Tag: relationships

If No One Ever Marries Me

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weddingday
My faith in marriage has been rocked. Everything I believed in previously is a myth, a lie, a mirage set up to hurt and disappoint and destroy.

What do you do when you marry with the understanding, the trust that what you are doing is forever and suddenly you find out it has been one big, humongous lie? The house with the heavy mortgage is really built out of cards, not love. Suddenly there is a big bad wolf at your door ready to huff and puff and steal your happiness away. Your 9-5 to support your loved ones was a waste of time. Working hard for the failing.

They say hurtful things like I Never Loved You. I Used You. I Have Been Waiting For Someone Else. Someone Else. All This Time. Ten Years Means Nothing To Me. I Will Get The Kids And The House. Mine. All Mine. Head spinning. Heart in a tailspin. Is there any way to pull out of this freefall? Is there a way to snap out of this stunned disbelief and wake from the nightmare?

Friends shake their heads in shock. Didn’t see this coming we all mutter. Who sides with whom? Rumors of the evil kind circulate among the unkind. Cocaine. Cheating. The accusations are so outrageous how could anyone not see it coming? It’s just right there if you know where to look.

Kisa and I look at each other differently. That thing we argued about yesterday seems so petty today. We tiptoe around our relationship like it is a sleeping child. What we once considered a rock is now a wispy, translucent spider’s web. What we once took for granted is back in consideration. We are considerate. Nothing lasts forever.
There was a reason I stood behind my veil and shook like a leaf. There was a reason why I kept him waiting at the alter. Kept him waiting, but didn’t leave him. I waited for the nerves to calm, the strength of love to flood my veins. In light of recent developments I can’t help but be reminded of that day I almost said I don’t.

We say no one saw this coming. Doesn’t matter. We are all in still in shock.
Or are we?

Talking Too Much

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I have learned a valuable  lesson. When I say This. Stays. Between. Us. the words strung together to form a directive don’t matter. It’s almost as if you take the words as a euphemism for something else. What I say doesn’t mean sh!t. It’s almost as if you don’t trust what I’m telling you; so you do the exact opposite of what I ask. I feel like I am speaking a foreign language. But, here’s the thing: I get it. You want to be in the know. Knowing it all is your power. It’s your vice. You hate to be wrong, you love to be perfect. You need to run to those less knowing and share your information – holding the Guess What! over their heads. I get it. You can’t help it. Not in the least. This is a turning point. At least for me. I know what I need to do. It’s my turn to be didactic towards myself and moi. Shut the door, shut the mouth. Be more military. Have that attitude. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Or me.

Blind Faith

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peaceWhat exactly does that mean, blind faith? Is it stupid trust? Is it unknowing confidence? Is it naive hope? What does it mean to have blind faith in something you don’t believe in? Such are the questions. Where are the answers? I am too headstrong for reasoning.

You accused me of something so blind, so stupid, so unknowing and naive. Where was the faith? The trust? The confidence? The hope that I would never steer you wrong. To do you wrong is to do an army of people wrong. Don’t get me wrong, but an army of people more precious than what I mean to you. That might not be saying much, but that’s what I mean without saying too much.

I have given up trying to be meaner than how angry I really am. It’s like too sweet frosting on a cake made without sugar. The compensation just doesn’t cut it. Proportionally, it doesn’t make sense. At the end of the day I find myself not really caring. That’s not mean, just real. Why get fired up over something I have no fire for? It’s like the person who hates without knowing. Hating just because it seems like the right easy thing to do. In the end, when it’s all said and done, was that hate worth anything to the hater? Not really sure. Wasted energy some would say. For a life too short, I would add.

What exactly am I trying to say? I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll never know. This is what came to mind when I thought about you. This is what popped out when I opened my mind to think. So, in the spirit of blind faith I say have faith no more. “Open up your eyes. See me for what I am. Cast in iron I won’t break and I won’t bend.” ~ Headstrong, 10,000 Maniacs.  Words by Natalie Merchant.

Ignoring the Signs

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1464807804_308eacfdbbWe are right in the middle of a messy divorce. Not that we want to be. We didn’t mean to put ourselves here – it just became part of the deal by default. But, in the grand scheme of things it has taught me a valuable lesson: stay away from drama. Run, don’t walk, from situations out of your control.
I learned of an on-coming train wreck last night. My first instinct was to jump from the track. My second was to stay and see what happens. High drama is always highly amusing. Except when there is the potential to get tangled up in it. I really, really don’t want to be involved. I was there before. I feel like I just got free of it. Why get in the way again?
Last night I ignored the signs and stayed on. Last night I wanted to believe. Today, I see things differently. Much differently.

There is a scene in some chick-flick movie. Of course I don’t remember the name of it. Bette Midler plays a meddling mother. She loves her daughter too much to be of any good to her. In the end she picks a fight to end the relationship. She does it on purpose to put some distance between her and her daughter. It’s painful – but necessary. Something she must do. At the time I didn’t understand the ending. Thought it was stupid and unnecessary. A royal WTF? Now, I get it. I am at that point. I get the point. All I want is for you to be happy. I’ve said it a thousand times. You mean the world to me. Butbutbut, I refuse to be part of the approaching drama. There is no way I can be involved and be accused. Again. If I can’t live my passions out in the open without having them distorted and distrusted I don’t want to have them at all. I refuse to defend what I hold dear.

Don’t hate me for pulling a Bette.

Not a Day Goes By

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Harris, E. Lynn, Not a Day Goes By. New York: Anchor Books, 2000.

Since I chose a book from the chapter, “African American Fiction: She Says” (p 12 Book Lust), it was only fair I chose one from the “He Says” side as well. From everything I heard about Not a Day Goes By two words stood out, “sassy” and “sexy” – two of my favorites.

In a word, Not a Day Goes By is about secrets. Former professional football star John Basil Henderson has some big ones he’s hiding from his fiance, Yancey. But, broadway star Yancey Harrington Braxton has even bigger ones she’s keeping from “Basil”. With their relationship chock full of lies, together they make the perfect couple. On the surface they are both beautiful, driven, talented individuals, but beneath those perfect facades hides homosexualty, a child out of wedlock, greed and old lovers who refuse to go away. Sexuality and sin ooze from nearly every page. Definitely a guilty-pleasure read! 

Favorite line, “I still got my tough-guy swagger (when needed). The only difference between two years ago and today is I realize that a tough-guy swagger looks just as dumb as a robe and halo” (p 11).

BookLust Twist: As before mentioned, from Book Lust in the chapter called, “African American Fiction: He Says” (p 11).

counting them up

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When I recited the exact date of when I met a friend she chided me, “…speaking of demons! You can’t let go of yours!” I had to laugh. I was ready to blurt out the old caught in the act, “it’s not what it looks like!” Because it is true. For all intents and purposes it doesn’t look like I have let go of anything.
But, as I explained to my friend, I have good demons. I keep them with me to remind me of how my life could have turned out; where I could have been. I think of her brother and know that I am not vain enough to think I would ever have any impact on his life. So, if our relationship had worked out I would be a puzzle piece in his very complicated life. Fate has run its course and everything would be as it is today. There is a demon and his name is Care, because I still do.
Then there is the demon Gabriel. He is the angel of hurt and pain. He exists to remind me of of troubles far deeper than anything I live with today. Liked a drowning survived I have surfaced.
I cannot forget the demon of Humility. I cannot forgive myself for the pains I have caused others. My selfish need to be the center of someone elses world at a loved one’s expense. I never, ever want to go down that road again so I cannot let myself forget.
So many demons to keep for so many reasons. I love them all, need them all, want them all.

And yet. My friend is right.

I was having dinner with someone the other night. We sat stabbing pasta and fiddling with drink straws while discussing family and the expectations bred within bloodlines. Something she said struck a nerve, rattled a belief, and disconnected an age old longing. Just because you are tied by genes doesn’t mean you have to be tethered. I thought I wanted that tell-all, close as shadows siblingry – the first to know, the last to let go kind of relationship. In all actuality I have never known it or needed it. Another demon to let go of.

Divorce

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How does one go about planning to leave? She knows she wants out while he has no clue. He mentally packs a bag on a nightly basis, dreaming of the last time he closes the door while she closes her eyes to sleep. How often is it a mutual decision where one looks at the other and they both know what disaster lies ahead? How often is it a firm handshake, nice try, and see you later? The quiet dismantle of a mistake.

To think of my task is chilling
to know  I was carefully building a mask I was wearing for two years, swearing
I’d tear it off?

If you are the one planning to leave – do you have a mental count down clock, ticking the minutes to freedom? Is your end date so final you know the weeks, days and hours ’til freedom? Do you have an escape route a la Sleeping with the Enemy; something so well thought out no one (including yourself) sees it coming? Will you leave your spouse reeling with IHadNoClue and your friends shocked (They-Were-The-Perfect-Couple. No, I never suspected a thing!).

I know your feelings are tender. Inside you the embers still glow
but I’m a shadow, only a bed of blackened coal
call myself jezebel for wanting to leave.

If you are the one left behind – do you sense the abandonment before it happens? Did he turn away from you a little too quickly to read a text message? Did you feel the distance before you noticed how untouched you have become? Are you secretly counting down the days until leaving, wanting to play the broken, left behind, but secretly rejoicing the respite from unlove? Do you grasp at what once was knowing you never had it in the first place?

Seven months, three weeks, two days and six hours is what he said to me. Why? I thought you were good at this marital thing.
I may be good at it. I’m just not happy doing it.

How I wish that we never had tried
to be man and his wife
to weave our lives into a blindfold
over both our eyes.

~Jezebel, Natalie Merchant 1992 

 

You Didn’t Ask Me

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postsecret.jpg

I know this picture is huge. I wanted it big for a reason. The reason is this: to make the message loud and clear. Some time ago I told a friend this postcard (shamelessly swiped from PostSecret) reminded me of them (grammar be damned, I want to protect the not-so-innocent from scrutiny). Yes, I thought they had something to do with a could-of, should-of relationship. Then, the other other other day someone else admitted to me, “I married the wrong person.” Yikes. What, tell me, what exactly, clued you into the right or wrong of a marriage partner? How do you know that now, and more importantly, did you know that going into the whole “death do you part” deal?
Freak me out. It would kill me to regret any part of the vows I exchanged (and now share) with kisa. I could sigh and say someone else could have been more my speed, more my temperament, more my Me. But, that’s just the way life is…and isn’t. I’m not going to regret something because ultimately, that means regretting someone and that’s not fair. So, I ask again. Did you know you married the wrong person from the very start? If so, why did you do it, let it happen, whatever?
I admit! I play the “what if?” game in my head. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with my here and now. I think of old boyfriends and what could have been. I don’t think there’s a person out there who hasn’t done something similar, if not the exact same thing. A kind of WhereAreTheyNow? for ordinary people. I’m sure someone is Googling you right now. If I question my future with my past’s someones here’s what I come up with: a bored housewife with alcoholic tendencies, a military maiden with issues with authority, an atheist marooned at marathon mass every Sunday, a tripped out druggie wondering which sex my husband is having, gay or straight, without me, a overworked mother of three who has to wait through “just nine more holes – just nine more.” None of these are my idea of me.  But, I said yes at the time. Did I know I would be marrying the wrong person? Did I know all these past passings would be considered mistakes? Certainly not. Life just works in a weird, weird way.

Music Lesson

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Weber, Katharine. The Music Lesson.

Music LessonI picked up Weber’s second novel after reading her debut novel Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear. In Objects I fell in love with the narration immediately. The writing was so fluid I hoped everything Weber wrote would read the same way.  
I liken Music Lesson to that of a second kiss. It’s not as good as the very first one yet still highly enjoyable. When I found out it was part of the Book Lust Challenge I almost put it on my “must reread” list because I liked it so much.
It’s the story of Patricia. She guards a stolen painting in a cottage in Ireland. Alone. Alone with her troubled past and complicated future, Patricia has time to contemplate the crossroads. The stolen painting becomes more than just “art” to her. It guides her through a metamorphism and an awakening.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust under the heading of “Irish Fiction” (p126).

To learn more about one of my favorite authors, Katharine Weber, go here.