This is the first time that I have actually sat down and given a lot of these things real thought.
I was so focused on just getting through to tomorrow that I never looked back and gave any real thought to yesterday. I have been working off instinct for so long, I never gave myself the luxury of retrospection. I just moved forward, collecting grudges and getting angrier.
Everybody that reaches my age has one or two old flames stuck back in the closet. "The one that got away" is a cliche for a reason.
As I sit and think back on the various relationships and romantic entanglements I have had over the years, I am discovering something.
I remember most vividly why they are "ex" girlfriends. There was a series of events that led to the demise of those relationships. In time, you can look back and begrudgingly admit that there were some positive things about them, but, for the most part, you remember your exes for their faults.
At least, I am finding this to be true in my case.
With one glaring exception.
May.
I can close my eyes and remember every pore on her face. I can remember exactly how I held my arm to perfectly support her as she leaned against me.
She has ceased to be a real human being to me. She has transformed into a flawless angel on earth, through the lens of my memory.
But the more I sit and ponder this, the more things I actually remember.
She smoked.
I had completely forgotten that she smoked. Not a lot. Occasional smoker, generally when there were adult beverages being consumed.
Angels don't smoke. Human beings with flaws and imperfections smoke.
I remember vividly that Cheryl smoked clove cigarettes when she had a few cocktails. Why did I not remember May doing it?
Closure.
Usually, there is a series of tragedies that lead to the end of a relationship. People drift apart, they yell at each other, they say things that cannot be unsaid. By the time it is over, one or both parties are relieved that it has finally ended.
They have closure.
I never got that. We didn't have a chance to drift apart. We didn't have a chance to say terrible things to each other.
It was just....
BANG!
You're on your own, Kid.
Maybe what I am finally looking for is closure.
I have long since stopped seeing her in my dreams on a regular basis. I think that, next time, she and I will have a long talk about letting go.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Birth of Solitarius
My self imposed emotional exile had become habit.
To the outside world, I was the same old guy I had always been.
Inside, I was closed off and distrustful.
Nothing and nobody got close to me.
I was good for going to movies with. I was good for a couple beers.
I was good to talk to about YOUR problems.
Friendship involves a give and take. You give support, you take comfort. You trust your friends, they trust you.
I was half a friend. I could listen to other people's problems and offer compassion.
I didn't feel I was worthy of it in return.
So, I was alone, in a crowd of people.
People that moved in and out of my life like extras on a movie screen. I was a one man show, using other people to move the plot along.
I suppose I got this way as a defense. I had suffered a life-changing catastrophy in the loss of May. Cheryl had kicked me when I was still down.
Nothing good comes from letting other people in. The only person I can count on is me. Everybody else is just strangers.
This, I believe, is when I started not liking other people, just as a rule of thumb.
To the outside world, I was the same old guy I had always been.
Inside, I was closed off and distrustful.
Nothing and nobody got close to me.
I was good for going to movies with. I was good for a couple beers.
I was good to talk to about YOUR problems.
Friendship involves a give and take. You give support, you take comfort. You trust your friends, they trust you.
I was half a friend. I could listen to other people's problems and offer compassion.
I didn't feel I was worthy of it in return.
So, I was alone, in a crowd of people.
People that moved in and out of my life like extras on a movie screen. I was a one man show, using other people to move the plot along.
I suppose I got this way as a defense. I had suffered a life-changing catastrophy in the loss of May. Cheryl had kicked me when I was still down.
Nothing good comes from letting other people in. The only person I can count on is me. Everybody else is just strangers.
This, I believe, is when I started not liking other people, just as a rule of thumb.
Films About Ghosts
"I guess you left me
With some feathers in my hand.
Did it make it any easier
To leave me where I stand?
I guess there might not be too many
Who will stand beside me now.
Where'd you come from? Where'm I going?
Why'd you leave me so I'm only good for
Waiting... for you.
All my sins.
I swore that I would pay for them
If I could come back
To you.
All my innocence is wasted on
The Dead and dreaming"
"I woke up in mid-afternoon
Because that's when it all hurts the most.
I dream I never know anyone at the party
But I'm always the host.
If dreams are like movies
Then memories are films about ghosts.
You can never escape, you can only move south
Down the coast"
"I remember me.
Or, all the little things that make up
A memory.
Like, she said, she loved to watch me sleep
Like, she said, it's the breathing...
In and out and in and out
Have you seen "me" lately?"
"You know that I don't like you
But you want to be my friend.
There are bodies on my ceiling
And they're fluttering their wings
It's OK. I'm angry
And you'll never understand.
When you dream of Michaelangelo
They hang above your head"
I don't know Adam Duritz.
He seems to know me.
He writes things I felt.
He says the things I wish I could say.
With some feathers in my hand.
Did it make it any easier
To leave me where I stand?
I guess there might not be too many
Who will stand beside me now.
Where'd you come from? Where'm I going?
Why'd you leave me so I'm only good for
Waiting... for you.
All my sins.
I swore that I would pay for them
If I could come back
To you.
All my innocence is wasted on
The Dead and dreaming"
"I woke up in mid-afternoon
Because that's when it all hurts the most.
I dream I never know anyone at the party
But I'm always the host.
If dreams are like movies
Then memories are films about ghosts.
You can never escape, you can only move south
Down the coast"
"I remember me.
Or, all the little things that make up
A memory.
Like, she said, she loved to watch me sleep
Like, she said, it's the breathing...
In and out and in and out
Have you seen "me" lately?"
"You know that I don't like you
But you want to be my friend.
There are bodies on my ceiling
And they're fluttering their wings
It's OK. I'm angry
And you'll never understand.
When you dream of Michaelangelo
They hang above your head"
I don't know Adam Duritz.
He seems to know me.
He writes things I felt.
He says the things I wish I could say.
A Protective Pretzel
As I look back at that period, I realize that I was still in a place where I actually liked people.
Through my twisted logic, my relationship style wasn't just protecting me, it was protecting them.
I had caused May's death.
Keeping everybody at arm's length protected them from me.
If they weren't reliant upon me for anything of substance, any oversight or lapse in vigilance on my part would have no consequence.
It is amazing what a man can believe, when he has lost his belief in himself.
I tried hard not to actively think of her. If I did, my eyes would well up in tears and I would have to excuse myself. Then I would have to concoct a plausible story as to why I had suddenly rushed off to the bathroom.
I developed a habit of dating her exact opposite. Short women, dark hair, dark eyes... Asian women, for the most part.
It cut down on inadvertant confusion. It made it easier to not say her name in the throes of laughter... or passion.
None of this was deliberate. Hindsight is 20/20. I look back on it now and it is obvious. Every woman I had any manner of relationship with was nothing like May.
They didn't look like her, they didn't act like her.
And it was easy for me to not care when they left.
And they all did.
Through my twisted logic, my relationship style wasn't just protecting me, it was protecting them.
I had caused May's death.
Keeping everybody at arm's length protected them from me.
If they weren't reliant upon me for anything of substance, any oversight or lapse in vigilance on my part would have no consequence.
It is amazing what a man can believe, when he has lost his belief in himself.
I tried hard not to actively think of her. If I did, my eyes would well up in tears and I would have to excuse myself. Then I would have to concoct a plausible story as to why I had suddenly rushed off to the bathroom.
I developed a habit of dating her exact opposite. Short women, dark hair, dark eyes... Asian women, for the most part.
It cut down on inadvertant confusion. It made it easier to not say her name in the throes of laughter... or passion.
None of this was deliberate. Hindsight is 20/20. I look back on it now and it is obvious. Every woman I had any manner of relationship with was nothing like May.
They didn't look like her, they didn't act like her.
And it was easy for me to not care when they left.
And they all did.
Autopilot
After Shawn, I thought I had discovered the wheel.
I had discovered a way to have relationships that were an accessory, but not an important component, to my life.
I dated a lot.
None of them even dented my hard candy shell.
The moment I grew even a little tired of them, I just stopped calling.
They didn't seem to mind.
It was perfect.
It was like having a bowl of peanuts on the table. If I wanted some, I took them. If not, I ignored them... until I wanted some.
A girl named Ellen summed it up, saying that I was "a mile wide and an inch deep". I was a lot of fun to be around, and I looked like a friendly, outgoing guy... but there was nothing past the surface.
Not for them.
There was a lot going on under the surface, but all I let anybody see was the swan, effortlessly gliding across the lake.
There were women I had entire relationships with that had never been to my home. Never met my friends. Didn't know anything about me.
It was empty. It was lonely.
But if they left, I wouldn't care.
And that was what was most important.
I had discovered a way to have relationships that were an accessory, but not an important component, to my life.
I dated a lot.
None of them even dented my hard candy shell.
The moment I grew even a little tired of them, I just stopped calling.
They didn't seem to mind.
It was perfect.
It was like having a bowl of peanuts on the table. If I wanted some, I took them. If not, I ignored them... until I wanted some.
A girl named Ellen summed it up, saying that I was "a mile wide and an inch deep". I was a lot of fun to be around, and I looked like a friendly, outgoing guy... but there was nothing past the surface.
Not for them.
There was a lot going on under the surface, but all I let anybody see was the swan, effortlessly gliding across the lake.
There were women I had entire relationships with that had never been to my home. Never met my friends. Didn't know anything about me.
It was empty. It was lonely.
But if they left, I wouldn't care.
And that was what was most important.
Madness
My name is the one I was born with. My face is the one I have naturally aged into.
However, the nature of my military service occasionally put me in proximity to men who lived in the shadows.
In the weeks immediately following the accident, my small exposure to that world was enough to send me into bouts of delusion.
There were moments where I didn't believe she was dead. She had seen something. She was being hidden. And once the issue had been resolved, she would come out of hiding.
I would be driving down the street and see a blonde woman in a car traveling in the opposite direction. I would whip my car around and follow, thinking it was her.
I would recognize her walk in the corner of my eye. More than once, I left my car running in the middle of the street, as I ran into a business to find her.
Looking back, I realize that I was insane. The combination of grief and alcohol made fertile ground for unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Anything was better than the reality that I faced, so I constructed a fantasy that, while terrible, was better than what was true.
As I sit and write these blogs, details come back to me.
I had kind of forgotten about the delusions, the sightings.
I wonder how many frantic 911 calls my behavior inspired?
In time, the madness faded, until I no longer saw her in my waking hours.
I continued to see her in my dreams.
Cheryl once told me that I talked in my sleep, and I said wonderful things. Cheryl thought I was dreaming about her.
Maybe the realization that I wasn't was her motive for the way she left.
However, the nature of my military service occasionally put me in proximity to men who lived in the shadows.
In the weeks immediately following the accident, my small exposure to that world was enough to send me into bouts of delusion.
There were moments where I didn't believe she was dead. She had seen something. She was being hidden. And once the issue had been resolved, she would come out of hiding.
I would be driving down the street and see a blonde woman in a car traveling in the opposite direction. I would whip my car around and follow, thinking it was her.
I would recognize her walk in the corner of my eye. More than once, I left my car running in the middle of the street, as I ran into a business to find her.
Looking back, I realize that I was insane. The combination of grief and alcohol made fertile ground for unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Anything was better than the reality that I faced, so I constructed a fantasy that, while terrible, was better than what was true.
As I sit and write these blogs, details come back to me.
I had kind of forgotten about the delusions, the sightings.
I wonder how many frantic 911 calls my behavior inspired?
In time, the madness faded, until I no longer saw her in my waking hours.
I continued to see her in my dreams.
Cheryl once told me that I talked in my sleep, and I said wonderful things. Cheryl thought I was dreaming about her.
Maybe the realization that I wasn't was her motive for the way she left.
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