A couple days ago, Frank called the dogs over for a lesson on personal responsibility and, waiting a moment for them to rush over (which they didn’t), he ended the lesson and asked me if I had anything to add. I said, ‘Don’t go to your father for personal responsibility.” And then I heard myself. Did I just say that? Do I bury such resentment in me? But I knew Frank was making such strides in the past few months. Fuck, I hate myself.
Sometimes I hear myself saying awful things to Frank and, a moment after I feel incredible remorse and shock at myself and have apologized profusely, I wait for Frank’s response and wonder why he hasn’t become furious with me. Is it because he’s come to expect hearing awful things from me? Is it because he accepted my apology immediately, knowing I was sincerely contrite? Is it because I’m merely voicing complaints he’s always attacking himself with? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t make me feel better and I continue to apologize, hoping he’ll reinforce how unacceptable it is what I say sometimes. But he, too, knows I’m already cringing.
What’s worse than anything I say just a moment before is when I blurt out, “Don’t hit me,” which sometimes pops out of my mouth in public even, not that he’s ever hit me or ever would, but because growing up I was hit by my parents and in college dated guys whom I allowed to slap me and, therefore, still reflexively expect others to hit me when they were upset with me. I wish I could go to a therapist where I was confronted by an irate person with his hand raised and I had to learn not to wince or flinch when he moved. But thinking that is sick, isn’t it? I suppose you can escape the dom, but the sub doesn’t escape you.
A couple years ago, Delilah had a pee accident on the living room floor and, about fifteen minutes later, after Frank had cleaned it up, my mother came by to bring over some groceries for us. When she asked where Delilah was (since Delilah always rushes to the door and barks when anyone visits the apartment), we looked about us and saw that she was sitting in her kennel, as if giving herself a time-out. My first thought was how cute it was, but after we’d explained what had happened to my mom, she put on her school voice and praised Delilah for being such a good girl, knowing when she had done wrong, and I felt sick. Was such self-punishment an advanced behavior Delilah shared with good children and had I simply been raised to cower like a dog? I have a sense it was the latter.
I still let Sophie nip at me, but I sneeze on her when she goes too far
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