Dismantling the Facade

A friend just asked me an interesting question. She wondered how long it would be before some of Todd's friends start noticing that he isn't even making an effort. Is his public persona so polished that they won't even realize?

That got me to thinking about Todd's friendships. I don't know how deep any of them are. He has his band mates, and they have begun to hang out more since the accident, but I don't know that any of them have been exposed to the full spectrum of Todd. After the accident, people he used to play music with a long time ago, but never kept in touch with thereafter, started coming out of the woodwork. The draw to the needy can really give a person a sense of validation and worth, and of course this victim status suits Todd well because he always did want the world to revolve around him.

But when I thought about reciprocity, I couldn't think of any friend I had ever witnessed Todd going out of his way to be generous toward. There were far more memories of him dodging phone calls when he thought someone might want him to help with something (even if it was a person who had helped him repeatedly.) 

I thought about all of those people Todd had played music with in years gone by, and couldn't help but realize that the reason many of them saw Todd as being a "generous man" was because of the family image he held up--we were his excuse for not helping others... after all, he did so much for his family! 

How much of that image was a result of my efforts and simply allowing him to share credit for something he put relatively little work into building? How many times did I work myself to the point of exhaustion, and then let him come in at the fun point and take the glory? Much of the time, I didn't mind, because I was still deluded by the idea that we were a team.... but now, as I have heard him presenting all the parenting failures in the family as being totally mine, I realize what a monster my unwitting enabling created... the sort of monster who squats in a house that he refuses to share with his unworthy family. He is entitled to the comforts of home. We are not.

Will his friends eventually see that he is not making an effort? I don't know. If the past is any indication, any who start to see through his act will promptly be discarded as "crazy." If it weren't so sick and so sad, one could almost be entertained by the delusional games. 

I'm not a trained professional, so I can't verify a diagnosis of Bi-Polar and/or Narcissistic Personality Disorder (even though when I read about them, I do feel as if the authors have been spying on our interactions...) One thing is for sure, Todd truly is a case study in something. Whether any of his friends will ever be around long enough to see through the veil of faux reality, I don't know... but it will be interesting to see how he is able to keep up his generous image while blocking his family out of our home. I guess the only way will be to paint me as a liar. The thing is: If I had a part in constructing that veil, then the dismantling of my part of it should expose the unreality of the very thing that he has been using as his identity.

He may not realize how dependent he is on me to hold up his image. In pushing the limits with me and forcing me to more drastic action than I may have had to otherwise jump to, he may be dismantling his own facade. I was willing to let him move out quietly and separate under the no-fault banner of irreconcilable differences, but it looks like he is going to force me to file a restraining order.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart - Part 5 (Watch out for the Loonies - Part 2)

Ooops, did I leave you hanging? Who is "you" anyway? I doubt anyone's even reading this, but if you are, you may recall I said I was going to list some of the lunatic things I've done when it comes to men & relationships. Here goes:

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I once replied to a newspaper ad placed by a strange man looking for someone to carpool with him over several state lines -- just to save a few bucks over the price of a bus ticket.

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I used to go out dancing with my roommate while we were both engaged. We would wear gloves because we were cool and fashionable that way, and when guys would try to pick us up we'd tell them we were engaged. They'd look at our hands ready to say, "I don't see any ring," and the gloves would throw them off. "How do I know you have a ring on with those gloves?"

"You don't know."

"Are you trying to cover it up and just don't like ME?"

"Hmm."

It drove them batty. Apparently one night some of these boys we liked to toy with like cats play with mice watched us go out to my roommate's truck and memorized the look or the plate number.

A day or so later, we found a note on the windshield that said, "We drove all over the city looking for you two. Please go out with me and my friend."

Hey, I just realized that we weren't total lunatics in this story because we never did call the number they left. In fact, it did kind of freak us out that they knew where our neighborhood was. Luckily nothing ever came of it.

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In college, I was fearful of so many things. One was appearing like one of those ditsy girls who "likes" everything a particular guy likes just because he likes it and she wants him to like her. I couldn't see how any intelligent guy (the only kind I liked) would not see right through that facade. I used to go to the mall with the guy I was head-over-heels in love with (we were "just friends"). I remember walking through the home goods section of a department store and [let's call him] Doug pointed out a set of glass bowls that he liked. I think I got a lump in my throat when he asked me if I liked them. I adored them. They were exactly what I would pick out if I had my choice. In fact they were better than I had even known existed. Did I tell him? Oh, no, that might appear shallow or pandering, so I just swallowed and said as blankly as I could, "they're nice." Things like this happened frequently with Doug.

I wasn't so shy about our differences. When we were going to the house of some married friends off campus, to cook a meal, we stopped at the grocery store on the way. As we tried to decide what to cook, I readily voiced my distaste for certain foods he suggested. I guess I was so bold about letting my contrary opinion be known that he finally stopped in the middle of the aisle, looked me straight in the face and said, "I could never marry you, Bridgett Monroe! You are too picky." There went every last bit of air out of my lungs. The 'just friend' I was in love with, who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, had just told me what? How should a girl reply to that kind of a blow? Well, since somewhere in my sadly shaped mind I had come to believe that letting a guy know you like him was like chasing him and chasing him would only lead to him running away, I had to play it cool.

"Well then don't," I replied.

Another time we were sitting together in the library, studying, and out of the blue, Doug said, "What would you think of being married to a journalist?" [hint: guess what Doug's major was.] There was that lump in the throat again. What did I say?

Short and not so sweet was my answer to the young man I dreamed of being married to: "I guess it would depend on who the journalist was."

He went on to clarify the question, saying, "In my journalism class we were talking about dangerous assignments that many journalists have to take in order to further their careers and how such things can be hard on their families."

I went home that evening and called my mom. I asked her what she thought about that question Doug had asked--was he talking about what girls in general thought or was he interested specifically in what I thought about it? I think my mom was fearful, too. She knew how much I liked Doug, and she didn't want to get my hopes up only to be crushed, so she said she thought he was probably just curious about what females in general thought of that career choice. I bought her safe explanation hook, line, and sinker... and it shaped the way I continued to interact with my best 'just friend.'

The results were tragic. More about that next time.