I’m free. I’m out. I’m leaving.
I’m stuck. I’m sad. I’m alone.
It took a few years after my divorce to discover my own inner joy. I think the title of the post was “Untethered Joy is My Natural State.” It’s time to remember that again. Everything in my body wants to bolt. Head for the hills. My stick and stone fort above the glass castle. Shit, it’s the same defense mechanism. Run!
Okay, no running. Untethering, on the other hand, I think is already done. My carnival is moving out of town. I’m going to give up a loving relationship. Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I’m deluding myself and am about to drive my emotional car off a cliff. I don’t think so. But, what the fuck do I know.
Here’s the part that I continue to learn. I can only focus on ONE CRISIS AT A TIME.
When your lover is dealing with some heavy shit, let me give you a clue, your responsibility is to hold your own shit together, so as not to escalate the anxiety and fight in your partner. When you’re needs, fears, and advice, keep bleeding into the conversation, even when the “pause” request has been made, that’s a big issue. I can’t come out and say the exact things that happened. The details are unimportant for now, but here’s how it’s played out in my past.
Late-stage marriage implosion, my wife freaked out, went dark and angry and stayed that way for the full year until she filled for divorce. I guess the one was a precursor to the other, but Jesus, if you’re seeing a therapist what the fuck are y’all talking about? She lost it. She fell into the hell of her mom and dad’s saga and she bolted.
That was my understanding developed ofter several years of trying to examine the fall. But today, I see a more glaring detail. She is not just unavailable to me, she’s unavailable to herself. She’s suppressing so much. What all I don’t know. But she’s completely incapable of dealing with my son’s screams for help.
The amazing news is, her husband arrived at “in-patient as soon as possible” just yesterday. I guess we all have walls, protections, and dysfunctions. I certainly do. But, these two, the primary caregivers for my kids from 9 and 11 to the present, well, it’s no wonder my son is struggling. He’s never had boundaries since the divorce. If one smart kid can exploit the triagulation of two single parents it’s my son.
This sounds like I’m just being mean. I’m trying to catch my son’s hand as he barrels over the cliff of his own making. And here’s the disconnect with my loving former girlfriend.
She’s ready for me to be in California with her, on vacation. We have a conflict of interest. I can’t change her mind or mindset. I’m done being a relationship coach in my own relationship. Nope. I think I’m going to go freelance for a bit.
Of course, the proper cautions must be inventoried.
- loving relationship helped me stay above ground during two hard work collapses
- losing my hand to hold, a snuggle with snacks and kisses
- in this moment of crisis, my relationship has become a liability, not an asset
- i have spent a good portion of my post-high-school life alone
- this is a familiar movie – in and out of four or so long-term relationships since my divorce
The risk is death. Oh, drama. The risk is depression returning due to loneliness and isolation. So, let’s parse that out a bit. Isolation is not an issue. My tennis groups and three core social groups are strong. I want a partner, I want a lover, but I don’t need one. Well… I could phrase that better. Want vs. Need is a big theme of my dating writing.
Again, not to inventory her misfires, she’s had one relationship before me, since her divorce. I’ll stop there.
This is about me. My son. My health and wellbeing. I have to keep reminding myself. My story. My experience. My son is a player, an antagonist, arsonist, and nihilist. My former girlfriend is not the problem. Changing her, however, is not my problem. As with my son, he has to want to change. If he doesn’t want to go to treatment, therapy, whatever, well, I can only do so much. Apply pressure where I can. And today, let the fuck go. That’s my option. Let go.
Holding on to my son and my girlfriend at this time is proving too much. So I have to pick one to let go of. Sorry, sweetie.
I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere until the boy has been swaddled. It’s not a hard choice.
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