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Can’t Do This by Aaron Taylor

She was breaking up with me for something that was not my fault, punishing me for something for which I had no control: a tragedy, an act of God.

She had had a miscarriage. The pregnancy was intentional, not the kind of “accident” many of our friends had — and like her first child was when she got pregnant with her ex-husband when she was 20.

She and I had known each other for seven years and had an off-and-on thing. Things got serious when she told me that she wanted to have another baby because her daughter was 12 now and, according to her, “needing me less, the way teenagers do.” Kelly had always wanted a large family, but circumstances and economics had not made it feasible. She was almost 35 and believed that if she was going to have another child, now was the time.

I wanted to procreate as well. I was hearing the male bio clock, and it was ticking loudly. I glanced at couples and singles with their newborns and toddlers in public and wondered, When will I have that? So when she suggested that possibility, as well as a possible marriage, I was excited.

She was surprised. She thought I would back away, as other men in her life had. According to her, men always thought she was trying to trap them into something. “I’m happy!” she kept saying over the next five months. “I’ve never been this happy!”

Conception came easy. “I’m Myrtle the Fertile Turtle,” she said. She knew the child was a boy. She said that he came to her in a dream. He also visited me in a couple of dreams. When it was confirmed by an ultrasound that the baby was a boy it only strengthened the metaphysical and spiritual sensations we had been experiencing.

It all came crashing down when she miscarried. In the hospital room, she looked like a stranger to me. She looked 100 years old. She had cried and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

I tried to touch her, to hold her, but she rejected me. She hit me in the chest. “You bastard!” she yelled. What did I do? She hit me again, this time in the face — a punch in the mouth. I tasted blood. “Get out of here,” she demanded. “Get the hell out!”

She punched the buzzer for the nurse. I didn’t want to leave. Two orderlies showed up. I was told that it was best that I go. The nurse said she would give my “wife” a sedative.

Kelly said later, “I know this is not fair, and I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel. I can’t see you anymore. It’s too painful. When I see your face, I imagine what his face would have looked like. His hair...I know he would have had your hair. I can’t do this.”

She changed her phone number and wouldn’t respond to email. Every day I had to stop myself from going over to her house and demanding better treatment, a better explanation. I understood her emotions; I felt the same sense of loss. But I didn’t want to give up. Many couples had made it through this tragedy before.

I was angry — angry at her for doing this, angry at the universe for taking the baby away. I felt betrayed by her and betrayed by God. I was angry with every person I saw in public who had an infant or small child.

Everywhere I went I saw parents and children. It seemed that a lot of the parents were in their late teens or early 20s. Many of them looked unhappy — they looked stressed, trapped, confused. I surmised that their young lives had changed with the birth of a baby, and now their hopes and dreams were derailed, replaced with economic worry and all the burden of being a young parent.

I looked at them with envy and resentment. Here were these people who did not seem to be happy about being a parent.

Two months later Kelly sent a text message: “Eye mizz u.” Then she called. She wanted to get together. She wanted to talk. She was still quite depressed but said, “I’m dealing with life better.”

We met for lunch at our favorite restaurant in Del Mar. We had a few drinks. She was drinking fast. It was meaningless talk — we were avoiding the obvious. But I could see it in her eyes: I knew she was going to break down soon, and so would I.

The food arrived, but we didn’t touch it. I reached over the table and grabbed her hands. We started to cry. The people around us gave quick, embarrassed looks. We didn’t care.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“I can’t do this,” she told me. “I wanted to find out if I could. I had to know, and I know I can’t. I’ll never be able to.” She couldn’t even look at me. She stared in the opposite direction, her arm out, keeping me away. Then she ran out of the restaurant and jumped into her car as if she were in an action movie, fleeing from the bad guys.

That was two years ago. I am still grieving. No parent can get over the death of a child. There has been no healing.

Tell us the story of your breakup and/or date from hell and we will publish it and pay you ($100 for 500-2000 words).

E-mail story to
[email protected]
Or mail to:
San Diego Reader/Dumped
Box 85803
San Diego, CA 92186

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She was breaking up with me for something that was not my fault, punishing me for something for which I had no control: a tragedy, an act of God.

She had had a miscarriage. The pregnancy was intentional, not the kind of “accident” many of our friends had — and like her first child was when she got pregnant with her ex-husband when she was 20.

She and I had known each other for seven years and had an off-and-on thing. Things got serious when she told me that she wanted to have another baby because her daughter was 12 now and, according to her, “needing me less, the way teenagers do.” Kelly had always wanted a large family, but circumstances and economics had not made it feasible. She was almost 35 and believed that if she was going to have another child, now was the time.

I wanted to procreate as well. I was hearing the male bio clock, and it was ticking loudly. I glanced at couples and singles with their newborns and toddlers in public and wondered, When will I have that? So when she suggested that possibility, as well as a possible marriage, I was excited.

She was surprised. She thought I would back away, as other men in her life had. According to her, men always thought she was trying to trap them into something. “I’m happy!” she kept saying over the next five months. “I’ve never been this happy!”

Conception came easy. “I’m Myrtle the Fertile Turtle,” she said. She knew the child was a boy. She said that he came to her in a dream. He also visited me in a couple of dreams. When it was confirmed by an ultrasound that the baby was a boy it only strengthened the metaphysical and spiritual sensations we had been experiencing.

It all came crashing down when she miscarried. In the hospital room, she looked like a stranger to me. She looked 100 years old. She had cried and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

I tried to touch her, to hold her, but she rejected me. She hit me in the chest. “You bastard!” she yelled. What did I do? She hit me again, this time in the face — a punch in the mouth. I tasted blood. “Get out of here,” she demanded. “Get the hell out!”

She punched the buzzer for the nurse. I didn’t want to leave. Two orderlies showed up. I was told that it was best that I go. The nurse said she would give my “wife” a sedative.

Kelly said later, “I know this is not fair, and I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel. I can’t see you anymore. It’s too painful. When I see your face, I imagine what his face would have looked like. His hair...I know he would have had your hair. I can’t do this.”

She changed her phone number and wouldn’t respond to email. Every day I had to stop myself from going over to her house and demanding better treatment, a better explanation. I understood her emotions; I felt the same sense of loss. But I didn’t want to give up. Many couples had made it through this tragedy before.

I was angry — angry at her for doing this, angry at the universe for taking the baby away. I felt betrayed by her and betrayed by God. I was angry with every person I saw in public who had an infant or small child.

Everywhere I went I saw parents and children. It seemed that a lot of the parents were in their late teens or early 20s. Many of them looked unhappy — they looked stressed, trapped, confused. I surmised that their young lives had changed with the birth of a baby, and now their hopes and dreams were derailed, replaced with economic worry and all the burden of being a young parent.

I looked at them with envy and resentment. Here were these people who did not seem to be happy about being a parent.

Two months later Kelly sent a text message: “Eye mizz u.” Then she called. She wanted to get together. She wanted to talk. She was still quite depressed but said, “I’m dealing with life better.”

We met for lunch at our favorite restaurant in Del Mar. We had a few drinks. She was drinking fast. It was meaningless talk — we were avoiding the obvious. But I could see it in her eyes: I knew she was going to break down soon, and so would I.

The food arrived, but we didn’t touch it. I reached over the table and grabbed her hands. We started to cry. The people around us gave quick, embarrassed looks. We didn’t care.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“I can’t do this,” she told me. “I wanted to find out if I could. I had to know, and I know I can’t. I’ll never be able to.” She couldn’t even look at me. She stared in the opposite direction, her arm out, keeping me away. Then she ran out of the restaurant and jumped into her car as if she were in an action movie, fleeing from the bad guys.

That was two years ago. I am still grieving. No parent can get over the death of a child. There has been no healing.

Tell us the story of your breakup and/or date from hell and we will publish it and pay you ($100 for 500-2000 words).

E-mail story to
[email protected]
Or mail to:
San Diego Reader/Dumped
Box 85803
San Diego, CA 92186

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Comments
10

God that is just awful....I wish you all the luck in the world and will pray for your comfort. God bless you, my friend..... :(

Aug. 6, 2008

Maybe she will read this.

Aug. 9, 2008

Consider yourself lucky. She did you a huge favor. Why would you want to make some woman that unstable the mother of your child? If you were a baby up in heaven looking down to earth and choosing your mother to be born to would you really pick a woman like THAT to be your mother? Let's hope she doesn't get pregnant again. We have enough screwed up people on the planet already who had weird mothers. IT's tragic when women like this are fertile.

Aug. 13, 2008

Shell That was a little harsh don't you think? They lady lost her baby!!!

Aug. 20, 2008

A little off track, but I look at people who have babies and young children, and I want to punch their heads off. 1st, I think: how many of these brats are we the taxpayers going to have to end up supporting because these selfish a**hole "parents" didn't plan and prepare for children?

2nd, I see the way some of these so-called "parents" behave in public, especially behind the wheel, and think, "thanks for f-ing up your children and leaving the rest of us to deal with their ego-centrist, thoughtless, rude, inconsiderate behavior as teens and young adults.

Okay, off track. Sorry about that. Condolences on your losses. Grieve and move on. I wouldn't have phrased it the way shell did, but I basically agree with him/her.

Sept. 27, 2008

grae, this is a touching story, and very common--you are not alone.

Your ex sounds like a sociopathic personality--they are often able to fool many people for a time, but not forever. His relationships will cut off in similiar manner, one by one. Be glad you are no longer under his spell, and can see who the 'crazy' one is now.

Here is a website to do some reading on abusive and controlling relationships, and the common tactics used by these people. You might feel a little better knowing you are not alone. Many many otherwise intelligent women have been trapped in this kind of relationship:

http://www.rickross.com/groups/abusive.html

I do hope that you recover through finding a good, supportive therapist. Please write back and confirm that you will do so. If you cannot afford one or do not have health insurance, grab a phone book and go to your local medical clinic. They will refer you immediately. It is not noble to grieve forever, and proves nothing to your ex, who is incapable of ever feeling your grief. Prosper and forget--that is the best revenge!

June 10, 2009

aaron, to read bout your pain is a relief. my ex still still ignores what happened with us and i've been alone in mourning. it's difficult for me to not react personally your anger and blame towards your ex. we create our fates and the universe responds to our wishes, right. this reminds me that it's futile for me to hope anymore for his empathy and i'm wasting myself and driven myself to the edge of insanity holding onto the blame, anger, shame. to each his own. someday maybe we can be grateful for feeling the vastness of what it means to be human. i hope that at least you can let this experience help you become a better person.

June 10, 2009

grae, I hope you focus on my previous message, and find some help. It is not romantic or noble to waste away or dwell on insanity when you are alone. Please consider finding a therapist, and starting the process.

June 10, 2009

i acknowledge that you're entitled to your version of your experience , and this hits a raw and raging nerve in me. my ex didn't have any empathy for me. he's known as a healer and teacher and puts up a charming , sensitive, kind front. how deceptive appearances can be. he used his hands to choke and punch me , he used his words to mutilate me , and for every 100 apologies i gave him, he gave one that was insincere. my point is that he was so invested in seeing only my faults and wouldn't admit his faults while he tried to teach me humilty. he's spread stories about me being a psychotic bitch and i'm still furious.i couldn't hide my emotions as well as him in public. those hands he lays on people everyday while intoxicated with shrooms, ectasy , pot, booze, didn't not care for me while i struggled our pregnancy on my own. he was too busy lusting after my sister,while i moved away to another state to be safe. every opportunity i gave him to step up and do the right thing by giving him more compassion, tolerance, forgivenesss, apologies was wasted. when i came back after losing the baby, i was trying to confide in him about my feelings about the whole incident and he punched me in the mouth and made me bleed. he can't handle complaints. it's funny how he tried preaching the beauty of the spiritual aspects of aikido, and he became more violent with with me after moving into the dojo and was unapologetic and spread rumors about me while he continued to cheat and decieve. it was my mistake to hope that he might change and to tolerate this abuse. i let it get this far for seven years. i've hit rock bottom so many times , waiting and hoping he might practice the concepts of humility he often preached, like being aware of one's faults and being accountable. now i'm still filled with rage and alone in mourning this devasting loss.

June 10, 2009

it takes courage to admit when you're wrong. it takes courage to do the right thing. it courage to be honest to look at your own faults. i've learned that the true meaning of courage is to not run from your past or try to hide and deny your mistakes. it takes courage to say no to abuse and to take good care of yourself by letting go of expectations of someone else. it was my fault to tolerate, forgive and hope for better change. i wasn't the only ex he phsycially/emotionally/mentally abused. he was my first. he told some of his friends he was going to be a father and he claimed that he was going to help when i told him i was pregnant. yet 98% he was too busy being a self centered jerk while trying to convince me i deserved to be hated during the pregancy. it amazes me how many people he's conned into believing that he has no faults and i was crazy. he still doesn't want to talk about it, he still ignores my feelings i've put on hold for years waiting for a fraction of sincere empathy, while we're still busy beating me up for every single mistake i made from day one. i've retreated into my cave for the last two years since the loss while he's out and about trying to live the high life. i think it's easy for people to percieve me as the wrong one because i've become a shadow of myself gloomy,dull and ashamed while he tries to parade around town like a charming tomcat who has his act together.sometimes i wish i could warn everyone about who he really is. yet i know people are entitled to experience him for themselves. now it seems that the best way to heal is on my own, without expecting any help or consideration from him. the first step is forgiving myself for letting myself get this far down the rabbit hole.

June 10, 2009

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