or education. No this post is a diatribe directed at the women who have done me wrong, and I don’t care if they ever read it. There are just a few things I need to get off my chest. Anyone who disagrees with any of the facts as I state them is free to start their own blog and write whatever version they believe to be true. However, for this post, I will delete any bullshit comments that I don’t want to see.

I’ll start with what I see as my biggest flaws as a man and partner. I have a temper. I can keep my cool really well up to a point, but once you cross that line, I will explode, and yes, I can be quite frightening when I snap. For clarity’s sake, let me also interject that I’ve never ever struck a woman, so please, don’t get the wrong impression of me. When I’m tired, I become withdrawn and distant. When I’m stressed, I become even more so. I can take this to some pretty far extremes, so I know that can make me a difficult man to live with. I’m possibly one of the most stubborn assholes you’ll ever meet. Don’t believe me? Piss me off or tell me I can’t accomplish something. I’m also a creative scatter brain and quite messy. I recognize these flaws in myself and accept that they can make living with me a challenge.

But I still believe my positives as a man and human being far outweigh my negatives. First and foremost, if I’ve ever told you that you were the only woman in my life, I fucking meant it. You never had to wonder where I was or who I was with, ever. I went to work and came home to you. If I hadn’t wanted the commitment, I would’ve remained single. If you had doubts about that, those were your own insecurities coming out, not anything I intentionally did. If my fidelity wasn’t valuable to you, I don’t know what to tell you. You had men before me who were unfaithful, so you should’ve known what it was worth.

Okay, so I’m not romantic. I get that you want that unrealistic, Hollywood version of the man who never forgets flowers and always knows the perfect thing to say, but guess what? That’s fucking make believe. I expressed my love by doing the dishes, putting up the laundry, mowing the yard, holding your hand, touching you tenderly, and sharing the deepest parts of myself with you. I don’t know how how else to show my feelings without it seeming phony to me. Maybe I didn’t do enough in your eyes, but I know I tried my best. I tried to comfort you when you were distressed, give you a shoulder to lean on when you wanted it, and listen when you needed to rant. Unless you pushed me beyond my limit, I was kind, considerate, and gentle (if you made my temper flare, you saw a side not so kind and considerate). I treated you as my equal, not my servant or nurse or personal chef. I rarely ever asked you specifically to do something for me, and I often returned the favor if I did, whether it be stopping at the store or grabbing something from the fridge. I know that’s not romance, but god damn isn’t being treated decently worth anything?

I stood by you through difficulties, like infertility or your teenage son running away for a fucking month. I held you to sleep on nights when you cried. I gave you something strong and stable to lean on, and if I ever ran away, it was because you made me feel like all that I am and all that I gave was not appreciated or respected. I only turned my back on you because you made me feel unwanted, and I’m too proud and too stubborn to stay any place where I’m not wanted. However, my loyalty for standing by you through your lowest was never repaid, at least not in full. You can argue that if you like, but I know it in my heart.

I can accept when a relationship ends. I can accept that people grow apart or realize things aren’t working. I can move on. I can allow feelings to dissolve over time. What gets to me is cruelty. Whether it was leaving me on Christmas Day, cheating on me, sending me insulting messages, spreading rumors about me that simply aren’t true, or finding ways to twist the knife just one more time, it bothers me because I know I fucking deserve better. I’ve never in this life done anything to deserve some of cruel things you did to me. You’ve tried to twist it around to somehow make me the bad guy, but I know I didn’t hide an affair behind your back for eleven years or misplace anger that should’ve been directed at your sons. I tried everything I could not to start fights and avoid them, but I will admit my fault of allowing you to push me beyond my limit and then getting ugly.

I admit that working in education has made me financially strapped. I admit I can’t afford nice things, especially now with child support. I live humbly and don’t really mind. You claimed you wanted a simple life. You claimed you didn’t want or need me to support you, but whenever things got rough, you made damn sure to throw in my face that I can’t give you all the materialistic bullshit. You made damn sure to tell me about those who could. In the end, it really was all about the money. Deny it all you want, but I’m fairly certain my good qualities would’ve been more than enough if Brotherhood had roared up the charts. If you’re reading this, yes, you. You can say whatever, but actions speak louder.

I have no idea what my future holds. I have no idea if I’ll ever have another relationship or if I’ll grow old and feeble alone. I’m trying my damnedest not to grow cold and bitter, but when I think about unappreciated I’ve been, it’s not easy. You didn’t appreciate the person I am, the kindness and decency and simple goodness. You didn’t accept my faults. You may say you did, but you always found a way to criticize me in some way. If you’re reading this, yes, you. I’m not willing to allow another woman ever to disrespect the decency I offer again. I’m far from perfect, but I fucking damn sure deserve better than what you gave me, and I won’t ever allow anyone to treat me as a doormat ever again. Deny it if you want, but I know how you made me feel, and I didn’t deserve that. Time will be my test. I hope to live long enough to see what one day after the other reveals, and if it reveals that I’m completely wrong, I’ll swallow my pride and reexamine myself. Until that day, I will try to keep love and decency in my heart and push back against the creeping bitterness.

My apologies for the extended hiatus, but the last couple of months have been quite the adventure. Due to circumstances, in mid-May I found myself suddenly single and without a place to live. The plan for this summer had been to renovate the old building into a living space and move to the farm permanently, but that plan got moved to the front burner instantly. For about seven weeks, I slept in my old Blazer out on the property and worked ten to twelve hours every day on the construction.

I started basically with a skeleton: a tin roof, rafters, a block wall along the back, a concrete floor, and part of a frame. I finished out the framing, fixed the outer walls, added onto the block wall, plumbed it, wired it, hung drywall, hung the ceiling, installed windows and doors, and sealed the place. Dad showed me how to do the things I had never done before, and two guys helped me hang the boards for the ceiling, but the bulk of the labor was me and me alone.

It’s not perfect and far from finished, but it’s mine. I built this place with my own two hands. The satisfaction of that is priceless. Pushing through weeks of fatigue and discomfort helped me rediscover a part of myself I thought was gone. There is still a little fight left in these old bones.

Twice now since my divorce, I’ve given up a comfortable place of my own to move in with women who begged me, literally begged, to move in with them, only to later be accused of using them. Well, the people who really know me know I’m not a user. I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself, thank you. So there will never be a third instance of me giving up my own place to live under someone else’s roof. End of that discussion.

My children love my new place. I truly don’t care what anyone else thinks. You don’t like it, there’s the door. You want to criticize it, go build something better in seven weeks or shut your mouth. As for me, I’m D.A. Adams, and I’ve just begun kicking ass.