RSSChapter 8: Sylvia
Jun 11
Slyvia was shocked when I asked for a divorce. We had only been married for a year. She cried on the couch for hours. She pleaded with me. You made a promise to me, and God, and Jesus.
She was a Catholic. I was a Buddhist. We didn’t think the difference in religion would matter. It did.
When I left, she threatened to end her life. There was just no point to living now. She would never trust a man again. I was her life. I was her happiness. She loved me so much that she wanted me all to herself. We lived in a one bedroom apartment. We had no friends.
I stopped by to pack my clothes in moving boxes. She watched me from the window, sobbing. She pressed one palm on the glass and stared longingly at me. It was unsettling.
When I refused to go back after her first three months of begging, after she tried to get my best friend to talk some sense into me, when all her tactics had failed, she tried to have me committed. She wrote a four page, single spaced letter to my psychiatrist, Dr. Rubin.
She accused me of everything. I was a wife beating, whore chasing, drug sniffing menace to myself and society. I had threatened to kill her. I had assaulted her sexually.
Dr. Rubin read me the letter, slowly, deliberately. He asked me questions; he was laughing and smiling. He knew it was bullshit, thankfully.
You are not crazy, young man, he said, feeding the paper shredder, but you do need to learn how to be a son-of-a-bitch, sometimes.
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