April 15th, 2024 - Finistère
Dear TNY,
I read “Finistère”. Not much to say about it.
I had the most interesting day yesterday. Actually, week. It’s been one of the most painful weeks I have ever experienced. I felt death, you know? My special lady broke up with me on Thursday. Then I had a story picked up by a magazine. And I may have secured a job as a live-in handyman at a mansion on the Big Island.
Guys, I cried. I was so mad. And sad. And over the course of the weekend I ranged all the emotions, as one does. Oh, the therapist called on Thursday to see if I could come in but I had already given up on the day and was unable to drive by that point. So she listened to me howl over the phone. And she said I was not wrong. That relationships are hard. Yeah. They are. And…
You know, when I got divorced, my ex and I used to fight so much. And two weeks before I was set to take my sons on the first roadtrip, in 2015, she backed out of that bargain and said I couldn’t. I had already quit my job and was retrofitting the van. Her cause? She said I’d never spent that much time around them alone. 53 days. And she was worried about them getting hurt, getting yelled at, getting neglected, etc. Valid concerns. And she was berating me on the phone day in and day out up to those two weeks. And I fought for a while; she was taking my rights away and there was nothing I could do about it. That’s frustrating, you know? And then one day she was shitting on me again and I just looked down at the phone and sighed. And said something like, “Hey, aren’t you tired of fighting? I’m so tired of it. I love you and it doesn’t have to be like this.” And I meant it. Out of nowhere a great wave of forgiveness broke upon me. And sorrow for my own actions. I did not feel the need to hurt her because she was hurting me. And she was hurting me because I hurt her. No one knows where the original hurt started, some tiny corpuscle from when we were dating, unknown even to us at the time. Just years of hurting for hurt’s sake, both small and big (the years were mostly good, though, it should be noted). And she stopped fighting back. Even asked me to babysit for her the night before the boys and I left. She brought me back a six pack and we watched a movie together. And the kids went with me the whole way. It changed all four of our lives. We have fought since, but we get along really well now and are kickass coparents. Anyway, not sure why I thought of that…
Oh yes, the therapist was nice. I laughed quite a bit while crying and apologized for being insane. Then I sheetrocked. For days. And my mind came unfucking glued. We all see the world a certain way. Ways to make it better, things like that. And I get so frustrated when I see shit that I know I can fix…but I can’t fix it. You can’t fix people. They have to fix themselves. So while I was swirling through all these thoughts, I started understanding that my special lady is better at self-care than I am. Like, mentally. And that if I listen to her, there’s a strong chance I’ll get “better” in the neverending battle against oneself. I see that now. I just have to give up. And I see that I’m better at “life” than she is. Like, life care. And if she listened, there’s a strong chance that her life would improve and become the grand adventure she talked about. She’d just have to give up. So while she thinks we aren’t very compatible, I actually think the opposite. Because I’m looking at the thing behind the thing. Yeah, on the surface we have built lives that aren’t seemingly that well matched as far as puzzle pieces go (we are in our 40s; these lives take a while to unravel and then spin together as one, you know?). But behind that, and what I believe the astrological document was talking about, are two people who have the skills to get the other person where they want to go. Like, there might not be any two other people who are better matched in this regard. And I don’t want to be like this, this way that I am. And she doesn’t want to live like she does. Has said as much. But neither of us can seem to make it happen on our own. Getting out of it. Getting out of ourselves. We just have to give up. And neither of us are very good at giving up. But! We both did in the beginning, her texting me to come over that first night, saying, “I never do this.” I did in the beginning as well. I folded up every possible thing in the world I could have been doing and gave up. I think this was the right move. But I stopped giving up and started dragging my heels, though, when it started surfacing that she didn’t know how to take care of me. Taking care of her, for me, was easy, the life things apparent. And at first it was a joy to do so. To see glee on her face as I made so many of her little dreams come true. Meanwhile, I was being neglected. And I was okay with that, for a while. But then I shut down, day after day, and became resentful. She says bitter. Whatever you like, my needs weren’t being met, so I didn’t give up. I heldfast. And no matter how many talks we had about it, we couldn’t find a way to resolve it. Because she sees the thing. She made changes throughout her life that made my daily existence better. But it wasn’t enough for me, as she has stated. I was still angry. Likely because I didn’t have the words to articulate what was actually wrong. See, she didn’t give up. It was the thing behind the thing. And that’s actually not her fault, I think. We were living in her town with her friends and doing her things and working on her house. It was all her. So there wasn’t a place for her to give up to. So it may have been impossible for her to balance the scales of giving up. Is that fair on my part? Likely not, but I was already hurt and could feel what was about to happen. And it did. All this ended up with me having to leave because I made arrangements with others and she was supposed to go with me. But she didn’t/couldn’t/it’s complicated. And then the resentment reached full value, you see, because now there is a way to give up that I saw plain as day and she didn’t or wouldn’t. And boy howdy did I lash out. My brain is a wild animal. I need help. It’s not okay, sometimes, the way I treat people. I’ve never hit anyone, mind you. But I can say some pretty terrible shit. My son famously said that he and his brother were afraid of me because, “I can make them feel so very small.” That hurts to type. But this is the truth. The truth hurts. I’m rambling now. What I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t taken care of when I was most vulnerable, in the beginning when I was giving up, and that swung further and further out of balance against the care I was giving, so my reaction was to be a fucking asshole about it, I’m sure with the subconscious design to convince myself and her that the relationship wasn’t worth it, and in that way I would be hurt by it no longer. It’s not okay to do that. But it works. And it may have worked. Because I pushed her away. So she called it. A relationship that we both thought would be the last one. Our 40 years together. Gone. As you can imagine, that’s devastating.
I spent a great deal of time mourning the loss of our future in the last few days (which have felt like months). But yesterday, after work, I sat down to have a beer and doomscroll and I saw a Ted Lasso clip. And I watched it. And I can’t explain where it came from and why it hasn’t happened before, but I turned a fucking corner while sitting at the table. I wept. Because I forgave her. Completely. And this terrible feeling inside just went away. I went through all the ways that I felt slighted and thought, “fuck it, she tried really, really hard and the circumstances were crazy, it’s not something to waste 40 years over.” And it was just fucking gone, man. All of it. So much crying. So I messaged her that I wanted to keep fighting for this. And that I was so sorry. And I forgave her. I definitely sent two other messages in the last week that are not as articulate as this one. I’m sure they didn’t help my case. So as of this minute, she’s read them but has not responded. And may not. And that’s what I get. Even though I did not feel cared for, I should not have grown into a resentment monster. I should have helped her more when she asked how to take care of me. The truth is I don’t know what works. I only know what doesn’t work. And she cycled through that stuff. And it’s hard being told what you are doing doesn’t work all the time. You have to give people some wins every once in a while. So I fucked it up. And I see that. And she fucked it up. And I see that too. And I forgive her. Because the alternative, losing those 40 years, I don’t want that. I want my buddy back. Do I need help, whether we happen or not? Yes. I need to take control of my mind better. But, I don’t want to be pushed. See, she was right. In the beginning I said I was already considering drinking Ayahuasca before I met her. And I was. But when she attached me to some text chain and they reached out and then sent emails and she asked me to do it within a month of meeting her, I wasn’t ready. And the longer I lived with her, and the resentment grew, the more unsafe I felt being vulnerable enough to give up. So there was no way I would go. She pushed too hard. Considers me “closeminded” on the issue. But I’m not. I was just pushed. The thing is, I need to change. I’m looking for a way out. But because I didn’t feel cared for or seen or heard, or even loved at the end, why would I change for anyone, you know? It all felt so fucking unfair that I wasn’t going to do anything I was told. I’d done enough. But would I actually do it if I felt safe? Yes. It’s part of giving up. We both just need to give up. I can’t do anything if the other person doesn’t give up. Because I’ll just get chewed up again. And I’ll chew right back. Yes, I need to get rid of that mechanism but these things take time.
So I guess what I’m saying is I’m here to give up. If you want to give up. I’d like to give up together and start talking about that daughter again.
And that wave of forgiveness, man it just plowed over everything. I reached out to friends and exes and forgave them and apologized for my actions. I didn’t know I could cry so many tears. I’ve held on to so much. Not sure why. Need to figure that out. Was texting with my ex wife last night, and it was so good. She’s such a good person and hasn’t given up on me yet. Not from a romantic standpoint. That ship has sailed. I mean as a person. We have known each other for 24 years. Longest non-familial relationship I have. And she said so many nice things to me. That she woke up one day and just wasn’t mad at me anymore. And that it felt good. And it does feel good. It feels good to let it go. And this is part of that text chain from last night:
Me: You know who is going to be the hardest? Forgiving myself. I see it now.
Her: I know. You can’t let shit go. You’ve never been able to.
Me: I can save me.
Her: You can. You have to let go, man.
Me: I can. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Her: Well then you can stop apologizing and let it go.
Me: I can’t tell him I’m sorry.
Her: You will.
Me: I don’t know how.
So you see folks, here we are, stuck at 15 years old because I can’t figure out how to tell a dead person that I’m sorry I couldn’t save him so that he can forgive me. And that’s something I have to figure out. It’s going to take time. All of this takes time.
What I’d like to note, now, is the thing behind the thing. You see, none of this would be happening had I not met an angel with beautiful, caramel-colored hair and whimsy, like glitter in her blood, who touched my arm three times on a day in Palmer, Alaska that should have been the worst day ever, but it wasn’t, it was a gift, because I met the person that I have ended up with in every life before this one. I feel like Deadpool right now, after they give him the mutant serum and then have to torture him to force his body to mutate. She put me in the pressure cooker. But it seems to have made a change. So, to this special lady, I’d like to say I love you, I’m really, really sorry, and I’m willing to give this thing the forever go. I’d really like to hold your hand. I miss you.
As for the TNY bit, who knows. A hair overwrought, but it’s got an 80’s short story vibe that I like. Nothing really happens, though. And the guy, weirdly, is kind of an asshole like me. So-so overall.
Later.
Nick
