Romance? Ha!

When we first reconnected (that is after he realized who I was), Charlie asked me a series of questions about Bridget. He was trying to flesh out her character, and on some level, I think he was trying to figure out my motivation to open communication with him after all these years. Were my intentions devious? Was I trying to trap him in some way? What exactly did I expect?

The honest answer: I didn't know. 

Maybe it was more of that self-sabotage stuff. I thought he would confirm what Todd had told me about him (and about me) for all these years -- that he had just been playing a game to get in my pants -- that the intense connection I thought we had was just my once over-active imagination, delusional thinking. I thought he might negate that sliver of a belief that we had shared something real (and that it therefore might be possible again with another someday). Maybe he would prove me to be the fool once and for all -- put me in my place as an unlovable joke, and cause me to never again waste a moment on unrealistic desires. 

One of the questions he asked to figure out the Bridget character was, "Does she read romance novels?" Since I am Bridget, that was an easy one to answer. I told him of my disdain for romance novels -- they only set us up for disappointment. And that old adage: "Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed," is the easy way out, so I take it again and again. Lower the expectations, numb the heart so it cannot be broken.

As I'm attempting to learn more about myself through Bridget, however, I continued to consider that question. The immediate answer that had popped into my head when asked if Bridget liked romance novels, was, "No, unless by 'romance' you mean..." And then I ran through a string of unlikely titles, like "Fight Club," "The Hours," "Fried Green Tomatoes," "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," and "The Shining." What started out as a bit of a joke of a list, got me thinking about what I did see as a romantic story. I started to realize that the only romance I could believe was tragedy. "Romeo and Juliet" and other such stories in which the characters realize too little, too late.... 

Last night I was in one of those hopeless places. The riff between my eldest daughter and I, although cordially "okay," continued to bother me. And then her boyfriend (fiancee, actually) made a comment that was meant to be helpful, but just ended up compounding my stress level (which was already teetering on edge of sending me to the ER). I just wanted it to all be over with. 

Thinking of how all the times I had been tempted to "off" myself, I had fought the urge for the sake of my kids, I now found myself dwelling on all the ways my "trying" to make things right failed and fell short, on what a disappointment I was even to my own kids.... The effort I had put into sticking it out now seemed as ridiculously insufficient as my efforts to move forward.

Romance? Ha! Unlikely. The last thing I wanted was to be with anyone. I'd rather be alone, numb, but free from pain. Free from feeling. 

But that's not entirely true. That sliver of hope remains, mocking apparent reality, peeking through the crusted scabs of slashed wrists (metaphorically speaking).

This is as romantic as I can get for the time being (and even this is a stretch)...

guardrail

Staying on track can be tough when the road ahead is long and indefinite. I had that urge again today... I wouldn't say it was a suicidal impulse. Not quite that drastic. But driving along with Todd in the passenger seat, I realized how familiar the feeling of this pressure building in my chest has become.

Waiting for a stoplight to change, I found myself momentarily outside of my body, outside of the vehicle looking in at the middle-aged woman with her head cupped in her left hand as she leaned toward the door in emotional exhaustion. The sight was jarring. Could that be me?

The grip of the tightness in my chest confirmed it. And I welcomed the destruction my emotional state seems to be placing on my body. Maybe that will be my escape, I thought... but to what? An out-patient visit for some stress-induced malady, followed by an even more stressful attempt at recovery in a house that still revolves around Todd? Even a hospital stay could not be long enough. No, I guess I should fight for my health.

Those moments of wanting to give up (no matter how brief) scare me.

I've learned that joy doesn't just happen, though. You have to go after it deliberately. Some people take a short cut and settle for a cheap substitute, but I know you sometimes not only have to wade through some crap to get there... sometimes you have to pause and scrape the crap off your own shoes before you can go on. Denying the existence of the crap will not help you to tread any more lightly.

So, I'm examining my past habits to try to learn where I've gone wrong.

A good friend loaned me a book titled How to Spot a Dangerous Man Before You Get Involved. I can see Todd all over in it... but that's not the troubling thing, that's not the thing to focus on, no, that's not the thing at all.

The perplexing thing is: Why on earth did I make the choices I made to get where I am now? The whole "just make better choices from here on out" approach doesn't cut it, because if I'm honest with myself, I see that just having "been hurt" is no guarantee that I've really learned my lesson -- that I've really broken the patterns that led to hooking up with Todd. 

No one wants to walk through the crap with you. It's something you have to do alone (unless you can afford a therapist.) I'll be okay. I'll even be stronger. Healthier. More complete. I'm just not there yet, and therefore, I'm not fit to be around others. It would be unfair to drain them. 

Sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone to act as a guardrail at those times that frighten me... those times when the lure of non-existence becomes too great. 

I know God is there. His Word is a guardrail. But people's interpretations of it are not... in fact, sometimes they are a gap in the guardrail, complete with a steep incline leading to that gap.

The books I've been reading lately all remind me that it's time for a make-over. I'm sure if I shared what's been going on and what I've been thinking with people in my church, they would be in a hurry to get Todd and me into "couples' counseling." As far as I'm concerned right now, however, my relationship with Todd is a non-issue. I can't change him. I can't make decisions for him. And I definitely can't trust him. We each need to deal with our own issues or "couples' counseling" would be not only a waste of time, but quite possibly one of those gaping holes in the guardrail. 

When I look at how I keep veering toward that darn guardrail, I know that I can't trust myself, either. But I can make decisions for myself. And if I'm willing to critically evaluate my previous decisions and the patterns they follow, I can change. If I can be honest with myself about where I am in that process, I believe I can eventually come to trust myself again. Until then, I'm going to have to be careful who I trust.