The Awful Fear of Loss (The Moon, the Crazy Moon, part 2)

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about how I took a scalpel to an old emotional wound, opening it up in hopes of bringing healing.

I took the risk and asked my friend Doug to help bring clarity to a decades' old misunderstanding between the two of us. When his first reply didn't satisfy my curiosity, I pried further. Then waited. The more time passed with no reply, the more my imagination went to dark places, chiding me for being so foolish to have bared my soul.

My note had left off with:

"I don't know if I've ever confessed to you that I was often rather intentionally contrary with you. In a world where people are constantly battling over their differences, it's weird to say that it was our lack of differences that frightened me. I thought that if I were to admit that I liked too many things that you also liked that I would appear like one of those ditsy, game-playing girls who I had so little respect for... and so, when you said you liked something that I adored, I'd often down-play my admiration... and likewise I was perhaps a bit overboard about those things we disagreed on (food, for example).

"In that way, I guess you could say that good came out of the crumbling apart of our friendship, because I did learn that when you care about someone transparency is important--I should have trusted that the over-all complexity of who we are would be enough to prevent any apparent 'overly-compliant' aspects from being interpreted as fake.

"How stupid of me to BE a fake so as to avoid looking like a fake! Talk about feeding confusion. But have I really learned that lesson if I still find it hard to admit the biggest thing that I never dared to be transparent with you about--the thing that I was so certain would make you not want to be my friend any more? Hmm... I can't claim that I was immature then (as if it's any different from now) if I'm still unwilling to admit 20+ year old feelings for fear of ruining a friendship.

"Yep, I'm still an immature, insecure, fraidy-cat. But all that is self-centered. I don't want to be self-centered. I want to be transparent. I say that all the time, and then I draw my curtains... hesitating because I over-think everything. Could transparency itself be selfish??? What if there are truths I long to speak that others don't want to hear? What if speaking such things destroys the environments others have build for themselves and like?

"I'm sorry to bring you into my madness, [Doug]. These are things I probably just have to figure out for myself--things I shouldn't be burdening anyone else with. Rather than explanation or clarification, all I should really be asking for is prayer--prayer that God would strengthen me according to His word. He is able. I really do believe He is able. I just need Him to help my unbelief. And to know that when my heart melts with heaviness it is safe only as it flows into His hands.

"Thank you for tolerating me after all these years. Someday I'd like to tell you more of the things wiped out by the stroke of a back-space key, things regarding one of my dearest friendships that I keep veiled by a curtain of fear. I know that perfect love casts out fear--why must I be so far from perfection?"

Days went by, then weeks . . . and no reply. I started to take it as confirmation that the friendship was a lot more lop-sided than I'd been willing to admit. I even started imagining that I had been little more than a pawn in a plot of folly and mixed messages, the punchline of a cruel joke. That's why life could go on for Doug, smoothy, comfortably, while I was desperately itching at my scabs.

Today, I got a message from Doug. He said he sent the note because we needed to "keep the dialogue alive." Then, he went on to tell me that about 10 days ago, he went to the doctor because of a mole that had obviously changed. The doctor agreed with his concern and excised it. And today, the pathology report came back as a full-blown melanoma. "The good news," he said, was that "the depth of it was less than one cm--about a third of that." He explained that if it had been deeper, "it would have been serious, with more excision and pulling lymph nodes under the arm and all that."

His good news didn't sound good to me. One-third of a centimeter sounded way too deep, so I looked it up online and learned that anything deeper than a millimeter is of great concern because that is when it's deep enough to reach blood vessels and be spread to other parts of the body. It took a while for me to even be able to write a single line in reply. I was reeling. I couldn't stand the thought of the worst case scenario (which I have already seen play out in the lives of several people close to me.) Most of the people I have known with melanoma haven't survived. And now I was faced with the possibility of loosing someone to whom I couldn't even admit my true feelings for fear of them being taken as "inappropriate."

Finally I managed to ask him to please tell me that he meant to say "mm" instead of "cm." I sent the message, but then I had to get away to a quiet place. Todd had just returned from the store, and the boys kept demanding my attention, so I snuck out to the van in the driveway and hid in the back seat where I returned a call to a dear friend. It was helpful talking it out with her, but I was away from the computer, so I didn't check for Doug's reply until about an hour later. Oh, the relief to see that he had indeed made a typo. He meant "mm" not "cm". That still doesn't guarantee that he's in the clear, but the prognosis is A LOT better.

Needless to say, my chest has done some of those crazy contortions today. Like her mother said in reply to Loretta's declaration that she loved Ronny Cammareri something awful, "Oh God, that's too bad!" and "When you love them, they drive you crazy." (Moonstruck, 1987)

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation." (C.S. Lewis - Four Loves)

Playing with Fire

Just a quick postscript to yesterday's reflection on the possibility of a tiny Sea Monkey turning into a Fire-Breathing Sea Monster... and the confession about the message (contact) that cannot be unsent.

The implications are broader than just a couple of little notes (one out-going, the other in-coming). Charlie now has the email address that is attached to my faux facebook AND THIS BLOG. That means, if Charlie is clever enough and curious enough, he could find this blog.

That realization could have sent me into a frenzy, scrubbing the internet of all evidence of Bridget and falling back into the shadows where I have been hiding for so long.

I'm not going to do it.

So what if he finds this blog?

I'm trying to reinvent myself as a bolder, braver, and more honest person. I saw the anonymous comment on my last blog entry that suggested that salvation comes through integration... and that the "good girl" I spoke of is only part of who I truly am--that the "good girl" needs to go out to dinner with Bridget and get to know her.

In that same spirit, I must admit that Charlie is a chapter of the story of not only who I was, but also who I am. There may be elements of the Charlie story about which I'm not being totally honest because I've been lying to myself. If Charlie were to read this and recognize himself in the narrative, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

I'm not afraid.

Should I be?

The only reason I see to be afraid is if I'm not telling the truth. (And since it's possible that I have lied to myself about some things that are too painful to embrace, or that in the lying to Todd that has been necessary to keep the peace, I have started to believe some of those very lies. It is possible that Charlie could call me on factual errors I make as I recall the happenings of the life chapter we shared. Lies have done enough damage. I do not fear the truth, but rather long for it.)

True, I may be playing with fire, but fire is not necessarily destructive. It can do good if it burns away the lies that enslave us. I recall the prairie fires of my childhood rolling toward the tiny town that I lived on the very edge of--tongue extending toward our little house, as a panting hungry beast, intent on licking us off the map. But those weren't the only flames. The volunteer fire-fighters set controlled burns to destroy the fuel that the fire-breathing monster needed in order to reach us. If we had been too fearful to allow the controlled fire to be ignited near our house, the fuel would have remained and we likely would have been consumed.

I'm not afraid of Charlie reading this, but I am afraid of Todd reading it.

What is the difference?

One might guess that it's simply because I have to live with Todd, but that's not it. I don't have to live with him--I'm choosing to, for now at least. The biggest difference I can think of is indicative of a deeper problem that will eventually need to be dealt with if I am to stay married:

Perhaps I'm not afraid of Charlie finding this because Charlie always seemed to be a passionate truth-seeker. He didn't care if something contradicted his preconceived assumptions. He would dialogue and really listen, and he wouldn't get upset with someone for disagreeing with him.

Todd, on the other hand, is a master at ignoring even glaring truths if they don't fit in with the ideal landscape he's created in his mind of how things should be. That's why he lies to his parents all the time (and I don't think he even realizes he does this, because he's lying to himself as well). That's also why he stops listening if I say something that doesn't fit into his idea of how things should be. I'm just realizing, as I type this, how stifling that behavior has been to my growth as a person. I don't mean to play the "poor victim" here, I accept the fact that by allowing this to go on for so long, I am guilty of enabling the behavior.

Realizing that, I want change. The truth is hard; however, even if it's a slow smothering death, a lie will eventually kill. I want to be free even if it requires some extra pain along the way. Can I handle the truth? I think so. I really think I can. Todd, however... well, let's just say I'm not so sure. The lies have become so ingrained--so habitual--for him that I really don't think he can handle the truth.

What is the truth?

(Now, this is just off the top of my head, mind you, but I'll give it a whirl at putting down in words the things I cannot presently tell Todd.)

First off, I don't want to be with Charlie. I know he's not good for me that way. We could be friends, but we never should have been anything beyond that.

If I were given the choice, however, between someone like Charlie or someone like Todd, I would have to say that the someone like Charlie would be better for my mental well-being because he would actually accept me for who I am.

With Charlie, I don't think I'd feel relationally secure. He cheated with me, so he would probably cheat on me. But with Charlie I would feel free to be, and to grow, and to express my true self--a person who is not static. I'm at a place in my life where I feel like that is just as important (if not even more so) than physical faithfulness. Emotionally and intellectually, I don't feel safe and cherished with Todd.

I'd like for Todd to understand the differences that drew me to Charlie years ago, as I was simultaneously being repelled by Todd. Charlie made me feel safe in self-expression because he didn't judge me. Even though he treated me as an object by physically using me when he probably didn't really love me, Todd also treats me as an object on an intellectual level by shutting me out when what I'm saying doesn't agree with his plan (end of discussion--he either repeats his argument until I shut up, or "shuts me off" like an object by walking off, ignoring, and/or moping). When I don't fall in line with how he wants things to be, his reaction is similar to how he responds when the computer doesn't act the way he expects--like an object.

These are things that we will have to talk about, and the only way I see to do that safely and effectively would be with a counselor to mediate. We can't afford that right now, so I feel the need to tread water for a while. I know it probably looks like I'm just giving up, settling for the status quo, and enabling... but there are deeper things going on. I know it will take courage and strength to stand up to Todd in the way that I need to, and I'm not there yet. If I were to act hastily and set an ultimatum right now, or leave him right now, or ___, I would probably fall apart. I'm stronger than I was a year ago, but I don't think I'm strong enough to carry through yet, and I know that when I take a stand, I'd better be ready to carry through if Todd blows me off.

I guess you could say I'm in the midst of a control burn process. It's not yet time to unleash the wrath of Todd. There is a tiny scar on my arm, uncomfortably close to a large vein, that reminds me of what came of a confrontation I wasn't ready for. I'm not going to do that again. It may take a little while to get ready, but it will be worth it to take the time to be strong and prepared for success. I've already seen evidence on a smaller scale that when Todd sees me getting my sh!t together, he shapes up a little (even if it doesn't last long, it is an indication that he notices.) So, even if I'm not yet acting in an overtly proactive manner, I'm comfortable knowing that confrontation and ultimatum are not the only ways to affect the relationship.

For now we're on chapter "Get Bridget's Act Together."

And I'm not afraid.