Thursday, April 28, 2011

Audible

3 Doors Down was one of my favorites back in high school. I listened to them nearly non-stop for about 4 years or so.


Just returned from a therapy session with my wife. I am mirroring a great deal of my mother's behaviors. But...I'm not going down like that. It's not my time.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Caught

I don’t remember the day but I believe it was my junior year of high school, so that would be roughly 2002. If memory serves it was toward the evening and I was up in my room sitting at my computer. AIM was hugely popular then. I was perusing my logged chats with various people and I came across my mother’s screen name.

From time to time my mother would use my laptop for, well I didn’t know what at the time, but I would shortly find out. So, with my curiosity raging, I clicked on my mother’s logged chat files and started looking through her chats.

Perhaps I was snooping a little too much, but every time my mother asked to use my computer, I found it very strange, as we had a family desktop computer downstairs. I didn't press her on the matter - why would I -- I was an obedient Little Boy.

I’m not sure how I found it, but I remember clicking onto a particular screen name and instantly felt my face drain of color. It was so very apparent that what I had stumbled upon was my mother participating in an affair with another married man. She was using sexual lingo with this slime. She was talking about how weird it was for her to meet his children. She was talking about how she was going to have to hide the bruises and marks left from their meetings encounters rendezvous DESPICABLE ACTS OF SEXUAL DEVIANCE.

Both of them abhorrent, ugly buckets of slimy garbage.

There was enough information in her chats that I was able to narrow down who she was sleeping with. I believe I narrowed it down to someone that I had even met before. This man came to our house. And I spoke with him. As I dive into these memories now, I can see this despicable creature in his blue tee shirt and khaki shorts. This large being couldn’t look at me for more than a few seconds, then he averted his eyes from me, focusing on some distant part of the house. I didn’t think this odd at the time nor did I think anything of this person at all.

Little did I know…

The memory gets fuzzy now: I’m not sure how it happened, but the very next memory in this timeline of being caught is that my mother opened to the door to my room and I was standing there, frozen. I don’t remember much of the beginning part of the conversation, but I do remember one thing clearly: she was attempting to explain away and excuse her behaviors by referencing a movie – some sort of romantic comedy sucktacular garbage.

I was crying almost immediately (which would be the first of several cries) and to end the discussion my mother said that "we could talk about this again when you’re ready".  As if it was now my responsibility to “make it right”.  I do believe that was the last we spoke of it for seven years. I believe she meant for us to not talk about it ever again.

I immediately told my best friend at the time what I had found and what had happened. He said he came right over that night and we played video games. I don’t remember that.

I was over my girlfriend’s house at the time shortly after this incident. I was standing in her room as she was … I have no idea what she was doing. I was at her dresser and just broke down, out of nowhere. I couldn’t stand up. I didn’t want to stand up. I think my girlfriend panicked – she ran to get her mother and explained what happened. I must have told my girlfriend because I remember her parents attempting to comfort me in their living room. I didn’t feel comforted.

Possibly a month or so after that – I remember it was cold outside and that same girlfriend and I were driving to my father’s – I broke down again. We sat in the car as I cried. She may have attempted to say something comforting. She may not have.  Either way, I cried myself out.  Gathered myself.  Walked in.  Memory ends.

After Caught, I did not cry about it again. I did not cry about anything. In fact I didn’t really cry until I met my wife and she was able to bring emotion back into my life.

After that cry in the car, I rarely thought about it again. I rarely thought about anything again. I buried it. Deep.

After Caught, I became a walking emotional corpse. I felt nothing. I wanted to feel nothing. I was fine (or so I thought) with nothingness. I had a nice façade of pseudo-emotion, but on the inside, it was dark. A barren emotional landscape. I had nothing, and wanted nothing – and therefore could give nothing.

After Caught, I began to mirror some of my mother’s behaviors: I lied, I cheated, I pretended. I could not and would not let another person betray me the way my mother did. I could not and would not let another person allow me to get that vulnerable. I could not and would not let another person get close to me.

Flash forward several years. My mother divorces her second husband (father to my sister), and only months later begins dating her current boyfriend. In 2009, there was a severe blowup between me, my then wife-to-be, and my family of origin. A family member, in order to get my wife-to-be on her side, divulged some information about my mother that may or may not be true: her current boyfriend was indeed married and had children of his own. She didn’t learn, and didn’t care to learn.

I attempted to find out more about this new boyfriend. I spoke with her on the phone. I don’t remember the conversation exactly, but I recall her dodging questions and never fully answering my inquiries if she answered at all.  She didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t already know.

A year later, I finally bring up again my mother’s infidelities.
She responds with “that was a very dark time in my life”.
I questioned her lack of apology.
She responded “I thought that was over with. I thought I had apologized already.”
No such apology was given, I said.
“Well, then LSV, I’m sorry”.
It doesn’t really mean anything when I have to ask for it, I said.

She still hasn’t truly apologized, and I’m sure she’s only “sorry” she got Caught.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Blame

My sister was born to my mother and step-father when I was about nine years old - so for nine years I was numero uno in my family of origin. That made me the Golden Child. My grandmother came to live with us at the time to help take care of me and my newborn sister. This memory takes place around the time my sister was a year old so I was just about 10 years old.

My mom put my infant sister on my bed with me whilst I was reading something (a comic perhaps). I had a dark blue blanket on my bed - actually everything in my room was blue. My sister was in pink plopped not in the middle, but close enough to the edge of the bed that she could easily fall off should her baby self roll that way. My mother walked out of the room, leaving my sister and I alone (at least, I think we were alone - my grandmother was living with us at the time, and I can't recall if she was in the room with us). I remember looking up and the rest seemed to happen in slow motion:
my sister leaned over to the edge of the bed and proceeded to roll off. I saw her falling and tumbling in mid air and I felt like there was nothing I could do. She landed with a dull thump on the back of her head and started screaming.

Here's where it blurs -- I can't remember what happened right after my mother walked in, but in the next moment I was in my mother's room looking up at my balling mother and sister. Yes, my mother was crying right along with her baby daughter. Additionally, I felt as if my mother was blaming me for my sister falling off the bed. I don't recall what was said, but I remember very distinctly the feeling of being blamed for my sister's Great Fall. This left the back of her head slightly more flat for the rest of her life and we were able to laugh about it years later, but still, I always felt like it was my fault my sister fell off the bed.

And now I ask myself: why would a mother leave an baby who can barely sit up with a 10 year old and expect the 10 year old to know what to do? Why would a mother put that child so close to the edge of bed....THEN WALK OUT OF THE ROOM? Why would a mother blame her son for allowing his sister to fall off his bed?

Because the mother could do no wrong and would never fully accept that she was a mother without conscience, a mother without empathy, a mother without a soul.

Friday, April 22, 2011

In The Mail

I put my "No Contact" letter in the mail today. It went a little something like this:

Mother,
You will no longer be allowed access to my family. You have expressed yourself quite clearly about my marriage and my wife. Your behaviors have shown me that you are either unwilling or incapable of change. I am happy and satisfied with my life choices. You need to deal with that. You have taught me tremendously destructive and evil behaviors that I have to fix. I will not forget this. I gave you many chances to treat me as an adult, as a loved one, as a human being. You chose not to. You have not respected me or my family and I will not allow this any more. Do not contact me.
Lifesizevision


I feel like I just punched my past life right in the kidney. And an elbow drop to the gut.

I am nervous. I expect a barrage of emails and phone calls from the army of narcissists, and part-narcissists, and friends of narcissists that my mother has amassed. I expect my father to be involved which is so incredibly disappointing to me.

This was my point of no return. It was my take the road less traveled moment. I am scared. I feel that I must expect the unexpected and at the same time expect the expected.

Currently, I am too busy being nervous to feel relieved, but I think that's because this step was so totally massive for me. I want to feel free but I'm so trapped in myself to feel that way right now.

OH I'm a mess.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Fruitloop

I just recently called my mother that. I am sure there are other, much more descriptive and certainly vulgar terms, but this word helps make what she is easier to swallow...for now.

My mother has made it clear of her intentions for me and my life, and how she feels about my choices: my marriage, my wife, my kids. During the wedding shower in early 2010, my mother came up to me and in a hushed voice said "you know, I don't even feel like you're proud that I'm your mother".

Ok, she said this because I wasn't paying enough attention to her during the shower. The reason I wasn't paying enough attention to her was because...wait for it...I was working behind the scenes to bring people their drinks, make sure the food was ready and there was enough of it, cleaning up tables, garbage, etc. The shower was held at my mother in law's house and she made it look outstanding. I wanted to help so I was working behind the scenes while the womenfolk enjoyed the meal and the nice weather.

I responded to her "proud" statement with a simple, "what are you talking about?" and then continued with my duties. I knew then that was fruitloopy. I know now that she was attempting to make the wedding shower about HER. Grade A, Certified Fruitloop. I didn't get angry with her then, but the more my wife and I talk about it, the angrier I feel - with my mother. How can she possibly make a wedding shower for my fiancé be about her?

On our wedding day, my wife and I enjoyed the company of our closest family and friends. Generally, gifts are given to both the bride and the groom on this day. Well, my mother gave us both a card, then gave me a card addressed ONLY TO ME. I thought this strange at the time, but I wasn't quite Awake enough to see that there was a massive undermining scheme occurring here.

My wife and I opened the card after the wedding and the card read something like this:
Gram said you were born under a star and I hope someday you'll see that. [Wife] and [daughter] are lucky to have you. Someday I hope we can go back to the relationship we had before.

Unfortunately, we didn't save the card but these sentences we can both remember almost ver batim. There was other fluff stuffed in there but the message was clear (to my wife then, to me now more than ever) -- that I am too good for my family of choice; that my choices are unsatisfactory to my mother and she wants to go back when she had all the control and a doormat for a son; and that I am not good enough for my family of origin because I'm not doing what they want.

There is all kinds of hatred, manipulation, conniving, contradictory, disgustingness up in there.

There are other stories which I will write about but I think I can see those clearer than I have ever before as examples of what my mother is: a manipulative, nasty human being that works all situations to suit her. If she is not getting what she wants then she will make sure others around her know it – many times subtly, and she will attempt to prevent others from getting what they want as well - even if it's a genuine love of another person.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Forced

My wife and I were discussing past relationships recently and I discovered a very disturbing and deep emotional problem: I forced myself into relationships that should never have been. Allow me to elaborate...

Situation 1:
I believe I was in high school at the time of this incident. Truthfully, I can't remember and that in itself is another problem. Some friends of mine at the time and I went a house party where we drank ourselves silly. I told the group I arrived with that I would be staying over the host's house and what ensued something like a one night stand (although I don't know why it's called a one night stand, there's hardly standing involved...). The morning after, the host had to drive me home. In other circumstances, that car ride should have been the most awkward...ever...in the history of awkward and uncomfortable situations. Not me. I was all, "football! weather! what's good here!". Why? Because I thought I needed to be in a relationship with this female. I thought that's what I was supposed to do. I can't put my finger on WHY I felt this way however. For a few weeks following I attempted to court her, but it was a miserable failure. I remember looking at her one time she actually accepted an invitation to see me: Her eyes barely blinked and her face was nothing short of expressionless. I'm not sure if I realized it then, but now looking back I do: I was NOT supposed to see her after that party.

Situation 2:
I met a girl at a bar in college - I know, these stories never end up well. I cannot recall if we ended up leaving together and spending the night together or not, and I can't even speculate a guess. For weeks following I attempted to court her, but I didn't know WHY I was doing it. I didn't want to be in a relationship with her, but I felt like because of whatever interactions we had at the bar and after, I was supposed to persue a relationship with her. She was into it, I pretended like I was.

Now, this brings to light a disturbing mindstate I had: that I felt like I was supposed to pursue and court these girls because....I had an obligation to? I wasn't taught what it was to have healthy relationships? Both? Something else? This is something I'm going to attempt to answer in my quest for something other than Catastrophic Indifference, because I am sure now, that played a major part in why I behaved the way I did.

Still looking for clues...

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Letter

I'd like to put here my "Declaration of Independence". This is my first letter to my mother where I laid everything out for her. She actually took this letter home after I read it to her. She never brought it up again after that.

I’m going to say some things to you I’ve never said before, and I want you to agree to hear me out until I’m done. This is very important to me so please don’t contradict me or interrupt me. After I’ve said what I need to say, you’ll have time to say what you need to say. Are you willing to do that?

I would like to address the phone call you made to me after I called my sister to say that we were not coming to her birthday party because we never heard from her. The message you left on my voice mail was absurd, unnecessary, and unwarranted. The “damage” you referred to has already been done and it hasn’t been by me, not in the least. You mentioned that I am [sister]’s brother. And I would like to say that I AM her brother…not her father or even a father figure. You let me step into that role when I was younger, you even expected it and encouraged it, and that was wrong. I’m not asking you to answer this now, only to think about it - I’m curious what the “damage” is that you were speaking of…me focusing on my family of choice? Me making my new family the center of my attention? Me making MYSELF the center of my attention? This is not damage, this is normal, this is healthy. Your voic email said to me that you think I am somehow responsible for the way [sister] feels. That is completely incorrect. [sister] is responsible for the way she feels – she’s 16 for frig sake. Wife and I put [sister] first when it came to her birthday party – that’s why we put off accepting any other invitation for that day, and that’s also why I called her to find out what her plans were. We had other invites because we have a life outside of you and [sister]. Despite having other potential obligations, I felt that we needed to call her to figure out if she was going to have any people over or whatever. I know that we put her first and I did the right thing, regardless of what you think or she thinks.

I need you to treat my wife and I as a team because that’s what we are, that’s what a healthy marriage is. She and I are each other’s foundation, we utilize each other’s strengths, that’s how it is supposed to work. I feel that you are not respecting our relationship. I need you to respect my marriage, my union with my wife, my choice to become her husband. By not addressing the both of us via any medium (whether it’s on the phone, in person, or in an email), I feel that you are, in effect saying “I don’t care about my son's marriage, I don’t care about my son's wife or daughter, he is MY son first and foremost. He is my son before he is a husband and before he is a father.” There will be no more instances where you can get me alone. My wife and I, as I said, are a team, husband and wife, inseparable, and whatever you have to say, can and will be said in front of her. Whatever you have to say, good or bad, pertains to the both of us since we are husband and wife. We have no secrets with each other. Ultimately, I need you to let me go and put a stop to these behaviors so that you and I can build a healthier relationship. I need you to respect my wife and I so that we can begin to move forward.

Your behaviors show me that you want to have control and have a say in what I do. Essentially you treat me like you have “dibbs” on me. I’m telling you now, that you do not. I am, first and foremost, a husband and a father. It is true that I am also a son and a brother, but those things are secondary. My wife and children will forevermore, come first.

You ignored the fact that [wife] and I were getting married. Never did you ask about our wedding, or even mention it, until the very last minute. If you really wanted to help you would have asked, regardless of our wishes. I feel that by ignoring the wedding, it was easier for you to pretend that it didn’t exist and that you could still have control over me and my life. Your lack of respect for my marriage and my family is evident in the card you gave me on our wedding day. Notwithstanding the fact that you gave me a card that was addressed to only me, but what you wrote in it was appalling. You never said that I was lucky enough to have found someone I wanted to devote my entire self to. No, only they were lucky to have me. You didn’t have to say that I was unlucky to have [wife] and [daughter] – you implied it. And I saw that. Secondly, you said that maybe one day I would understand why Gram said that I was born under a star. What I read was that I’m not good enough, and that somehow the relationship I have created with [wife] makes me not good enough to understand what Gram meant. While I had a very deep love for my grandmother, she has nothing to do with my life now and nothing to do with my wedding day. Mentioning her in that card was merely a tactic to make me feel guilty and it didn’t work. Lastly, I would like to address the part when you said you hoped my relationship with you could go back to what it was before. Before what? Before I met my wife? That is impossible because in order for that to happen, I would have to abandon what makes me happy. My relationship with you can never be what it was when I lived under your roof. I have my own life. Plus, the way we lived before was obscenely unhealthy. We communicated about nothing, lied to each other like it was no big deal and were completely superficial. Everything about us was superficial and fake. I cannot and will not live that way anymore.

I feel disappointed, heartbroken, angry because you don’t care if you see my family, or connect with them. My daughter may never know you and really, I don’t even know you. I know only a woman who gave birth to me, put food on my plate, put a roof over my head. While I do appreciate that I had those things, I needed more than that from you. I thought that was enough at the time because I was only a child and I didn’t know any better…but I know now that I was deprived of a great many things, a deep unconditional love among them.

You taught me to bury the truth with all the shit I could find. You taught me that I could get what I wanted by having someone else do it for me. You taught me to believe the lies I told myself and the lies everyone else told me because anything was better than the truth. You taught me that I couldn’t rely on myself. My self worth came from how much I could do for other people, even at the expense of my own well-being. You taught me it was better to exist rather than to live. You taught me conditional love. You taught me to repress not only my anger but just about everything else I felt. You taught me that anger means a lack of love. You taught me that love was only in the movies and no one had to work at a relationship to be happy. You taught me that the more people I knew the better off I was, no matter who those people were or how much they damaged my self esteem. You taught me how to be fake. You taught me how to dance around answers and play with people’s words in the event I didn’t like what another person was saying or asking. You taught me that I could just barely make it on my own. You taught me hypocrisy. You taught me that empty promises are just as good as the real thing so long as no one can tell the difference. You taught me indifference and how not caring is the easy way out. You taught me that I could be anything I wanted so long as you said it was ok.

I need you to contact me on our house phone because that is the way you should be contacting me. I want you to get in touch with me, or us, by calling our house phone.

If you have a problem with something my wife or I have done, I need you to bring it up to the both of us in person. Email will no longer suffice. I need you to acknowledge that you disrespect me and my family. I need you to acknowledge the fact that putting food on my plate and a roof over my head does not make you a good mother. I need you to apologize for betraying me, and breaking my faith in you, and in trust entirely. I need you to be ready and willing to work with me to build a healthier relationship and that means listening to what I have to say. I need you to not use guilt tactics on me. I need you to address the both of us and communicate with us as adults. I need you to acknowledge that I am no longer under your control and that my family of choice is my number one priority. More than that, my wife is above everything. I need you to acknowledge that I have my own life to live and I can no longer be the boy I was growing up. I need you to not blame me or my family for problems you and your family have.

I am taking back my life.

Bingeing

I feel like I'm bingeing on lies. It all came to a head the other day - I was caught in my own web of disgusting lies. It was time for me to vomit all of them back up. The years over which I had been lying to myself, to my wife, nearly crushed the life from her. I cannot do this again. I will not do this again.

I spoke with my father-in-law about lying recently. We were both very sullen when engaged in this discussion, and this is important because emotions seemed to have run dry in the last few years. I was embarrassed, sad, guilty, ashamed to be admitting my wrong-doings; ones that so badly crushed my wife. I truly feel devastated that I allowed myself to do that to her. I will not let myself forget this catastrophe I have created.

Look what I was raised by: a mother who lived for herself, a father who did the same. I am convinced that, when they found they were pregnant with me, did not want a child yet. I was an unplanned, unexpected, unwanted mistake. When I was born, I believe they said something to the effect of, "oh well, he's here now, I guess we can love him", only their love was a "what can you do for me" thing. I've seen pictures of my father and I when I was very young, and we look happy.  It could not have been all good since my mother and father divorced only 3 or so years after I was born (which by the way, I didn't find out until I was 24 - I had previously thought my mother and I were on our own since I was one).

I concluded that I didn't and still don't know who my mother and father are as people. My father's priority list has me in fourth, behind God, his wife, and his family with her. My mother's priority list has me in last, behind all of herselves she's placed in front of me.

Besides the cat anus incident, I have only a few memories from 0-10 years of age. I have a scene in my head - the only time I can remember my maternal grandfather - where I'm in a long white hallway being led by the hand to see my ailing gramps. The hall was huge, and everything was white. It was a nursing home I later found out. I walked into the room and I remember one of my uncles sitting on the window sill. It must have been some sort of party because there was a cake to my right. I remember not liking the cake, but I don't recall what kind it was. I turn my head towards the bed and the image blurs: I cannot see a face or a body, but I know my gramps is there. Then I am led out of the room and I don't know how I know this, but the reason was so that he could have his temperature taken in his rear end.

This is the only memory I have of my grandfather, and I hold tight to it. I was three at the time of his death, so I must have been about that age in the memory. I didn't know him at all, but my mother tells me several things about him:
-he loved me fiercely
-he was an alcoholic
-he may have had another family back in his Russian homeland
Given who my mother is, I am not sure if these things are true. She taught me to be an expert liar, as she is one herself. She was viciously lying to her family (me, my sister, and her husband at the time) for nearly a decade and once she was caught (by me no less) she attempted to explain herself away. I did not speak to her about this issue after that night for nearly 10 years. And the kicker: she never apologized and only did so when I had to point it out to her. Talk about bingeing on lies. She did not vomit up the rest of her life's lies after that; merely set about lying to everyone she knew attempting to sabotage my marriage.

I did not fully realize this fact, and truthfully, I still have not. I have finally got a handle on the power of lies and what kinds of devastation they can cause. I should have known that years ago, but as a good mirror of an NM should be, I buried it and left it alone. 10 years later, I'm raging at my wonderful wife for pointing out the atrocities my mother has committed against her own son. If I haven't said it before, I will say it now: I have problems.

Now, more than ever, I want to be close and truthful with my wife, so that our brood of offspring will experience only a healthy and fruitful family life. I did not have that, but as my mother would say, " I fed you, I clothed you". The bottom line in conditional love.

Trapped

I feel trapped.
I am stuck in a shell of myself but it's not like I'm even banging on the walls to be let free. It's like I've placated myself so much that I've just come to accept this fact: that I am trapped.  Oh well, life goes on.  Whatever.

I am a chameleon of the human race when it comes to emotion. I can pass for a narcissist. I can pass for a sociopath. I can pass for someone who wants something better for himself and for his family, and makes it look like he’s taking steps to find that something. Consequences mean nothing to me, but I want them to. I must not want that bad enough however because I still lie. To everyone. About anything.  About everything.

I cannot have my children be exposed to this kind of behavior; however it's become second nature to me. I do without thinking.  Without any kind of thinking. At all. I define myself based on what other people need of me so I have not developed a sense of self. I live through characters in movies, in an attempt to experience real emotion, or at least visualize what emotions look like and reactions to it. It's like I'm studying, researching people because I've never been able to research myself. Those most important to me, my family are suffering most and I cannot have this anymore. This type of behavior is not that of a good and healthy husband, nor a good and healthy father. I will not allow my family to suffer any longer but I am not certain when my journey will start. Perhaps it has started already.

I am in a state of severe denial with a reality so altered I cannot be certain what is in fact, real. One thing I know is real: my love and devotion to my children. And that leads me to believe that somewhere in my broken self is a spark of genuine good, an ember of light that yearns to grow into a good and healthy glow. I want that glow.

And...maybe someday my family of choice will forgive me for not being the man I should have been, and needed to be.

I love you wife. I love you daughter. I love you son. Forgive me. Please.

Concrete

If only I could get to a place of concrete stability. I hurt greatly. I have hurt the most important person in my life to the point of nearly no return. I cannot live truthfully because I do not know how. I don't have a true friend as she does. I have shallowness, superficiality, lies, and pain. This does not make for a life worth living.
If only I could get to a place of concrete stability. I hurt greatly. I have hurt the most important person in my life to the point of nearly no return. I cannot live truthfully because I do not know how. I don't have a true friend as she does. I have shallowness, superficiality, lies, and pain. This does not make for a life worth living.

Forgive me future life, for not starting out how I should have.

I now need to learn to embrace the little me. He is in there. And needs saving.

I love you Little Me.

I am coming for you.
Forgive me future life, for not starting out how I should have.

I now need to learn to embrace the little me. He is in there. And needs saving.

I love you little me.

I am coming for you.

Allergic to Truth

Here's the thing: I'm not sure how I was treated as a youngster, all I know is the results of that treatment. I can't even say for sure that I actually fully understand that treatment
Then this whopper occurs to me: could I really be doing the same thing to my children?

Another thing: I am a liar. I lie to nearly everyone. I can't stop. It's become second nature to me. I know I'm doing it. I can hear myself doing it. In some cases, I even can think to myself, "dude, you are lying, why are you doing this, stop doing that", but then I separate my person from my voice. I'm like a disembodied soul and since I've got no soul, well, I can lie without consequence, and if it comes back to bite me in the rump, I'll either lie more at that time, or nearly concede defeat. It's like I'm allergic to truth and I can't figure out how that happened.

I'm ruining my marriage, and I'm certain I'll ruin my children. I want to be someone different, but somehow...I just can't do it.  Or won’t do it.  There are two parts to me: the someone who wants to be the good truth-begetting man; and the oh-well-whatever-lie away to placate everyone man. It's so difficult to break from the second man that, like I said, I'm ruining my marriage. I'm not sure there's even much to salvage with myself, but my wife doesn't deserve that. I am not good enough for her. I am not a worthy husband, even though I'd like to be.  I have to force myself into thinking that maybe I am.

And we're back to the beginning, I'm a liar: I'm believing my own lies I tell myself. I've created a reality so distorted that I'm not sure which way is up. I can pass for a Narc. I can pass for a Sociopath. I can pass for a truth-seeker who will always be seeking and never finding. I can pass for anyone I want or need to be, like a chameleon of the human race.

Except, I genuinely care about my children.  My wife and her parents who are the healthiest people I know can see that, so somewhere, somewhere in my black soul, or missing soul, there is a part of me that can be genuine. I'd like to bring that person out of the dark, but I don't know how and I fear that will be the end of everything that is or can be a healthy life for myself.

I don't know what it is to be motivated. I don't know what it is to want something so bad that a change needs to be made. I WANT to know that, but I don't have that now. I don't know what it is to be changed, and that is the straw that will break the camel's back I fear.

Details

The Panera Bread commercial comes to mind: "every detail tells a story". I've never really thought about it like that. To think about every memory and analyze it is something I've not done before, nor even thought to do. Like I've said, I merely floated through my own life, hoping someone would live it for me. It is for this reason, and perhaps because of the treatment I received as a child that I don't have many memories of growing up. Only recently, and that's mostly because of my wife, do I have recollections of my mother's behavior -- and even THAT'S marred by the denial I'm so violently drowning in.

In truth, I want to believe everything I've read on these blogs, AND what my wife says, I just have a very difficult time hearing it and, more than that, accepting it. She constantly tells me that I have to put myself in a place of extreme duress, that I have to push myself WAY out of my comfort zone because my comfort zone is....destructive in every way possible. She's right, I know she is, but I struggle to feel that it's right. If I feel that she's right, then I'm to accept that my entire family of origin is unhealthy to a point that they probably don't belong in our lives. I'm to accept that I was raised by a woman who only had her interests at heart and used me for her own gain. To really accept that and then to take responsibility for my life require skills that I've not yet learned and my wife has honed years ago it seems. That is why I require help from this community.

I am scared.
I am weak.

I have hurt the most important person in my life more than I'd ever care to imagine and I feel there's no coming back from that. See my downward spiral!!! I still feel that I require some kind of contempt for what I've done to my wife and perhaps that's a step in the right direction...

I told her today that this was the first real relationship I've ever had...and I'm not sure how to ... do it.

From the Top

Memories of my childhood are few and far between. Among others, my wife says that something traumatic must have taken place, and the Little Me blocked out these situations and emotions. Big Me is struggling to find those situations and emotions because it could be that these events triggered Little Me's emotional de-evolution.

Every time an intense emotional situation rears its head, I run to the fridge, or the pantry.  Or just away.  Obviously, food was a comfort for me growing up and I've developed some kind of sick love affair with it. Couple that with another sick love affair with television and movies. Sick because I would watch movies and shows to get an understanding of how emotions worked. I thought these characters were showing me the proper ways in which to react to emotions, situations, to other people. I ended up investing whatever I had of myself into shows and movies hoping that I could feel or at least kind of feel, attempt to feel, and eventually fake feeling what these people on the screen felt. There leads a path to absolute destruction.

My wife and I got to discussing last night. I felt I had a problem from an early age: I have a memory where I was investigating my kitten's anus, promptly stuck my finger up there and then it gets hazy. For a long while I thought I had tossed the kitten down the stairs, and I'm still pretty sure I did but I don't actually remember the throwing part.  I have this strange sense that I did.  I don't remember being scolded for this action either - but I guess that doesn't mean that I wasn't. I was about three at the time.

I went to a day care until I was nearly 10 while my mother worked and my step father worked. There I would find worms and chop them in half because I heard that both ends would grow back and it would be two worms. I don't think I ever found out then if the two pieces grew into two whole worms. Today, I know that I'd killed those experimental earthworms by cutting them in two. Curious? Inquisitive? Malicious?  Jury’s out.

...

A few years after that, a childhood friend and I would catch frogs in the brook near his house. We'd place the frogs into aluminum soda cans, tennis ball cans, Arizona iced tea cans. Then, we'd shoot the cans to hell. Naturally. Do all adolescents do this kind of thing?

A few years following, I was doing some landscaping work at an office and I saw a fawn in the woods in the back yard. I threw a rock at it. It was a mixture of aiming to hit it, and to scare it. To this day, I can't conjure up the precise reason as to why I did this. And I was an early teen at this point.

I guess those stories illustrate my theory that I had some emotional instability, even at an early age, and it continued on upwards to adolescence and my teens. My wife thinks that's just what some children do, but she didn't think that I was evil. I think it's what some people do that have deep-seated emotional anarchy.

There were a lot of topics I touched on in this post. I believe I will come back to them time and time again. I have to come back to them - this is how I will reconcile the Little Me with the Big Me.

Someday soon I hope.