Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Cape Cod

As I sit here in the Boston area traveling on business, it brings back memories of the time I spent in Cape Cod with the BPD. We were here during this time of year, as she had to attend a writer's conference on The Cape.

From the very start of the trip, there were problems. When looking for a place to stay on the first night (we left early and needed to find a place to stay on the first night), I was searching for a place on The Internet. The BPD accused me of trying to contact females when I was searching for a room.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said to her.

She wasn't.

I was angry. Quite angry. When does it stop? When does she start acting normal and not make crazy, outrageous accusations?

I told her that I was angry. I was so angry that I insisted that she apologize to me. She refused. We had already packed her SUV for the trip; I was so angry that I took my bags out of the SUV and told her that I wasn't going unless she apologize.

She finally apoligized. I felt it later, though.

We ended up staying in Falmouth, in a rathole of a hotel room. In the middle of the night, there were people fighting outside the room. I barely remember, but I know that the BPD was quite scared. I either went out of the room and told them to leave or called the front desk. I think the police eventually came and arrested some of them.

The next morning, we drove to Woods Hole where we dropped her daughters off, as they were taking the ferry over to Martha's Vineyard so they could spend some time with their grandparents. After we dropped them off, we went to Centerville and had reservations at a motel so she could go to her writer's conference. We checked in, drove around to get a lay of the land, then had a few drinks and relaxed.

Somewhere along the way, she got upset about I don't remember what. She said to me, "I'm going out," and was going to go out and drink some more. She never did go out, but I remember feeling quite a lot of anxiety over her possibly going out and drinking.

The next day was her writer's conference. I don't remember if it was only one day or multiple days, but I remember her going to the conference and coming back a couple of hours later during a break. I was checking my email on the office computer and trying in vain to get internet access in my room. This, of course, freaked the BPD out. She thought that I was doing something on the Internet -- I guess she thought that I was setting up dates for my free time because I had so much of it.

By this point, it was taking me longer and longer to get the BPD out of her rages. I could no longer tell her that I cared about her and would ever do those things to her and be able to make her feel better. Her rages now were regularly coming out, and they would last for hours, even days. Issues were never let go.

Despite this, I convinced the BPD to go to Provincetown at the very end of Cape Cod, and she agreed. I manufactured a new accent, my 'err-uh Cape Cad accent' and used it the entire ride:

Err-uh, I think we need to turn at this round-abowwwt, wat d'ya think Maaaaatha?

We had a nice dinner in Provincetown, then returned to the room. I had to go to the bathroom, and when I came out, the BPD accused me of going to the bathroom and sending text messages. She went as far as telling me that the bathroom didn't smell bad enough for me to go to the bathroom.

Talk about being put under the microscope.

The trip continued like this, the constant turmoil never stopping, constant fighting continuing. It's a shame, because it could have been such a nice trip. I knew that the end was near, and after we returned from this trip, I began looking in earnest for a place of my own to move out.

About one month later, I moved out.

Being back up here during this time of year as the summer begins to cool off reminds me of the trip that we had. Despite all the turmoil, I tried my best to have a good time. It was tough.


  1. That seems to be a common theme. My suspected BPD wife and I have had a fight on every trip weve ever been on. Ive given up trying to travel and have a good time with her.

  2. Oh, there are so many more times. One time, when we were visiting the BPD's parents, the fighting got so bad that I actually told her that I was going to take my children and take a train home -- we were about 5 hours from home.

    She apologized and we continued on the trip. Vacations were always quite stressful. It seems that the BPD needs extra attention when you take a trip with them, and the children also need attention -- the BPD can't handle the attention that the children need. They want to have the attention.

    On yet another trip, the BPD got sick and needed to be taken to the hospital. We spent a day in the hospital, but she was suddenly discharged at night. She got the attention that she needed. It never stopped.


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