Divorce Announcement

Written 10 July 2014.

Last night I told Nx I wanted out of the marriage. We had the talk with the kids. It was shitty.

I am more scared now than I have been at any other time in my life. I know this intellectually, but do not feel it. In fact, I feel like almost nothing's changed; I feel the same as I did every day I woke up unhappy and unresolved about how to change my life. I thought a weight would be off my chest, but I still feel just as burdened as I did yesterday and a hundred days before this.

I also feel guilty, not about Nx but the kids. Sx was devastated, heartbroken. I fear I've ruined her for the rest of her life. I worry, too, about the boys: of course they'll deal with this differently. They didn't really respond appropriately at all, which worries me more than Sx's response. They will have to deal with this, just like they dealt with all the silent bullshit for years before this, but I know (both intellectually and emotionally) that they will be better off after this has settled, and real happiness comes into view. (At least for me.) I also feel guilty about not feeling guilty about Nx.

I have fucked this marriage up, it's true, and it's on me to end it. I have not fucked it up alone: I bear no more or less than 50% responsibility for its slow, agonizing demise. Nx knows this in her heart, but has never accepted that it needed to end. She may never. What I did yesterday was nothing more than pointing to the situation as a whole and calling it what it is, what it has been for a long time.

Today's Facebook status should be: "Looking forward to living without pain."

And to think this all started with a really productive day at work. I had a fire under my ass about unfinished business. (unfinished)

Reboot

(Written 17 October 2011. Notes to myself from the trenches. Time to publish.)

Now you're being punished. Now you have to finally be a good man.

What makes a good man:

A married man honors his vows.

A father protects and provides for his children.

But before and after than,
 - a good man is strong enough to protect the weak
 - a good man develops himself equally for its own sake and also to provide for the people he loves

What are a man's responsibilities to himself alone?

Be honest with yourself. Speak your mind and ask for what you want. Expect what is reasonable. Express opinions and make a difference. If ashamed of something, decide why, and either abandon that behaviour or embrace it.

Be tactfully honest with others. Be the guy everyone can count on for the truth, and from whom it will come gently, even if it's harsh.

Do not remain in a situation that is unhealthy. Determine what needs to be done and see to it, or speak out as to why it's unhealthy and make an exit.

A good man makes mistakes and then admits them. A good man does not hold others' mistakes against them.

Steps:
 - find and attend a 12 step group at least once a month.
 - speak to Rev. Kxxxxxn regularly
 - journal and write at least every other day
 - run, walk, or bike 30 minutes a day
 - focus on Nxxxxx and the marriage. Spend some time with her every day. Journal it.
 - try to stay positive. HALT when necessary. Do not dwell on the negative, but do not forget it. Laugh every day.
 - get more, closer male friends
 - share writing with Nancy to better expose the other side

Development:

MENTAL: Stay in school. Get good at your job. Read and act and think critically to stay mentally fit.
SPIRITUAL: Find God. Again.
PHYSICAL: Become strong. Use physical development as an outlet to frustration, and as a medium to concentration. Try to get off the hypertension meds.
EMOTIONAL: Solidify. Pay the bills, mind the business. Stay on top of your depression. Then reevaluate.

Because THIS, the guilt, and humility, is only temporary, but these are the only feelings that hard-focus on what is wrong, and what needs to be done.

But I am already a good man. But I am a flawed man. Who isn't flawed? Nobody, but few are flawed in the ways you've become, and these ways hurt those around you. That is unacceptable. But my flaws don't negate the ways in which I've stayed a good man? No, they will be your anchors, and your refuge when necessary. These are the places you will go when in doubt. When in doubt.

Not My Job

My work involves chemicals. I've spent nearly two decades in the industry in various positions. Even though I've never worked in sales or marketing, and my job description has never involved a cash register or name tag, one thing I've learned is that every job is a customer service job.

My current position involves an occasional phone call from a tech rep, distributor, or sometimes a customer, requesting documents related to the caller's compliance, usually with some government agency. What they actually purchase isn't supplied by my department, not even close, but they need the information we provide in order to stay in business (legally, anyway).

Sometimes, the customer calls don't make any sense. Because our company is pretty huge, it has dozens or hundreds of brand names just in my business area alone, not to mention thousands of products. The company's main way of growing is by acquiring other businesses and their brands/products, and therefore also their customers. There's just no way I could become familiar with all the relevant products I might be called about. That is why, like most companies, we rely so heavily on our IT and data systems. But that is another post entirely.

Today, the call didn't make any sense. This guy rattles off several strings of numbers and text that may or may not indicate a product code, industry specification, batch number, product name, or anything else that might help me figure out what he's got on his shelf. He doesn't know, either, where that information is or what it might even look like. This is not a surprise to me: his job is not to actually use the products anyway, but to ensure his employer isn't sued or fined. He needs a document to do that.

Since none of the tidbits of info he gave me made sense, and also since my job title isn't Human Product Database, I forwarded this information to another department, at a location that used to manufacture the brand name on the product the customer was inquiring about, to get help, or at least get closer to the information I needed. What I got in response was essentially an eloquent (but bordering on rude) version of this: Not My Job (NMJ).

I loathe this phrase, and while I can appreciate its usefulness in keeping healthy professional boundaries and doing my own best work first, it is not something I'll declare with ease or pride. I think it is too often used (at worst) as an excuse to ignore the needs of others or avoid taking responsibility, or (at best) to refuse to learn something new.

Now, I realize that the person from whom I asked the help also doesn't have the title Human Product Database (but she does have the title Customer Service Manager). And just to be clear, I didn't necessarily ask her to identify the product based on the scraps of information I provided: I only asked that, if she couldn't help me, she pass on the information to someone who might. I guess I may as well have asked that she cut off her own arms while doing a handstand.

When I replied to her email, I was (again) cheerful and cordial and thankful "for whatever assistance you can offer," I also CC'd both my managers. I was shut down again; her response was "As I mentioned... I cannot provide you any information." To make matters worse, my own manager also replied, making a much more polite version (she used the word "unfortunately") of the same response. So again, I got two more "NMJ"s.

So let's recount the facts:

•  We have (had; the product is almost 20 years old) a customer who paid money for one of our very specialized, industry-specific, and often overpriced products. 
•  The product was made by our company (or a predecessor, albeit not at the facility where the person whose help I requested works. This was the one piece of useful information she was able to provide.)
•  This customer now wishes to responsibly dispose of the product, but can't do it legally without the documentation it's my company's responsibility to provide.
•  Because of other areas of my business, and my own management, I am now forced to give the following response to the customer: NMJ.

Which leaves this poor guy in the dust, with a potentially dangerous chemical in his facility. If it falls down and spills, or someone opens it by mistake and gets hurt, or injects it into their veins, or sprinkles it on their toast, no one will know the hazards or exposure risks, and it's his ass on the line. Is that how Salt Mine, Inc. takes care of its customers? That's not what they keep on telling me.

Of course, it could also mean he throws the product into a garbage can, it ends up in a landfill and/or busts open somewhere, and (because it has my company name on it), the next call for information on this product won't come from the customer himself, but the US EPA. And they'll fine us up the wazoo. And do you know who'll have to take that call? Possibly the Customer Service Manager. Eventually my supervisor.

All I know is this: it won't be me, because those calls are... NMJ.

Birthday Dinner

Tonight I hosted a dinner in honor of what would have been my dad's 69th birthday. My household family was there, of course, as well as my mom, sister, and father-in-law. The way I wrote it in the 55 is pretty spot-on; I do like things to be just so, especially since my dad can't actually be here, and though all intention that falls short of execution will go completely unnoticed by the living attendees, it will not go unexcused by myself.

Of course I know my dad was here today. It didn't take much more than my almost involuntary reaction to the Lions' awful performance today against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for me to realize that. And I've been on an emotional edge today for other reasons. So needless to say the dinner tonight was pulled off almost exactly as if my dad was trying to hide his smoking in my basement (which is to say, with much tenuousness and crabbiness on my part).

I do miss my dad. Terribly. I miss his sense of humor and his laugh, and his seriousness. I miss the things he was passionate about that almost always surprised me (except football and politics). I even miss his short temper and often too-quick reactions to things that weren't really that big a deal. It's a convenient side effect of his passing that I no longer have to deal with some things, but I miss them nonetheless.

I wanted to make a grand toast tonight at my dinner table, but I decided it'd taken so damned long to get everyone around the table in the first place, and on top of that the steaks were getting cold, that I just plunged into the dinner. There was still a toast, but no speech. So here is the meager edited version of what might have been a spectacular (though likely very long-winded) impromptu oration.

I've had this journal with me for months, carrying it to and from work and school every single day. I have it with me more often then I have my cell phone. I've written in it sporadically over the years and never really gone back to see what's in there. Tonight, for a completely unrelated reason than today's tangent, I pulled it out and opened it to the first page, dated 8 December 1997. It reads:

"Well, today we found out for sure that N is pregnant. We already knew as of Saturday, but the doctor made it official today. Congratulations, to me.

"I feel as if I should be doing something, becoming something. I mentioned it to N and she feels that way also. Of course, it's exciting. Of course, I wanted a baby. Then why do I not feel so full of joy, so excited at the prospect of becoming (being?) a father? I hope I will not ruin these first days of discovery for myself, or especially N. It would be a shame to remember our first days of knowing we'd conceived our first born as confused and troubled.

[And here I discuss possible reasons that seem trivial after all this time.]

"My deepest fear is that it's simply because N's pregnant. I want so badly to be a provider, a man of morality and integrity, worthy of greeting my first child and leading him/her through life. I want to be strong, responsible, intelligent, improvisational, reasonable, funny--I want to be what I think the perfect MAN should be. But then, I've always wanted that.

"Maybe this is about all of a sudden not being all those things when, in 9 months, someone will arrive into this world who will expect and need me to be nothing less. Can I be a good, decent father if I am not all those things? Sure there are lots of scumbags who can pass along their DNA, but I want to be something special. Will I be? My fear is that I will not."

That child I worried so much about being a father to turned 15 this summer, and I still have the same worries on an almost daily basis. I love this kid more than any words can express. He has a younger brother and sister now, too, so the worries have only compounded. My inability to be a good enough man has left for them potholes they won't know how to navigate around, because their mother and I haven't learned ourselves. I have watched them fail in detestable ways and seen only a reflection of myself. But I have also seen a miracle occur: I have seen them succeed in ways I never could have imagined for either myself or them.

I didn't get to know my dad very well before he was killed by cancer and chemotherapy, but I knew him well enough to understand that he also lived with these same fears every day of my life. He was a bastard sometimes, truly. He was an alcoholic and an abuser. And I don't make excuses for him. But I understand him, because from an emotional perspective, I have become him. He was in pain his entire life. He was ill equipped for manhood and fatherhood, because despite what society demonstrates, men are taught to be Men; it's not automatic, and the expectation that it could be is a Great Bullshit Lie. After learning some things about my dad later, things he would certainly have been loathe to share with any other human being, let alone those who called him Dad, I think his performance as a father was nothing short of a miracle.

Tonight I honor my dad, not just with a meal or company, but with the weight I carry in my heart. He died was taken away before he could fully become himself, and we were all therefore deprived of an even more amazing person. Every year since his passing, I realize how much like him I'm becoming, and that I'm on the same painful journey of self-discovery he never really started in earnest. He and I have the same unfinished business.

I'm not taking on his burdens; I have my own aplenty. But I will still carry with me memories of his painful nights, his addictive fits, his simple loves and pleasures. I will consult his life's laboratory notebook while doing my own painful experiment in Happiness, and as I complete my own, I'll jot down a few solutions for his benefit as I work though them. He wanted happiness for me, and my siblings, without having a clue how to find it himself. This I understand very painfully as a parent myself. But in his nobility as a sufferer, he did so much of the footwork for us ahead of time. He could never have known this; in fact I'm certain it was a point of shame for him, but it's something for which I will always be grateful. I truly think he knows it now, and it may even be satisfying, though he no doubt still carries great regrets over the man he wanted to be while he lived.

As for me, I will try to become a good and decent enough Man for the both of us. Happy birthday, dad. I will always, always love you, and miss you forever.

Chained

Image credit

I like to call it incomplete despair: I’m not exactly hitting bottom here, but my ass is sure dragging. The weight atop and the sludge below grind together and mash me into a human stew of emotional insolvency. Duty pulls me forward on a pointed hook fitted through a bloody hole, ensuring the only way I’ll ever really sink is if I break the towline and therefore lose any means of ever ascending again.

There is a light, some days, that I follow. Hope doesn't necessarily lift me, but seems to clear the waters, keeping alive a dream that I will emerge, in time, a Better Man. I know my foundation is true, but I doubt my course, and fear for my future, and given the example I’m setting, the futures of those I love.

I know it is not for naught, but I mourn the lost days, knowing when I finally stand free I’ll wish I’d acted years earlier. If only I knew what to do, I might even do it today. If only… but these chains are hard to break, especially considering I still have yet to understand them. Link by link, I must get through it. I owe this to myself and the people I love.

The Weight

Obviously, it's time to give in.

I can't work; I can't think; I can't feel. I can't untangle something inside and I'm not even sure where that knot is, but I do know the lump it creates makes everything uncomfortable. My efforts to be a partner may be questionable now, but they went unnoticed or un(der?)appreciated for so long I can't tell if I've given up or I'm just being too guarded. My perspective is so mangled all I want to do is escape, but every effort I make to that end only brings guilt about what I'm avoiding, even though every moment away is ultimately spent in search of the Truth.

Truth--here's what it looks like at the tip: I want out, because there is no satisfaction. I've read so much bullshit about commitment and giving and providing it makes me want to puke, but not before flaming the idiotic Facebooker who posted it. It is NOT wrong for me to want to be satisfied in a relationship, or (God forbid) happy. And while I'm still working out exactly what happiness is, I know for goddamn sure what it isn't.

The arrangement isn't without its benefits. I don't deny that. I don't even deny that, at times, those benefits may be worth the trouble, except for the fact that every day we stay married, our children learn what they will think is normal: what they will seek out later when they are adults. That is a dangerous, deep-dark-thought provoking realization. So I fear I am only left with two choices, and both seem awful and destructive.

I just want to cry. I just want to beat something with my fists until they bleed. I just want to throw myself away and start over.

But there is no starting over, because Truth is an iceberg. Beneath the deranged pain and anger that sometimes consumes and debilitates me, below the surface of public and professional perception that keeps me getting out of bed every morning, is the rest of it all. I am broken. I am beautiful. I am rotten. I am growing. I evolve: spiritually, mentally. But I keep my body and feelings in chains because I am afraid of the work necessary to remove them, and ashamed of the scars that will become apparent when they are gone. I am deformed on the inside and contort myself on the outside to hide it, and it hurts a little more every single fucking day. The ice is ancient and colossal, beyond comprehension, and under its weight and influence I have suffered long and terribly.

The one thing that saves me is my routine. Work, school: it's a familiar track and I know where it goes. It provides a necessary distraction and they pay me well enough to show up. For these same reasons, the routine is also a terrible constrictor: once the work is done, my available resources for dealing with real issues are so limited as to restrict or eliminate my ability to solve anything. It's important for me to remember that my life will actually improve with formal education, and I suppose it could be worse: I could very easily be stuck in my situation without a means to support myself or those who have come to depend on me. With all the emotional stress I currently have, I must remember to be thankful of at least that much. Except on days like today, when the confusion and worry become so overwhelming I can't even get through a to-do list of 4 items.

This post is unfinished, and I submit it under duress, because I dare not allow what little clarity has come with its writing to fade away.

SCWA

Repeat After Me

This morning, we had a little craziness in my house as we all prepared for our days. I was getting myself ready to leave at 7:30, my kids were finishing up breakfast, and my wife was in the bathroom finshing her business. As I headed out the door, I said goodbye to everyone.

Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. In my pants pocket. I was on a two lane residential road with unpredictable patches of ice. There were school busses and other commuters moving in both directions. I was buckled in with two layers of coat over my waist and gloves on my hands, and I'd already spilled tea onto my breakfast of toast and peanut butter. I realize, every time this happens, that the caller has no idea of this--they are only calling for what they perceive to be a good reason--but each time it happens, I feel anger.

Repeat after me...

I got the phone out too late to answer, and in the process spilled more of my tea onto my center console. So I wouldn't have to repeat the previous process of unbundling the damn thing, I set it down next to me. Immediately it lit up again. It was my wife, saying she'd tried to flag me down when I pulled away because our son was late for orchestra practice. Knowing what was coming, I asked what she wanted me to do, and heard the answer. This is when the stress reaction started: fight or flight.

The fight or flight response was originally intended to save mankind from sabertooth tigers and ensure he had the strength to respond when assaulted by an enemy. It still serves a purpose. For example when stepping off a curb, if we hear a horn close by, our senses are heightened and our blood quickens, our muscles become instantly ready to react when we realize a car is heading for us, and we're able to back up in time to get out of the way, thereby saved by our cavedweller instincts. However, although our social evolution and lifestyles rarely demand a real life-or-death fight or flight reaction, one still takes place upon perception of some stress. Our blood vessels still constrict, our hearts begins to race, muscles tense, adrenaline is released... the whole biopharmaceutical package is delivered, even when we get a call from a bill collector or we suddenly realize... oh shit, my son is late for orchestra practice.

Back to that moment on the road: even before my wife answered my question, I knew she was going to ask me to turn around, come back home, and take our son to school. For some reason, this enrages me. Rationally, I of all people understand forgetfulness, even the occasional willful negligence. This is what happened to my wife and son: they forgot. My wife's alarm went off right about the time I probably put the car into drive and then they remembered. It makes all the sense in the world that she'd try to stop me so our boy could get to where he needed to be.

Emotionally, however, I was livid. All manner of questions about unmet responsibilities that weren't mine crossed my mind in an effort to justify telling her hell no, take him yourself. Fortunately my higher thinking intervened and I made the decision to help, but not without some malicious flavor. Because I was right near an intersection with no nearby traffic, I didn't take the time to answer the question, hang up the phone, and proceed back home. No, what I did was throw the phone onto the passenger side floor and do a quick U-turn. This is the only seemingly angry part of my reaction I can justify, as it really did save me probably two minutes--remember I'd only been on the road about a minute at this point. But everything after that, until my son exited my car, was pure dysfunctional response. The only part of the return trip I really remember well was getting caught driving like a crazy man by my neighbor as he walked his dog past my house.

Repeat after me...

By the time I'd pulled back into the driveway, I was fumbling around trying to find a place for my (wet) toast. It only took a few seconds for me to decide to just go back inside and grab towels. The door opened and my son exited; I told him to get in the car and headed to the kitchen as my wife stood there with wet hair and my daughter sat on the floor donning her boots. I flashed a mean look at my wife to express an ambiguous rage for being asked to come back home. I got my towels and stepped back through the foyer, again throwing as much angry energy at my wife as I could muster. I knew beneath my raging that she didn't deserve it, but I dished it out anyway, not because I didn't care that I was wrong to do it, not because I don't love her, not because I think she ought to be treated that way... just because my reaction had taken over, and some part of me insisted on driving home the point that I'd been horribly inconvenienced by her (yes, perfectly normal) forgetfulness. I know my rational mind was present because I expressly avoided eye contact with my daughter, with whom I not only had absolutely no quarrel, but also was terrified that she'd pick up on the way I was treating her mom and realize her dad is, in fact, a monster. My wife said, "Thank you," timidly; I grouched, "You're welcome," back; and stepped out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

Repeat after me...

I even grilled my son in the car. This was completely unfair. I know he's learned his share of dysfunctional responses because he replied to me with a raised, angry voice. I was reasonable enough to use words that expressed my simple need to figure out what had gone wrong, and tell him not to yell at me, but my tone was a million miles away from my intent. Hopefully, he'll remember that I told him I loved him when I dropped him off more than he'll remember the rest of it. Of course, that doesn't mean the rest of it won't have an effect on him, not to mention the impression my daughter got when I left the house.

Repeat after me...

None of what I can remember takes into account what may have happened in the house this morning after I left. I can imagine my wife and son's reactions upon hearing the alarm and realizing what it meant (panic?) I can imagine the mad shuffle to get me on the phone, and the response my wife may have had when I tossed the phone away (confusion? anger?) I can imagine the meaning of the words spoken as my son hurried to get his stuff together (your father is angry and it's all my fault? your father is angry and he's an asshole for acting this way?) I can imagine the thoughts of my daughter as she put on her boots, seemingly outside the situation, but completely immersed in the reactions both her parents were having (why is daddy angry? why is mommy crying? why didn't he say anything to me? why did he slam the door? why do I get punished when I slam a door?) Of course, all of this is speculation.

Repeat after me...


It is in this way that my wife and I perpetuate the broken and dysfunctional behaviors we learned in our families of origin. These reactions are a disease with which we were infected as children and continue to be affected as adults, and we are fully engaged in the process of passing it along to our own kids.

Today, for example, the lessons were:

1. Even though you're not perfect, it's okay to expect others to be
2. You should hold other people's mistakes against them
3. If you are asked to help someone who's made a mistake, they should pay for it somehow
4. Someone else's mistake is a cause for you to be angry
5. The proper way to act when angry is shows of verbal and physical violence
6. If you make someone angry, you deserve to be mistreated
7. The proper way to react to an angry person is to yield to whatever abuse they dish out, or lash back at them with an even bigger reaction

Thinking about some of the arguments in my house in the past, I know my kids are learning these lessons well, and using each other to practice their own dysfunctional behaviors for when they are grown and have families. As I look back on it now, I am ashamed, as I am every time something similar happens. Deep down, my heart breaks for it. I am working hard at just being able to recognize these behaviors. I know the only thing I can do afterward is apologize. Many days I still have no idea how to prevent the reactions before they occur, but when I am able to, I am met with a special brand of resistance only a fellow dysfunctional person can deliver, which only deepends the mess.

The fact is I am sick, and at this point, I am always left wondering how to move forward. As with every day, there is work to be done, and I can't afford to stop for long. Rarely do I have the luxury of stepping away from my existence and responsibilities to examine the behaviors that tear apart my relationships, and even when I do, I'm out of the context of those relationships, so any proposed solution is only experimental until I'm back in my 'real world,' and therefore subject to a response by the people in those relationships (who are also sick) that might completely dismantle whatever outcome I may have hoped for.

Rays of such sunlight are ever fleeting and must be appreciated when they appear, or healing will never happen. To ignore the problem just keeps the brew acidic, and every new episode of dysfunction sours it further, poisoning the family and ensuring future generations will be just as messed up. This cycle must stop, and I yearn with every breath I draw to find a way to start over.

For now, in this moment, I must concede that the only way to start over is with each new moment, each new day, and each apology and admission of guilt or explanation I give the kids in the hope that they won't grow up and repeat my unhealthy behaviors. I also hope that, as I strive toward emotional and spiritual health, I will also demonstrate an increasing number of behaviors that enhance their ability to function as healthy people: to have fun and be frivolous, to believe in themselves because there is no legitimate reason not to, to take risks that might create a better life for themselves, to love vigorously and loyally, and to only accept vigorous and loyal love.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to break these chains, but the fact is I wouldn't know how to live without them should they all just fall immediately. They are safe and familiar. They were forged one link at a time, both by my parents when I was a child and by myself as I've built an adult life using the rules I was taught. Breaking them will only happen with the same slow process.

Repeat after me. SCWA.

---

Addendum: I owe many of my original realizations, and some of my continued recovery, to the book Repeat After Me, by Claudia Black. Anyone who finds themselves in similarly distressing and confusing situations should definitely give it a look. Dr. Black is a pioneer in studies of children from addictive and dysfunctional homes, and I honestly don't know what kind of mess my life would be without the intervention of a counselor and the realizations of Repeat After Me and other books, videos, and meetings I've needed to realize what was happening to me emotionally. I'm still a long way from being truly healthy, but I'm on the right path.

This one....................................not this one.

No infringement is intended on the book Repeat After Me, its cover, or the images of Claudia Black, Ph.D or the actress Claudia Black. Please email me should you have any issue with their being included in this post.

Desperation

The pain settles itself into the bottom of my stomach to be dealt with later; right now, there's work do to: widgets to make, dinner to plan, homework to help with, teachers to meet, dogs to feed and let out, tables to wipe and set and serve on then clean up again. There is no time to ponder the direness of the situation, or the urgency of my cravings, or the desperation of my need for closeness and intimacy and deep, satisfying love. There is no room for the work I need to do to repair my marriage, and nobody that would notice except me anyway. At the end of it all, I am an instrument of my children's existence and a means by which they survive and enjoy their First-World problems. To my wife, I am a symbol of some outdated definition of success, and a source of fuel for her self-loathing. To myself, I am a burden. Lift me, and relieve them all.
* * * * *
Yes, this is the depression talking. Yes, I know parts of it are rather pathetic and some may even be offensive. That is the nature of the pain; I offer no apologies, only some disclaimers (ONE and TWO).

Reconciliation

Well, so now it seems I'm the only one who hasn't had my say.

It's not because I haven't been paying attention. When all this (recent) business started, I delayed reaction, and asked others to delay reaction, because I wasn't sure what the right course of action was, or if any action was necessary at all. I was temporarily content to maintain my silence.

In the meantime, I was (justly) accused of not speaking up for the greater good, not making a strong position well known. This wasn't really surprising to me. Don't think I didn't feel a little wimpy because of my inaction. However, I know myself, and I know that when I respond immediately to a tender situation, especially in writing, I usually get myself in trouble because I haven't allowed myself to absorb all the facts and emotions, and my response is usually misunderstood because I couldn't grasp the context enough to present it well to my audience(s). This situation was certainly no exception, and so rather than risk being taken out of context, and thereby accused of something much more egregious than not speaking up, I chose instead to endure the accusation. The actions of others that followed were not entirely unexpected.

One problem here is that I am not understood well enough to be trusted to do what's right. You see, it isn't that my intentions aren't good, or that my priorities aren't in order. I do know what's right, and for the first time since this all began, I finally understand why. There's a reason I'm here; there are important things for me to do. It's no surprise to anyone that I'm ill-equipped for these roles, but what might be is that I desire more than anything to fulfill them well. I've been called to do something important, and even though I've proven over and over that I'm incapable of it, that job is still in my lap. I'm still expected to do it, and if the one I'll answer to when I ultimately succeed or fail can have this much patience with me, maybe I can find it in myself to become capable after all. I deserve another shot at it, and even if I've squandered the patience and trust of those around me, I am going to take that shot. To put a humorous spin on it all, Steve Martin put it best in "The Jerk" when he said "I have a special purpose!" Well hey folks, so do I.

To be fair to my doubters, this isn't the first time I've tried to change. It's true that much of what I've said has been said before. To be fair to myself, it is the first time I've tried changing my approach to change, if that makes any sense. My entire adult life, I've made some very bad decisions, and I have 20+ years of legitimate reasons why, but none of them qualify as excuses any more. Changing how I operate hasn't been easy, and it hasn't taken hold because I've been doing it for the wrong reasons. Now I think I have the key. This doesn't mean I won't have trouble, and it doesn't mean I don't foresee problems in fulfilling this purpose, and it sure doesn't mean I won't occasionally fail. I have a lot of details to work out, and I'm going to need a lot of help, but for once I think I've found the team that will pull me through.

So listen here. I am paying attention. I want my position to be known. It just seems I needed more time to speak it than others. Let me state it now then, for the record: Any and all who wish me well, if they are to support my success, should honor their place as has been agreed and forewritten. They should respect the sanctity of my heart, my home, and my family. We all have some role to play in this and I, for one, am ready to move on and start figuring out how to play mine. Finally, regardless of how others may feel, I will not speak or write words intended to harm or hurt anyone. There have been more than enough of both from all sides and it's time for something greater than a tenuous ceasefire. We need to learn to coexist peacefully, even if we intend to steer clear of each other, before any of us can begin to heal, let alone prosper. I will pray for this outcome, and I invite you all to do the same.

SCWA

Message

21 November 2011

We seem to be at an impass.

This situation has oscillated dozens of times by now from wildly convoluted to painfully simple. At each turn, there is a small moment of uncertainty when I feel anxiety about what's to come, and you revel in my apparent thoughtlessness. It is at these times when you believe me to be the most vulnerable, and while that isn't an unreasonable conclusion, you are sorely mistaken.

Right now we are at that latter stage of oscillation: painfully simple. I thought everyone's roles were well understood. I thought, for once, the bases had been swept clean, and everyone knew their place, and we could start a fresh inning. As an added bonus, I also believed there would be a relative peace about the whole encampment, which is not typical of our ups and downs, as everyone's weater-beaten shelter can attest to. Recent events prove that this time, I was sorely mistaken. There will be no such rest.

It seems we may be back on an upswing. Energy is being added to the system. Instability is being created which will lead to another inflation and inevitable uncontrolled reaction. We are tempting Entropy, Pluto's ever faithful hound, to come in and set things right all over again, leaving another giant mess we can all pretend to be surprised and regretful over.

But I have news for you. I'm no longer in the mood. I'm taking my ball and going home. I am reaching a level of self-acceptance that, while totally unfamiliar and anxiety-inducing, is increasingly comfortable. True, there are complications, but I'm learning to wear my scarlet letter well, almost proudly. I am branded, yes, but I am also free of the secrets that held me down for so long. I can no longer be hurt because the armory is empty.

So while I may not have the grace of Hester Prynne, I am still striving for the self-honesty of Reverend Mr. Hooper. Like both characters, I am surrounded by Puritans who display horror at such realities they deny any knowledge of or experience with. Like Prynne's community and Hooper's congregation, my acknowledgement of wrongdoing is repulsive to those around me. Like these two, one a blatant sinner who proves herself to be a good and worthy person, and one a pious minister who mourns the Weltschmertz he can't help but notice, I will experience expulsion and suffering, and be better for it.

Sneer at my scarlet letter and my black viel. Point and accuse. Curse me with your self-righteousness. And thank me. It is people like me, we scapegoats of accusation who bear the blunt ends of the shameful secrets you keep, who enable you to live in your pristine existence unnoticed. It is I who will stand by and publicly endure my own sin so that you can sit quiet in yours which is hidden.

You're welcome.

Disclaimer

Dear Friends,

Big news: I may not be the man you think I am. I'm certainly not the man I want to be. If you've read more than two posts in this blog, you likely already know this. No, see, the man I actually am is not very respectable.

Maybe you've figured this out. It's possible you've been personally screwed over because of it, or that you've heard it through the grapevine. I probably won't come out and say it to you, not unless you're willing to commit a few hours to sharing a pair of barstools, and you might have to buy shots. But the list of people I'd talk to even if those conditions were met is very short. I am ashamed, you see.

So here's the truth: The real me, my True Self, took off 15 years ago or so, and left a shell that has been operated like a grotesque puppet by an Evil Twin on and off since. It's a lot like those movies where a guy is taken over and controlled by some entity, but occasionally breaks through to warn the people around him to flee before he loses control again.

Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe this has been the real me the entire time, and I wear my public perception like a garment so no one will suspect it. A wolf in sheep's clothing. I operate in this guise to manipulate those around me into thinking I'm a good guy.

Actually, both of these descriptions fit who I've become, but the key to understanding myself is that my True Self, the man I wish I could be, has been drowning, held under water by both the fearful and addictive behaviour of the Evil Twin, and the man driven by a desperate need to maintain a respectable public image.

Anyone who's known me any decent length of time has actually seen this True Self, this elusive man I'm struggling to free. You've each probably seen whatever little slice applies to our relationship, whatever that may be. Some of you have access to more slices than others. But I can't leave him out, you see, because he is both respectable and repulsive, both compassionate and cruel. He is not universally accepted, and so must be squelched in the name of social duties and standards.

This is a cruel fate, because this man, this True Self, is actually a good man. He's good because he will speak the truth even when it's offensive, but he is learning gentleness and tact. He's good because he speaks his mind, and is thorough and eloquent enough to do so in a way that even those who would be hurt by the words can't deny their truth. He's good because he honors his committments, even though he needs help learning how to say no, both to the people he should not cavort with, and those who pretend to like him but create unhealthy situations. He's good because he is willing to explore and develop himself in unexpected ways, and takes the risks necessary to realize change. And he's good because when he makes mistakes or misjudgements, he acknowledges them and pays his dues.

I do not know how I will manage these three identities: the pure deciever who lies for shame of the truth, the smiling neighbor and happy face at kids' school events, and the man in between, the one I really need to expose and become. I do not know who I will hurt or abandon in the process of revealing that man, first to myself, wholly for once in my life, and then to those who claim to love me. And then that love will most certainly be tested.

So whatever your relationship with me may be, consider this a disclaimer, but not an apology.

SCWA

Winter

6 March 2011

Walking through the frigid air
The wind passes over me
Like your disdain.
I lift my feet as high as I'm able
In heavy boots
But the snow is much too deep
To clear
Without leaving some regrettable act
Behind.

Still, I push on.

Every step takes me further
From a truth we both know
All know
Every day I'm another mile away
Every inch is an eternity I'll have to retrace
When it all comes pouring out.
Why was I ever walking this way
To begin with?

Into the ever cold night
Writing letters I'll never send
Because those feelings are too hot
For soft hearts to bear
Those words too sharp
They rend and tear
Gentle emotional flesh
Tender spiritual mesh.

No, these words I will hold within.

There they still burn, still tear
But only one person
The wrong person?
But isn't it right to carry this weight?
For you, for them, for everyone
To see?

But who is doing their best, for me?
Who will be their best

For me?

Violence

I’d never been a violent person, aside from a few holes in drywall. I’d certainly never threatened a person before. But when he said it, I couldn’t help myself.

He seemed as surprised as me, held in a headlock with the blade against his neck.

“You’ve ruined me,” I said. “And now, you’re ruined too.”

* * * * *

FFF-55 Vol. XVI. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Rage

If it hurt when I drove my fist through the wall, I couldn’t tell. I would have done it again if she hadn’t screamed. I only noticed something like pain when I opened my hand to pick up my keys, and even then it was only a vague counterweight to my rage.

It was over.
* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XV. Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man.

Plea

I'm sorry; you must have me confused with somebody who has their life together.

I know, I make a grand illusion of sanity and sobriety, and I appreciate you having noticed. I guess it's really my fault you had the wrong impression of me. Believe me when I say I'm not out to decieve anybody...well, hurt anybody, so I apologize if this realization comes as a disappointing surprise.

Really, the entire point of my facade is to trick myself into going out every day and trying to achieve a life of togetherness. If I really looked back at myself in my Mirror of Yresim and acknowledged what I saw, I probably wouldn't even get out of bed in the morning. But that's not good for the kids to see, and I desperately want them to grow up emotionally healthy, for them to lead "together" adult lives... so I have to put on the show.

Also, I have to stay employed. I'm not building wealth, or making a cache I'll be able to look forward to retiring on, or anything remotely similar, I just want to keep the lights on, and some Cheerios (or their generic equivalent, when necessary) in the cupboard. I've been lucky enough to have these resources, for the most part, for a good long while, so you must understand that maintaining this existence is also essential to the presentation I make to my family. I need to provide them with enough to keep up the lifestyle to which they've become accustomed, or it might alert them to the truth.

Finally, I'm trying to stay married. This part of the illusion is the biggest part of all. Please don't tell my wife I'm just pretending, that I'm really a hopeless mess. She thinks I'm a good man, and though I am trying to be, she has no idea how far off the mark I fall most days. She has no idea of the mess I truly am, of the emptiness inside, of the desperation to mean something to someone. I love her, and I don't want to lose her, even though I clearly don't deserve her. She loves me for what she thinks is the real me, but I know, and now you know too, that if she knew the depth of my inadequacy, if she could see through the membrane, she'd bolt like a thoroughbred in a thunderstorm, and take with her everything that has ever meant anything to me.

So will you do me a favor? Will you allow me to keep faking it in your presence? If you pretend not to know I'm no good, I'll act like I haven't realized you know the truth. This will allow us both act as civil people, at least until our business is finished. Then you can think of me as you like.

Thanks.

Poem Excerpt

I'm sorry
I'm too busy
Trying to control
The bleeding from
The exit wounds
Of the last few things you said
To respond with words that might
Appease you

If such words exist at all

To Live Is to Die

When a man lies he murders
Some part of the world
These are the pale deaths
Which men miscall their lives
All this I cannot bear
To witness any longer
Cannot the kingdom of salvation
Take me home 


(Metallica/Paul Gerhardt)

I Am

Here's what I am: I am thankful for what I have, even though it may not fit your description of satisfactory. I am working to become a better person, in one way or another, every day, though I am also occasionally complacent. I am sometimes morally weak, but I am also quick to recognize it. I am simple and humble, and as a result, stronger. I am eager to reciprocate and be your true friend, if you're willing to share your true self. I am sexual and raw, and I am almost sorry if that offends you. I am as good as anyone else in this world. I am process-oriented and analytical. I am always trying to be as honest with myself and with you as I can.

Here's what I am not: I am not satisfied with being sedentary. I am not interested in your negative assessment of how I live my life, treat my family, or keep my home. I am not going to spend any time or energy playing social games just to make you feel better about yourself or help you support some emotional facade. I am not lecherous. I am not willing to change who I am because you disapprove. I am not better than anyone else in this world, and neither are you. I am not cold or calculating. I am not always pleasant to be around.

(unfinished)

I Am Dante's Grand Deception

(Unfinished, dated 3/20/2008)

I am Dante's grand deception.

How am I doing? Well...

Do you want the truth or the cover story? Are you sure? Here goes; it's not pretty.

I'm a mess. I've got a car I left months ago at a dealership, which they consider abandoned, that I just can't pay for. Funny thing, I work at a building whose property is adjacent to this dealership's back lot, and every day when I pull in and every day when I go home, I see my green derelict right against that fence.

Late last summer I got a ticket which I never paid. Several weeks ago my license was suspended. I recently had a birthday, which means the tags on both our vehicles are now expired. If I get pulled over, chances are I won't be driving away in my own car with a ticket my only souvenir.

I Am Jack's Utter Self-Loathing

(Unfinished, dated 12/12/2007)

Alright you, it's time we had a talk.

We both know there are things going on that are completely out of control, and it's time to grab that rope, burn or no burn.

I won't get into specifics here; it's neither the time nor the place, but this crap you pull on yourself is costing money, causing stress, and creating an environment that isn't good for anyone in the family. How can you concentrate on what's real and true? Truth is you can't, and I can't either. The only "real" and "true" is the facade you wear every day as you dress for work, give a progress report, talk about school and

Deal?