Struggling for Catharsis

I can't even tell if it hurts yet. I feel such despair, but I can't cry, I don't miss her yet, I'm not angry, I just feel...

low grade PTSD. Heh. That's what I feel. I can't concentrate, my hands are shaking, and I don't feel like anything is actually wrong, I just know I don't feel right. I don't feel normal.

I feel broken.

If I were an alcoholic, I'd be drinking. If I were and addict, I'd be using. If I felt comfortable leaning on someone, I'd be leaning. If I really loved old movies, I'd be watching them.

If I could escape, somehow, some way, I would do it.

But I don't know what to do

I'm a workaholic. I'm a gym rat. I'm a skater and a dancer. I run.

And right now I just want to lay in my bed. Right now I want to sleep without nightmares, cry without self-pity, hope without feeling foolish, and love without being let down.

Right now, a part of me wants to roll over and die.

Right now, a part of me is, actually, dying.

I feel weak. I feel bad. I feel stupid. I feel empty.

I don't feel the world on my shoulders today. I suppose there is that. I instead have that feeling of overwhelming pressure from my feelings themselves. I have so much welling up inside, trying to escape, seeking catharsis, yearning for closure, desperately needing resolution.

I want to cry and scream and whine and beg and yell and wail. I want these things all at once, I want them now, I want to understand, to have peace, to...

--

She just called.

She was harsh. A bitch even.

She went on and on and on about her and Phil and history and a bunch of other bullshit. She was saying it for her benefit, not mine. Convincing herself.

"You said once that if I could turn to you and say 'I want to be with Phil. He will make me happy.' then you would let me be. Well that's what I'm asking for now."

I'm pretty sure she sneaked "if you love me, you'll..." in there.

I asked her, after much difficulty finding the words, if anything she ever said to me was real.

She said no. There was other contextual information, about how I made her feel great, about how she meant it at the time, bleah bleah bleah.

I repeated it. "You said that everything you felt was fake. It wasn't real. You never loved me."

She invoked logic. Of all the fucking things. Logically we can't be in love.

She still said no.

I said, "Well. Mine wasn't fake. I wasn't playing make believe."

She said "no one loves me as much as he does". I said "how dare you. I'm not gonna talk shit, but how dare you. That's not fair. How dare you!"

The only breadcrumb she gave me was "if we had met in different circumstances, if we were both single, if we could have built a relationship on trust, without deceit, without hurting anyone else, then maybe things would have been different."

I told her that my love wasn't deceitful. That I'd have done anything for her. Married her. Loved her forever.

She just said "Sorry."

And that was that.

--

I want to hate her now. But I can't. I just feel... like I've lost something. Naked, even. Bare. Stripped.

And a little stupid. Maybe a lot stupid.

I should've corrected her the first time she said the L word. I should've invoked logic and said, "you can't love me, you don't even know me," instead of letting myself be open. Instead of thinking about her and how I felt when around her, how I felt like we could do anything together. Instead of falling in love with her in return.

Sigh. I don't really believe that. I'm a romantic when you strip me bare. I want to believe. I want to hope and have faith and fall in love in three dates. I want a fairy tale. I want to imagine a future together after two weeks and wonder how we ever survived apart after three.

I just wish it had lasted past the ballpark. Past the orange sweatshirt and True Blood.

I shall miss her. Even in spite of how foolish I feel, in spite of her harsh words, in spite of the dysfunction she has brought to bear on my lonely cynicism.

At least she never named our future children. Well, actually, she probably did, but I couldn't deal. Heh.

--

I guess I don't feel that PTSD sensation anymore. I'm not shaking. I guess there is some relief in the closure.

I'm pretty sure I'll need to cry in a short while, though.

:-(

I feel ill

My stomach hurts. My head spins. My eyes weigh heavy. My heart aches.

Fists clenched, teeth gritted, the anger is welling up inside me.

Was it all a lie? Was it all a game? Will she, in the end, not really be different from any of the others?

Are all of those things we said, all of those dreams and hopes and promises, just a fantasy?

Was her commitment to loving me, her promise to cherish me... were these just empty words?

Dysfunction. That's the word for this.

I am... no better.

--

I might need to go home. Tears are coming. Soon.

Ripped from my arms. Literally.

I had beer with my coworkers last night. She had dinner with her mom in SF. She called me on the way home at 1030. Both buzzed, the "breakup" seemed less important.

She came over.

So did hubby hubs. We were having sex. She was telling me she needed me. She said she was scared of loving me so much. She was looking at me the way people in love do. She smiled, twice, in the way that I think maybe only I get to see.

I heard some yelling outside, and a few moments later, there was a vicious knock at the door. It was him. She said so. I said, in understatement, "that's bad."

And she was gone. I told her not to go out there. I told her not to leave. I wish I'd said it more forcefully. I wish I'd pointed out that opening the door on a crazy angry husband would be really dumb.

But I didn't. My landlord/housemate was already outside, already had called the cops, already had ruined his night. 

I think she felt an urgency to leave partially because she thought he would be arrested. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I was always wrong about her. Maybe she was playing us both. 

My heart says no, but as with many things with her, the behavior doesn't seem to fit.

She opened the door. I let her. He rushed me. It wasn't very effective. Diving at someone's neck doesn't really work too well in a fight. He was trying to wrestle with me and I was just gearing up to punch him in the head -- maybe I did, actually, I don't remember -- when my housemate rushed in and tackled him. I jumped up and grabbed his left side, telling my housemate not to worry, that I wouldn't attack him (I thought about it for a split second).

The two of us -- more the hero of the hour than me, admittedly -- then easily subdued him.

Sigh. I have to go work now. In a nuthsell:

Cops came. He spit at her and called her a whore. I didn't press charges. They went home. I wrote her a few thinks on Bberry Messenger (bbm). 

By 2am she had unfriended me on BBM. By 2:45 I got this:

------

I made a commitment to a man.  I promised to love him and care for him and be faithful to him, just as he made a promise to me.  This is not to be taken lightly.  Philip is kind, loving, gentle, caring, and most of all, he is the man I chose to be with.  He has seen me through some painful times in my life and he has made a commitment to see me through the worst.  I have been selfish, unloving, self absorbed, and worst of all, unfaithful - in mind, body, and spirit.

I need to make amends with my actions, and that begins with you. I have told you before, that our relationship was not built on a foundation made to last.  Well, more like an erupting volcano actually. I am a broken mess, I am lost in my life and turned to you to fill a void in my marriage and in my life. It felt good to have someone care about me, take care of me, show me they love me.  I needed to feel important to someone, like my life mattered and give me what I wanted deep down, not the cars and a big kitchen, but passion, excitement....intimacy.  You gave me everything I wanted, despite the apparent pain it caused you, me, and eventually my husband.  One time you told me he would find out...then he did.  And again you said, "babe, you know he'll find out again, it's just a matter of time." And like always, you were right.  When I turned around tonight, I knew I should say no to you.  I knew I should turn right back around and go home to Philip.  Little did I know, he had installed a GPS in my car, he watched me drive to your house, while I talked to him and told him I would be home soon.  I have caused a wake of destruction in my path of infidelity.  I have hurt the one man that has always stuck by my side, and if I am lucky, will continue to do so.  I have hurt you over and over and over again, despite our desire to end the relationship with a clean break.

I'm sorry for coming into your life like this.  My deepest desire is to wipe this all clean, to go back to day one, and make the right decision.  The decision that I have always made because I cherish Philip's love for me.  It's too late, I am more broken and more lost now then I have ever been.  My marriage was shattered, and now the pieces have melted in a fire.  I have very little to salvage now, but I need to try.  I love Philip.  You will never know the man I fell in love with, but if you know me as you say you do, then trust that I made a decision based on history, evidence, logic, reason, and faith.

If I am lucky/blessed, I will come through the other end of this long, dark tunnel strong, selfless, loving woman.  And next to me will be the man I love and will always love, Philip.

I am sorry [Alfie].  I love Philip, he is a good man, a loving man, and I want to heal my marriage.

-- 

I replied this morning with what amounted to "bullshit, tell me something in your own words" and she replied with "It's over [Alfie]"

I spoke to her for a moment this morning, but then her mom called and she hung up on me. Then I called and she called back and we talked for only a moment. "You're really breaking up?" 

She sighed and said "Yeah."

Funny story... what makes me believe it? Facebook. She unfriended me on Facebook. Second time in two days that's happened.

I'm getting more unpopular by the minute.

--

Quick feelings?

Dumbfounded. Appalled. Violated. Confused.

I don't really feel hurt. Not yet, anyway. It's all too fresh. I don't feel angry either.

I'm mad that this asshole attacked me.

I'm mad that she left without even saying goodbye.

But I'm not really angry about it yet. Just... violated (him) and confused (her).

--

Right now, I still think she'll come back. What I should do or say when she does? Search me. But that's what I think and feel.

Just yesterday she was telling me that she was leaning toward having that dreaded convo with him. About leaving him. This doesn't make any sense at all. Maybe all I ever had to ever do was treat her badly... spit at her and call her a whore. Maybe the world really is that backward.

-- 

It's pretty funny that my "oh shit, this might be real" moment was based on our Facebook relationship, though, isn't it?

Hmmm. Starting to feel that little twinge of anger now. I am last night's leftovers, as always. Humph.

I'm sure I'll have some thoughtful things to write in the next few days.

Waking up in the middle of the night again

At least it wasn't Gravity and tears this time.

Tonight I woke up humming Freefallin'. I'm a baaaad boy, cause I don't even miss her. I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart.

I wouldn't let her call me tonight. She wanted to "be a friend" during my funeral. We had like a 90 minute text message conversation instead.

It was easier for me to stay detached. Even though I didn't. Not really.

Still.

Her blog reads like mine when I am lost and depressed and broken hearted. Yearning, needing, questioning the biology, questioning the "why", questioning herself. Perhaps a little less of the self-doubt I usually have. Certainly less anger.

But similar. It makes me want to reach out to her and give her whatever she wants.

But then I remember that whatever she is feeling is nothing compared to my Saturdays. That her loneliness at not being able to have me on Mondays is, well, deserved. That she doesn't have to imagine me happy with someone else. That a thousand Mondays in a row like today still wouldn't actually be fair.

Not that it matters. The world is not a better place because she hurts. It's most likely the opposite, actually.

And I do love her still.

--

If you hurt so much, if you need me so badly, then why can't you just make the call?

It makes me want to dismiss it. Makes me want to call these feelings lies. If you love me, this is easy. If you need me, this is easy.

I think you like it. I think you like hurting me. I think you like going home to your husband and just using me for the parts missing in your marriage. I think that this isn't really love.

And I think that's really lame.

--

I've done similar things with women. I remember in the year after Laura, I juggled 2-3 very well. Sarah comes to mind. She cooked me dinner and was emotionally available. Heck, she was almost perfect. If only she had an IQ over 120 or an additional 5 years of education, I might have never left.

Heh. She was my Phil, probably. Except I never loved her. Never told her that, never thought that, always aware that one day I would leave her.

When I did, I don't think she even cried. Because the fact that I would leave one day was apparent the entire relationship.

That's why it's lame. That's why it's either a lie or stupid. If she loves me, then this is stupid. And if she doesn't -- and not loving me "enough" is the same diff -- then it was all a lie.

I could've handled a "friends with good sex" arrangement. I could have endured being an "on the side fling" for, probably, years. It's being in love I can't handle. It's being in love that makes me want all or nothing.

I probably would have fallen in love with her anyway. I probably would have wondered, probably would have let myself engage a little too much. But that would have been an internal struggle over a longer period of time. It would have been tempered by dating other people, by self-inflicted pep talks, and the distance of weekends.

The rub is how good it feels to be loved back. How hearing her plan a future with me lets my imagination get carried away. How "you're the one I'm supposed to be with" stirs my soul and makes me believe in your fairy tales.

It's not that I think you were malicious, babe. I do think you're dumb. I can't believe that what we had was just a dopamine cocktail. You love me.

I just don't understand how you can't tell your husband. You must think very little of him.

Humph. Maybe it is that she thinks very little of ME.

Heh. My own narcissism comes out. That thought actually hadn't occurred to me until now. (lol)

--

I didn't really miss her today. I guess it's easier for me. I've already cried for weeks, needing her, unable to have her, touch her, talk to her.

She wanted to "be a friend" after the funeral today. To talk.

I didn't let her. I didn't want to know how that felt, only to have it yanked away again in a few short days. By Saturday for sure, right? Always Saturdays. Bitch.

Heh. "Easier." As if.

It's good for her to miss me, I think. She realizes things like "I haven't even been a good friend to you." This is actually true, of course. But her unwillingness to actually be with me is still all to apparent in every other sentence. Every third word.

It still hurts. Even via text message.

--

So, standing awkwardly in my grandfather's house today with my brother and father in the same room? Weirdly not making eye contact with either of them, often because I chose not to look, and when I did because they stared awkwardly at anything but me.... it was surreal.

I am nothing like those guys. They are weird and awkward. I am a man. I was poorly dressed compared to everyone -- I word denim to a funeral! -- but I looked more at ease than my insecure black sheep of a father in his three piece suit and silk tie.

It's definitely more than clothes that make the man.

I think I mentioned this yesterday, but I'll say it again. It is so strange to realize that everyone else except dear ol' dad is normal. I'm weird because I have a need to process it. I'm weird because I had to endure it. I'm weird because I think his bad blood is mine.

It isn't. And I don't.

I doubt I'll ever be a true member of the family. I doubt any of those people will come to my wedding, I doubt that we'll suddenly start sharing Christmases, I doubt that after the initial push to maintain or start some sort of relationship wears off in a month or two, we'll all go back to the habit of our own separate lives.

But it isn't my fault. It's just life. It's normal. It's what happens when you don't grow up together. When you meet your cousins the first time in your 30s. When you're father happens to be a sociopath.

And life goes on. It's not that big of a deal, not really. None of them will ever be the father I needed. None of them can shape me into a better man, mentor me in such a way that I achieve more, or guide me in such a way so that I can have more meaningful work, play, or relationships.

I did all of that on my own. But it isn't a burden. It isn't really a blessing either -- other than the luck involved that allows me to still be here. It just is. They all have their own pain, their own families, their own lives, their own fears and dreams and loves and failures. That I don't need them isn't some sort of spiteful declaration; it's just the result.

All I can do is be a good man. In spite of. Because of. It really doesn't matter. I have daddy issues and trouble finding/maintaining relationships. I struggle in business and life. I am sometimes too cocky.

I'm still a good man. That's what matters. It doesn't matter who your father is. It doesn't matter that I can stare at him in his goofy suit that is actually quite well tailored yet somehow still makes him look like a clown (well, no, I'm sure it's just him) and vaguely still wish him dead. Why'd my grandfather have to die and not you?

It doesn't matter that I look at my brother and wonder almost aloud why he's such a dick.

These things aren't actually my flaws. They are theirs.

My father's girlfriend said hello to me. I shook her hand and introduced myself. She said she knew who I was. Of course you do, I said. All these white people and the more confident one of only two Asian dudes hanging out with my father's daughter. Yaaa think?

I had to ask her name twice, because she didn't introduce herself nor speak without mumbling. I still don't remember it. Figures. My father couldn't date someone with... oh, some semblance of understanding of social norms.

She kept mumbling things my father must have prepped her to say. "I see your pictures all the time. They are hanging in your dad's house." Hmm. I bet mom would like the photos she took back someday. "I hear you are really smart and successful." My grandfather told you that. "You're very independent." Yeah. I guess that's a word for running away at the onset of puberty.

I found the entire interaction excruciating. Who the fuck are you and why do you seem to think I care? You're just the dumb broad my father is banging. You're not intelligent or witty. You're not even pretty. And you happen to somehow find the one man I wish dead on the planet attractive. That means your self esteem has to be about the size of a flea and that if I show you any of the real me you'll cower in fear and awe. I am a god to you.

It's funny. Before I spoke to her, I felt sorry for her. After our interaction, I just felt dumbfounded. I felt like I'd walked through the twilight zone. I felt like I had endured a small animal trying to hump my leg and was grossed out by the semen left behind. Like a 10 pound dog was trying to exercise its dominance over me and I let if get its rocks off by not kicking it. Like an attempt at mental rape had just occurred, but it was so silly and small and pitiful that I just let it happen and then was annoyed at the mess on my pant leg.

Humph. At least I made it. Two whole days and not a word to my father. I did look him in the eye once, at the church yesterday, when he kept talking to my sister and I from the bench behind us.

He's why I didn't say anything. No anecdotes about my grandfather during the open mic period. I'm pretty sure that "I really appreciate that my grandfather had to work really hard to maintain relationships with my siblings and I and did so." wouldn't have gone over very well. Because, you know, "seeing as how our father is rightfully hated, despised and excommunicated by everyone" would've sneaked in there whether I said it out loud or not. And the resulting scene would have been inappropriate.

I'm not angry about it. I'm not angry at all, actually. Ok, maybe a little at the doggy cum on my leg, but I can change my pants. It is nevertheless a pity.

I wondered aloud today, briefly, if my ongoing hatred of pops makes me flawed. That if I were the man I want to become, I'd forgive and even be a friend to him.

I'm gonna go with no. Not really. Yeah.... no. Not so much.

Again with the god thing... but yeah. My father is proof that god doesn't exist. There is no omnipresent, omnipotent, benevolent super-being out there. Sorry.

He should have been aborted. I don't care if I go on to save millions of African children, my sister designs the next Eiffel tower and Taj Mahal, and my brother builds a prototype warp drive. The good of even his genes aren't enough to make up for the pain he has brought to everyone he has ever interacted with.

If there is some greater plan in there that I don't understand, god, then when did you become such a selfish prick? Your plan sucks, yo. You should've found another way. You're fucking GOD, right?

But anyway. I was introspecting.

I don't think that being a friend to my father is a hurdle I need to jump. It won't bring me catharsis, it won't make me a better person, and I am already a jedi. So, yeah, fuck it. And it's not like he deserves it or anything.

I have plenty of loving and deserving people to take care of. I have lots of people to love who are capable of loving me back.

Heh. Even Mel.

Hopefully one day soon I'll say "especially Mel". Hurry up, darling.

--

I wish she had been there with me. She'd have made me dress up. She'd have impressed the aunts and uncles. I would have felt stronger with her there. More at ease, in command, normal. Successful and independent (talk about irony) like everyone said.

I didn't need her for the grief part. Kk was there for that. I did need her to face all of those strangers. Especially dad.

They'd have called her lovely and pretty. CEO uncle would have said "you make a very fetching couple". Pianist uncle would have called her a doll when she stepped away. Step-grandma would have said "it's so nice to see you with a great woman. And she's so smart and pretty, [Alfie]. Really." I think it might have been code for "I thought you were gay," but we'd have joked about it later.

Cyclist aunt would have asked where in the world I found her, how long we'd been dating, and delighted in our work stories. Great aunt would have been embarrassed to talk about the family drama that we both so desperately need to share with each other, but they'd have networked and discovered a dozen shared contacts. Her mom is probably in the same rotary clubs. Heh.

My father would probably have made an effort to say hello. He'd have awkwardly fumbled, trying to flirt in his pathetic way that just comes across as creepy. It would have grossed Mel out and made me angry. But it'd have been ok. He'd see us, briefly, having sneaked away into a hallway, happy, embracing, and know I'm supported. He'd have spoken to her long enough to convey his sexist condescension and have her politely protest with skill and brilliance, rendering him speechless in surprise. No, actually, mom is kinda dumb, dad. I can only surmise that you seek out the dumb FOBs to reinforce your sexism. All two of them in 40 years of dating.

He'd wonder how I got such a great girl. And just like every other achievement or good fortune I've had since I was five, he'd have been jealous.

And I'd have been oblivious. I'd just have wished my granddad could have been there to meet her.

He'd have flirted, too, in a charming and flattering way, the way old men should with their eventual granddaughters. And she'd have kissed him on the cheek, appreciative and beautiful. He'd have made her laugh with his silly puns and she'd have impressed him with her charm, grace, and smarts. He'd have delighted to talk about biology and anatomy with her. And she'd have understood a part of me that I wish I'd gotten to know better.

--

My fantasy. It makes me sad to think about. It makes me miss her. It makes me miss him.

The day she wore the black, green, and white summer dress was the last time I saw him. I was late for dinner because of her. She could've been there then. She could've been there today.

It all could've actually happened.

How many more memories will you miss, Melissa?

Reason #589 why my brother is a dick

Aside from ridiculous accusations made to the EDD (hello, "my position was eliminated" is the best way to go if you're ever let go! DUHHH), he un-friended me on Facebook.

Who does that?

Douchebag.

Grandfather's Funeral

Today was a hard day. Yet another emotional hurdle in a season of relative tumult.

I was late, not because I was overbooked like usual, nor simply being flaky. I was late because I was scared. If kk (lil sis) hadn't needed me, it would have been very easy to blow off entirely. I thought everyone in the family hated me. Like I said to kk yesterday when she asked if I was coming, "well. If it's about respect for Grandpa, then of course, no question. But if it's just about supporting the living, well... [step-grandma] probably won't come to my wedding, and you'll forgive me."

She talked me into going anyway. I didn't want to. I didn't want to see my father. I didn't want to miss my grandfather. I didn't want to see any of the aunts and uncles that I haven't seen since I was five.

--

I was pleasantly surprised.

Not at first. My father sat behind my siblings when I got there, and kk motioned me to sit by her. He kept whispering in our ears. I wanted to flip him off. Once I turned full around to glare at him.

He was nevertheless surprisingly civil, actually.

Afterwards, I spent some time with my aunt and uncle at the local ice cream joint that Grandpa had taken all of us to, all of our lives. We traded numbers...

sigh. I started this entry earlier today, but now I don't want to finish it. Maybe I'll write more tomorrow for funeral part 2.

--

Mel left today. I don't know how I feel about it yet. Other than that I'm disappointed, of course.

--

It was kinduv a rough weekend. Yesterday I was so miserable I couldn't skate. Today I was so scared of facing my "family" I sat in the car and needed kk to beg me to come in. Tonight the woman I love left me.

I feel surprisingly... mellow about all of this. I suppose that, good or bad, my ability to deal with dire circumstances -- crisis -- is pretty remarkable. It is probably a function of being abused and neglected for so long.

It also makes me a little worried. I wonder how much I'll need to act out in the next week or two. Heh.

--

You know what? A little part of me is excited to put all of this behind me and get back to work. I'm worried about all of the stresses of life... houses in foreclosure, vacancies, dodgy new hires, stupid cash flow problems, partners without solidarity, stupid brother shit, bleah bleah bleah.

But not that much. Somebody said today that my grandfather used to say, "whatever the problem, just start chipping away at it, and it'll usually work out."

He's right. I've said as much... when you're stressed out, make a list and start working it. I'm pretty sure my other blog has a version of this in it a dozen times.

Being treated like poo by a girl kinda fucks with your head sometimes, I guess. Sigh.

I'm not sure if I should've "known better". I'm not sure I regret anything. Part of me wants to fall back on that, of course, but... it did feel really good. It felt dramatic and chaotic and unhealthy.

And it was human. It made me feel alive. It made me feel hopeful, optimistic, and joyous. It even made me have faith. Not a lot. But some.

I guess I'd give just about anything to taste that... even if it hurts.

--

I guess, oddly, I don't feel abandoned. Usually I do.

I'm not sure why.

That's probably why I'm not angry.

Yet.

She called me by his name

I'm so mad I can't even comprehend it.

She was over tonight and professed her devotion, love, and commitment to a future together.

And then I drove her to her car, where she called me by her husband's name, and I sped away, so angry I couldn't speak.

I called and she asked me to let the good night we'd had stay positive.

I tried. But I couldn't. I did at first, saying good night, but then I called back.

She was already home, already offline, already a spineless, indecisive... whatever she is.

And I felt stupid. I feel stupid. I am stupid.

And angry.

I want to break up with her again. I want to call him on his phone and tell him how her pussy feels when she tells me she loves me. I want to...

Sigh.

Cry. I just want to cry.

This is fucking ridiculous.