I've always said that moving on is the hardest part. I cling to the past, even when it's bad, I romanticize it, ignoring the 99 bad things to focus on the good. I guess that's a form of denial, although I don't deny the existence of the bad things. They're just not as important to me as the good things.
It is funny however, how life will decide for you. A turn of events has come about quickly, which will enable me to get a new car, which I sorely need. A turn of events has come about at work, which may or may not be meaningful, possibly a sign of things to come. Discord. Disgruntledness. That might not actually *be* a word but it is an indicator of my growing dissatisfaction with my job, and my willingness to let it go.
I have even decided if I have to leave Richmond, so be it. There is nothing keeping me here. Even the dread of starting again is not enough to keep me here. I realize that I now feel exactly like I felt in FL. Completely and utterly alone.
I clung to hope that Steven would turn around and realize what he's done. But it's too late. I imagined myself asking him, "how can you fix what's broken? How can you heal the scars you carved into me?" and my own answer comes, he can't. He doesn't have the height or depth or strength to even try. He doesn't care enough, he doesn't have the courage. He is too afraid, and too weak. He is not the man for the job. He wouldn't even try.
So, I know he won't try to right his wrongs. And I know can never trust him again, even though I want to. In truth, I think I fear I'm at a place where I know who he is (terrifying). I never wanted to accept all the shit he pulled...but it's plain. The light has been shined into all the little cracks. And I think I might be far enough away from it now to focus and see who he really is.
I still want to lie and make excuses and say he was experiencing a nervous breakdown or a midlife crisis or somesuch. But you know....? No one excuses me for anything. Life judged me damn harshly, and I think he should be weighed on the same scale. When have I been protected or excused from anything?!?
I think I wasn't excusing him, but myself- refusing to admit that I loved someone who was so terrible, I protected him to deny that I could have been so wrapped up in something so bad. I tried to put a pretty bow on it.
Well...it might be time to cut my losses, and run.
A new car is a good thing. That will reassure me a little that I'm still as good as everybody else. Some normalcy, Yay. It will ensure I can go hiking every weekend (or as often as I care to drive 2 hours). Or go to DC (as often as I care to drive 2 hours).
I've been looking at houses too, although not seriously. But buying a car has made buying a house seem more doable. The market is recovering slowly and I'm hoping when I get out from under the bankruptcy, I can take advantage of one of the many homebuyer programs out there. There is a house near me, decrepit to be sure, but I had so much fun imagining how I would improve it and make it charming and lovely. My own little place, replete with sunbeams and butterflies, clean windows and brass pots hanging in the kitchen. I know it's just a dream, but that dream seems closer now, for some reason.
Yes: I've started to dream again, and that is good. These dreams don't include Steven. That's good too. It's sad but healthy progress, and a milestone I realized I had to cross after Dennis. Here it is, again. Another river to ford. It breaks my heart to leave him behind but I guess I have to.
That's okay. I'm not afraid to get wet. I've been wet before. I never melted.
I realize my self esteem was greatly damaged by him, especially after being artificially inflated by him. Nothing about that was real, it was all flattery. And so, what a fall! Ouch. I took a tumble there. I'm now left fat and pale and veiny and lumpy, alone, and exposed in front of everyone. How did that happen??? I was just a goddess...!
Well, Fuck.
Do I hate him for throwing me out of a moving car? You bet your ass I do.
But I take consolation in knowing, someday my audience will be picking themselves up off the roadside, scratched, bleeding, fat, pale and lumpy and veiny. Someday, someone is going to throw HIM out of a moving car. And he better pray it's a metaphorical one, and not a real one.
At the same time, I feel the stirrings of the old "me" inside. I know I'll recover. I'm still in there.
I just made some clams and shrimp. I haven't had that in so long! Wow, just smelling the clams, so much like the ocean, was so wonderful. Stunk so bad and meant so much to me! A world, in a whiff. Yes I knew how to buy them, how to keep them, how to cook them and how to eat them, because that's something that is "Of" me. That's my heritage. I still have salt water in my veins, and that will never change. In eating them, I felt like "me" again. It was a sacrament, and made me strong.
I recently had some emails on Facebook with Henry Frankel from home. I haven't seen him in 20 years!!! It was so amazing to talk to him again. It truly made me happy. I saw Mr. Kalman on Main Street too, on Friday...I just love him. It made me so happy to see him again. And yesterday I went out with Ann, a Richmond friend. She is in a place where she also made a choice with her heart and not her head (as I have done so many times)). She knows she's sacrificing herself, but I identified with that so sincerely; I don't know if she knows how much I have sacrificed myself too. But I really did understand. And I took comfort in knowing that we shared that. It feels like support.
These are all little points of contact that aren't about him. These are my people and my things. And they empower me.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Half of What I Say is Meaningless
I haven't been blogging because of course I am obsessed with the Steven thing. It's so much, that I really can't talk about it, not even to myself, it's upsetting and useless (for the most part) and I am tired of explaining it all.
I have had some realizations and progressed a little since my last writing, though. Unfortunately those tiny points of light are so much at odds with the rest of how I feel, it's very hard to stick to one position or another. One side is still not winning out over the other. I'm afraid I am not very resolute.
I have had these wise words from Kahlil Gibran to guide me:
From a distance, the mountain is clearer to the climber than from the plain.
That helped me a lot. I am getting perspective, albeit very slowly. It's not coming easily.
One of the thoughts I had was in regards to our adventures together. Steven and I had fun and did some nice things, but they were always things He would like. Yes, yes we went to restaurants I wanted to try or to a movie I wanted to see and we went hiking a couple of times. And then of course there was the awful Leigh Anne concert he sat through, which certainly was not his idea. But that's not what I mean. I refer to the big things. It was never anything for Me.
Every time we travelled, our destination had to be either to watch a sporting event (for him), or to something military based (again, for him) because that's what he likes. We never took a trip for food or wine or music or art, which is what I like. He never shared my love of literature and he mocked poetry without ever trying to comprehend it, which made me a little angry and ashamed of his ignorance. He is very intelligent, but not literate, and is uneducated about whole worlds of things like Jazz for example. Something else he derided without ever knowing what it was. He thinks "Jazz" is just one thing or one style, and has no appreciation for the performing arts or creative aspect of it at all. And he doesn't want to know. I just can't relate to the "closed" mindset.
He has no idea what's in my head or how much I know about film, music, art, antiques or culture in general. It's something I love and part of what makes me tick. When I think of when I was happiest, what was I doing? Educating myself, travelling, learning about the world and where I fit in it. I chased Michaelangelo all over Europe! But he doesn't know anything about that, and it never occurred to him to try and find out. It was just about him and what he wanted (a diet coke and a baseball game, snore). In retrospect, I don't think he ever understood me, and maybe never would have. And that is a revelation that will, I think, take me to the next level.
But I blame myself. I subjugated me just as much as he did. I dumbed myself down and made these compromises because I wanted us to be together even if it wasn't an activity that would be my first choice. But somewhere along the road, Katherine got left behind. And that's wrong!
So I've been trying to get reacquainted with my inner "intellectual"- a pompous word to be sure, but I'll use it for lack of a better one. I need some Soul Food. I need some creative light.
I've spent time reading lately and it's been wonderful to just settle down, be quiet and be in my own head. I haven't been reading anything you'd find on the NY Times bestseller list, of course, but it makes me happy anyway. I've gone back to the things that give me comfort most, especially poetry. It's nice to know that there are people out there who see what I see and feel what I feel. Someone, and something, I can relate to. It is my grace.
I'll be reading Kahlil Gibran at Kim and Andrew's wedding in a few weeks. Actually, the quotation above is from the piece I will read, On Friendship. It has comforted me, and inspired me to look beyond.
I never read The Prophet before I started searching for something to read that day, and didn't know much about Gibran at all. I was surprised to find out he was fairly modern, and American- not the 18th century Eastern Mystic I expected. I guess I thought he was like Rumi or Omar Khayyam. But he was raised in Boston and wrote The Prophet in 1923. I know he also wrote in Lebanese, but we had more in common than I previously knew.
I made another connection about Gibran too. I learned that the beautiful and elegiac lyric from "Julia" by John Lennon is a reworked Gibran quotation:
Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia
is paraphrased from Sand and Foam, 1926:
Half of what I say is meaningless
I just say it so the other half may reach you.
I've loved that song for 30 years, but didn't know the backstory. That was a cool little discovery and felt like good Karma. I'd like to share it with Steven but, sadly, I don't think it would resonate for him and he wouldn't understand it. So right now I will keep it just for me.
It's impossible for me to ponder that quotation, though, and not to think of our endless conversations, mine and Steven's. We would just talk and talk and talk, all day every day, about so many things. Even today I will still send him emails. Sometimes they are angry, because I am angry but also to provoke him and make him talk back. Others are more heartfelt, sad and crying for who we used to be. The words mean little, though. It's all just an effort to make the emotional connection we once shared, like trying to make a spark by hitting two rocks together Something out of nothing. So, yes. Half of what I say is meaningless. I am just trying to reach him.
I guess when you miss someone everything reminds you of that person, but this quote also recently came across my radar. It too could not be truer of my feelings for him:
If I had a rose for every thought of you, you could walk in my garden forever
I never stop thinking about him, not for more than a few minutes at a time.
When will he become a ghost, and fade into my memories?
I hope it's soon. I know he's not coming back, and it just needs to be over.
I have had some realizations and progressed a little since my last writing, though. Unfortunately those tiny points of light are so much at odds with the rest of how I feel, it's very hard to stick to one position or another. One side is still not winning out over the other. I'm afraid I am not very resolute.
I have had these wise words from Kahlil Gibran to guide me:
From a distance, the mountain is clearer to the climber than from the plain.
That helped me a lot. I am getting perspective, albeit very slowly. It's not coming easily.
One of the thoughts I had was in regards to our adventures together. Steven and I had fun and did some nice things, but they were always things He would like. Yes, yes we went to restaurants I wanted to try or to a movie I wanted to see and we went hiking a couple of times. And then of course there was the awful Leigh Anne concert he sat through, which certainly was not his idea. But that's not what I mean. I refer to the big things. It was never anything for Me.
Every time we travelled, our destination had to be either to watch a sporting event (for him), or to something military based (again, for him) because that's what he likes. We never took a trip for food or wine or music or art, which is what I like. He never shared my love of literature and he mocked poetry without ever trying to comprehend it, which made me a little angry and ashamed of his ignorance. He is very intelligent, but not literate, and is uneducated about whole worlds of things like Jazz for example. Something else he derided without ever knowing what it was. He thinks "Jazz" is just one thing or one style, and has no appreciation for the performing arts or creative aspect of it at all. And he doesn't want to know. I just can't relate to the "closed" mindset.
He has no idea what's in my head or how much I know about film, music, art, antiques or culture in general. It's something I love and part of what makes me tick. When I think of when I was happiest, what was I doing? Educating myself, travelling, learning about the world and where I fit in it. I chased Michaelangelo all over Europe! But he doesn't know anything about that, and it never occurred to him to try and find out. It was just about him and what he wanted (a diet coke and a baseball game, snore). In retrospect, I don't think he ever understood me, and maybe never would have. And that is a revelation that will, I think, take me to the next level.
But I blame myself. I subjugated me just as much as he did. I dumbed myself down and made these compromises because I wanted us to be together even if it wasn't an activity that would be my first choice. But somewhere along the road, Katherine got left behind. And that's wrong!
So I've been trying to get reacquainted with my inner "intellectual"- a pompous word to be sure, but I'll use it for lack of a better one. I need some Soul Food. I need some creative light.
I've spent time reading lately and it's been wonderful to just settle down, be quiet and be in my own head. I haven't been reading anything you'd find on the NY Times bestseller list, of course, but it makes me happy anyway. I've gone back to the things that give me comfort most, especially poetry. It's nice to know that there are people out there who see what I see and feel what I feel. Someone, and something, I can relate to. It is my grace.
I'll be reading Kahlil Gibran at Kim and Andrew's wedding in a few weeks. Actually, the quotation above is from the piece I will read, On Friendship. It has comforted me, and inspired me to look beyond.
I never read The Prophet before I started searching for something to read that day, and didn't know much about Gibran at all. I was surprised to find out he was fairly modern, and American- not the 18th century Eastern Mystic I expected. I guess I thought he was like Rumi or Omar Khayyam. But he was raised in Boston and wrote The Prophet in 1923. I know he also wrote in Lebanese, but we had more in common than I previously knew.
I made another connection about Gibran too. I learned that the beautiful and elegiac lyric from "Julia" by John Lennon is a reworked Gibran quotation:
Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia
is paraphrased from Sand and Foam, 1926:
Half of what I say is meaningless
I just say it so the other half may reach you.
I've loved that song for 30 years, but didn't know the backstory. That was a cool little discovery and felt like good Karma. I'd like to share it with Steven but, sadly, I don't think it would resonate for him and he wouldn't understand it. So right now I will keep it just for me.
It's impossible for me to ponder that quotation, though, and not to think of our endless conversations, mine and Steven's. We would just talk and talk and talk, all day every day, about so many things. Even today I will still send him emails. Sometimes they are angry, because I am angry but also to provoke him and make him talk back. Others are more heartfelt, sad and crying for who we used to be. The words mean little, though. It's all just an effort to make the emotional connection we once shared, like trying to make a spark by hitting two rocks together Something out of nothing. So, yes. Half of what I say is meaningless. I am just trying to reach him.
I guess when you miss someone everything reminds you of that person, but this quote also recently came across my radar. It too could not be truer of my feelings for him:
If I had a rose for every thought of you, you could walk in my garden forever
I never stop thinking about him, not for more than a few minutes at a time.
When will he become a ghost, and fade into my memories?
I hope it's soon. I know he's not coming back, and it just needs to be over.
Monday, March 29, 2010
No Parking
Parking in downtown Richmond is notoriously terrible. First of all there's nowhere to park and when you do find a spot, the parking is limited and conditional. The signage is poor, and the city is overrun with vermin-like parking attendants who exploit that, wantonly writing tickets, half of which are not even justified. They don't have to appear in court and are held to no accountability standard whatsoever- go to traffic court and you will see the judge dismiss dozens a day. They can do whatever they want. It's bad but it's never going to change because it is a huge source of revenue for the city. It's a dirty trick, and they do it because they can.
On Main Street between 4 and 6 it's "rush hour" and no parking. The first time I tried to park there at that hour, someone was nice enough to tell me (I didn't believe them either at first). But right they were. I learned that one $60 parking ticket later. So, now, whenever I see people trying to park near 4pm I always stop them and impress on them why not.
Sure enough, today I saw a guy getting ready to pay the meter- time to do my good deed. "You can't park here", I said. He didn't believe me and wanted to disagree. I persisted. He finally relented, and indicated an old bummy-looking guy sitting on the wall of Bank of America behind us. Sheepishly, he said, "He told me the same thing".
As I looked over my shoulder, the man pipes up with, "Yeah, you didn't want to believe a black man", and repeated it, I guess for my benefit. That really ticked me off! Excuse me, but I think you just implied this guy is a racist. He may not have been insulted, but I was, and not just because some of us were white and some were black. That's bullshit. He wasn't discredited because he was black- he was discredited because he was a bum hanging out on the sidewalk. But that's never going to be an accepted reason in his mind....it's always going to be "because he's black".
That man may have been a dumb parker who didn't want to read the sign...but I don't think he looked at the man and said, Oh...you're black!
I put my hands up to the man, shrugged and asked, "What's black got to do with it? Why's it gotta be because you're black?" (he didn't have an answer for that). I just shook my head and walked away.
Can you find the real racist in this picture?
On Main Street between 4 and 6 it's "rush hour" and no parking. The first time I tried to park there at that hour, someone was nice enough to tell me (I didn't believe them either at first). But right they were. I learned that one $60 parking ticket later. So, now, whenever I see people trying to park near 4pm I always stop them and impress on them why not.
Sure enough, today I saw a guy getting ready to pay the meter- time to do my good deed. "You can't park here", I said. He didn't believe me and wanted to disagree. I persisted. He finally relented, and indicated an old bummy-looking guy sitting on the wall of Bank of America behind us. Sheepishly, he said, "He told me the same thing".
As I looked over my shoulder, the man pipes up with, "Yeah, you didn't want to believe a black man", and repeated it, I guess for my benefit. That really ticked me off! Excuse me, but I think you just implied this guy is a racist. He may not have been insulted, but I was, and not just because some of us were white and some were black. That's bullshit. He wasn't discredited because he was black- he was discredited because he was a bum hanging out on the sidewalk. But that's never going to be an accepted reason in his mind....it's always going to be "because he's black".
That man may have been a dumb parker who didn't want to read the sign...but I don't think he looked at the man and said, Oh...you're black!
I put my hands up to the man, shrugged and asked, "What's black got to do with it? Why's it gotta be because you're black?" (he didn't have an answer for that). I just shook my head and walked away.
Can you find the real racist in this picture?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Internal Compass
In one of my last blogs I described what I think is basically burnout. I'm kind of burned out on life; I've done everything about a hundred times and none of it makes me happy anymore. I realize some of this malaise is Steven-related. He kind of beat the joy right out of me didn't he. It's no wonder I am despondent.
Therapy is out. I know the whole process of how a counsellor or life coach is going to direct me. I don't need encouragement to write a journal or join a group, cut my hair, rearrange the furniture, or think happy thoughts. I already agree with the benefits of all those things (except cutting my hair, maybe)- and practice them. But at the same time I know none of that is going to change my life. Something else has to happen and it has to be internal, not external. Sometimes I think taking antidepressants would do it, but I don't think it would work for me because I would still know the truth. Unless a pill can wipe my memory clean, it's not going to work.
I will say in the evolution of my separation anxiety (I think I am in stage 3 of 5) I am coming to admit more and more how distasteful and scummy I find his sexual proclivities. I mean...he's been doing it for so long, and is still doing the same things over and over. And he's so excited about it, all wet and sweaty. Eew. It's just Masturbatory and Gross. I mean, how long can I deal with that? It's like watching someone take a sh*t.
He did some really low, low things. Chat rooms, porno sites. Motel hookups. God! I don't know how he reconciles that in his own head. Does he not admit, even to himself, how scummy that is?
I'm beginning to feel even though Yes I loved him so much, the person I loved is gone. He would try to tell me that he's still the same, but No- he's not. And nothing is ever going to be the same again.
I'm beginning to feel he's in a death spiral of a compulsion and no matter how much I love him, I can't pull him out. And if I could pull him out, I'm not sure I can touch him because what he's done DISGUSTS ME so much that I've lost respect for him. I don't recognize the person I loved anymore. And that is just so bizarre, I can't wrap my head around it. It defies logic.
As I get further away from it, the picture becomes clearer...but I still don't want to believe it's true. I don't. I want it to make sense again. I want him to be him, and me to be me. I want to make it all better. But that is what got me here in the first place. That is living in the past, not the present.
There is a side of me that presently wants revenge. I consider his actions crimes. Crimes against me, and oh...what he did to Theresa(she's another blog). He had whole separate lives from her and their kids. Not just affairs but serious love relationships that went on for years. He didn't have another family that he went to visit once a month, but it's not far removed. His chat rooms, porno sites and girlfriends...they were his secret family. Ironically he is so proud of his virgin princess daughter. But if she knew what he is and what he's done, it would destroy her. It would crush the foundation of everything she believes in and loves. I could destroy her, and their relationship, and take her away from him forever.
That would victimize her, though, and make me guilty of the same crimes I accuse him of.I can't torture someone that way. It would be so cruel it would leave scars and I just am not capable of that. I wonder how many times the slave or captive got control of the whip but declined to take their revenge because they didn't want to become the thing they hated? Aren't I fucking noble? Ha! There's a Hollywood ending for you. But no worries, she will figure it out for herself. The truth always makes itself known. Or her mother will tell her 20 years from now when her heart is destroyed by her own cheating husband.
But I digress. Yes Steven knew that I knew everything, and he knew well how badly he was hurting me. He made all those plans without ever thinking twice, without ever caring if he was hurting me. Not that I want to give anyone the power to own me- no one can own me- but I loved this man. I wanted to marry him. That's how much I loved him. He knew all of this and was still unable and unwilling to stop. I believe he gave himself permission for this despicable behavior by just deciding not to think about it. He simply washed the blood off his hands, and went on with his day like it never happened.
Yes it's indecent, yes it's criminal, and yes, he deserves to be punished for it. It's not going to be by my hand but let me read the writing on the wall...his day will come. Someone else will do it, I won't have to. He has his enemies. Another scorned woman out there wants their pound of flesh too. That person has stuck it to him more than once already. I just hope he doesn't become another Steve McNair. The way he's going it's not outside the realm of possibility. He thinks he can talk his way out of everything but that's not how life really goes. He will screw himself eventually.
The other part of what keeps me from finally accepting this situation for what it is is that I don't believe he considers himself an emotional criminal. He actually thinks he's a great guy. No- my grandfather was a great guy. Him? Not so much.
I just can't accept that he won't admit how disreputable he's made himself- I feel this driving need to MAKE HIM UNDERSTAND. And that's keeping me here. I'm aware of it, I'm saying it now- I know it's unhealthy and at some point I'm going to have to let it go. But yes, that's the second piece of what's stopping me from moving forward. I'm confused and hurt but I am also frustrated and angry.
In hindsight, I was very much like a woman that stays with someone who beats her. He beat the shit out of me for almost two years and I stuck around for more. I did. I was stubborn and loyal like a dog- willing to invest in him and let him "work it out". I just wanted him to stop. Unfortunately now I know he's never going to stop, because he can't. And he doesn't want to. It's not a matter of "I want to play the field". There is something much darker and more serious at work here. I am afraid for him. I don't know if he understands how fucked up he really is.
So, it is extremely difficult for me to process all this. I am in a place where I haven't accepted it, but I've stopped denying it. I am right between that rock and that hard place. And worst of all, I suffered through all that for NOTHING.
Despite all this, I consider myself a pretty shrewd person. I know bullshit when I see it and I'm the first to call it. I'm not dumb. But I've lived through tough times before and this has been as hard as any of them, maybe moreso because now it's on top of everything else. I am determined to come out of this looking fresh and lovely, somehow. I must win. I can't let him win.
I know I can find my way out, and I will live to fight another day. I'm limping, crying and bleeding, but I'm going to get there. Or die trying. My internal compass is still pointing north, and it will show me the way. I'm just a little lost at the moment.
Sometimes you will hear a movie or novel described as a "coming of age story". This has certainly been an eye opening experience. But what age am I coming of now? I didn't think I had any innocence to lose, but it feels like that. This cut deep. I thought finally I had something real. Something to believe in. I didn't expect it to be handed to me, and I worked for it. But if it's not at this chapter of my life...then when???
It would be fine to choose a path if there were paths in front of me. But right now I don't know where I'm going. I spent the last 4 years of my life working on that relationship and now it's all gone and I have to figure out what to do next.
I'm just tired thinking about it. I'm going to bed.
Therapy is out. I know the whole process of how a counsellor or life coach is going to direct me. I don't need encouragement to write a journal or join a group, cut my hair, rearrange the furniture, or think happy thoughts. I already agree with the benefits of all those things (except cutting my hair, maybe)- and practice them. But at the same time I know none of that is going to change my life. Something else has to happen and it has to be internal, not external. Sometimes I think taking antidepressants would do it, but I don't think it would work for me because I would still know the truth. Unless a pill can wipe my memory clean, it's not going to work.
I will say in the evolution of my separation anxiety (I think I am in stage 3 of 5) I am coming to admit more and more how distasteful and scummy I find his sexual proclivities. I mean...he's been doing it for so long, and is still doing the same things over and over. And he's so excited about it, all wet and sweaty. Eew. It's just Masturbatory and Gross. I mean, how long can I deal with that? It's like watching someone take a sh*t.
He did some really low, low things. Chat rooms, porno sites. Motel hookups. God! I don't know how he reconciles that in his own head. Does he not admit, even to himself, how scummy that is?
I'm beginning to feel even though Yes I loved him so much, the person I loved is gone. He would try to tell me that he's still the same, but No- he's not. And nothing is ever going to be the same again.
I'm beginning to feel he's in a death spiral of a compulsion and no matter how much I love him, I can't pull him out. And if I could pull him out, I'm not sure I can touch him because what he's done DISGUSTS ME so much that I've lost respect for him. I don't recognize the person I loved anymore. And that is just so bizarre, I can't wrap my head around it. It defies logic.
As I get further away from it, the picture becomes clearer...but I still don't want to believe it's true. I don't. I want it to make sense again. I want him to be him, and me to be me. I want to make it all better. But that is what got me here in the first place. That is living in the past, not the present.
There is a side of me that presently wants revenge. I consider his actions crimes. Crimes against me, and oh...what he did to Theresa(she's another blog). He had whole separate lives from her and their kids. Not just affairs but serious love relationships that went on for years. He didn't have another family that he went to visit once a month, but it's not far removed. His chat rooms, porno sites and girlfriends...they were his secret family. Ironically he is so proud of his virgin princess daughter. But if she knew what he is and what he's done, it would destroy her. It would crush the foundation of everything she believes in and loves. I could destroy her, and their relationship, and take her away from him forever.
That would victimize her, though, and make me guilty of the same crimes I accuse him of.I can't torture someone that way. It would be so cruel it would leave scars and I just am not capable of that. I wonder how many times the slave or captive got control of the whip but declined to take their revenge because they didn't want to become the thing they hated? Aren't I fucking noble? Ha! There's a Hollywood ending for you. But no worries, she will figure it out for herself. The truth always makes itself known. Or her mother will tell her 20 years from now when her heart is destroyed by her own cheating husband.
But I digress. Yes Steven knew that I knew everything, and he knew well how badly he was hurting me. He made all those plans without ever thinking twice, without ever caring if he was hurting me. Not that I want to give anyone the power to own me- no one can own me- but I loved this man. I wanted to marry him. That's how much I loved him. He knew all of this and was still unable and unwilling to stop. I believe he gave himself permission for this despicable behavior by just deciding not to think about it. He simply washed the blood off his hands, and went on with his day like it never happened.
Yes it's indecent, yes it's criminal, and yes, he deserves to be punished for it. It's not going to be by my hand but let me read the writing on the wall...his day will come. Someone else will do it, I won't have to. He has his enemies. Another scorned woman out there wants their pound of flesh too. That person has stuck it to him more than once already. I just hope he doesn't become another Steve McNair. The way he's going it's not outside the realm of possibility. He thinks he can talk his way out of everything but that's not how life really goes. He will screw himself eventually.
The other part of what keeps me from finally accepting this situation for what it is is that I don't believe he considers himself an emotional criminal. He actually thinks he's a great guy. No- my grandfather was a great guy. Him? Not so much.
I just can't accept that he won't admit how disreputable he's made himself- I feel this driving need to MAKE HIM UNDERSTAND. And that's keeping me here. I'm aware of it, I'm saying it now- I know it's unhealthy and at some point I'm going to have to let it go. But yes, that's the second piece of what's stopping me from moving forward. I'm confused and hurt but I am also frustrated and angry.
In hindsight, I was very much like a woman that stays with someone who beats her. He beat the shit out of me for almost two years and I stuck around for more. I did. I was stubborn and loyal like a dog- willing to invest in him and let him "work it out". I just wanted him to stop. Unfortunately now I know he's never going to stop, because he can't. And he doesn't want to. It's not a matter of "I want to play the field". There is something much darker and more serious at work here. I am afraid for him. I don't know if he understands how fucked up he really is.
So, it is extremely difficult for me to process all this. I am in a place where I haven't accepted it, but I've stopped denying it. I am right between that rock and that hard place. And worst of all, I suffered through all that for NOTHING.
Despite all this, I consider myself a pretty shrewd person. I know bullshit when I see it and I'm the first to call it. I'm not dumb. But I've lived through tough times before and this has been as hard as any of them, maybe moreso because now it's on top of everything else. I am determined to come out of this looking fresh and lovely, somehow. I must win. I can't let him win.
I know I can find my way out, and I will live to fight another day. I'm limping, crying and bleeding, but I'm going to get there. Or die trying. My internal compass is still pointing north, and it will show me the way. I'm just a little lost at the moment.
Sometimes you will hear a movie or novel described as a "coming of age story". This has certainly been an eye opening experience. But what age am I coming of now? I didn't think I had any innocence to lose, but it feels like that. This cut deep. I thought finally I had something real. Something to believe in. I didn't expect it to be handed to me, and I worked for it. But if it's not at this chapter of my life...then when???
It would be fine to choose a path if there were paths in front of me. But right now I don't know where I'm going. I spent the last 4 years of my life working on that relationship and now it's all gone and I have to figure out what to do next.
I'm just tired thinking about it. I'm going to bed.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Love and Chemistry
Consider the frog.
I am a homo sapiens, but 7 million years ago, I wasn't too far from a frog, blissfully croaking in the primordial soup. It's a wonder to think how I've evolved, from that simple life, to the teeming stew of hormones and electronic impulses that stands before you today. Consider what those hormones and impulses in the Homo Sapiens have wrought: civilizations, armies, architecture. Symphonies and operas. Oceans of love and hate, desire, envy, pain, euphoria.
Is any of it really "real" ? Or is it all just perception created by chemistry? For example, when I feel emotional pain, can I not ease it by telling myself it's just a reaction to stimuli? By recognizing the reaction can I not control it? I think that's pretty much the foundation of modern psychology.
I vote for the hypothesis of time being just a theory, and emotion just a synaptic byproduct. I don't think Love is "real". And it's not divine. Just as Bi-Polar disorder is no longer considered a satanic possession, rather a recognized and proven imbalance of brain chemicals. That's all love is. A bodily function and nothing more.
Sometimes I wonder if the emotions are even worth having to begin with. Love, Hate. Yes I have experienced both. But why bother? No one ever knows how they're going to respond to them anyway. It's most inefficient if you think about it, and must certainly be counter-productive to the advancement of our race- Love definitely doesn't fit with Natural Selection. Few people can completely suppress their emotions. The vast majority are, instead, controlled by them.
So if it's all just in the chemistry, then why can't they invent a drug to make us feel like we're in love, or one to help you fall out of love without the pain of withdrawal? I think it would make the world a better place. Those who want love could have it, and those who don't, won't. Instead of being ruled by your endocrine system, you could truly be master of your emotions.
I know, I know...I can hear the romantics from here, crying for the loss of humanity.
Would that really be a bad thing? I think I have some "humanity" to spare.
If I were to suppress my feelings would I really suppress my humanity? I am flesh and blood. I still bleed. I got here the usual way, and I will go the same as everyone before me. That's humanity enough. I can do without the rest.
After all is said and done...it might not be so bad to just be a frog.
I am a homo sapiens, but 7 million years ago, I wasn't too far from a frog, blissfully croaking in the primordial soup. It's a wonder to think how I've evolved, from that simple life, to the teeming stew of hormones and electronic impulses that stands before you today. Consider what those hormones and impulses in the Homo Sapiens have wrought: civilizations, armies, architecture. Symphonies and operas. Oceans of love and hate, desire, envy, pain, euphoria.
Is any of it really "real" ? Or is it all just perception created by chemistry? For example, when I feel emotional pain, can I not ease it by telling myself it's just a reaction to stimuli? By recognizing the reaction can I not control it? I think that's pretty much the foundation of modern psychology.
I vote for the hypothesis of time being just a theory, and emotion just a synaptic byproduct. I don't think Love is "real". And it's not divine. Just as Bi-Polar disorder is no longer considered a satanic possession, rather a recognized and proven imbalance of brain chemicals. That's all love is. A bodily function and nothing more.
Sometimes I wonder if the emotions are even worth having to begin with. Love, Hate. Yes I have experienced both. But why bother? No one ever knows how they're going to respond to them anyway. It's most inefficient if you think about it, and must certainly be counter-productive to the advancement of our race- Love definitely doesn't fit with Natural Selection. Few people can completely suppress their emotions. The vast majority are, instead, controlled by them.
So if it's all just in the chemistry, then why can't they invent a drug to make us feel like we're in love, or one to help you fall out of love without the pain of withdrawal? I think it would make the world a better place. Those who want love could have it, and those who don't, won't. Instead of being ruled by your endocrine system, you could truly be master of your emotions.
I know, I know...I can hear the romantics from here, crying for the loss of humanity.
Would that really be a bad thing? I think I have some "humanity" to spare.
If I were to suppress my feelings would I really suppress my humanity? I am flesh and blood. I still bleed. I got here the usual way, and I will go the same as everyone before me. That's humanity enough. I can do without the rest.
After all is said and done...it might not be so bad to just be a frog.
Apathy
I keep trying to convince myself that every day is a new beginning, and that I can shed my old ways like the snake sheds his skin.
I know I have the power to make the positive changes I crave; I have the knowledge, I have the tools. I have the desire. But yet, I don't do it. Why?
I don't know if it's symptomatic of depression. Am I depressed? Or am I just apathetic? I don't know if what I feel is a temporary lack of desire, or a permanent one.
I once read that in laboratory tests, it was proven that dogs, when tortured long enough, will stop resisting and at some point lay there, and let you continue to hurt them. I know- how monstrous that anyone would do that to a poor defenseless animal. But the question arises- does this mean that mute beasts -long deemed incapable of emotion by the scientific community- does this mean they too are capable of apathy? Does it mean they're capable of anticipating an event and it's outcome?
And does this mean that I'm now that dog? Have I finally given up?
Maybe I should have called this blog "What's the point".
I know I have the power to make the positive changes I crave; I have the knowledge, I have the tools. I have the desire. But yet, I don't do it. Why?
I don't know if it's symptomatic of depression. Am I depressed? Or am I just apathetic? I don't know if what I feel is a temporary lack of desire, or a permanent one.
I once read that in laboratory tests, it was proven that dogs, when tortured long enough, will stop resisting and at some point lay there, and let you continue to hurt them. I know- how monstrous that anyone would do that to a poor defenseless animal. But the question arises- does this mean that mute beasts -long deemed incapable of emotion by the scientific community- does this mean they too are capable of apathy? Does it mean they're capable of anticipating an event and it's outcome?
And does this mean that I'm now that dog? Have I finally given up?
Maybe I should have called this blog "What's the point".
When Death Comes -- a poem by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
