Blind Spots

I guess it is more than natural that a shock to the system like this, will cause one to really look at themselves.  I certainly have been doing that.

I stand by the observations I've made in past posts, but it is becoming increasingly clear that I have some blind spots.

I still believe that I came out of my last divorce as better a person, in the ways I've described.  But I've the ignored the fact that during that marriage, I  had quit smoking and basically quit drinking.  Not that I went to meetings or anything like that, it just didn't fit where I was with 2 little kids in the house.  (Of course those little kids are now 16 and almost 23.)  But within months of moving out, I was smoking and drinking again.

The smoking was a mistake.  Word of advice, if you quit smoking... do not date or worse yet live with a smoker.  Just saying.

The drinking is more complicated.  And I'm uncomfortable talking about, even here.  I want to be honest with you, but I fear I'm not real honest with myself.  There is a very fine line between self-evaluation and self-justification.

If you were to ask my soon to be 2nd ex-wife, I have no doubt, that she would tell you that the issue was drinking.  And that pisses me off, because when someone says something like that, it evokes certain images.  Images of someone keeping booze stashed around to get a nip when no one is looking.  Someone who disappears on benders.  Someone who misses work after a bender.  Someone who starts their day with a drink.  I've known a person or two like that, and it is horrific.  But that's not me.

That is usually where my thought process ends, telling myself that I'm not like those guys.  But, I do drink too much.  I drink too often.  And more often than is reasonable for someone who has been out of college as long as I have, I get shitfaced.  Blackout/pass out drunk.  Every day?  No.  Every 6-8 weeks?  Well, maybe.  I do it in my own home.  I never drive when I've had even one drink.  I tell myself that I'm blowing off steam.

And that's how it starts.  Blowing off steam.  And then I feel relaxed.  Relaxed, is not something I feel that often.  It feels good, so I drink some more.  And then at some point, my brain is impaired enough, that I go on auto pilot and keep putting them in me.  That's not what I set out to do, but it's what I accomplish.

And I can understand why that bothered her.  I really do.  Early on, we talked about it.  I asked for some gentle nudges, 'maybe that's enough'... kind of statements.  Instead, when I look back, I can see the exact moment in any given evening where she writes me off.  And please understand, it is not like she didn't have a drink in her hand while she was writing me off.  And I know, it was not her job to fix me, but if this bothered her so much, I still don't understand her unwillingness to work with me.  I know that this was not the whole of the problem.  Her inability to open up, to truly commit, to communicate would have blown this up sooner or later.

But that doesn't mean there isn't an issue here.

I don't think I need to quit and go to meetings.  I might be wrong, but I don't think so.

I honestly don't think booze is the problem.

I think I am.  I think I've never really learned how to cope with stress.  I think that I use booze to compensate for that.  For the years I didn't drink, I still got completely undone with stress, I just had different bad reactions to that.

I'm afraid that this is a bit of immaturity on my part.  I think I need to address it.  I think I need to learn to cope with out a crutch.

I'm not sure how exactly that works.  I know that in the mean time, I really need to dry up a bit.  But quitting drinking only to find some other crutch, as I have in the past, doesn't really solve the under lying problem.

Or maybe I'm just deluding myself.

The point here, is that I've had some large blind spots, this isn't the only one, but it is the most significant.

I truly want to make myself better.  It is always the goal.

I guess, throwing off the blinders and looking at all of the issues, gives me more opportunities for improvement.

I'm probably talking in circles here.  And I'm not asking advice.

I guess what bothers me is this.  If she wrote about this, from her perspective.  And you read it.  Would you be commenting and saying things like, Good job girl, you didn't have to live like that.

I'm afraid maybe you would.

This isn't about me and her.  There is no me and her.

This is about understanding myself and trying not to end up in this place again.  Because I never want to be here again.

Please don't judge.  Please don't sugar coat it.  Please just understand that I'm trying to work all of this out.  If I simply left this at: she's nuts and I hate her, I wouldn't be looking at the whole of the issue.

And I wouldn't be able to fix what I need to fix.

The good news

As promised, now I'll give you the good news... as it were.

It might be silly to have broken this into two separate posts, but I work in sales and marketing.  I spend a lot of time making sure that messaging is clear and concise.  And it was important to me that both the negative and positive were expressed.  So two posts it is.

Yesterday, I had kind of an important revelation.

I realized that I wanted things to get better.

I can hear you thinking, of course you wanted things to get better.  But you are wrong.  Until yesterday, I did not want that.

Oh, I hoped things would get better.  I wished things were better.  But I was passive about it.  I had no interest in doing anything to make things better.

This is hard to articulate, although I suspect I have at least one reader who will get it.

I resisted the idea of making things better, because that would be an acknowledgement that this is the way it is.  Hell, any idiot could see how it was.  I signed the goddamned papers.  It couldn't be more clear.  But I didn't want this.  I didn't ask for it.  It happened to me, in many ways.  So, I kind of refused to accept it.  And if I went and did things that would help me "move on" and "feel more complete" and "establish my own independence," that would be accepting that this is where I was.  For six weeks, I resisted that to varying degrees.

I understand how utterly stupid that sounds.  But it felt as though if I just resisted all of it.  If I waited it out. It would go away.  I don't know, perhaps some magic would happen that would make me realize that this didn't hurt me at all.  That this is just what I wanted.  Or maybe, somehow, she'd call or show up at my door or I'd run into her.  And then somehow, I wouldn't be mad, I wouldn't hate her, and everything could be fixed.

The logical part of my brain understood that none of that was going to happen.  But it took the emotional part, a good long while to catch up.

And, for whatever reason, I woke up yesterday and said to myself, I've got to move on.  I've got to get better.

There is no magic bullet here, I know I won't just hop to and get shit done and move on.  But for the first time, I actually want to.

And I've got work to do.

I've starting cleaning up this place, not that it was awful, but there are some things that haven't been touched in a while.  I deep cleaned my bathroom.  I completely caught up laundry.  Still to do, clean floors and deep clean the kitchen.

I need to run.  At least 3 times a week.  At least 10 miles total per week.

I need to figure out how to re-arrange some things in my house, to fill some strange gaps where her shit is no longer.

I need to decorate my bed room.

I need to get a handle on this drinking thing.  I mean I really need to.

I need to find a routine, especially in the morning.  I can no longer wake up and just fuck around on my phone until it's time to jump in the shower.  Hell, some days I don't even have coffee until I get to work.  That's fucking nuts.

I need to stop avoiding life and start living it.
I need to stop being afraid.

I need to figure out exactly who I am and where I want to be.

I know that after my first divorce, I came out the other side different.  I mean, I'm still stuck being me, but I was more confident, I wanted to be more social and I was willing to take more risks to get where I wanted to be.  I was a better me than before I met her.

I want to be an ever better me, this time.  I just need to figure out who that is.

The bad news

You know the cliche... there's good news and there's bad news.  I'm breaking my thoughts into two posts, the bad news and the good news.  And as is custom, I'm giving the bad news first.

Of course, its not really that bad, more like just some negative thoughts.

I've reflected a lot on the last several years of my life.  And I see some things that I hadn't noticed.

I see now that she was pulling away from me.  I see that I let her.  If I was in the mood, I could justify that, by saying that I was being respectful and letting her have her space and that kind of shit.

But we're here to be honest, so let's cut the shit.  I let her, because it was easier.  It was easier to let her sit and do puzzles or read a book and ignore me.  To make matters worse, the more ignored I felt, the more I drank.  Which perhaps, led her to pull away more.  Vicious cycle ensues.

It was easier to pretend that everything was okay.  Maybe something even stronger than pretending.  Something bordering on denial.  It was easier to be wrapped up in whatever shit was on my mind at that moment, than to engage with her.

Engaging with her was not easy.  She kept things in and did not care to let them out.  She resisted having things drawn out.  She shut down more when confronted.  She counter attacked with other unrelated complaints.  Complaints that were not voiced until that moment, to provide cover.

So I allowed myself to believe that we were fine.  That we had settled into some marital status quo.  Not exciting but not awful.  And not real.

I should have engaged.  I don't know if it would have made a difference, but if I were the man that I'd like to believe I am, I should have tried.  And that's on me.

As I look back, way back, I can see a pattern.  Every time there was a moment that the we could have grown closer together, she carefully made some space.  Joint bank accounts?  Nope.  Combine our insurance... or phone plans?  Nope.  My bills and her bills.  I knew that some of these things made good sense financially, but when I brought them up, I got a vague maybe later kind of blow off.

She did the same thing emotionally, but it's hard to describe.  There was a thing that she did that bugged me.  I couldn't put my finger on why it bugged me, but I think I understand now.  Every time I cooked, or I paid for dinner or movies or something, every I drove us some where, she'd thank me.

Thanks for cooking.
Thanks for the movies.
Thanks for driving.

It bugged me because it was unnecessary.  I cooked dinner at least 5 days a week.  Why thank me? It's just part of what I do.

But I think I understand now.  This was never fully permanent for her.  There was always the option, in her mind, that she'd move on.  She didn't see me doing these things as part of a partnership.  She saw them as a favor.  Just like she did me the favor of staying.  Or having sex with me.  Or whatever.

And favors can be withdrawn.

It makes me sad, maybe more for her than for me, that she was incapable of seeing that people just do stuff together and for each other to become a whole greater than its parts.  She never allowed that to happen.  Her stuff and my stuff.  Defined and separate in her mind.  And it seems that the stuff that I thought was our stuff, was just my stuff.  And I was doing her a favor by letting her use it.

And while we are discussing the negative, let's talk about work.

I had a pretty shitty week last week.  Besides the normal not being able to focus as well as I'd like shit, there was some work shit that had nothing to do with my personal shit, that happened and was pretty frustrating.  Not my fault or necessarily my problem, but those at fault and those whose problem it was, were not dealing with it well.  I fear the problems will become larger, not smaller and that caused stress.

But the crown jewel of the week was on Thursday.  I was confronted by the Executive Team.  There were/are concerned about me.  Their intention was kindness... and that is appreciated.  But there was another undercurrent there too.  Your personal shit is fucking with you at work.  You look like shit.  We know you are drinking way too much.  You represent this company and we are concerned about what that might like, if you go totally off the rails.

And just trust me on this, I've earned every word they said.  We are a small company.  They know what's going on.

And I'm trying very hard to take what they said as it was intended.  As, we care about you, but you need to get it together.

It was a kick in the gut.  It hurt, because no one likes to confronted like that.  It scared me, because I've worked hard to build a career there.  And it made me feel really awful about myself, because everything they said was true and correct.

That's the bad news.  Now you know, it doesn't do me any good to pretend that it doesn't exist.

Perspective

There is no playbook for this.

But I can't stand the uncertainty.

An insight came to me.  While it is all very different, I've been through a divorce before.

It will have been 6 weeks tonight.  So I ask myself, where was I six weeks into my first separation?  I was still pretty miserable, as I review the calendar.  I had just gone through my first Christmas and New Year without my family.  That was raw.  I remember that clearly.  And I was staring down my 38th birthday.  It felt bleak.

The real question, becomes, when did I get better?  Or at least better enough?

14 and a half weeks after I moved out, I worked up the nerve to ask out a cute (maybe hot) blond.  And she said yes.  Of course, she was crazy.  But that's not the point.  By 14 and a half weeks in, I felt good enough about myself to ask out a chick that by what I knew at the time, was out of my league.  And she said yes.

So maybe, I should consider myself somewhere near half way there.

Of course, I also need to look at the lessons learned there.  I dated the blond for 2 and a half years, living with her for part of that time.  I started dated wife 2 not long after that ended.  I didn't really rush into either of those, but I did latch on the first girl I clicked with in both cases.

I somehow need to sort out in my head, that just because it works with someone, that it has doesn't have to be forever.  Or more accurately, I have empirical proof, that it doesn't last for ever.

I need to be a little more selective.  It's not who will accept Jeckles, but instead, who should Jeckles accept?

I know I'm putting cart ahead of the horse here.  But I think it is important that I have this sorted, before I get to the point where someone makes my knees weak and I fall head over heels, because that's just the kind of guy I am.

I do have a limiting factor in my favor.  When I met the other two, my son wasn't living me.  He is now.  So I won't be able to just move in with someone, nor will I be in a rush to move someone in with my son and I.  He's got 2 years of high school left, if we're lucky.  And I don't think I can make any life altering moves during that time.

So I can and will date.  Maybe even get in a more serious relationship.  But there is time before I can even think of committing seriously.  And 2 years seems like a more than reasonable amount of time.

Hell, during that time, I might even get myself together.

Numb

I guess I am getting better.

I no longer am shocked a few minutes after waking up that this is real.

I'm making plans.  I'm doing things.

There is still a haze over everything,  But I think maybe the small moments of normalcy are getting to be longer moments and maybe more frequent.

I care less about the unanswered questions.  That is not to say that I don't play them through my mind regularly, it is just that it is no longer an obsession.

Perhaps I care less about everything.  I swear I used to be passionate about things, but I haven't felt that in 6 weeks.

I think I'm numb.

I still don't know what the go forward looks like.

I worry that maybe I'll never have sex again.  That thought bothers me a lot.

I'm serious, these people who claim to be happy and independent and don't need a relationship... how do they get laid?  Do they not care about that either?  Cause I've never not cared about that.

And sex aside, the happy and independent people who seem to post on social media all of their exiting solo adventures, are they having fun?  Don't they want to turn to someone and say wow that was great.  Don't they want to reminisce with some one about the fun they had?  What they saw and did?  Hear from that some else's perspective and gaining a greater experience in the process?

I don't get it.  And I don't think any matter of time will change that piece.

For example, I have no problem running alone.  By definition, it is a very solo excessive.  But even if I'm running 5 miles and beating my own time and pace, it is a very different experience than running a 5k race.  The exciting and energy of the event, the shared-ness of it making it a whole other thing.  Almost all of the people participating know that they will not place.  They are there for their own achievement.  So why sign up and pay?  Because sharing the experience makes it more real.

At least that's make take on it.

Today is 6 weeks.  It feels so much longer than that.

I'm doing better, but I'm not good.

Incomplete

Sometimes, when I talk or write about this thing, I feel like a total loser.

Woe is me, my wife left me.  Boo hoo, I can't eat, sleep or drink like a normal person.  Whaa, I'm all alone.

I'm not a whiner.  I don't care to complain about things.  But this is sometimes all I can talk about.  It has to be wearing thin on people.  That is, I think, my biggest reason for writing about it.  No one has to read this.  If you do, awesome.  If you don't, it makes no difference.  I need to sort this out.  And maybe by writing about it, I get it out enough that I stop burdening the people around with my tales of sorrow and depression.

It might be working, it is hard for me to tell.

Yet, I'm not a whole person right now.  Not because she was some integral part of my being and that I'm incomplete without her.

It's more that destroyed parts of me with her abrupt and cruel exit.

She destroyed my trust in people.  For maybe the first time in my life, I find myself wondering if the person I'm talking to is being honest with me.  I trusted her completely, and I have no idea how much of my life was a lie.  And for how long.

She destroyed my confidence that if you are a good person and try to do the right things, that everything will work out.  Now I question the outcome of everything, and worry that I can't do anything to make it better.

She shattered my self image.  I've always thought that I'm good, caring person.  That I have a personality that people enjoy, despite my quirks.  That I'm open and honest and will assess any situation on merits, not on preconceived notions.  But is any that true?  If it is, why would she leave? Why would she leave like that?

She's stolen my self esteem.  If I can be discarded so easily, then maybe it is because I'm simply not worth that much.

She ruined my drive.  I worked hard.  I fought for (metaphorically speaking) those I cared for.  I took steps to be successful, in my career, in my marriage, with my friends and family.  I always strove to be a better person.  I still want those things, but I'm having a really hard time doing what it takes to make any of it happen.

And she's killed my focus.  I've had many people point out to me, that when I put my mind to something, look out, because it is going to happen.  Now, I feel as though I have the attention span of a squirrel and I can't make anything happen.

I know that I will be able to rebuild those parts of me at some point.  I didn't come that way and I built it before.  And that knowing that I did once, should help to me do it again.  So, please spare me the rah-rah you can do it bit.

Because right now, I cannot.  Maybe tomorrow, maybe in month.  But not right now.  And this bothers me deeply.  It makes me scared to let any one into my life again.  What if they tear me down too.

Having said all of that, that's not the point of this particular missive.  The point is I'm trying.

I'm not doing that well, but I'm trying.  I've managed to not get hammered the last two nights.  I've slept fairly well, and besides, I was never good at sleeping.  I went for a run with folks from work, yesterday evening.  It wasn't a good run, but I did it.

I have a happy hour tonight with two old buddies.

I signed up for a stupid dating site.  I'm not trying to meet anyone right now.  I know I am not ready for that, although I wish I were. But it is comforting to see that there are attractive and interesting people out there that I could meet.  There are also the other kind, the damaged, broken and sad types.

It is interesting to me how differently I read these profiles than I used to .  Things like, "need to have my own space," and babbling about travelling all over the world, and chicks who are focused on being the moment and doing yoga, would have all sounded interesting to me in the past.  And it is not as though there is anything wrong with these things.  But now I wonder what else is going on that makes you lead with these things.  "I love the beach!"  Complete with beach pictures.  But not much else.  I love the beach too.  Everyone loves the fucking beach.  But, really?  There is no other part of your life that you'd like to express?

This is largely a reaction to her.  And honestly, the woman I lived with for a time before I met her.  They projected things.  Woman before her projected beach, yoga, serenity and happiness.  She was sad, put up walls to everyone and was generally a miserable person.

And her.  She projected poise, intelligence, a love for animals and nature.  She projected a laid back easy going persona.  She was (and I suppose is) bitter, judgmental, impatient and intolerant.

And both of them were loath to communicate.  Both of them, at some point, said something along the lines of, "Why do you need to talk about everything, what good does that do?"

Bare with me, I know I'm rambling more than normal, but I think I'm coming to a point.

I've learned something here.  People, women in particular (as it relates to who I might date in the future) who project these simple one dimensional things about themselves may very likely be doing so to cover up for their deep scars and general damage.  Old me, would find that last statement distasteful.  Old me would want to help them.  Old me believed that no one was permanently broken.  Current me thinks that maybe it is permanent, maybe it is not, but I don't want to be with some one like that.  That's been most of the last 20 years for me.  3 women, all damaged, all unable to accept me.  Even though I accepted them completely.

I hope that every damaged person out there gets better.  I really do, I'm in their ranks at the moment. But, and this is new for me, it is not my job to fix them.

I need someone who knows what they want, where they are in life and willing to work and compromise to get things done.  Some one who can talk about shit without locking into a fixed position.

I'm not ready yet.  But I'm developing a picture of the kind of person that will not put me through this again.

I'm not whole.  But I'm trying.

Haze

Yesterday was better.

In spite of my lack of sleep, I got some stuff done at work that I'd been putting off.

I grilled dinner and hung out with my son.

I went to bed at a reasonable time and got almost 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

You'd be forgiven for reacting to that by thinking, that sounds great, good for you.

You'd also be wrong.

There's no more drama left to this situation.  Except any drama I inflict on myself.  There are no bombshells waiting or revelations to come.

This is how it is.

I went out this morning for a cigarette.  The sky was blue, the humidity was low.  By just about anyone's account it was a beautiful morning.

It didn't feel beautiful.  It's like the whole fucking world is has some sort of gray filter on it that sucks the life, color and energy out of everything.

I'm not sad.  At least, I don't think I am.  I'm not happy either.

It is sort of like I stopped 5 weeks and 4 days ago.  The world kept going, time passes and things happen.  But I'm no longer a part of it.  I sit just outside of it.  And the more time that passes the more out of sync I become.

I do have small moments of normalcy.  Even a few of happiness.  But once those moments pass, I realize, oh yeah, this where I'm at.  And then I'm back in this hazy version of the world that everyone else in living in.

And I know I'm being selfish.  I know that others have it hard too.  Plenty have it worse.  My fucked up reality isn't all that unique or tragic.  I'm healthy, I'm successful and there are people who care about me.  But that doesn't seem to matter.  Everything is still just stuck.  I'm stuck.

I still try to figure out where she is.  I still try to unravel exactly when she decided that she was going to do this.  I still wonder how she is managing on her own.  Or is she even on her own?  I still see ghosts.

The closest I have to anything resembling motivation, is the knowledge that I will see her in court at some point.  I'd love to look great and seem awesome.  I'd like her to see me and feel regret.  Deep earth shattering regret.

She's not coming back.  I shouldn't want her back.  (But some times I do.)  But she could be as miserable as I am.  She ruined my life.  It would give some sense of... satisfaction isn't really the right word... perhaps justice... if she had ruined her life too.  That her bull headed rash and cruel decision to just go, hurt her as much it hurts me.

I can't stomach the thought that she fixed her issues by jettisoning me.  And I know her well enough to know that she probably didn't.  But she may not realize that yet.

If this is reality, then so be it, but I hope that at some point she wakes up and says to herself, oh god... I fucked up!

Because she did.  What ever her selfish beef was, it was fixable.  And now it is not.

And I need to find away to get unstuck, but everyone tells me that will just take time.  What I am supposed to do during that time.  Had do I not become completely undone?

I know that no one has the answers to that.  So I guess I just keep going through the motions in this haze.

About last night.

Last night was bad.

Anyone that reads the previous two posts could see that. I was tempted to delete them, but I guess this little project of mine is about documenting this, whatever this is, so I left them up.  Although, I did edit them for clarity.

Yesterday, at work was okay.  Not great, not awful... just okay.  I actually didn't drink anything Sunday night and got a fairly decent night sleep.

After work, I had to run to the dry cleaners, the grocery store and of course the liquor store.  Somewhere between the grocery store and the liquor store, my chest tightened.  I think what I was feeling was the beginning of a huge cry.  The huge ugly cry that has been evading me.

A huge ugly sobbing cry while driving seemed like a really bad idea, so I tamped it down.

I got home, unloaded the groceries and talked to the boy about his day.  I packed up 2 beers, some brats and everything else I needed to grill dinner and went down to the courtyard.

I've grilled dinner most nights for the last 2 plus years.  12 months out of the year.  It used to be my downtime after work.  She and I would go down, enjoy an adult beverage (or two), talk about our respective days and unwind in the nice quiet garden courtyard and grill.  That particular amenity was one of the reasons I chose this place to live.

Now grilling is a form of torture.  I sit there alone, and wait for the meat to cook.  I sip my beer and look at my phone.  I text people to check in and try have some interaction.  It seems like there were always people around when we were down there, but since she left (5 weeks 4 days) there is never anyone down there.  Maybe it is the heat, maybe it is time of year that people take vacations, maybe it is that the alone is so very loud that it seems emptier.

I grilled the brats and had dinner with the boy.  Had another beer.  Talked to him for a bit after dinner.  Had another beer.  And a gin spritzer.  He went to bed.  I texted/chatted with a few folks.  Had another beer.  And another spritzer.  Folks started dropping off from texts and chats.  Of course they did.  This was time that unbroken people go to bed.

I had another beer.  That tightness in my chest returned, but no tears.  Just anxiety.

I sat there and drank my beer.  And another beer.  I could picture it.  This was the rest of life.  Sitting alone.  What would happen in a few years, after the boy was out of high school.  He'd leave too.  And there I'd be alone.  The anxiety grew to panic.  And I had another beer.  No one is ever going to want to be with me.  This was going to be the rest of my life.  Drinking and being alone.  My heart rate rose with the panic.  I smoked another cigarette and posted the first post.  And drank another beer.  Posted my second post.  Smoked another cigarette.  Drank another beer,

For those keeping score at home, that's ten beers, two spritzers. And for clarity, and because I'm a snob... these aren't Miller Lite's that I'm drinking.  They are craft IPAs.

I collapsed into bed sometime after 3 AM and passed out.

I slept past the 5 AM alarm.  I don't even know why I set that one anymore.  I slept past the 6 AM alarm.  I woke up at 20 till 8.  I have no idea what woke me up.  Maybe some sort of self preservation instinct.  I honestly do not know how I've managed not to fuck up and sleep through work.

4 hours of shitty drunk sleep and here I am at work.

The worst thing is, this is starting to feel normal.  I don't want this to be my normal.

Why ghosts?

You might ask, Jeckles, why did you name your last little angry post, ghosts?

Well, I see them everywhere. And they all look like her.  I know that the way she left me, leaves me grieving more than anything else.  But unlike if she actually died, her ghost is out there, living a life with out me.

I know what this says about my state of being.  I'm not okay.  And I see her ghost everywhere.   I drive from here to there and see her car everywhere.

Fun fact, do you have any idea how many blue/green Subaru Foresters are on the road?  A shit ton would be the answer.  They are everywhere.   And they all could all be her.   Except, none that I've seen are.

And what would I do, if I actually saw her?  I don't fucking know.

Nothing that would fix this... that's for sure.

Yet, I chase ghosts.  Cause I'm broken and lost.

This is more than a person can take.

Ghosts

This is ill advised.  I'm drunk and I writing on my phone.  These are things I know that I should not do.
Yet, I don't give a shit.
My so called support network has failed me.  I'm alone and they are absent.  I'm not actually upset with them...
What I'm asking is too much.
But it is exactly what I need... don't leave me alone.
Alone is unacceptable.   Alone is frightening.  And no matter what I want, alone is my new reality.

Unresolved

I wish I could tell you, or even tell myself, what the worst part of this is.

But I honestly don't know.

Everything I wrote yesterday is true.  Yet, I feel a strong desire to fix this.

There is no closure.  I hate where I am.  So my instinct is to fix it.

But I can't.  I mean, I don't have anyway to communicate with her.  I already signed the damned papers.  I would never ever be able to trust her again, even if she came back with open arms.  Which she won't, her intentions are clear, even if her motivation is not.

And I shouldn't.  As I've replayed the last six months, hell the last few years, it is becoming clear to me how negative she was.  It was subtle.  I honestly didn't notice it in real time.  The small criticisms, of me, of our friends, of my work and hers, of my son... they were pervasive.  Just small statements, offered as observations.

They were a drag on everything.  I'm kind of a high stress guy.  I take on a lot, at home and at work.  But I've always felt it was worth it.  If you want the most out of life, you've got to put a lot in to it.  Still, I feel like I'm a positive person.  I spent a lot of time, trying to offset that negativity.  To say, well, look at it from their perspective, or I see that, but here's the positive in the situation.

And I think she hated that.  I think she believed I was minimizing how she felt, but I wasn't.  I was trying to help her see that things aren't that bad.

And perhaps I was wrong.  Maybe things are that bad, and I'm an idiot for not thinking so.

I want to fix this, but I can't and I shouldn't.  Some of my friends would tell me, I should put that energy into fixing myself.  But that's never how I see the world.  My motivation has always been in others.  I'm better, when I'm making you better.

I'm clearly part of the problem, but I'm not sure how I can be different.  I've had three serious adult relationships in my life.  I'd have done anything for any of those women.   And they all gave up on me.

I solve problems by visualizing a successful outcome and then finding the steps to make it happen.  In my career and as a parent that has worked very well for me.  It sounds simplistic, but it's powerful.  I consider it my main super power.

My problem, right now, is that I can't visualize a successful outcome.  I don't know what that looks like.  I mean I don't have a clue.  I know I'm supposed to move on, and to focus on Jeckles.  But to what end?

To learn to be independent and not need others to make me whole?  To get out there and meet another woman who likely gives up on me too?  To go full midlife crisis and serially date a bunch of young twenty somethings?

All of those have some merit, yes even the last one.  But I can't visualize it.  I don't know how to get from here to there.  Or where there should even be.

So I move from one thing to the next, mechanically with no path and no goal.

Being alone makes me feel like shit.  Being around other people and then feeling like less of a person, because they are fine... and I am not.  That makes me feel like shit, too.  Being at work, and knowing that my head is not in the game... that makes me feel like shit, as well.  Even sleeping is not a reprieve, I toss and turn and have vivid disturbing dreams and wake up feeling like shit.

I've tried real hard to reach out to what ever passes for a support network for me.  I try to stay engaged.  But when I don't reach out, neither do they.  Not my friends, not my co-workers, not my family.  Of course, I've earned that. I'm not the kind of guy who reaches out that often, so people assume that I need my space or something.

I've got too much space and I hate it.

I need to fix this and I can't.

Drained

It's been 5 weeks and 2 days.

Yes.  I keep count.

I loved her.  I'm sure of that.  I wouldn't have proposed if I didn't.  Right?

But I don't remember it.  The feeling of loving her.  I know I did, but I can't recall it.

I hate her.  I do.

I mean there is every reason someone wouldn't want to be married to me.  I'm overweight, I obsess over stuff, I smoke, I drink too much, I'm kind of an asshole.  But all of those things were true 4 plus years ago when she met me.  This didn't just happen.  So which thing was so awful that she had to up and fucking leave like that?

This was my second marriage.  Clearly, I'm not good at this.

When my first marriage ended, it was a year long process of arguing.  I don't even remember what over.  Just arguing.  And slow growing realization that it wasn't going to get better.  That we were heading in different directions and trying to deny that, especially on my part, was only making shit worse.  By the time I moved out, I had accepted the reality of the situation.

If this bitch, my second wife that is, had bothered to argue about whatever the fuck her issues were, I don''t know, but I'm thinking they could have been solved.   Or not.  Who knows?  She might.  I don't.

And for that, I hate her.

I don't walking around hating people.  It's not who I am.  This is new to me. But I do hate her.  In five weeks and change, I've forgotten what it felt like to love her and developed a clear burning hate for the kind of person who could lie to my face and say everything is fine and then vanish.

She vanished so hard that her father sent a letter to my address because he could not reach her by email or phone.  I thought about handing that letter over to the her lawyer, but I didn't.  It's not my problem to solve.  Sorry John, your daughter is crazy.

I'm not okay.  Not even a little bit.  And people are running out of sympathy.  I mean they still care, but it is getting uncomfortable.  They are looking for some sort of progress on my part.

There has been little progress.  I don't really eat much.  Food has lost its flavor.  I drink way too much.  Which is ironic, if I had to guess, me drinking is probably the reason she gave herself for leaving.

Me drinking 4 or 5 beers over the course of the evening and going to bed and snoring.  Not ideal, I'll admit, but that was nothing.

Over the last the few weeks, 5 and change to be precise, I've drank 10, 12 or more beers in sitting plus whiskey.  Drunk texted and facebooked everyone I've ever known.

I'm drowning myself in booze.  And I know it.

She thought I drank to much.

Shit.

Part of me knew something was wrong.  I felt her pulling back and drank a little extra to fill the void.

I know, not model behavior.

And now I have this ridiculous void and I can't fill it.

I'm angry.  I'm tired.  The few times I manage not to knock myself out, I can't sleep.

I can barely function and the world is expecting me to get past this and I don't know how.

I'm informed that both of us will have to be in court for the divorce hearing.  That will likely be the first time I see her since this shit has happened.  I'll have to sit there like an adult and respectfully answer what ever dumbass questions the judge thinks he has to ask to make this seem like a normal proper official thing.

But what I'll want to do is scream, "Fuck you!  How can you do this to me, my son, our friends?  What the fuck is wrong with you?"

But I won't.

And don't think I don't know how she'll be.  When presented with adversity, she must project poise.  She sit there and be calm and poised.

I hope that in her reality, the true one, the one she doesn't share with others, that she is filled with regret and cries all the fucking time.

I wish I could.  Cry that is.  That doesn't seem to happen either.

There is no moral to this story.  There is no point to it.

The world is expecting to me to start getting better.  And I'm going to have to start pretending I am.

But this is where I'll tell the truth.  I'm broken.  I've been through a lot of difficult things in my life.  And I know it's raw and recent, but I don't think I've ever been this thrown for a loop.  I've always at least been able to throw myself into work.

Friday, I sat at my desk and read articles about Comic Con and this disaster in the white house.  All day.  I attended a meeting, but that was it.  That is not me.  And this scares a little bit.  Who gave that bitch the right to break me and ruin my life?

My wife left me

Let's be clear... we didn't have a difference of opinion, we didn't have issues we couldn't resolve.  One Friday morning 5 weeks ago, I had a nightmare.  In that dream, my wife was was mad at me.  She had written me a letter, but as dreams go, I couldn't read the words.

I woke up... my wife wasn't in in our bed.  This wasn't surprising.  I snore.  She often slept in the guest bedroom.  For the last 6 months she had almost every night.  I suppose this was a red flag.  But I asked her... is this a thing.  Should I be worried.  Of course not, she said, its just the snoring.  I believed her. And why wouldn't I?  Most nights she went to bed with me and snuggled.  And in the morning, she'd bring me coffee and get in bed and snuggle some more.  Sometimes, sex would happen.  So she slept in a different bed... it didn't seem weird at the time.

I told her about the dream.  She knew about my chronic vivid bad dreams.  She said, I'm sorry your dreams are so awful.  I felt better.  I went out and smoked a cigarette.  When I came back she was starting to make herself lunch.   She asked if I needed lunch, but I told her I would going out with a co-worker for lunch.  She smiled, and said, good.  She grabbed my face, squeezed my cheeks, and gave me a kiss on the mouth.  She did that sometimes... I found it endearing.

I went to work.  It was what it was.  Not a great day, not an awful one either.  I came home, i believed that she would be getting her hair done after work, so I wasn't expecting her to be there.  I was kind of in the mood for a good martini.  The best martinis are those I make my self, I've invested time and effort into perfecting that.  I was thinking that I'd make myself one, and make one for her.  Not a martini for her, but her favorite cocktail:  a Gin Daisy.  A sugar bomb consisting of Gin, Grenadine, Simple Syrup, Lime Juice, served with a an orange wheel.  I have spent a lot of time perfecting that drink too.

But that never happened.  I got home from work and things were not right. Furniture was out of place, things were missing.  My first thought was maintenance had been in for some reason and fucked things up... but no.  Things were missing.  Had I been robbed?  No.  Her stuff was missing.  I rushed to the bedroom and the walk in closet, I hadn't been robbed, I'd been abandoned.

I looked around, as though I'd find anything that made this make sense.  She was gone.  No Note, no clue.  But there were a little silver jewelry box on the island in the kitchen.

I opened it.

And found her engagement ring.

I had trouble breathing.

This wasn't Possible.

We were married for god's sake.

I called her.

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

I emailed her.

This email address does not exist.

I emailed her work address.

This email cannot be sent because this address is no longer valid.

I died.

I mean, my heart was still beating, my lungs still drew breath.

But my wife was gone and I couldn't reach her.

I panicked.  I hyperventilated.  I looked for clues... like this was a fucking Scooby Doo Mystery.  There were none.

I called her best friend that I could think of.  I work with her.  I put on my calm work voice and said to her voice mail, "Hi, it's Jeckles, from work.  Can you give a call, when you get a chance?"

I called my folks.  I told them what I saw.  I admitted that I had blown it again.

I called my buddy.  Why didn't I call him first?  I don't know.  Panic ruins logic.  He told me he'd be over.  I asked why.  He said, you can't be alone right now.

Her friend called me back.  I think she assumed there was a work issue.  I asked her if she had talked to my wife.  The tone of her voice after that makes me believe she didn't know anything.

Nobody did.  My wife vanished without a goddamn trace.

That weekend was a blur.

Lots of trying to call/email/text.  Lots of googling.  Lots of asking questions.

Monday afternoon I got an email from a lawyer, stating that my wife had voluntarily moved out and that I'd be responsible for utilities from here on out.

At the moment, I thought shit was as bad as it could get,   But I didn't understand at that time what my depth of grief would be.

Earlier this week I signed the papers that will start the divorce process.  I still haven't heard anything from her.  I don't know why this happened.  All the lawyer can or will tell me is that she is safe and she doesn't want to be married to you anymore.  So I signed the fucking papers.  What real choice did I have?  She didn't ask for a damn thing.  She just wants to be vanished from my life.

This is not the story.  It is only the background.  I don't fully understand the story yet.  I'm still living it.

My wife left me.  And she ruined my life.