Hi folks,
My name is Steve, and this blog is an experiment in healing. Despite a
deep need to "unload", I feel extremely ambivalent about writing this,
because as I think about what is happening to my marriage, I am
jarred out of the comfortable numbness that I experience while I'm
knuckling down to my electrical work on the jobsite, when I'm
keeping busy with my studies, or doing chores around the house -
the numbness I had until a few minutes ago, before I pulled up
outside Dunkin Donuts and paid for a decaff to be dispensed into my
Starbucks travel mug - loyalty? Ah the irony...
What am I jarred into? It is the agony of rejection, almost exquisite in
its perfectly soul-destroying pain. I am still so stung by her words,
"I've never really loved you... I've been unhappy for years... I have
hoped and prayed through the years that one of us would die, just so
that I could be free..."
My first thought after hearing those words was, "W.T.F?" I didn't say that, but maybe I should
have said it. I think of the words of Jack Rebney, "the World's Angriest
Man" of YouTube fame, and protagonist of the poignant and
touching avant garde movie "Winnebago Man", in which, effectively,
he states that it is a terrible tragedy when we feel that we are
forbidden or incapable of expressing how we REALLY feel.
Throughout the movie, the phenomenally articulate Rebney does not
hesitate to engage in the liberal use of expletives, in spite of his skill
with more socially acceptable vocabulary, because of his
commitment to the catharsis he derives when he's just gone ahead
and cut loose roundly and soundly with an "F-bomb" or the like.
Becca and I should be happily celebrating our nineteenth anniversary
of marriage this December. Instead we are thrashing around in pre-
divorce death throes and lashing out in pain as she kills our marriage.
I keep hearing her words: "I never loved you. I wanted one of us to
die."
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck the world. Fuck it all! There I said it. Jack,
please be proud of me now, because I said it. God may be
disappointed, but I am so fucking broken right now. I gave up my life
for this girl, and now she tells me that she never loved me. Now?
What the fuck?!
How do I explain this to our beautiful son, Christiansson? How will he
ever understand that Mommy could make love to Daddy for 18
years and that he is the product of one of those beautiful sessions of
passion, but that Mommy wants Daddy to die, because she never
loved him?
Oh God, I am so very, very angry right now. I so badly want to say
every bad word I ever heard. Call Becca the worst of the worst. I
almost want to hate her. I'm thinking, "You bitch, you ungrateful
bitch!" But, I just can't call her that, because I love her. Really, I have
never stopped loving her. That's what hurts so much - the rejection.
I've been jilted. My love is unrequited.
Schopenhauer's perspective on unrequited love, as expounded upon
in Alain de Botton's "The Consolations of Philosophy" serves only
to depress me more deeply. Grr, I AM NOT CONSOLED! I think I'll
stick with Rebney for now - at least his method allows me to feel a
measure of control.
P.O.D's "Hollywood" is playing on my stereo, as I sit with my laptop, and type in
my car. Their thrashing, searing sounds remind me of a termagant
that makes me want to dwell in the corner of a rooftop. But I love her,
I really love her...
"You'll never get the best of me!" P.O.D. sings.
That's right Becca. You'll not get the best of ME!
I will survive. I shall survive.
So there we have it. I managed to get through my first page of pain.
I've blogged it and as I have just until the end of this month left in the house
with Becca, before the lease ends on our rental home, before we
separate, my challenge to myself is going to be to make a blog entry
daily - a blow by blow account of the emotional hell that I'm going through, and
maybe, just maybe, as I keep typing, I will start to heal.
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