So, she knows.
It came up today as we are talking and sharing that I have been blogging again. And while on one level it is wonderful to share and there’s a part of me that hopes she reads what I write, there’s also another part of me that’s terrified of the prospect.
– What if it derails everything?
– What if, in reading, she decides I’m just not someone she can live with?
– What if it changes how I write, without me realizing it?
– What if it stops me writing again altogether?
But I think this time I have to continue. I have to try. If I stop again, or if I let it change how I write, that—that is also how everything gets derailed.
God I’ve had enough with meta and mazes. But that’s where we are.
— § —
We had a wonderful day.
We talked, felt close, took the kids to the ice castle in the evening, watched a film, spent time together just being and being happy with each other. Days of the kind that you wish, really wish, could maybe go on forever.
Why do the two of us have such trouble trusting days like this after the fact? Trusting their simple truth? I don’t mean at a conscious level. I mean underneath it all.
Love. Love, love, love. What is wrong with simple love?
After eight years of marriage, you know very well what love is and what it isn’t, and whether you love someone. We love each other.
That this isn’t enough seems, at times, to be beyond unjust. Well beyond unjust. At yet we are also the source of this injustice in one another’s lives. We are the very ones for whom it wasn’t enough.
It is this paradox that we are working our way out of. Thank god for professionals and for books by professionals and for the incredible gift of a second chance to get it right.
— § —
“Many were increasingly of the opinion that they’d all made a big mistake in coming down from the trees in the first place. And some said that even the trees had been a bad move, and that no one should ever have left the oceans.”
— § —
I think she has more insight into her psyche right now than I do.
What, precisely, is the source of my pain in life? I have never once thought of myself as “abused.”
Unjustly dealt with by society and social norms in general, at times, during my childhood. But that applies to a great many people if not to all of them. And it all seems a very abstract reason for my part of the turmoil in my life. And yet turmoil there has been, woven throughout, particularly in my personal life. Why?
— § —
One key thing, a very important thing:
I don’t feel like avoiding her anymore. I did for the last year that we were living together. It’s not that I wanted to end our marriage, or that I stopped loving her.
I just knew that if she called on the phone or if we ended up in the same room or out on the same activity together, somehow we would end up further destroying what we had built, suffering in isolation even as we were together. It was a terrible, helpless feeling.
In recent months, after we started putting things back together, there have still been regular appearances of a kind of foreboding about this. The subtle inclination, when things were going really well, to extract myself and leave before they could go wrong again, to “leave on a high note” or “keep us in a good place.” It was something that at times I’d have to fight.
But that’s leaving. Trust is building. Now we can spend whole wonderful days together and that sense that I have to escape in order to save us and our relationship is almost nonexistent.
There are still other things that make me tend to back up and head for the door (sometimes even subconsciously, as happened once today), mostly when I start to feel a bit emotionally undressed. But that’s a far cry from leaving because you dread the next devastating, inexplicable fight.
I think that phase of our life is over.
And that is one of the best feelings in the world.
— § —
Yes, it affects what I write.
I don’t know if it’s possible to help that.
At the same time, maybe it’s not such a bad thing either, as long as I can preserve honesty and creativity at the same time.
Maybe it’s all a part of the same problem, the problem that has at times led to very long dry spells here—I need to be able to access and share myself, and, if this is to work, I need to be able to access and share myself even if she might be reading, even when she is around.
In that sense, this blog is a barometer. I hereby declare the era of Leapdragon-as-weather-instrumentation.