eros, logos: failure

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

failure

My X is now also an ex.I 'broke up with' him in early May. I 'took the decision' in late April, but I didn't tell him until May. It's taken this long to write anything about it.

Technically, I am the one who ended things. But that's really only true technically; I am the one who actually said enough, no more, but I only said this because someone had to.
Someone had to say it, and the way he was treating me meant that I'd have to say it.I didn't have a choice, and his actions really left me no choice.

I've wanted to write about it. But I haven't wanted to write the things I first felt. This hasn't been like other relationships ending. Whatever I have been feeling--it's not like a broken heart. You've damaged me, I said to him. I didn't explain that because I couldn't assess all the damage and I still can't. Whatever this was and whatever it meant, it is true that it's damaged me in profound ways.

I am not sure why. For whatever reason though, this has been an ending that has knocked me off my feet. I'm not used to that. There have been many endings in my life, but this one has hit me like a physical blow. I am teetering even now, rocked back on my heels, I only want to regain my balance. But I feel like I imagine a boxer does on taking the final blow, eyes rolled back and unconscious and that endless moment before you hit the canvas. That one moment has been going on and on. I can't regain my balance, and I don't understand why, and I despair of explaining it.

I haven't tried to explain it to anyone, and I've been a bad friend to all of my friends since then.

I have been completely consumed with trying to just regain equilibrium, trying to find my balance again...and it hasn't happened. I'm familiar with loss and with grief, and we are all familiar with endings. This ending has hit me so hard that I am not sure I can stand again. I keep trying; I keep failing. I push off the canvas and I try to rise. In my head I hear the relentless count. I think I can stand and I struggle to. I try to write emails, I try to speak to my friends. I speak to one or two and then I find that I can't go on.

I'm not used to that feeling. I thought I could take anything. Maybe that's the real problem with early loss and grief: we falsely imagine that after that we can survive anything, but the truth is these things are cumulative. There's a limit to what the human heart can bear.

At first I wanted to write about it, of course. But I couldn't. Anything I would have said or written would have been one long stream of passionate and murderous and incoherent rage.

I would like to write about him in that way. I'd like to just write about him and flay him alive, open up his chest and his still beating heart and pull it out and dissect it for anyone to read.

Part of me would still love to vivesect him slowly and exquisitely with words alone, and I have thought about it and even written a sentence or two in my head. Cold and dispassionate and yet also cruel, purely factual yet divorced from context, antiseptic and slicing him open like a scalpel. I know him very well and in some ways better than he knows himself. It would be easy and it would give me pleasure to do it. I have imagined dissecting his psyche here. I write a sentence in my head.
Then I have to stop.

I can't.

I can't do that because it's not right. Everything anyone reads here is already all from my own persepctive only. I want to counterbalance that by presenting myself in the harshest possible critical light.
It's not easy to do that. It's very painful.

But I don't want the easy and fake praise that comes with presenting the falsely burnished self. I don't want the easy and false comfort of presenting him as some sort of monster and me as some sort of helpless victim.

The reality is far more painful to write and far more painful to feel. I've tried to wait til I could present these events in a way that would be objective. I want to be objective because it's a matter of being fair to him and also to myself, the self that cared for him.

But being objective will still involve saying harsh things about him, things I do not want to look at because they reveal unpleasant things about him --but also about me.

We choose the people we are with for a reason, and we stay with them for our own reasons.

I told him You have damaged me, but I also said: Some day I will have to understand this. I will have to understand why I chose to stay in a relationship where the message I was always getting was that I didn't matter.

I did choose, I did stay, and no matter what motivated him, the ultimate responsibility is my own.

I am still off balance though, even now. I am damaged.

And perhaps this is the worst possible indictment of him, or most of all of me: that 3 months later I am still trying to regain my feet and still failing, and still trying (and failing) to write

Sweets and woes but come to print
Quae cum ita sint.
Dorothy Parker , Lines on Reading Too Many Poets

posted by O @ 04:36


15 Comments:
At 29 August, 2007, Anonymous said… This will pass. Probably not soon enough, but it will pass. -------- Dali's Gun The perfect gun The perfect gun is not visible The perfect gun exists in a savage state The perfect gun confers omnipotence The perfect gun will follow the free tendencies of desire The perfect gun its like a rosary around the neck The perfect gun stretches as far as the eye can see The perfect gun seeks all your reflected images The perfect gun The perfect gun is sufficient unto the day The perfect gun is nothing but a crossroads The perfect gun keeps its promise for everyone The perfect gun is a pill dropped in a glass of water The perfect gun is the household crow The perfect gun leaves in a shadow of perfumes The perfect gun is an illusion on a surface of memory The perfect gun is a finger resting on the controls of a broken machine The perfect gun is too soft to be honest and too honest to be true The perfect gun turns as it pleases toward all horizons The perfect gun is perfect sadism, at least as a method The perfect gun is a flower beaten by the rough fever of the wind The perfect gun can be rearranged in all possible combinations The perfect gun is a beautiful chimera The perfect gun is an idealist without taking part in any ideal The perfect gun takes the shapes and colors of demoralization and confusion The perfect gun crouches to intercept shadows The perfect gun is not in the habit of saluting the dead The perfect gun will always find buyers The perfect gun is at most a thinking reed The perfect gun has drawn the symbol of the infinite The perfect gun is not incompatible with a certain nobility of thought The perfect gun is watching over a blue glass The perfect gun writes sad and ardent love letters The perfect gun is a hierarchy, like any other The perfect gun is a door someone opened The perfect gun implies that there are others behind it The perfect gun is a dark intention The perfect gun never waits for itself The perfect gun is hard as the incredible hammering and no questions underneath The perfect gun is a reference point The perfect gun is neither my shadow, nor my double, nor my half nor another myself The perfect gun is blood at water level The perfect gun is half of a destiny The perfect gun has nothing to do before dying The perfect gun leaves an exquisite corpse -------- Q (in the kaffee haus) At 29 August, 2007, Anonymous said… I'm glad you're back, but my heart broke for you as I read this (though I've never posted a comment before...). Being damaged by another person, a person we love, and have known intimately, is like having your body relentlessly dragged over a bed of dull knives. It just hurts. I've missed your writing and hope, in time, you can come back to it. Be well. At 30 August, 2007, Anonymous said… i don't think you should pressure yourself to write in a time like this, while you're still distilling what's happened. words, for all their exactness, have their limitation - namely that catharsis/closure/solutions/ can only appear in word form after it's already clear in your head. while i think it's impudent of me to say this, i'll say it anyway: just because you feel damaged doesn't mean you are. moreover walking around like you're damaged probably turns you into a self-fulfilling prophecy. that's not a terribly healthy thing to do, especially when you're trying to glue yourself back together again and regain power over yourself. i'm not going to trivialize your experience by saying that i understand what you're going through because i've been through/am going through the same thing. what i will say is what i did and how it's worked for me. if it helps then all the better, and if it doesn't, then at least you're no worse off. analyze it and him to death, vivisect him because in order to let it go, you have to understand. you have to understand him/his actions in relation to your own and how it came to be that you allowed yourself to be treated so badly. i'm not saying to do this on the blog obviously. in the privacy of your journal is fine. hell, if you're a visual person, draw flow charts even or pretend that you're doing a character analysis of a fictional character. do whatever it is you need to do to understand where things went wrong and how they went wrong. categorize it into actions and feelings because in memory those are always intertwined together. i don't see another way to get over to the other side of despair. and lastly, don't apologise or flagellate yourself for any of it. you're just learning about who you are and measuring that up against who you want to be. At 30 August, 2007, Constance said… Oh O, my heart goes out to you. Sometimes yes, even the strongest of us is damaged by someone else. The pain is so visceral, so real, so overwhelming that it colors our days, our nights, our thoughts. And we grieve. We think the apin will never end. We are shocked at its ferocity. We cannot comprehend being so flattened, so utterly without hope or strength or energy to fight, to get back on our feet and be ourselves again. The healing process seems like ti may nevr happen. As though this time, this time, the wounds are too deep, your picture of how life was supposed to be has been too broken, and hope is nothing but an illusion... You can have a good moment, a goo hour, a good day. And then be thrown right back into despair. 3 months is a very short period of time, O.... Even a year of grief and healing and processing would be normal.... It takes time to be able to put things in persepctive, to undrestand, to not have the questions haunting you, to not feel the anger and the pain and to feel at peace once again, to have joy, to believe, to trust... Be gentle with yourself. It is anything but easy. You have been wounded. And wounds heal in layers, an infinitesimal bit at a time... cyber hugs and thinking of you with empathy Loivng Annie At 30 August, 2007, Gracie said… sweet, darling O... i know your pain and i know what you speak of. over a year later and HE still haunts the back of my mind. i wonder when my orgasms will stop being filled with tears. time heals, but in this case a long time heals. take your time. no one expects you to stand tall all the time and if they do, they are not human. if they claim they are human then they are not an artist. we go about life with a fury of passion and intensity and with that it is addicting and alluring. when we fall, we crash. it's ok. it's ok. you are in my thoughts and heart. i always have an ear for you or a set of eyes. maybe the next addiction won't be so...addicting. XO At 30 August, 2007, Anonymous said… Remember, time wounds all heels. L'etranger At 30 August, 2007, Anonymous said… hello. i've never commented before, even though i've been reading since spring 2006, back at your old address. so many of your posts and quotations have resounded profoundly with me, but something about this post touched me differently and made me want to leave you a comment, perhaps because i've had two successive endings recently in my life, and the rapidity with which they happened and the changes that followed shocked me and propelled me to be rational, to be ok, to accept and move on and re-center myself. i thought i was doing ok; i even used an exponential decay function to predict how long it would take me to get to 99.9% ok (14 days). it lied. i am just now starting to face up to the shortcomings of my partners, which i had glossed over to protect them, myself, and my memories of the relationships, and also perhaps to leave me some dignity by not having to face up to the fact that i took it, whatever it was (although never physical or emotional abuse, per se). i too find myself unable to coherently assemble my thoughts. instead they are sprawling and self-contradictory, and there is no consistency from day to day. on sunday night i was a heap of self-pity, but last night i felt a magnaminous understanding... anyway, i apologize for the long and rambling comment. i appreciate your writing immensely, and if your silence is necessary, then please take care of yourself. and somewhere, a reader is feeling what she can only presume to be feelings that bear some resemblance to yours. all best, m. At 30 August, 2007, Anonymous said… I hear you. Hugs. At 31 August, 2007, Ryder said… I have missed your words here. I know know why. The same strength you found to say "Enough" is the same strength that will carry you through this my dear O. It is hard to be jolted back to those times, no matter how much time we have to heal. Often there are times that I must deal with that hurt, but now, I deal with them better. Four years and there are still songs I will not listen to, And places I avoid. In time, the songs will be only songs, and the places I return will be new and different. For now, it is not time. You will also learn of this in your time, at your pace. Gracie is right, and it is a hard thing to believe, but it is okay. And so you will be. Imagine a silent hug, one that speaks nothing, and says everything. Imagine it from a friend. Hugs to you dear O. At 05 September, 2007, Anonymous said… I hate to see you hurting, my dear friend. Hugs to you. Lots of them. At 05 September, 2007, Constance said… Just came by to say hello and see how you are doing today, O. It is September 4th - Cyber-hugs, Loving Annie At 07 September, 2007, O said… Thank you all for commenting, especially those of you who never had before. I do have more to say to each of you, and especially trr and m. I don't know if I can yet, but I wanted to give you all my genuine thanks, and tell you that you've each mattered and I believe have been one reason why I posted again sooner. xx O At 09 September, 2007, Miss Syl said… Just catching up on your two recent posts. My response is most relevant to the content in this one, so putting it here rather than the latest. I want to say I understand; and in understanding, I want to say I'm really sorry for the silence and the stuck and all the things that fed it. There is nothing worse than needing to speak, to be fully present, to be heard--and then to feel incapable of having any of it. Myself, these days I am trying not to focus on what it said (past tense) about me that I chose or accepted certain things or situations, but more what it says (present tense) about me that I chose in the end not to any longer. I hope you will care gently and lovingly for yourself during this difficult time. Because you most certainly deserve that, as we all do. Oh...and as to trying to be objective: No one understands that urge more than I. But while I often have trouble telling myself this in my own life, it is in fact true that feelings by their very nature can never be objective. So now or later, it's not unfair to feel how you feel, or to state how you feel. Even if how you feel changes only minutes afterward. Even if someone else has a different side. Anyone who doesn't understand that any feeling you express is only yours, and that others may have different ones...well, that's their problem, not yours. You're only responsible for representing your own feelings; and your feelings, on their own, are good enough. xo At 21 October, 2007, J.B. Kochanie said… That one moment has been going on and on. I can't regain my balance, and I don't understand why, and I despair of explaining it. I'm not used to that feeling. I thought I could take anything. Maybe that's the real problem with early loss and grief: we falsely imagine that after that we can survive anything, but the truth is these things are cumulative. There's a limit to what the human heart can bear. I heard the sounds of a child without a mother. O, Yes, loss is cumulative and there is a limit to what the human heart can bear. Rust is the metaphor that comes closest to explaining the effect of loss. A slow wearing away of metal, imperceptible in the early stages. Each year the alteration of the chemical structure spreads to more beams and girders, until a storm (it need not be perfect) exerts sufficient force to make a pylon buckle. The adage, What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger is a bromide, and I admit that I have recited it many times to comfort others and myself. When I celebrated my fortieth birthday, the ghosts of old losses showed up at the party. Ten years later, not all of them have left. I do not know if this will apply to you, but I think there are two reasons for this. First, by the time I turned forty, some of the callowness that protected me in earlier years was gone and, I found I could not maintain the same level of busyness that kept me from confronting these ghosts in the past. Second, the loss of a parent at an early age, particularly a woman's loss of her mother, will predispose her to feel other losses more keenly. I thank you for your honesty in these posts, and I can appreciate the effort it took to describe these feelings. However, the ghosts of old losses are notoriously vain: they will not budge until you write about them. I wish you the very best. Kochanie At 13 November, 2007, Anonymous said… oh do i so relate to this..I know this is a few months old but I just wanted to let you know I understand more than you know...hugs..
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