This Social Network

This is the point in the script where things start connecting--perhaps faster than our protagonist can handle. I received a message from someone from my past on a social network today. She had to have done some sleuthing to find me because I'm only listed on that network by my maiden name, and I'm pretty sure she never knew my maiden name. My initial reaction was "I hate the internet." I've got my privacy settings pretty high, yet not so high that those who truly know me can't find me. It's an interesting balance to strike--especially if you have chapters of your past that you'd rather forget.

For those who have read the Charlie chapter of the story of Bridget, you know that there were others privy to our marital woes (or at least to my sinful reaction to the marital woes). You may even remember the pastor whose counsel almost gave me the courage to give in to suicidal impulses... and to be fair I must admit that he also offered me the sage advice that a separation in order for us to work on our individual problems might be beneficial. (In retrospect, I know that would have been preferable to the way we just ran away, and ultimately clung to our old codependent habits.)

Running away is how we handled the situation back then. Our lives were tangled up with complications--work and home and friends and church overlapped* way too much for us to find any place where we could feel safe enough to deal with our problems. Our counselor even advised us to leave, citing that we needed to have a place of our own where we could retreat from work and focus on our relationship. Her advise led to us renting a house for the first time in years--a place that would not be invaded by the demands of employers we were in debt to for the roof over our heads--and leaving a church that had been a source of demands and judgement in disproportionate balance to support. If we had stayed (or if one of us had stayed) separation would have been the only way to survive. [*The overlap served as a sort of a cancellation of each of us as individual entities--the majority of the people in our lives saw us as a single unit . . . and thus, when they were disappointed by Todd, they would express disappointment in me.]

Looking back, I realize that the biggest reason I couldn't handle staying there was because I would need to really stand up for myself and push away from enabling Todd in order to not go crazy. Todd pulled me into his world of delusion more than I ever realized. He reacted to criticism of our employers by demonizing them, and because people are imperfect, I was able to see the flaws in those he was demonizing and it magnified my distrust of them. The church did contribute to the gluing us together with "till death do us part" expectations--approaching me as if Todd and I really were one, even when I had little to no sway over his irresponsible behavior... they should have held him more directly accountable and not always put me in the middle. But I also should have stood up for myself. Todd and I were bound more tightly in our disfunction than I realized. If they had truly worked with us as individuals, things might have worked, but we seemed to be so inextricably "one" in their eyes that there was no other way. So, we left. We didn't move too far--only about 15 miles--but in a metropolitan area, it was enough distance to pretty much avoid seeing all the people from our old life.

I have a phobia of that little suburb 15 miles from my doorstep. There are times that I have to go there, and my hair practically stands on end if I get too close to the place we lived. One time Todd was driving, and he jokingly started to swerve the car as if he was going to pull in the driveway to the old church. My heart nearly stopped and I had nightmares for weeks after that. There were some pretty awful things that went on in that place, and I frequently deal with the fact that I haven't been "reconciled" with those "brothers and sisters" in the Lord by putting them in a different category from the "real" church: It was a cult--a bunch of self-righteous fringe lunatics--looneys who are not to be trusted.

Then, in the midst of my safe oasis of friends on my social network, a message shows up from that pastor's wife. She's hoping that Todd and I will be able to attend the church's anniversary celebration coming up soon. She says that she and her husband think of us often and pray that all is well. My defenses instantly erect about me. Distrust. Sure you wish us well. Sure you want us back there for the anniversary... an anniversary... what a convenient excuse to snoop around in our business for your own amusement. I look at her profile and see pictures from the cruises she's gone on with her husband. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous Clergy. They were happy to move into a wealthy area to minister, because the lifestyle fit them so well. It was incidental that they had to live that way to minister to the natives. Suffering for the Lord. Ha! Past hurt excavates the ugly depths of my soul. Envy. Judgment. Demonization. Then I realize something that had evaded me until now. These attitudes toward this couple... are they really my own? Are they perhaps more Todd's narcissistic reaction to people who refused to accept his delusions as true? God! How much of his crap have I incorporated in the way I deal with others over the years?

I'm going to have to pray about this message sitting like a weight in my inbox. Initially, I thought I'd ignore it. Why would I want to open up that can of worms? But even in the amount of time it has taken to write this message, I've begun to wonder if the timing of this might be more than coincidence. Could this perhaps be providential? a gift? a catalyst for my grow-up plan--my attempt to uncover any delusion that is crippling me? An answer to the prayer I've been praying from the Psalms 119:29?

Remove from me the way of lying,
And grant me Your law graciously.

The only reason to answer and reconnect with this couple I've avoided for so many years would be if it could promote honesty and healing. I really don't need any more nice role-playing in my life.

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart (part 1)

Waaaa!!! There now, I feel better.

This is one of my favorite childhood pictures. It comforts me in it's function as an excellent example of the continuity of life. In a world of unpredictability, there are somethings that don't change--like the way the men in my life ultimately make me feel. The flow of emotion from that precious little face of mine was so honest, uncensored, pure. I didn't feel the need to pretend to be happy just because mom wanted a nice picture. I was free-- free to JUST BE. Oh the lessons I could learn from that little girl!

Since I'm not really Bridget, and thusly (I should try to use that pretentious ditty in each blog) ...thusly you won't be able to track down Bridget's lovers in the real world, I'm thinking I can be honest.

Where to start?

The beginning would be too trite, so let's start a few weeks before my wedding.

I had been out of town on a business trip and I stopped by to spend some time with the man I was about to marry. Let's call him Todd. The door to Todd's apartment was wide open and music spilled out into the hallway. I let myself in, looked around for him, and finally found him painting in the stairwell leading up to the next level of the building he was managing in exchange for free rent in a total dive. "I'll be right down. Let yourself in," he said. I don't think it took more than a few minutes for us to land in bed.

Before we were done, there was a pounding on the apartment door. My betrothed ignored it and went on with the business of our reunion. The pounding and the ignoring continued until at last, the door flung open. It was the owner of the building, there to see what was so important that had caused his employee to waste his money by leaving paint in open buckets, drying in the hall. Todd was angry, and proceeded to carry on an argument with his landlord/boss, just outside the bedroom door. I sat wrapped in a sheet, waiting to retrieve my clothes from the kitchen, and imagining the cross-dressing landlord fingering my unmentionables.

That happening, by itself, should have been a "what was I thinking?" moment. (1) As an ambitious college graduate, what was I doing with a dropout in a filthy old apartment building in a scary neighborhood? (2) Knowing the value of respect for property and honorable work ethics, why was I participating with Todd in the sabotage of his position in management? (3) Why was I about to marry one man when I'd never gotten over another, simply because I was already tied to him by a sexual addiction or misconception that marriage would somehow atone for the sins I had stumbled into?

That should have been enough, but it wasn't. After the landlord had left with the threat that he would charge Todd for any more paint he had to buy to complete the job, because it was his fault if it dried out, I had to work hard to encourage Todd not to do anything he would regret in his anger. He vowed to mess the whole place up, but I reminded him that the landlord would probably sue him. Finally, he went to pack up the paint and supplies, leaving the job half done.

While he was up in the stairwell and I was in the kitchen fixing lunch, a woman just walked right in the front door without knocking. When she saw me standing in the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks, her face turning white. "Who are you?" she asked. Ouch. Denial is a deep river, but try as I might to pretend the tone of her voice wasn't saying what I thought it was saying, I knew.

Todd walked in. Awkward. "This is Bridget, my friend." My face must have said, "what?" because he continued, "...my fiance."

Cloe or Madge or Bambie or whatever her name was made some quick excuse, "I was just passing by to say 'hi' but I've got to run." And before I could blink she was gone.

He didn't know anyone but me in this town. He had just moved there, following me because he wanted to marry me (after I had run away, across two state lines--but that's another story.) I had only been out of town for a few days, and here was someone who seemed to be someone to him. He told me he had gone out to get a bite... I think it was happy hour at a bar or something like that. And she had started a conversation with him. He could have left it at that. I didn't ask any more. But he went on to say, "She asked me if I'd ever been in love."

Okay. She wasn't very attractive and seemed a bit awkward, so I could believe she might start out with a line like that. He could have left it at that. I didn't even think to ask him his answer... I mean, of course he had been in love... he was engaged! He could have left it like that, but he went on to say, "I told her 'no'--I don't know why I said that--wasn't thinking, I guess."

I don't really remember the rest of the conversation, if there was any more to it. I think he eventually told me that he now realized that he may have given her the wrong impression. You think, Todd? In retrospect, I think he was giving me a way out. If I had any self-respect, I would have taken it.

What was my thought process that kept me from walking out that door and never turning back? Good question. I'll try to get to that in the next installment.