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Good Lord, what was I thinking?
Remember that moment when I was lying in bed, exhausted, having woken up to my ex checking my homework to see if I had completed some task of minutia which he knew I hadn’t and having just been told to Fuck Off after midnight that same day after watching a documentary about our bastardized food supply? He had kindly suggested that it was my unilateral responsibility to change our family’s diet. If memory serves he was looking for a raw, alkalarian version of our at the time standard American fare. I may have spoken up and suggested perhaps he take some responsibility for our lives and quit blaming me for everything and that the allegation that our very healthy children were always sick was a bit of hyperbole. Not met with agreement. That was the night I rolled over, knowing I had quit my marriage. It doesn’t sound so intense in the retelling but it was a big day.
My decision has been recontextualized into a new age desire to find myself, a story in which my ex gets to play the part of hapless, heartbroken victim. The faithful of the fold think they encourage when they mention that it is not theirs to judge, YHVH hates divorce, afterall… I suspect He doesn’t feel too fondly about a whole lot of things that go on in marriages either though. The power plays, the coldness of heart. Hopefully He’ll forgive me if the devoted groom metaphors don’t pack a real punch for me in this chapter.
Have I been bitter? I don’t think I have, and yet today I am feeling a little pissed off. I am the primary target of my angst as I got myself into the situation that I did, and I’ve always been pretty effective at taking the load: if I take the load, then somehow I serve humanity in a greater sense? Dear Society, you are welcome. Mortality figures prominently, and the grand family arranger in the sky who decided that I belonged with this particular set of neglectful dysfunction can’t help but make an appearance.
Mortality: let’s pretend that I make it to the place of peace and healing where I am able or willing to consider the possibility of letting someone else in–someone emotionally available, someone say, not married… I will be, well, saggy with nipples. My good bits will be even droopier. Kevin Bacon made a sage observance about the grace we have as humans where our looks give out about the time our eyesight begins to decline. Makes me chuckle, but doesn’t help a lick! We’ll circle back to this little gem of insight eventually.
My family of origin. The upside is that we laugh–there is bonding in surviving hell together. I have gone kayaking with my sisters and we marvel that two run of the mill people (parents) could, without evil intention, spread so much crap down the behavioral gene pool. Mom says she is proud because all of us kids turned out so well–clear sign of her hands-off brilliance. What Mom can’t put together is that we were all so busy raising ourselves and trying to figure out life with no adult supervision or emotional context that we were terrified to do anything wrong. Survival started early for us; numb was our tool.
So I’m mad at YHVH for putting me in a family where I didn’t learn how to be and make healthy choices; I’m mad at myself for not having been able to rise above that, and I’m mad at mortality that by the time I figure it out, my youth will be gone and I’ll have bowel obstructions to wrap my concerns around. Where do I go from here?
And guess what? I don’t know. I am cornered, trapped, and plundered. I have nothing to offer and no strength to give it from. I am done. I am alone. I am weak. I. Am. Exhausted. The contents of my life consist of four jigsaw puzzles spilled on the ground and jumbled into a mess. My job is to sort them out. My deep and intense desire–every fiber in my BEING SCREAMS to sweep them all up into a pile and throw them into the trash and go buy a new puzzle. But for the first time in my life, I am not going to do that.
Guess what else? This is not from my marriage. This is from the bullshit I brought to MY side of the street of my marriage. Leaving my marriage was a healthy choice for me, but it did not solve this mess that came with me when I joined it and when I left it. It got rid of auxiliary mess that I was able to cloak my mess with for quite some time, and I do have great kids as a result… I have reached that point in the Matrix where I kinda wish I’d chosen the blue pill though I’ve already swallowed the red pill. It is the brave choice, this red pill; it was the right choice. But the thought of organizing a rebellion, ferreting out the traitors, and sourcing goods for the mission from a place of plundered and cornered, at times, does not appeal.
Today is one of those times.