Operation: RESCUE

She was in need of rescue from a not-so-great area of town at 1 am. So, I went out and saved the day. Truth be told, I’m more concerned with my restful sleep than I am with my desire to ignore her cries for help, malice there entwined. I COULD have said: fuck it. And I would have been in my right to do so.

Ultimately, she’s just another person asking for help and in my limited capacity, it made me feel good to DO SOMETHING. Even if there was no logical gain. I got her to the apartment, were she can sleep. And therefore, I can rest easy. I’m an absolute ass, until needed! So Huzzah!

Will has all but stopped talking to me. Not sure what I did there, if anything. Hopefully he reads this and goes: “hey, I’ve neglected that fucking dude for too long.”

I was also thinking: hey, this isn’t so bad, this whole life/living shtick. Not too shabby, considering where I WAS HEADED.

As for Jax: she has no solid plan. Her circle of work-friends has utterly crumbled under the strain she placed on those flimsy relationships. Her mom is petitioning a return to Florida. Yikes. Now disowned and bitter, she has no one left to turn to, save the puppy who won’t stop following her around town. No else is likely to cooperate or help her. There’s gossip, and innuendo, and rumor in the place of good, effective communication between people. It’s a drama-filled existence that suits me not. She has no place for the cats to go… bonus? Which means on Tuesday, I have to take them to the Humane Society. I will also be recycling a great deal of her stuff. Tupperware drawers, miscellaneous nick-knacks all going the way of the fire. Purged clean, hopefully leaving the apartment spotless and ready for new people to live in. And our deposit back. Digits-crossed.

Without the memories, this whole thing would be done by now. Hard work, yes, but feelings make that work even brutal with their nagging, useless contributions. It’s so clear to me how she does not look at me with love anymore, even after my shiny rescue was complete. I could feel her awkwardness, her struggle for understanding. Between the sniffles and sobs… she found answers the easy way: looking to dramatic change, dependence on others and disregard for doing the things we would have needed to do to fix our mutual lives. Alas. None of that will ever be.

I have some hard decisions to make coming up here. Tuesday the awning-room arrives, so I will finally have a place to set up shop and get working on an individually managed space. This should help correct the identity-breakdowns I’ve been having lately.

So, 1 – 2 am rescues are a welcome way to build reputation and merit as an not-asshole person. Maybe someone other than the Three Bailey-teers will go forward having figured that out.

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FINAL ANALYSIS

The times are changing without me these days. I’ve rendered very little raw decision-making power on my life, but, holy crap, how the circumstances change. After 2 relationships that fell apart around my hospitalizations, I get the hint, be sane and get the girl; be yourself and die alone. My wife of VERY NEARLY 1 year has abandoned our relationship. though we are still legally married, she refuses to have anything to do with me, and sleeps with another man, and has gone on as if there were no reason to give a shit about me, or my plight. Truth be told, it was not a story told from the perspective of one who is right, and one who is wrong: its guarded secret misgivings and circumstantial arguments that led to this catastrophic breakdown. I had NO designs for things to end up this way. I just wanted my life back, with my lovely partner, and my 2 snuggly kitties. All of that is gone now.
In short (for the telling of it oft dredge the creeks of peaceful thoughts with raking machinery of judgment): We had minor issues. Problem there, is minor issues become large problems if they never get talked about or addressed. Communication between the two of us has always been an issue. She doesn’t like to listen, or be told things (whether helpful or not). Talking about a disagreement or situation or feeling would often result in her entering “lockdown mode,” where talk became useless because she refused, simply fuming within, like a tea kettle on the heat. I was often promised “we’ll talk about it later,” or, “just leave me alone. I’m only going to get angry if you keep pushing me to talk,” which was fine (I guess), only that resolution (or attempts at it) occurred 1/3 of the time. The other times were simply ignored, or neglected utterly, and still, not addressed. I could have put more effort into understanding her, and her way of coping with things. FUCK. Even as I say that, I’m not sure what the hell else I needed to do, besides show myself to be willing to work things out, talk, share, sympathize compassionately, and get on with life. It’s not as though I NEVER tried, I did. It doesn’t work unless BOTH parties agree, working things out and talking is a good idea, and leads to more good things, rather then bad stuff lingering, unresolved, waiting.

This lack of mutual ambition towards relationship goals was the root of the problem. That, and I don’t know if Jax actually understands what being married is all about. There’s spoken commitment (worth as much as its corresponding deeds), but nothing compares to making a LEGAL and BINDING contract to represent your dedication to the long-term relationship. Taking that step means: hey, I like you. We should be partners in life for as long as we are both here, alive, and stuff, forever. At least, THAT’S WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR WHEN I SIGNED THE MARRIAGE LICENSE.  I can imagine no better way of living than to spend my life with you there to help me. BOOM. I mean, right? Isn’t that the objective or desire when marrying someone?
But I was wrong, because I think of relationships not as an errant grocery bag dancing between cars on the interstate… I think of it as a wall. Solid. Strong. Pure. True. Just. Lean on your wall, because it is strong, and built to endure.
I honestly think: that she had a lot of built-up resentment from not having her issues addressed. Then, I got fat (er), and she quit being sexually interested in me. COINCIDENCE?  Then, when tensions began to mount, she only contemplated how to run away, get free, break out of her relationship, so something easier, superficial and impermanent would come along to make her feel happy again. She admitted to loving me less than I love her. She admitted before leaving me in the lurch, that she often contemplated leaving the relationship.  I guess she ultimately wanted something that forced a relationship to begin-again, going through that puppy-love phase where the guy fucking you can do no wrong, and is a savior from the hell you were just recently enduring, and has brought you happiness (at least, for now). Brilliant.
What bothers me is that nothing here has been addressed. Memo to guy who is fucking Jax currently: If you sit down with her, and let her become a part of your life, TAKE HEED OF THESE WORDS. You will certainly want to know this shit before you decide, like I did, that she is the one. She may go on not addressing her own issues for some time. Currently, I believe her to be in stark denial about what is healthy, good, right, and what is garbage. She has made some major decisions lately. Life changing and irreconcilable. She will do so at the whim of a spark. If you can somehow get her to open up and be somewhat introspective of herself, then hey, you did what I could not. Go for it tiger, you earned it.
She looks at me with eyes clouded by hate, resentment, frustration. So, I’m naturally the target of a lot of bad press. Which is fine, because I feel like I deserve some/most of that. But we here at my blog are concerned with presenting a balanced view of life, its struggles and tribulations: so all words must be said, and learned from.
Ask yourself, guy who is fucking my wife, has anything been resolved? She might be falling in love over again, but what’s to say the same lack of communication I experienced will be true for you? Maybe you are the perfect dude, and can give her anything she wants to keep her happy. Maybe you will have better luck trying to cage the Birdy than I did. But I really doubt you are a “better” guy than I am. I’m a spectacularly intelligent rarefied wacko. I find it hard to believe you are anything more then a hard-cock and a cute face. Your time in the sun is fading fast.
For my part, I see that my communication skills are still TRYING to do their thing. I just need someone who will actually play the introspective understanding game, and try to be good at it. Jax is a poor role model for good mental health. Drinking regularly is a great way to ruin your medication’s benefits. So, not sure what the master plan is over there in “betrayal-ville” but it’s your life to sail away in, or scuttle. I’m always going to be here, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst for you.
For the future: I need to be EVEN MORE CLEAR about what mental illness entails (for me), and what to expect from someone who struggles actively as I do. I have all the right pieces to make a great relationship work, for the long-haul; my perspective then only enhanced by the addition of another who can help me navigate these treacherous seas. In the famous words of one cancer-stricken multi-billionaire engineer S.R. Hadden: “Wanna’ take a ride?”

 

Toto – Africa

I hear the drums echoing tonight
But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation
She’s coming in twelve-thirty flight
Her moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation
I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies
He turned to me as if to say: “Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you”

It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

The wild dogs cry out in the night
As they grow restless longing for some solitary company
I know that I must do what’s right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti
I seek to cure what’s deep inside, frightened of this thing that I’ve become

Forgiveness?

I don’t think I can forgive you for leaving me when and how you did. I don’t forgive you for abandoning me, and our life together. I don’t forgive your inability to communicate your feelings. I don’t forgive your lack of patience, your instincts to burry your issues, your constant lack of curiosity about me; your world. I don’t forgive you fucking another guy while we are married. I don’t forgive you. I hold you responsible for the part you played in the disaster you helped create. I don’t forgive you for breaking my heart. You deserve nothing, because you had no regard for me. You are not forgiven for betraying your vows. You are not forgiven for hurting my family.

I do not expect you will ask. But just in case you do: you are not forgiven.

Friends In Mind

Smile, it’s a new day.
_________________________________________
Eric,

I had the most upsetting dream last night. We were all kids/young teens in Jamul again. I received a cryptic, emotional handwritten letter from you and I was trying to figure out what it meant. I kept trying to find you to talk to you about it, but no one knew where you were. The last time we had seen you was at a party.

Then somehow I found you at the house where the party had been. You were in a bathroom, standing in a claw foot tub completely clothed, and you had the letter in your hands. Your arms were cut and even though you were dead, you were awake and speaking to me. I don’t remember what you said but I know you were alive, even though you were dead. The letter had been a suicide note.

It was like a flashback in the dream, telling me the truth of your whereabouts, and I was devastated and refused to believe it. I felt responsible.

I went to the fire station and police station to get as much information as I could about possible deaths or medical aid calls from the night of the party. I can’t remember now if in my dream I was able to get any information. I think it was just a wild goose chase, and that the flash of a moment of seeing you dead was the truth.

I woke up feeling like it was all too real. And I felt the weight of that guilt and responsibility as I got out of bed. Because I hadn’t emailed you lately. Because of the suicides in the past that I irrationally felt like I could have prevented.

I hope this email doesn’t trigger any negative or uncontrollable feelings in you because I know you are vulnerable, but I had to let you know because I know I don’t have my vivid and meaningful dreams for nothing. I needed to reach out to you and let you know that I care.

Your friend,

Erin

 

 

________________________________

 

Hey, sounds like a premonition to me. March 3rd.

You need not feel any way at all on my behalf. I have suffered devastating pain, to the point of designing to take my life, and endured. The bomb dropped on me AFTER the hospitalization was an agonizing revelation, and yet, I still remain. Struggling, albeit. I’ve felt my will to live shake back to it’s core. Doctors in the hospital told me repeat suicide attempts are 55% more common if you take anything but Lithium. It’s a shocking world we live in, full of eccentric trajectories and hyperbole of the literal. It makes no good sense, but I’m not the judger-version of myself anymore. I’m a leaf on the wind.

Don’t take any of my life’s destruction onto yourself. Hasn’t this calamity hurt us all enough? Haven’t we given due suffering to these events, and now, represent a period of transition from, up and towards the real? Sobering, yes. Feeling infantalized, gut-shot, ponderously slow and completely retarded on a rotating short-shuffle playlist in my head which cycles randomly, but more often than not. I’m looking for anchors which I can lash myself down to something concrete, stable; where I can ivy-creep my way into a new mode of life. I don’t know what I’m doing, most of the time. Everyone takes me so fucking seriously. I really need some unconditional love to please stand up, please stand up, please stand up.

I’m going to be ok. I can’t say I’ve thought much about my dreams. This new Depression medication when taken at bed time ensures a good night’s rest, and seems to nuke dreamland into a barren-state. Which is good. Dreams are more often of your ilk, in nightmares, which then become all too real and totally inescapable. I have felt my body die in “dreams” before. I felt them come to take my soul away from my body and then I woke up. It made a noise, like lots of voices all making a note together. A single, ominous note, full of their screaming, increasingly louder.  Perhaps I should tall you about the Ghost sometime. And how it tries to kill me.

Wearing my Asshat

I am such a fool. But hey, that’s not going to fundamentally change. I like being a bit askew, makes me feel different. I thought about using this post to belittle myself further over how my relationship deteriorated and is now dead. But this, we already know. We are aware of the circumstances. I’m making progress, not looking back.

Her story has been tough to endure, mostly because I’m just SUCH an asshole to her. I’ve never seen anyone go from one extreme to the other as fast as she had, AND TO MAKE PROFOUND JUDGMENTS ALONG THE WAY! Here I was thinking Cavalry Archers had the hardest job. Wrong. It’s you.

But whatever. It just means, she quit on this life. That’s all it will ever mean anymore, because every other emotion and statement tied up in her betrayal hurt too badly to deal with regularly and also have no logical reason to exist for as long as they seem to endure. We’ve collectively moved on. Which is a good thing, because there are still a ton of new things to do in this life. I am currently:

-Becoming a regular Bass Angler

-Engaging my peer community in weekly meetups

-Staying vigilant with appointments

-Keeping a positive attitude despite it all

 

I won’t deny my inward spiral has been largely negative. Self hate mired in pity doth not oft lead to the good. So I got out of that.

One thing I want to be clear about though is that I’m sacrificing my self-image in order to continue on leading my life. So while you WILL have a chance to hear my wife cry “rape” and belittle me as an objectifying testosterone-driven moron, you will not hear me strike back. I won’t dignify the assault on my reputation, because I know it’s what she needs to have be true, so she can justify her adultery to herself. If I’m a bad man, I probably deserve to be cheated on. I mean right? I’m already an ass, so it’s ruined either way. Why not pile on the shit to the wagon?

In other words, I’m just “over” it so I can move on and get to posting about my Angling adventures or any number of new face/place I encounter along the way. Already actively looking for a new “someone” to be the person (peer) I relate to on my issues and tribulations. And getting results, as the search deepens.

So below is a reblog of her most recent post, just so you have an idea about what a true rat-fucker I am.

Self Prescribed Creativity

Funny how things and people react. I’ve been speaking my mind on the internet for this long I’ll surely not stop now despite the fragile complex of certain people in my life. Knowing perhaps that certain things I say and talk about may offend others is simply something unavoidable. I speak my mindless regardless. And it is my mind.

I’m finding myself looking back on my marriage and dissecting the relationship. Being in the midst of an odd friendship with a man I of course find myself comparing from time to time. Mostly in the ways I’m treated. I’ve realized that in my past I haven’t required a certain level of treatment for myself. I’ve been stuck in a rut of relationships where I’m not treated as a woman but as a sexual object. I feel anyway. My last relationship for example. I used to be greeted everyday by my…

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