I Should Never Let Myself Believe
Question:
It’s a sucker’s game…and I guess I’m the stupidest sucker around, because I keep letting good things lull my awarenes of just how dreadful the whole picture is… I was going to send this to him, but I just can’t take the chance that speaking will destroy even one precious moment available to me. With apologies for the long outpouring of what is, I freely admit, a totally self-centered complaint, I don’t think this hellish night will end for me unless I know someone, somewhere might read these words and understood them. Even being understood by a stranger, and never knowing about it, is better than being muted. I’m not looking for email advice…or anything, for that matter. There’s only two people who could change this ongoing, low-grade nightmare I call a life. This is as good as it gets for me…no matter how much it hurts. I cannot make myself do the only changes I’ve figured out to do on my own. I’ve accepted, at last, that I won’t have any cooperation in the changes that require more than my own efforts. He doesn’t have a clue that something could change, wouldn’t change anything if *I* were to give him that clue, and probably wouldn’t believe he had the power to change anything even if the clue walked up and bit him on the butt. Everyone has a blind spot or fifty. One of his blind spots is an unshakeable belief in the fallacy that he can opt out of influencing the people around him, that he can decide not to decide, choose not to choose, and remain merely an observer of events, not a participant. But I have to be competent tomorrow. Hell, tomorrow is today by now…and it’s my "day off" — which means I can’t settle for being competent. I have to be superwoman. Too bad there’s so much kryptonite in the very structures of my life, isn’t it? And here I am with no lead shielding… Warning: long ramble of pain & self-pity ahead Well, here I am…alone again. It’s 1:15am as I begin to try and write this. Everyone else is asleep — except me. Even the cat is asleep. I’ve been up for nearly 22 hours, and I have no idea if it will stretch to days…again… I’ve worked a full day, an unusually busy and tiring day. I drove home through variable weather and even more variable traffic. Actually, I did rather well at that part, although there was/is nobody around here who has the slightest interest in hearing about the five accidents that I saw or the three that I narrowly avoided being involved in. What the hell, I’m supposed to outmanuever death, why should anyone give a damn about hearing when or how deftly I did it? I cooked a damn good dinner. And I went to considerable effort to be noticed by him, too. I bathed and brushed my teeth. I brushed my hair so that it would look the way I know most pleases and attracts him. I wanted to be a turn-on, not a turn-off. I wanted to be made love to, to be cared for, to believe that I was not just a short step away from being alone again, that I was loved for more than this moment, that I wasn’t building my future on quicksand, that I’m not a disposable person, that I am wanted, not just needed. But the girl took sick, and I needed to get her settled. It’s a mom thing, and even if I have screwed up everything else, I’m very good at mom things. Nothing truly serious, just emotional intesity and allergies and fatigue and a bit of overeating; the combination tried to trigger a migraine. I handled that quite well, too. She’s asleep now and will, in all likelihood, feel absolutely wonderful tomorrow morning. So I returned to my shared bedroom, hoping there would at least be some TLC. No demands, just hoping for some affection, some caring, a chance to fall asleep with a much beloved arm across my body. Not only wasn’t there a chance, but I realized I hadn’t had a chance from the very beginning. The man had opted, even before the girl got sick, for sleep, not lovemaking. No matter what I needed, he had his own idea of where the evening was leading; obviously, it wasn’t leading to me. Once the pills are swallowed, that’s it. Asleep without even a mumbled "Goodnight" in my direction. Once again, the little blue pills have shut down his conscious mind and I am invisible and mute. I don’t exist. So my daughter is sleeping peacefully and will wake herself, minus a nauseating headache. And the man of my heart, the man who I want more than anything else in this world, is sleeping peacefully, as well, totally unaware of (uncaring of? oh god…yes, I think maybe it’s true, but I wish it weren’t) the gut-tearing loneliness I’m feeling. And I’m sitting here at this damned computer, writing to try and ease the pain, tears pouring down my face so heavily that the front edges of my bathrobe are getting soaked. I feel lost, alone, unloved, unlovable, and unworthy of all the small, intangible things I want so badly. My role, now that working and commuting and cooking and soothing have been accomplished is to cry my pain out from my assigned position–on the shelf, forgotten in the face of more important things. I have no use, therefore no purpose. Right now it all hurts so badly that I wish the pain would kill me and end any chances of it happening again. It’s happened before, and I’ve survived it. I’ll survive this, I know, and no doubt there will be some decent moments in the future. But I do not doubt that it will happen again and again and again. Everything has a price, you see. You can never have something you want without giving up something else you want. I want those few decent moments, I want the chance to gaze on his face and delude myself into thinking I will not lose him, sooner or later. I want to believe that I am loved, valued, wanted, and worthy. And the price for those fleeting moments of happiness? It’s a installment-plan price. Periodically, I must endure these lonely times when it is very clear that I may be loved, but I will never be Loved. I am not, and never will be, loved the way I love–enough to be worth sacrificing for, not even on a small scale, not even if the sacrifice is to stay awake and hold me while I delude myself that "forever yours" is a sentiment held by anyone but myself. I must endure the knowledge that I am all his…and he will never truly be mine. In the midst of the headache pain, my daughter said, "I hate my life." Child, may you never find out how quietly terrible life can be… ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
Judith, "Acceptance"…yes. I accept reality. I don’t like it and it hurts, but I’m not railing against the reality so much as against the pain. Things are the way they are, and how I feel is how I feel, and sometimes the two things don’t blend smoothly. Maybe more sleep would help me tolerate things as they are, smooth my ride through the bumpy portions of my road, but I seem to be entirely resistant to medication on that problem, so…just another piece of reality I’ve accepted, I guess. Funny thing, even though I’m never much of a sleeper, I get more rest when I do sleep under a very easily identified set of circumstances. When I’m in that frame of mind where I feel optimistic, I function and feel well; when the pain rises up to overwhelm me, no amount of sleep will get me any rest. As always, you are show more compassion and kindliness than I’ve ever felt I should expect or deserve. Thank you. ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
NyteBard, No advice hun, just letting you know I read this. greg It’s a sucker’s game…and I guess I’m the stupidest sucker around, because I keep letting good things lull my awarenes of just how dreadful the whole picture is…
[snip] — greg :: Bodhisattva with a real bad attitude Take the *JUNKMAIL out of my addy to reply by email
Response:
I hear you, honey. I even understand what you’re saying. What you described is my future. Installment plan. Moments of loneliness. Giving and forgiving. Standing by. In six years, I’ll repeat your words, sitting at the damn computer, soaking wet my T-shirt with tears. Maybe ten, but there’s no way out…… ((Nyte)) DG
Response:
~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
I hear you, honey. I even understand what you’re saying. What you described is my future. Installment plan. Moments of loneliness. Giving and forgiving. Standing by. In six years, I’ll repeat your words, sitting at the damn computer, soaking wet my T-shirt with tears. Maybe ten, but there’s no way out……
ouch Ain’t love grand? <sigh {{{{{ DG }}}}} ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
Hope you don’t mind, but a couple of those tears there are mine. I wanted to say at first that I once thought this way too, but then I found that every once in a while, you can find love, and even if you lose it again, it’s there always, waiting to be found. But then I thought, "You’re not a woman, you don’t feel the special kind of need for love and security that a woman feels." So, for what it’s worth coming from a man who can only feel the way a man feels, I wish you love and peace and security.
Guy, I believe you DO feel and understand the need for love and security. Actually, I think a most men do, but can’t admit it, even to themselves. Of course, it may be my own experience slanting my view… But I think one reason he can’t reach out very far to me is because he once did so in the long past, and she hurt him so badly he refuses to even admit to the pain that flashes across his face when she is mentioned, years later. He can’t let himself believe, either, not even in me. So some of my tears are for his pain, too, I guess. ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
No advice hun, just letting you know I read this.
Thank you, my friend — it does help, you know. ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
Now, I think, I’m afraid to try to love as much as I can because I don’t want to know if I can’t love as much as I used to, like testing a healing limb and finding out it’ll never be as strong as it once was. This is stupid, now I’m chasing my own tail.
No, not stupid at all, Guy. From my perspective, you are more likely to resist that "fear of commitment" because you know you have been hurt. You recognize your fear, so it can’t grab you from behind and control you. Future love doesn’t have to be less than the love of the past. No, it won’t be the same as it was, but you have a lot of love AND the willingness to give it, that much is very clear. You don’t deny the pain. I wish you didn’t feel it, but I’m glad you know it’s there, because you will suffer less and so will the lucky woman in your life. My man coped with the pain by going numb and denying that he was hurt when his wife left him. He’s still in denial; he can’t think himself past the fear of loss and betrayal because he refuses to admit the fear exists…so it controls what he sees when he looks at me. I wish he could just see me and know that I am an entirely different person than his ex…but after so much time, I don’t know if that’s possible. ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
Dear Guy: It seems, perhaps, that instead of thinking of love in the abstract, one should simply assume his capacity to recognize "the" beloved when she comes. What I mean is that when your love meets you and comes to you, you will be overtaken by the ardor you feel and not for a moment wonder any longer about your "capacity." I suppose you could say, "great, so now I must wonder if I am blind or near-sighted" . . . but from reading your posts, that worry has already been squashed. Do not despair. Rosena
Response:
yes, I also fail to think things through sometimes, not because I’m lazy, but because it hurts.
That’s easy to understand, too. ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
Thanks, kitty, for the hug and the understanding. Yes, I’m very sure. He has his own emotional scars and they control his behavior more than he is willing to see, but I knew that before we actually met. I doubt he’ll say it, because I don’t think even he believes it, but I suspect the voice that guides his choices is singing, "I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you." Until I met him, I wasn’t even aware that something was missing from my life. In the moment I met him, I knew that I had been incomplete all along, and that the missing part was shaped like him. It isn’t easy, and sometimes it’s even harder than usual, to love someone more than he will let himself love back. So sometimes I cry. But what alternative do I have? When I think about the future, for myself or anyone else, I can see with my mind’s eye the lines of probability and possibility; those lines are so many, going so many directions it would be easy to get lost following them without some sort of focus. But if I choose "life without him" as the focus, I see nothing. Most of the time I can just enjoy my half a loaf…last night I realized all over again that I’m hungry. It will take a while to start ignoring the hunger pangs again, but I’ve done it before… ~~~~~The NyteBard~~~~~ (unSORT address to email me)
Response:
{{{{{{nytebard}}}}}} i just want you to know that i read this and i felt your pain. i know what that pain and loneliness are like. i have been there 
but i have to ask. are you sure he is the one for you? why not continue looking? you deserve so much!!! so much more than that… purrs from, kitty
Response:
Hi NyteBard. I snipped your whole message, but please believe that I read it all, more than once. In your message, I heard acceptance. Acceptance usually means loss of some kind, which is painful. But it’s a kind of pain that ends. I’m glad you shared your pain here, and I hope it helped to ease it a little within your own mind. I know you aren’t looking for advice, but I’m going to give some anyway. As always, if it’s stupid, ignore it. First, I think you need to address the issue of lack of sleep. It seems to be a constant for you. I’ve experienced a lot of insomnia and it makes what is tolerable, intolerable. You don’t need to take prescription drugs, necessarily; there are herbal supplements, and relaxation exercises. You may not actually fall sound asleep, but you can at least reduce your tension level a little bit, maybe improve your outlook. Second, this isn’t really advice, just an observation. If you were 100 times more selfish, you would still be more kind, giving and considerate than the average person. The only difference would be, you’d actually be kind, considerate and giving to yourself, too. I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. I think the world of you, NyteBard. judith
