Will the police show up?

Well I certainly made it worse. The back story. I have a roommate that doesn’t like me. We used to be best friends but today she threatened to call the police. I made it worse. Much worse. I slapped her…

Well I certainly made it worse.

The back story. I have a roommate that doesn’t like me. We used to be best friends but today she threatened to call the police. I made it worse. Much worse. I slapped her lightly on the cheek. A real slap. I can’t recall exactly how lightly but enough I suspect to have me charged for assault if she pursues it. A life changing slap.

I did it with a smile, but since it happened at the beginning of her outrage blast at me, it came as a shock. A hit. I got a woman in a fight. Something no man should do. I did it.

I didn’t strike her in rage. I wasn’t angry. I smoked her to make a point. To change the topic. I don’t know why. It was an odd defence that changed her rage up 5 notches. A silly move that may change my life, and although I have been looking for a change to happen in my universe, meeting the police is not one I welcome. I’m not certain I could talk my way out of that.

I’m not angry. I find a lot of anger numerous and this one especially. I realize there are few things in life more frustrating than a one sides heated yelling match. She went to sleep furious. She woke up furious, and just as the interaction was starting at noon the next day, I changed the topic with an unexpected cheek slap and a laugh.

My roommate was taken in about a year ago because she was being released from mental care with no home to go to. She was highly distressed and could hardly feed herself or move. She’s done quite well, and recovered a fair amount although still not a happy woman. We really don’t talk much anymore and she doesn’t really like me because I chose to leave her alone to heal. I provided a place to live and as much privacy as our arrangement provided. I live in a one bedroom apartment and she has run if the entire living room, hall, kitchen and bathroom. I stay in my room except to leave, or microwave a pasta macaroni.

Every time I open the door, it makes a noise and wakes her. She gives out a loud sigh to let me know I’ve woken her. Being a man over 50, this can happen 2 or 3 times a night, so in my best attempts to keep her happy, I started peeing in my room, and keeping the container till the next morning, or the next time I’m alone and she’s out.

Last night, I tripped and spilled a full cup in the bathroom. I cleaned much of it up and soaked the rest with water. My nose may be somewhat immune to the smell, but I thought I did ok. There was a wet spot, but in my mind, not particularly bad. When she showers, the whole carpet gets wet. I went to sleep.

This morning, I happened to see a Facebook post that indicated she figured out it was a pee stain. I had know from previous complaints she seems to have some extra special fear of men’s pee. I shouldn’t say it so casually. I suppose it’s possible any woman, perhaps even most people hate discovering pee anywhere it shouldn’t be.

In any case, she obviously put a foot onto the damp carpet,smelled the pee and freaked out. Her Facebook post used the word furious. She was furious I had made a message, not cleaned it or warned her, especially since we had chatted briefly before I went to bed.

This morning I knew I was in for the angry rant. To me, a rant far beyond what I thought was justified. She complains to me weekly about something I’ve done wrong, and I always agree, and say I’ll try to do better. I don’t argue. I don’t try to defend myself. Often the things she complains about are real. This was real.

I finally felt I could stay in my room no longer and ventured out for my scolding. I made it to the bathroom while she woke from here sleep. As I exited, there she was, standing before me, ready to explode.

I forget her exact wording but it was certainly prewritten in her head. Something like; in what universe is it ok to leave pee and not warn me?, Yelled at a suitably angry volume.

I don’t remember if I replied verbally first or not, but pretty quickly my reaction was the open palm slap on her cheek. I suppose I intended it as a shock. I know it was light enough that under almost any other situation, it could have passed as funny.

I realize and admit, hitting a historical woman is not funny. It was not the right choice. It never is. I didn’t intend for it to be interpreted as assault, but of course it would be. A hit during a fight can not be interpreted any other way, and if this ends in a criminal record for me, so be it. I suppose I deserve it. The fact that there was no pain is irrelevant. She was clearly assaulted.

I called it a silly move, which of course made it all the worse. She was still yelling at me now from three directions not clear on which to be more angry about. The pee, the lack of warning, or this new assault.

Perhaps fourth. The reaction of me, still being calm,quiet and laughing it off. Apparently my not considering her foot in pee a serious injury was equally upsetting. Her rage at stepping in pee wasn’t being taken seriously was enough of an offence without me calling my slap a silly move. I have been told never to touch her again, which will be easy enough as we have not touched in years. Not even A welcome hug. I get the impression her time here in my home has been pure hell for her, despite my very best efforts to be a comfort in almost every way.

There have been many times in this year my attempts to let her heal have gone wrong and I admit I’m bad at it. I say the wrong thing almost every time comfort is needed, not just with her, but with all my women friends. I’ve never kept a relationship more than 5 years with anyone.

I am sad now, as I always am when I upset somebody, but sad at myself for hurting her needlessly. The move was a silly one… A stupid one. A wrong thing. I just get so tired of virtually all the contact I have with people being complaints. I’ve been analyzing my life and all I do is say I’m sorry. Barely a day goes by when I’m not apologizing for being me.

I’m a fuck up and obviously I need to learn that being creative in the way I accept that isn’t a good solution. At this point, as I clear my years and write, I honestly can’t explain my I thought a slap would help. I can’t explain what I thought it would accomplish other than to change the emotional thrashing I was to receive to shock.

It certainly didn’t help me, and I’ve learned over and over I can’t comprehend the feelings going on in her semi damaged mind. Even back when we were besties back 4 years, she and I were alike in so many ways, but the moment I’d assume anything, I’d learn we certainly were different too.

I was wrong. In all four ways I admit although ironically I feel the least of my son’s was the actual act. I spilled some pee, and cleaned it up poorly. In reverse, I probably would not have even mentioned it. The times she flooded the bathroom with toilet water passed silently. In fact I don’t think I have commented or complained about a single life change since I invited her into my life to inconvenience me at every turn.

I live in my bedroom now, at least until the police come to remove me.

I do regret my reaction. You have to let people be angry and vent. I stole that from her by smiling and laughing at her trauma. That was wrong. The assault was definitely wrong even if I try to say it was mild. I was wrong in every way.

I doubt shell accept my apology.

Maybe in time.

Tears.

She did thank me for a sincere all blame apology. There is no justification for my poor reaction. I said that I was aware and expecting the fight in advance and just freaked out the wrong way. I saw it as an over reaction for both of us in different directions but I accept I was the only one wrong. I did think I cleaned up, but obviously did not.

I am always the one wrong.  I get that.