I listened to this letter, read to me by a highly emotional wife, in her therapist's office about 3 weeks ago. To say it was heart-wrenching is rank understatement. Never have I experienced such an utter sense off defeat, abandonment, and failure. I pray I never will again...
Since this is my blog -- I will interject my perspective (in bloody red) between her words. In all fairness I think it was a brilliantly composed discourse especially for someone under such great emotional stress) For me, it is a brutal and (somewhat) hostile terrain, not easily traversed the
first time, let-alone again.
We entered into our marriage broken, whether we
realized it or not. Um, hello? That was ten years ago! And yes we were broken but I loved you then (and now) tremendously. Enough to marry you on your time-scale. My love and admiration for you has only grown in the intervening years -- as I always knew it would I am writing this to
help heal myself, not as an attempt to hurt you. I was asked to look at my expectations of our
marriage and to locate the pain that it held for me. So I am reflecting on what I see as my issues
or failings in our marriage.
With so many failed attempts to find
love, abandonment from Chris’ father and finally the man before you that I
dated who told me that he loved me, but was embarrassed to be seen in public
with me; had built up horrible walls for me. And I tore them all down, baby! Well, most of them. (Baby!) I was used, unloved and broken. I
was searching for love in hopes of healing myself and my own insecurities. Add to that the fact that I was very independent. These were not good combinations. And you found a healing love! And those traumas you endured are terrible (including the one I edited out for privacy reasons) but they're also a part of what makes you the "you" that I love. You were recovering from your addiction with drugs. I still am -- but I was two years clean when I met you online -- well "clean" being relative... from my d.o.c., I mean. Two failed relationships, whom you lived
with, that did not make you a better person, Tonya and Josie... and no, they certainly weren't the healthiest of relationships -- but I was in my mid-twenties and they sure as heck taught me a great deal. (Like don't shack up with a super-hot (and dangerously repressed) Mexican 'chica,' that birthed 4 kids by 22. Especially while your trying to run a pizza restaurant. living with your mother who was and
is an enabler and spending most of your time in a basement, secluded, without
friends and content with your lifestyle. I was paying rent, helping my aging Mom, working my butt-off and making decent money, writing all the time, (producing strong works) listening to awesome music -- loudly -- the way it was meant to be listened to; (which you can only really get away with in a basement or a club) .... free of my addiction. I was in semi-slacker heaven! And as for friends, there was Jeremy and Alma! Both of our "brokenness" should have been seen in
advance, but I suppose it was my fault that it wasn’t recognized, at least by
me. Yeah, I certainly saw it -- I was completely aware of you're biological-clock dilemma -- and our character flaws -- I am pretty smart and self-aware. (Like I totally know I am a raging dork/ delusional narcissist -- nobody's perfect!) I certainly didn't marry you without fully considering our imperfections. I figured, that we would "become one" and together our complementary strengths would shore up any brokenness. I am right! Or delude myself that I am; Or I was... right-up until I swallowed the plastic and nearly died. Then I kind'a broke again. Big set-back... sue me! Oh yeah, you are! I wanted marriage so badly and
worried that with my age; no one would want me for much longer, so I overlooked
many of our differences. I wanted a
provider, a protector, an equal that would build me up just as I did for them. Oh this makes me feel reeeal good. Blind, ye be! That's exactly what you had! (... mostly!) Someone who wanted what I wanted and had the
future completely in sight, not just for the moment. Future/smuture! What about now?! Delusions of grandeur aside, have I not always made it completely evident that I will settle for nothing less than true greatness from my future? (Hmm, probably not... but inwardly, I never expected anything less from myself! ) So, I guess, "greatness" is not enough? Well it probably isn't... but nevertheless I will most certainly get-around to attaining it! (I'll just have to shoot a little higher... as greatness for me included having you at my side. Someone with the same goals and aspirations I
had. What? Utter mediocrity?! I wanted the fairy tale. (Again, blind! Oblivious!)The first time we met I had worked so hard to go
from a size 22 to a size 14 to impress you and still I felt like that “fat
girl” when you looked at me. (She was holding a sign at the airport with glitter and a crudely drawn airplane that said: "Step off of that plane and into my heart!" I was already in love with her so that's just her insecurity talking. I knew perfectly well what I was getting myself into ...(or not.) I still
remember our first meeting when I said you told me you were taller and you told
me I was supposed to be thinner. We
laughed at the time, but I knew in my heart you had issues with this. Yeah, but they weren't significant enough to keep me from marrying your plump-butt! I loved (love) you more than to let "mere physicality" stop me from wanting a life with you. I proved that, gallantly -- again and again. We are, far-more significant than these bodies. I am also aware of how having a sick body can mess with the balance and harmony of a mind as well as diminish the light of a spirit. I had so many “red flags” with our relationship
before we married and I refused to acknowledge them, thinking love would solve
everything. (Yeah... until the wacked-out-lady going through her own mid-life crisis decides to just flush ten years of your life and dumps you!) I re-read a journal entry
recently that reminded me of a fight we had in the summer before we became
engaged. You told Alma that it was going
to be hard to make love to a woman that repulsed you. Repulsed? That's pretty harsh... I'm not denying it outright -- but that's highly unlikely. (And if I did say that to Alma -- how would you know about it?) Repulsed was the word you used and it ripped
at my wounds and dug into my insecurities. What? A little alarm didn't go off then?! I still remember fighting with you in the car when I visited in NY. When confronted about it you said it wasn’t
meant that way, rationalized the comment and I wanted to believe you, so I did,
because I loved you. Oh, no. What I meant to say was I was compulsed by you, I just used the wrong word! What does that mean? Uh... uh.. I don't have the words to explain it because I'm so crazy in love with you! See? This is why I have a problem with this story; I hold a (fictitious) PhD in rationalization and I wouldn't know where to begin rationalizing away such stupendously intractable wording. I'm too good (at bad) to dig myself a hole that deep.
That same summer your mother talked to me privately
and told me not to marry you. That you and
I were “unequally yoked” just as she and your father were. That's my mom folks! She told me that she was to blame for making
you as you are. What the hell is that supposed to mean? A loving, caring, and compassionate human being with, at times, overbearing artistic sensibilities? Because if she meant that, she nailed it. That she enabled you and
basically crippled both you and your sister by making you so dependent on
her. She controlled your lives, your
money, your home, everything. (I think you dreamt this exchange. I'm not saying it isn't accurate (though it isn't completely) but I can't imagine why my Mom would "come clean" like that -- if it happened at all, it was more likely an attempt to derail our relationship because in her mind nobody could be good-enough for her precious son. She's a lot like Ray Romano's mom.) I didn't
want to listen to anything she said, but she was right, I see that now. Gee thanks! Uh, slight exaggeration there! Crippled? Nah. "Struck-lame," kind'a. [Update: I talked to my Mom today and read this part to her. Her response: "I don't remember that at all." Possibly true -- but I noticed a slight hesitation in her speech as if she was recalling something... that she didn't then mention. She also said she was very offended by the idea that she was "controlling" and used my sister's "lost" days as proof of not controlling anything -- a case might be made that our individual rebellions were, in fact the "slingshot effect" results of precisely the controlling nature to which Crystal referred. Update #2: Crystal says that she talked to mom about this ten year old conversation last week and Mom remembered it perfectly during their conversation. That's my mom folks!]
When we got engaged you wanted our wedding to be in
November the following year and I pushed for February and won even though you
were not ready. Ready? I'm just about ready! I should have listened
and perhaps we wouldn’t be here today. Where's "here," exactly? About to sign our divorce papers -- and me writing snarky italicized comments (in bloody red) on your most heart-felt confessional, while feeling my heart tear a little more with every, dripping letter I type? During our engaged encounter you confessed that you
were not attracted to me. This I did. You stated
that you loved me completely, but you weren’t attracted to me. I actually said that you shouldn't expect us to be having too much sex, because I wasn't attracted to you. I licked my wounds by convincing myself that
you would grow to love me completely, as a wife is loved. And I did -- I just didn't feel particularly motivated towards sex with you. Adoring and cherishing you fine. And I always wanted to be near you and touching you, holding you kissing your neck... still do. I thought I made love to you everythime we were near one another -- I felt that way in my heart. ) So I disregarded my feelings and believed all
would be ok. I was so upset that you
would rather sleep through sessions that were supposed to be important instead
of making me feel as if I was most important. I think I fell asleep once and, obviously, I took our engaged encounter seriously or I wouldn't have told you about our sexual incompatibility. You didn’t even carry through with the journaling and when I asked you
why you wouldn’t do it, you told me that I knew how you felt. Maybe I needed to hear it from your own lips. ( I saw that workshop-journal recently -- I saved it! There's stuff in it! Not a lot but I did many of the exercises -- well some of the exercises... and we had to share them with one another anyway -- so yes, I would tell you instead of reading, I think that shows a lot more dedication to being "in the moment." Thank- you-very-much! You should know I'm not a "follower.")
Another red flag I notice you never mention"green" flags. was the fact that you left on the
night of our rehearsal, you said it was because of Chris, fear, whatever. You were so angry because you wanted Chris to
go to the car in the dark and get your camera, and when he cried you shoved him
around the neck up to the wall. You
scared him, shocked my family and broke my heart. You ruined this night of joy for me because
of your temper. I should have known then
this wouldn’t work. I firmly believe
that if Fr. Steve hadn’t called you to come back, you would have kept running,
and maybe I should have let you. Alright, finally! I always wanted to write about what happened here. Wedding rehearsal night: I have no less than three people (one a priest) calling me from different directions each giving me different instructions. Crystal my bride-to-be wanted the camera from the car. I asked Chris (her son and soon to be my step-son) if he could please help me and get the camera from the car This kind, gracious soul said he didn't want to. Someone called for me again; "One second, I'll be right there!" I turned back to Chris. "I really need your help Chris, please?." (The car was about 30 yards away.) He reluctantly agreed took the proffered keys, turns away, takes two steps and threw the keys back at me over his shoulder. They hit my chest and I caught them stomach level. "Chris!" He continued walking. "Chris!" I call again. He turned, shot me an anxious glance (and a wicked little smile) turned away and began weaving through the crowd that was now filing into the Church from the vestibule. "Chris, come here a second, I want to talk to you." I shouted after him. I was still outwardly calm but inwardly I thought to myself: "What is his problem? Little shit. "Chris, come here please!" "No!" he spat. "Little shit!" I think again -- "Chris come here a second and talk to me, I want to know why you did that!" Now I was getting angry. I closed the gap with five steps and grabbed his shoulder. He dropped to the ground; just buckled. I held on. "Chris, I only want to know why you did that? Come talk to me." He jerked away, scrambled to his feet and attempted to flee yet again. He didn't get far. I picked him up from under both arms. He begins to wail like a stuck pig. "Stop it! Put me down! Owww, that hurts! Your hurting me!" All the while he's bucking and twisting like a netted catfish. I carried him about 8 feet and placed his back against a wall by the main doors. The second I let go he starts to drop to the floor again. I lift him erect and looked straight into his eyes. (If I touched his neck and I don't think I did, it was at this moment.) I knew I had to get him out of there; although most of the people had already moved to the inside of the church. He was being ludicrously ugly. "Chris, I will go with you to the car. Walk with me, I need to talk to you." I started to let go and turn towards the door and once again he tried to bolt. I grabbed him once again and he hollers! Owwwww! Stop it!" Then predictably dropped to the floor. I pushed open the door with one hand and said "Fine, you don't want to walk, that's your choice. We're still going to the car. Stand up!" But he wouldn't, he just dangled from his elbow still in my grip. "C'mon, get-up!" I insisted yet again --"Whaaaahhgh!" he bellowed. I opened the door and pulled him outside. "Get off of me why are you doing this?!" He plead. "Just walk!" I huffed. Yes, I was pissed. "Whaaaahhgh!" He wasn't even crying just being a nuisance. So I walked through the doors and kept walking. I dragged the dysfunctional-twit about twenty five feet. All he had to do was stand-up. All along the way he screamed his (literally) stupid, head off. (Oh, it didn't actually drop-off that part is figurative.) Someone came out of the Church "Hey! what are you doing to that child?! Oh shit! This is so fucking bad! I walked to the car, got in and fucking drove.(Camera and all.) I remember thinking: "Holy-shit, what was that all about?" And: "Now what am I going to to do?!? Where am I going to go now? They probably called the police, shit! I'll drive to California! I'll become a screenwriter! Alright! Whew! Close-call there!" And a joyous sense of freedom descended upon me. I was free!! Then my damn phone rang... It was, of course, Father Steve who was a really awesome man and spoke with great power and authority. "Paul." He said softly and calmly. "Where are you?"A lilting, low tone. "I'm gone, Father!" I said. "Paul... there are two very upset people here, you need to turn around and come back." Coming from Steve O'Connor with that perfectly level voice made it nothing less than a direct order. I thought about pulling a Chris and fleeing but I couldn't bear the thought of how upset, scared and confused Crystal must be and I also wanted to apologize to little-shit, uh, Chris. So I sucked it up. "Be a man." I thought and said: "Alright Father, I'm coming." Fast-forward ten years later -- writing in bloody-red.) Update: I talked to Chris about the incident today while we were waiting to sign over the Truck title to his name -- he says I never touched his neck.
End Of Part 1
End Of Part 1
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