eros, logos: damage, part 1

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

damage, part 1

I wrote of how X and I broke up and then reconciled, but then we stopped saying the word love. I wrote in the end of the emotional starvation diet I was on, the willingness with which I accepted the idea that it was now too dangerous for him to use that word, or to engage fully in my life. I made excuses for his selfishness because I wanted to, and convinced myself that it was perfectly normal, in the circumstances, for me to remain aware of every detail of his emotional and daily life, respond to his physical needs, while he remained wholly uninvolved with the details of my own life. I wouldn't tell him, and he did not appear to notice.

And then one day he told me that 'last year' he'd imagined ways we could be together. He told me he'd wondered if the children would like me. He imagined that she'd find a lover and leave him. We would be together, it would all work out.

To say that I was stunned would be an understatement. The first things I thought (and said) are "Why are you telling me this?" and then "Why on earth are you telling me this now?"-- because this conversation, had we had it a year before, would have changed things. I would have broken up with him, because I don't believe he would have ever left his wife, and I believe--I hope--that I would have told him not to.
But why torture me with this information now? What was the point? What was the point of essentially telling me "I once loved you that much, but now I no longer do"--because isn't that what he was saying?

But before I could say any of this, or even process it correctly, finally, he said, he'd had "dark, sleeping fantasies of ....something happening to her."

I didn't know how to take this in. I told him he shouldn't have told me, I told him I didn't understand why he had told me, what the point was, and most of all, why he was telling me this now. But I knew I'd get no sensible answer; he never could understand himself. In this case I couldn't understand him either.

His imagining of me as taking her place, his wishing her out of existence, made me sick. For me that was the ultimate betrayal, and one for which I couldn't forgive him. Or myself, because wasn't I the cause?

There's a great line in Josephine Hart's novel Damage about how damaged people are dangerous, because they know they will survive. I think that's (mostly) a load of crap. As a damaged person, I can state with assurance that there are many times I doubt my capacity for survival, most especially this past year. I have been clinically, desperately depressed at times, and many times I felt I could not go on.

Damaged people can be dangerous, to themselves and to others, but most of all we're like the vase that has fractured. Those fractures are still there, no matter how well or imperfectly we are mended, and certain invisible lines of force can bring that out. Sometimes we can be stronger in the places we're mended, sometimes not.

It's not damaged people that are the most dangerous, but people with no capacity for self-analysis, self-reflection. They live in a dream state, not knowing or understanding their own actions. Although I'd loved X, I had from the beginning known that he was largely unaware of his own motives. His relationship with me was a perfect example. I don't mean to suggest that I am always aware of my own,--I know I am not-- but there are degrees of self-knowledge and understanding, and for all his intelligence, X was low down on that scale when it came to understanding his involvement with me.

The next day he called me and mentioned casually, as though it were something I already knew, and that he genuinely believed he'd told me, that his wife was today having a biopsy done on a suspicious lump in her breast.

Then I understood the timing of his confession. I understood it all, and I understood too that this was the end for me; I would not be able to go on with him after what he'd done.

As for me, I am a watercolor
I wash off.
Anne Sexton, For My Lover Returning to His Wife

Labels: damage, ending, X

posted by O @ 03:35


8 Comments:
At 07 January, 2009, Evil Minx said… I'm so happy that you're writing again. The blogosphere has suffered for lack of you. And the quiet courage behind your words indicates what a strong and inspirational person you are. Keep writing... always. Ever your Minx x At 07 January, 2009, The Other Woman said… I believe that being "damaged" is part of being human. I appreciated the honesty of this post... and I agree with you. He should have kept his mouth shut. At 09 January, 2009, O said… Thanks Minxy my love, you're always too good to me. xxxx OW--you're right. Damage is part of the human condition. I'm feeling much more sanguine about that lately. There's more to the story, but that will come later. Thank you for visiting, and commenting, as ever. At 09 January, 2009, Frequent Traveler said… You hot the nail on the head, Brilliantly. If I haven't done so before, O, I hugely recoomend your taking a peek at http://www.baggagereclaim.co.uk for we who have been damaged - even when we think we have survived - it's still a lifesaver and ongoing strengthener :) The awarenesses keep growing... At 09 January, 2009, Moi said… :) This is me, smiling that you're writing again. Welcome back. You have been missed. At 09 January, 2009, Zander Vyne said… O, Damage is such a fine book (my favorite, in fact), but I think you are right - while Hart's take on damaged people fits right in with the point of her novel, it rings false to me. Damaged people are dangerous not because they know THEY can survive. They are dangerous because they believe others can too. It takes a healthy dose of self-realization and empathy to be damaged and do no harm to others. I've been reading more of your posts and have fallen in love. I've linked you, and will be back. Zander At 10 January, 2009, O said… Gilette-- welcome! and thank you for saying I've been missed. Zander, I think you're absolutely right about damage; i should have made that point myself. I loved that novel but I wonder if I might find parts of it overwritten now. I will have to reread it and see... and thanks, the feeling's very mutual. I love your site and have linked. I love it for the content, of course but it's also beautiful. I love Klimt. At 11 February, 2009, selkie said… this post resonated... I wrote a blog not that long ago ... you can't fix broken people - my thoughts very much mirror your own. That is horrific; what he said ... and it is a testament to your innate humanness that you saw that.
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