Roads True and False, High and Low

Yesterday was A's birthday and I am hilarious. 

In every demonstrable way, she has not given even a nanoshit about my existence since giving me the boot at the end of February. Truly, not even one shit molecule of the tiniest breadth and width has been given. Yet, I spent the past few days actually torn over whether to wish her a happy birthday or not. This is super fine if it bespeaks something truly along the way of the Work-- sorting out how to Do The Right Thing in the face of...what, exactly? Oh, well, you know, Unconditional Love (tm) and the Higher Self or being "the bigger person." You know, that sort of thing. 

Fuck that, he said cheerfully. 

I had a moment of clarity where I realized I was just being codependent and was tempted to buy into some stupid fakeass Spiritual (tm) bullshit. Devoting energy to someone who has disappeared, poof. She sent me a pro forma text wishing me a happy birthday and asking for my address because her kid wanted to send me a birthday card. Thank you! and here's my address. I looked for that birthday card for a few weeks every day, because I'm hilarious.

No card. Hey maybe it will be in the mailbox today! nope. Hey maybe it will be in the mailbox today! nope. Like a fuck-puppy of the goofiest kind, hooked repeatedly, a Beckett character hopeful and smacked in the face repeatedly, the hopeful walk up the path to stepping on the hidden rake of the empty mailbox. A week after she inquired I ought to have texted her again and said "hey where the fuck is the kid's card?" Because I authentically cared about getting that card, but pretended I did not. I pretended I didn't care because pretending my feelings are not hurt is one of my most predictable defense mechanisms. I'm fine, it's fine, everything is fine. I feel nothing. That's fine. 

Anyway, last week, a weird charge showed up on my Amazon Prime movie account for a kid movie and I figured it was for A's kid, but I texted her to be sure. "Oh yes, sorry, I guess the TV still has your password," and I was glad I wasn't hacked. "Hey, I never got that birthday card from your kid, if he sent it I don't want him to think I wouldn't thank him." "Oh, we never got around to it." Doormat Syndrome almost instantly kicked in and I waved it off and mewled a bunch of wet Charmin bullshit in my head like it's the thought that counts and she sure is busy and it's not that important anyway. 

But Real Percy had other ideas-- can you imagine what Real Percy  authentically wanted to say to her on her birthday? And yet, trying to weasel my way out of my authentic self with his authentic feelings and his authentic work on his authentic resentments, I imagined being Noble Percy the Bigger Man and showing how Spiritual (tm) I am by wishing her a happy birthday in spite of her complete and total indifference. In the light of the early morning today, I am very, very glad I did no such pathetic, dishonest, inauthentic, self-sabotaging and self-abandoning thing (not to mention the passive aggressive dimensions where at least part of my intention would be to hope that my generosity would actually make her feel badly about her shitstain of a soul). 

Noble Percy is far more dangerous and toxic than plain old Real Percy, the Unrelentingly Human. Sure, Real Percy is sensitive, and "extra," and can be blunt and fierce. But with Real Percy, everyone (including Percy) knows where Percy stands. Once Noble Percy starts calling the shots, shit gets weird mighty fast. Gaslight-y, murky, confusing, funhouse mirror-ish. Something is happening that everyone knows is weird and fake somehow but no one can exactly define exactly what that happening is. "There seems to be a Nice Guy in the room. But there's scary music playing."

Why did it hurt my feelings so much that A never got around to keeping her kid on the task of mailing me the card he definitely wanted to (because I know him-- he actually does give a shit about people and has a more generous heart at age 9 than his mom)-- because the whole scenario tied powerfully back into my being cut out of his life, never having had the chance to say goodbye, never having had the chance to continue to be a mentor if no longer a parent figure. "We didn't get around" to acknowledging, ever, not even once, how much love, realness, presence and plain old time I spent fathering the kid. A has not once said to me "You were great with him and I appreciate it." My cut off in that area was as butcher-knife-clean as my cut off in every other area. And that, plain and simple, is abusive behavior. 

Not the removal of me from his life-- that may well actually have been in his best interest, which clearly was his mom's judgment call to make (we've been through this before, readers, please, no more urging or suggestion that I go against his own mother's wishes in this regard, that is simply not going to happen). The abusive part is the complete and total cut off. Severance without process of any kind. "I believe it will be best for the kid to continue on, grieve your departure and not continue to spend time with you, but come on over and take a walk with him and say goodbye." That's humane. That's not abusive. And I would have appreciated it. It would have meant a lot to me. 

Of course, it behooves me to continue to work myself clear of the shitty way I was disposed of in the situation, and believe me, dear readers, I continue to work on that. You honestly have no idea how much work I'm doing in that regard. 

At the same time, why would *anyone* want to wish a "happy birthday" to an abusive ex who has made zero attempt to set things to rights? Here I am, clearly tumbling in hurt feelings and a deep sense of having been wronged, still, and yet I was agonizing over whether or not to wish her a fucking happy birthday? When the authentic things I want to say are in fact the exact ugly opposite-- "Happy birthday! I hope you fucking die but are miserable for years first!" 

That is ignoble, definitely. That is definitely not Spiritual (tm). I definitely do not want to feel that way. Yet at this stage of the trip, well, obviously, I DO feel that way. Real Percy is down underneath all of the unnecessary bullshit, clamoring to be honored and taken seriously. Clamoring to no longer be silenced by fake fucking Noble Percy, who is paper thin, boring, doormat-oriented and codependent af and silently, toxically enraged. 

Is Real Percy capable of true nobility? True generosity of spirit and forgiveness? That's the sad part-- of course he is. He's truly and authentically quite skilled at it. But all the fake ego-feeding manipulative passive aggressive wanna be nobility of that good old nice guy Noble Percy actually gets in the way and makes the work so much more difficult. Sweetness and light can go fuck itself. 

Realness and light-and-shadow are where it's at. The way forward. The way to freedom. The true low road is far preferable to a fake high road. I can't help it anyway. I'm on whatever fucking road I'm actually on. 

Flor Garduño, Canasta de Luz, Guatemala (1989)