The harm my ex-wife does

Narcissists are like religious people.  They might be harmless if left alone with their thoughts…but they can't stop proselytizing…

 

My ex-wife dumped me once in 2012.  She told me she was leaving while we were leaving a movie in Sundance.  The next day we returned home, and she disappeared a few hours later in a huge clean white pickup truck.  No idea who the driver or owner are.

 

What I do know is that she ended up in Arizona for a few days two weeks later, fucking someone.  Presumably it was someone she'd met at a theater workshop run by Moises Kaufman's Tectonic Group.  That's a guess.  My ex was disdainful of Moises—if there's one thing narcissists can't stand it's sharing the limelight with someone who is better at stealing it than they are.

 

I don't care what kind of person Moises is.  I'll never meet him and don't want to.  I value The Laramie Project and the Trials of Oscar Wilde.  Incredible political theater. Deep character reveals using surprising structures.

 

I do care what kind of person my ex-wife is, because she hurt me deeply and permanently.

 

I understand that narcissists will drop their panties the moment anyone says the abracadabra words:  "You're so sexy I can't control myself."

 

Try it.  Works every time.  At least with my ex.

 

This doesn't do me any good.  My dad got sick and died in the eight weeks after the magic white F250.

 

My ex, I believe, was sitting on a couch outside of Denver, sobbing because she'd got dumped in Arizona.  I don't know how she got from AZ to CO—she was described as so disconsolate that she couldn't form words.

 

Two days of heaven, honey—and the only one who really got fucked was me. By you.  No sex.

 

My dad died.  You didn't even call.  You now believe you were by my side, cuddling and nurturing me the entire time!  That's the same criminal appropriation you did to Doron's personal history.  You didn't like his truth, either, so you rewrote it with you as the star.  The solo performer, actually, in Doron's case.

 

And how about your family?  Cruci-fiction.

 

I took you back two months and three days after that.  Our joint cat Hercules died in our arms, two days after that. 

 

From that point on, you behaved as if you were gods' gift.  Truckstop trash in a Ford 250.  Clean and white.

 

Because You Are Not Anyone's Queen. You have to earn it, b#@*h…as Elizabeth I would have said.