No, honestly, I am not well. I am not well at all. It's not anyone's fault other than my own, and no one other than I has to or can do anything about it. But plainly, I am not well. Not even somewhat well, let alone very.
I am in a stretch of life where I resist this fiercely. I don't begrudge others their happiness and the serenity that comes from having made a sensible and constructive decision. In fact, I completely understand and respect the decision and have wanted to behave accordingly. Admittedly, I even envy the decision somewhat, since I have never been able to either make that decision or be with anyone who would make it to stay with me.
What I resist is the tendency in myself to fabricate a reciprocal wellness in order to stave off the only apparent alternative, which is that I have been deeply moved by and continue to grieve the loss of an experience and the other person has managed to find wellness. I want to be on equal footing. I especially feel angry about being pitied. It's not enough to be sad and grieving a loss, for me—I have to throw the kerosene of feeling like a pathetic loser onto the fire. My pride fucks me.
I am not very well. My mind has not been a friendly or balanced environment on this trip. I think this is a direct reflection of my mental focus having been poured into the dissertation for months, and my regular meditation praqctice, which in some ways has not been constructive, but in fact, has been a way for me to supress emotions.
Two years ago today, the day dawned in Ship Bottom, NJ, and I embarked on a risky and incredibly moving, beautiful adventure. (Yes, well, I betray myself mentioning that this is the "anniversary," as I had resolved not to acknowledge it, since I know or assume that it won't be acknowledged today or any other day by anyone other than I, Again, unilateral sentimentality fucking with me). Wise friends of mine warned that a). people rarely magically become available out of a situation that is fairly well cast in stone and b). there was no visible outcome to the adventure that would not hurt like a motherfucker. I did not and do not listen to these warnings of course.
I meant every last word I said, I did not say any of it lightly, and still mean it. My truth in this regard doesn't sit well with the reality. Gone and dead, completely iced, or at least 100% unilateral, the declarations that were for a time reciprocal. Sadness, grief and tenderness is a beautiful thing by comparison. The anger at myself for having believed and having had hope and feeling like an idiot is, by comparison, acrid, acid, barren, scorching and bewildering. I understand where the other person is, at least I think I do. I get it. I have always gotten it. At least, I think I have always gotten it.
And I, just want to feel you're there
And I don't want to have to share our love
I try, but I get overwhelmed
When you're gone I have no one to tell
And I, just want to feel you're there
And I don't want to have to share our love
I try but I get overwhelmed
All wrapped in cellophane, the feelings that we had
It has to be either or, for some people, at some times of life. This has been true for me in the past. It can't possibly have been real if the life chosen instead is the way things are. I know myself and trust myself 100% and know that when I discovered the truth of the encounter for myself, all of the vows and declarations were true for me. I'm also angry regarding the skepticism and cynicism of outsiders. The weird projections. The confusing dismissals. I guess, in general, I am finally just allowing myself to be angry. I was reading the chapter in Melody Beattie's Codependent No More about anger at the campsite at Lake Kabetogama in northern Minnesota and I realized I had not simply allowed my natural feelings of anger to move, to be acknowledged.
I am often afraid that anger, in and of itself, simply as an emotion, has destructive power. I was raised with a mother and father who raged at will and I have not been skillful with anger myself. Of course, were I to act it out, in any of the ways I have in the past, it would be destructive. It has been. Anger when my feelings are hurt or I have sold myself out has often led to behavior about which I have had the biggest regrets and have had to make the most difficult amends. But the fact of it as a feeling won't be denied, simply because I am afraid of how I might act. And I am handling the anger well, not acting out, but expressing, in a way that respects the fact of the anger but also does not make it someone else's problem. I feel angry that I put all, (yes, all) of my emotional stock into an unavailable situation and didn't take care of myself, protect myself or take a stand for myself. It is proportional and natural to feel angry about these things. Anger is, in fact, the boundary emotion. It arises when violation has occurred, especially self-violation.
I repeatedly ignored the plain fact that the demands of the situation on the other person often made it impossible for me to be heard and seen, whenever things were less than ideal. I made concessions and told myself I only needed to "handle my issues" myself and "stop bothering" the other person, in spite of being unable to "stop bothering" them. Here's the thing Percy old man: never, ever again put yourself into a position where being yourself is felt and judged by you as "bothering" someone else. Fuck that. As in oh my fucking goddamn it forever, fucking FUCK THAT. Not to put too fine a point on it.
I feel also that, even when there was reciprocity, I kept myself in a situation that was not reciprocal. I understand the excellent reasons, yet I am angry at myself that I repeatedly put myself in that position. It's not the other person's "fault," it's my fault. I chose to exist in an imbalanced dynamic where I was taken for granted, where I was not able to be met. "Begging for scraps" is how the other person put it, and that was a gut punch and still hurts, and is one of those remarks that one remembers for the rest of one's memory-capable life, because it's so accurate a metaphor. I have the goal of understanding more clearly why I chose this and, eventually, accepting that I did and forgiving myself for pretty much chronically feeling abandoned for many months. I do get that one reason was how glorious the encounter was, and how deeply moved I was. And I do get that the other person also made concession after concession, at great personal risk practically and emotionally. In spite of getting all of it, I am angry and that is that.
I am beholden to no one and nothing at this time, so I have all the time and space I need (and maybe more than I need) to do all of this processing. I do acknowledge that this is a tremendous and rare gift. I think, soon, I will have to shift into externally directed focus. For now, here I am.
To feel like a luxury item who would just as soon be forgotten by someone for whom one continues to have deep emotional attachment sucks. No matter if one understands why. To "still" be emotionally attached to someone who has successfully disentangled and moved on sucks. It makes no difference knowing that one "should" also disentangle. To be deeply ashamed to "still" be in love with someone who is flat out done, done, done sucks. No matter if one's feelings are honoring what is true for oneself, without regard to the truth of others. Trying to be done, done, done just because someone else is- not healthy. To be ashamed to have made a series of self-destructive choices that did not honor oneself or support one's worth and value sucks. It's bewildering. What was I thinking? To be processing the hurt feelings, anger and resentment, mostly toward oneself, that result from all of these choices is extremely unpleasant. The wide open spaces, break from the dissertation and weird nostalgia have all contributed to letting loose this anger. I'm glad it has space and all I have to do is talk about it, write about it. Let it move. I am done trying to manage this anger or hide it or talk myself out of it. I think once it does its natural thing and naturally subsides, as long as I continue to practice owning it and not acting out, I'll be in a better place.
It could just as well have been 1000 years in one of the moments. Two years is nothing, two years is a long time. Tomorrow is a long time.
Sunrise, July 13, 2017, Long Beach Island, NJ, from the unprotected balcony of the hotel room at the Drifting Sands.
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