Yesterday ~ My Marriage

I took the afternoon off yesterday. What a smart move! First, the weather was glorious. The kids, including ******’s friend, ********, the dogs, and I all went to the beach. Then, while they were home, Chanel and I went again, and went on a long walk.

I took a bunch of pictures, just over 200, I would say. I love doing that, in case you couldn’t tell.

It was interesting, a couple of times at the beach yesterday, and when I was safely tucked away in my bedroom, I couldn’t keep from crying. A number of heartaches kept coming to the surface ~ my mother, my marriage, and *****.

Yesterday would have been my 14th wedding anniversary had I not been so stupid as to marry the person I did. I pride myself on being of at least above-average intelligence, while still believing in my heart of hearts that all people are intelligent in some way, and that none of us is any better or any more worthy, or anything, than anybody else. But, I didn’t like **** when I first met him. He was going to be my friend, ****’s, roommate. Later on, he dated another one of our friends, *********. He is relatively benign, in that most of the damage that he causes is localized, and he is not intelligent enough to actually accomplish the manipulations that he undertakes. In any event, when I met him, I couldn’t stand him. I don’t know what ever possessed me to mate with the man, much less marry him. Well, I sort of know, but it is not a logical enough explanation to satisfy even me, anymore. So, all I can say, I guess, is that, if ever there was a case of temporary insanity, so it was with me when I married ****.

Ours was an on-again, off-again relationship. Mostly off. When I was under the influence of my temporary insanity, I thought he was interesting, so much unrealized potential, all rolled up into one guy. But there were too many things that I did not know.

At some point, he left me, left school at MIIS, and moved to a trailer court in San Ysidro, where he bought a tiny run down trailer from a Mexican family. He lived there for a while, gutted the trailer, fixed it up, and sold it to another family. He didn’t work. Actually, in the 17 years I have known him, he has never actually had a job for more than 5 or 6 weeks.

That, in and of itself, should have told me something.

That Christmas, **** and her brother, ******, went back to Sweden, and **** was in Wisconsin with his family. ****** and I stayed here in Monterey. I house sat for them while they were all out of town. **** wound up coming back early, just before New Year’s Eve. When I checked the house one evening, things seemed different to me. The next morning, I drove past, and the lights were on. I knew that I hadn’t left them on, so that evening, after work; I stopped by the house again. At that time, I worked for the Image Factor, a marketing company that used to be in the Perry House on Van Buren, and that was run by a dear and brilliant woman, ***** and **** and ******** *****. The **** ***** that at least ran for city council in the last elections. Anyway, after work, I went by the house. **** was there. We hung out and talked for a while, and he didn’t seem nearly as insidious a creature as I had initially thought. We hung out again that New Year’s Eve, and became more involved, then. After a week or so, he disappeared.

Right before I met ****, I had started dating ****, my friend who now lives down in Tucson. **** was a good guy, he treated me well. But there were two problems with him, first, the size issue. Sex with him was one of the most painful experiences that I have ever had, because of his size. It actually caused me physical damage, as in lacerations and the like, that had to be treated by a doctor. He thought I was flattering him when I said that he was too big for me. Actually, he still thinks that, telling me that he isn’t as big as I remember. However, beings as he’s the only guy who ever caused any actual vaginal damage, much less to the extent that I needed medical treatment, I persist in my insistence that he is not the one for me, because of that, and that I am not willing to imagine living a life in which sexual intimacy was tantamount to such painful torture, or in which, because of the pain involved, sexual intimacy was a problem, at best, and out-of-the-question, in the most likely scenario.

The other problem with ****, at least I saw it as a problem then, was that he was too nice to me. At that time, a situation that had been years in the making, and that endured for many years afterwards, caused me to despise myself. I honestly did not think that I deserved to be in a relationship in which I was treated well. I cold neither understand nor accept such a thing. I considered myself unworthy, as if there was something inherently evil about me, that everybody saw, but nobody acknowledged, and that a man who treated me well simply didn’t know my true nature.

After **** moved to San Ysidro, I started dating ******. Like I said, before meeting you, ****** was the love of my life, the one that got away. As I would call him in my mind and heart, and in my poetry, he was, ‘my most treasured memory; my most severe pain.’ Ours is the love story I told you about. To this day, what transpired with him, or, actually, what I failed to do, is my biggest regret in life.

As an aside, in the years that have come and gone since ******, years I never thought I would be able to live through, but have, I have come to realize and understand that, in my life, anyway, I don’t really regret anything that I have done. I don’t even regret the things that I did wrong or the mistakes that I made. I sometimes wish I had known better or done better, but that is far different from true regret. What I actually regret, in my life, are those things that I didn't do.

Upon thinking about those regrets, the things that I didn’t do, a couple of months ago, when I could not fathom for the life of me what was going on with you, I wrote this poem. I believe that I have shared it with you before, but I don’t know that you knew it was my writing, and so therefore my authentic feelings, at their purest, and not just my interpretation of other people’s words. And so, I will share it again…


Buried Treasure

In my heart? . . . unspoken feelings.
In my mind? . . . words left unsaid.
In my dreams? . . . our happy endings.
In my life? . . . actions, untaken;
gestures, unmade;
thoughts, unmentioned; and
feelings I was too broken to share
. . . with anyone.

Alone here,
In the autumn of my days;
Holding tight to all I failed to do, for fear . . .
. . . of success,
. . . of love, and
. . . of peace . . .

In the shelter of that fear,
I gather the pieces;
Cobble them together,
in secret;
Bury them away,
in my heart and mind;
and then, leave them,
in safety,
and in darkness . . .

They cannot grow,
or flourish, but,
No one can shatter the pieces of me
if they cannot be reached;
Not if I do not share
what makes me, me,
with anyone,
ever,
again. . . . Right?

Tender, fragile pieces,
of the treasure I once was . . .
. . . quiet, secret feelings,
. . . unspoken words,
. . . happy endings
that will never be.

The pieces? . . . all that's left,
of a hope-filled little girl . . .

They're my buried treasure . . .
. . . and the map is all the world.

*************************************************************************************
That is who, or what, I am. . . broken pieces. . . buried treasure. . . a solitary piece of blue beach glass. . .
*************************************************************************************

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted… (by myself, I know)! Some people’s kids, let me tell you!!

So, **** had moved to San Diego, and ****** and I were dating. His and my relationship was very good. We were intellectual equals, which is apparently one of the most important things to me. He is a good man, and was kind to me. The only thing “wrong” with him was that, since he did not have any children, and since ****** had ADHD, etc., ****** did not have the patience with ****** that I would have liked to see. He basically didn’t know how to cope with certain 4-year old behaviors. That said, I am sure that, had I given him the chance that he, we, and I deserved, he would have learned those skills and would have gotten used to the boy.

But, **** decided that my being with ****** was tantamount to losing his “wife.” So he came back to Monterey. Both of them asked me to marry them. ****** basically offered me the world on a silver platter. **** was, is, and always shall be, nothing more than potential. I didn’t think good of myself. My parents had brought me up believing that I am inherently evil; that I am not good enough, or smart enough, or anything; that I am just plain, not enough, and that I never will be; that I don’t deserve the same things that everybody else deserves; that I am, somehow, subhuman; and the list goes on……. It is hard, now, when I am almost 41 years old, for me to overcome the obstacles that that upbringing has engendered. It was even harder 14 years ago.

I didn’t think I was worthy of ******. I didn’t think I deserved the happiness that he and I had found together. So I married ****. Even then, ****** begged me to at least have a child together, even if I passed that child off as ****’s, even if he (******) never met the child in question. I didn’t think that was a wise move.

So I married the idiot instead of the love of my life. I married a fool. Marrying him made me a fool, too.

I made a terrible mistake in not marrying ******. I made an even worse one in not seeing **** for who he is/was.

First, he was emotionally and physically abusive of my child. Another boyfriend had hit ****** in 1989. I left him. But I looked the other way in ****. His physical abuse wasn’t nearly as bad as the abuse that I had suffered growing up, and so, while it was happening, I guess I didn’t see it for what it was. But, nonetheless, there is no excuse. And, no matter my ‘fault’ in it, ****’s abusive behaviors, especially towards my son, hurt me.

Second, **** has sexual problems. He would rather jack off, alone, standing at the bathroom sink with a magazine, than make love to his wife. And, he liked to stay up all night and sleep all day. Occasionally, he would try to wake me up for sex. I had been woken up so many times in my life to be beaten, by my parents or by a man, that waking me up abruptly in the middle of the night terrified me. It still scares me, but more time has passed, so I do not get nearly as frightened as I used to. **** was offended by my fear. Instead of trying to understand it, to work with it and me, or something, he took his offense off to the bathroom with his magazine and his hand. His sexual rejection hurt me.

Third, **** is an alcoholic. At the time, he was doing drugs and drinking. Besides the drinking itself, he is emotionally and physically abusive of anybody who has the misfortune of knowing him. Alcohol, drugs, emotional and physical abuse… abuse is the definition of ****. He has never kept a job, preferring to “be in business for himself,” doing occasional odd jobs, sometimes actually finishing them, and occasionally even being paid. I believe him to be a complete failure, an absolute fuck of a human being (and that is not a word I call anybody, it's simply not a prat of my active vocabulary). His alcoholism hurt me.

I did not know that he was an alcoholic until years after we divorced. He has been drinking since high school, and never stopped. It explained some of what he has done, to himself and to others, but not all of it. When ****** was 4 or 5, I was talking to someone, and I said that **** doesn’t have a job. ****** said, “Yes he does.” I said, “Oh yeah, what does he do?” “He goes to meetings.” “What do you mean, he goes to meetings?” “He goes to meetings and says, ‘I’m **** and I am an alcoholic, and this is ******, and she’s just a little girl.’” I was livid. I was mad at myself for not having seen it all along. I was mad at myself for ever becoming involved with him. I was mad at myself for having his baby. I was mad at myself for pretty much everything. And I was mad at him for inflicting himself upon other people. I was furious that he took her to those meetings. That is not the place for a small child. I felt it completely selfish and irresponsible of him to do that, especially when his parents live nearby and wanted nothing more than to spend time with her. Who on earth does he think he is that he should be allowed to live the way he does and to inflict his decisions upon other people?! **** hurt ******, **** hurt ******, **** hurt me.

Anyway, **** left me and moved back in with his parents after 11 months of marriage. He didn’t actually file for divorce for a couple of years. Yesterday I decided that, from now on, I am going to celebrate our divorce anniversary, which is sometime in December. I need to look that up!