Random Thoughts

I Think,Therefore I Am Not

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

It is very likely I will be quitting my job to start a new one, but this time as a part-owner. I am anxious about it but also excited. It has been a long time coming. Ten years ago arrogance lied and said the world was at my feet. Great success had been experienced in many areas of life: college, business, and in the social connections who considered me capable, sincere, and worthy. The primary hindrance to continued success was self-loathing, which had never gone away and existed just below the surface of the facade presented to the world. As accomplishments grew so did the fear of it all crashing down, thereby exposing me as the incompetent fraud I felt I really was.

My latest philosopher crush is Jean Paul Sartre. Certain themes have contributed to those explored with Nietzsche. Hope and progress ensues towards a path away from the morass of shame and doubt. Particularly helpful have been the ideas that existence precedes essence, refraining from objectivity in terms of the labels we apply to ourselves and others, and living in bad faith.

My future is not determined by my past. This includes past actions as well as thoughts and emotions. Every day I wake up with complete freedom of choice. If I choose to be dispirited and gruff, which will happen from time to time, accepting responsibility for this choice helps free me from making derogatory self-judgments. If I falsely believe this to be my natural disposition, then each day begins with preconceptions that will influence attitude and behavior. Conversely, choice that leads to positive consequences must be met with the same critical, and humble, examination. Each day is nothing but a series of isolated choices that has no affect on opportunity which inherently exists the following day, the day after that, and every day thereafter.

Not only does the power exist to challenge the way past experience influences expectations of the future, so too does it exist in my ability to react in the moment. If reality is perceived as fundamentally unfair and a victim mentality is assumed, then an objective label is applied to others I interact with. Surrendering to a perception that negative (or positive) experiences in the world are outside of my control, and thus are being controlled or influenced by others who place their own self interests first, completely nullifies the absolute freedom of choice at my disposal. This social pressure causes a member of the herd (borrowing from Neitzsche) to conform to the objective labels applied to him or her and participation in life becomes inauthentic. Sartre calls this “Bad Faith”. Personal experience with objective labels and bad faith can best be exemplified in two ways: addiction and physical appearance.

I am coming to the conclusion that a portion of my significant substance abuse issues have resulted from labels applied to those afflicted with this problem. “It’s a progressive disease.” “Once the alcoholic starts drinking, he can’t stop.” “Once an addict, always an addict.” Accepting these statements as absolute truth predetermines what will happen when I use chemicals and they were first heard and encoded on my identity during my first treatment at the age of fifteen in the mid-1980’s. My father found a marijuana pipe and the immediate reaction was to place me in an in-patient program that was supposed to last four months. A counselor in this program who I’ll never forget, named Jack, was a crotchety old Vietnam vet and former heroin addict who used to yell and belittle us into accepting his truth as our truth. Upon leaving this place, my identity label had changed from smart and capable to fearful addict and at this point, substance use went from occasional to chronic. Based off the false ideas hammered into an impressionable teenage mind, this is what was supposed to happen.

The same course of thought flows through traditional 12-step programs. “If you don’t go to meetings, you are going to relapse.” The difficulty experienced in believing that a higher power would somehow save me from the disease that would ultimately lead to “jail or death” if left unchecked never clicked with me. Self-comparisons with others who supposedly practiced higher power worship with great success only deepened feelings of inadequacy. My “disease was doing push-ups”, just waiting for me to slip-up. This disempowering falsehood invariably led back to the bottle and the heavy use that was supposedly predestined by my condition.

Another label that’s led to bad faith has to do with physical appearance. I like to lift weights and my genetics allow to me to be good at it. In our society a tall, muscular male creates impressions of machismo, imperviousness, and severity. Exhibiting intellectual curiosity (especially as they relate to art and aesthetics) and sensitivity run antithetical to the former characteristics described. It has often been perceived that exhibiting the latter in social circles has met with smug chuckles and disguised ridicule. Inauthentic interactions consequently ensued, leading to dissatisfaction and isolation.

Studying the great philosophers has shown how subjective the idea of truth really is and that letting go of labels I apply to myself and others reduces fear and opens up a fascinating exploration of what constitutes an authentic life. The fear of making a choice followed by another choice leads to bad faith; my essence is not defined by the events of the past but instead is redefined through every choice made. Essence is only complete upon death. Fulfillment and purpose are not dictated by society directly, how I see myself in the mirror of society, or even by vain fantasies comprised of what or who I think I want to be.

The old maxim, it is better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all, sums up this post quite well. Either we succeed in a goal or we fail, whether that goal is exercise, sobriety, a new business, or simply making a choice to be authentic in some seemingly mundane aspect of our lives. Question truth, especially as an imposition of your own beliefs and those of others.

Me, Them, or Us

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

I just listened to a speaker at a local Unitarian church. This gentleman was a deconverted pastor who came to a realization in 2012 that God does not exist. This must have been a very difficult and poignant idea to bring to consciousness and embrace. Standing firm in the belief meant publicly refuting everything his life was centered around: identity, purpose, fulfillment, and community. To varying degrees, those four items are integral components of the human condition and if a contemporary paradigm is shattered, another must be built in its place. Interest in hearing this speaker stemmed from a continued search for existential truth while I try to rebuild my own life paradigm. The last item, community, resonated with me as the lack of one has been so isolating and lonely. When left exclusively to my own thoughts for too long, the plunge into self-loathing and self-sabotaging behavior is never far behind.

The concept of community as a human need has deeper meaning than simply the world one lives and operates in; a practical definition might be, participating with other human beings in shared experience and intimacy. The criteria of shared experience is easy to meet while shared intimacy can be, and has always been for me, quite elusive. Within a healthy community, intimacy is and should be exercised to varying degrees but at its core, intimacy requires trust. It involves feeling comfortable enough to show all facets of oneself, including those very shiny facets that reflect the light and the ruminative ones that absorb it.

Falling into the western societal male gender role means being tough and “manning up” to get the job done, whatever that might entail. Weakness and sensitivity are deemed feminine, only to be hidden away, buried under layer upon layer of virile manhood. When it comes to emotional fortitude, I have been weak, especially in the past but still at times today. Perceived threats to my identity, real or imagined, have elicited feelings of inadequacy and shame. Overdeveloped sensitivity to these threats creates a risk-mitigating shield of fear that prevents authentic connection. The cycle has repeated over and over.

In the past several years I have been able to openly talk about this fear and others. The more open I am about it, the more comfortable I become and the less my behavior is negatively influenced. It started with a single trusted confidant and grew to include support group members. Now a willingness exists to talk freely about it with almost anyone who will listen. Unfortunately there are few individuals, if any, where a mutually deep level of intimacy exists and I am often left wanting in attempts to communicate on a very personal level.

I still don’t trust many people to let them in to the inner sanctum of my identity. Purposely going to that level outside of a structured institutional setting would be a new endeavor and it is understood that practice is necessary; gaining proficiency allows that mistakes will be made in initial attempts. It also means dealing with the aftermath of vulnerable communication by the inevitable replaying over and over in my mind of what was said and how it may have been perceived and interpreted. But the fact is, and I know and truly believe this on an intellectual level, desensitization will occur again and the aftermath of anxiety will lessen the more often I am vulnerable.

The first step is to identify a group and consistently participate within it to find those with a similar background and/or communication style. Close relationships of any kind are built upon consistently “showing up” for the other person or persons, whether it be a structured setting or otherwise. Fits and starts are part of the modus operandi that keeps the shield in place. Since determining to set a new paradigm after coming off the latest substance relapse, which ended September 15th, 2018, I have tried alternate support groups in Refuge Recovery, SMART Recovery, and a group at the local men’s center, all of which have been attended between one and three times. As of today, I have also attended two meetings of a Humanist group. I even went back to an old AA meeting twice.

The point is, I dabble but do not commit. And this creates a vicious cycle where I remain isolated through fear, the isolation leads to feelings of terminally awkward uniqueness, which then perpetuates the fear of being exposed as awkward, which justifies my isolation, and so on and so on. The pertinent question to myself as I write this: how much internal conflict and turmoil is necessary to commit to a community, with all its flaws and human fallibility on full display?

The Tangled Web of Thought

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

It’s been several months since I last submitted an entry. Several drafts were started but never finished. My laptop now permanently resides at the office and just happened to end up in the truck today. Sitting here on a Sunday I decided to free write and see what happens…

A depressing funk has settled into my consciousness and that surprises me. A new job was started a month ago and it has gone really, really well. Finally I can start to see an expanding horizon as I settle into the last phase of the long, steady climb out of the financial hole dug 10 years ago. What is the problem then and why do I feel this way?

I know what it is and it’s called loneliness. This new position is lucrative enough that a second job as a weekend bar and restaurant manager is no longer required. Upon quitting that people-centric social outlet a month ago, I knew the importance of promptly filling the gap. Even though I knew that, fear has taken hold and social isolation is now my reality.

I’ve been binge eating and my exercise program has fallen off the rails. Not completely vanished but the consistency that I normally maintain is not there. I feel as though I will be alone the rest of my life so what does it matter if I get fat and stay at home and watch TV. It hurts my heart to go out and see people laughing and couples holding hands.

After coming to the realization of how unhealthy even a friendship with D was, I cutoff contact. I tried Bumble and actually went on a date yesterday afternoon. I got the feeling she wasn’t into it and really, I shouldn’t be into her. There were many warning flags of a situation that I should run from. Heavy chemical use, broken home growing up, acrimonious divorce that she initiated, talking about herself the entire time, etc, etc. I think she didn’t like the fact that I don’t drink anymore. So A), why did I send her a text last night; and B), why was I depressed that she didn’t respond?

The stories I tell myself are pushing me towards an inevitable conclusion of relapse into drinking and drug addiction. I feel lonely and depressed, yet I sit home alone and feel sorry for myself because no one is texting or calling. What proactive steps do I take to make plans with people I know and to put myself in situations where I meet new people? Absolutely none. I would laugh at myself if it were funny, but it’s not. Because literally, my life hangs in the balance.

Even this weekend a few seeds of thought popped into my head regarding how much better I would feel after a few drinks. Last Sunday I went for a motorcycle ride (by myself). Passing by bars, memories of Jack Daniels flooded the senses: the smell, the taste, the feeling. Am I really fooling myself into thinking that the same cycle of relapse hasn’t already begun?

While writing, the reality of all this has become apparent. I am making a vow to you, oh great WordPress.com, to attend a meeting tomorrow night I’ve been wanting to try for some time. There are people who attend the meeting that I know casually from other meetings and the time has come to put myself out there and risk being vulnerable. The vulnerability risked is feeling nervous about being judged negatively by others, whether it is my appearance, the manner in which I speak, what I might say, or something else.

The funny thing is, I’ve never had an occurrence (when I’ve been sober at least) where I left a situation feeling like something horribly embarrassing had happened. The fear is irrational yet it controls my behavior. The fear is burned into my subconscious from events that took place as a child. Humiliation and shame consumed my adolescence. One of the main reasons I found chemicals so alluring was how they negated the anxiety that came with overwhelming fear of experiencing that shame and humiliation again.

I have accepted that suffering is an inevitable part of being human. And I know that current suffering has to do with a desire to avoid negative judgement from others. By acknowledging that action must be taken in spite of fear of negative judgement, I become willing to give up attachment to the desire to avoid judgement. I am now ready to challenge and redirect the cognitive cues that cloud the lens through which I experience the world.

Her

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

I’ve made a vow that despite knowing others may read my posts, the value in doing this for me centers on being authentic. I’m not trying to get published or develop a following to make money. Rather, it’s a means to exercise something that I believe I’m good at. And,  most importantly, to sort out some of the monkey-mindedness that has gotten me into trouble so much in the past.

For the past two years, I’ve managed a bar and restaurant part-time on Friday and Saturday nights. I’ve dated a couple of the customers and made only a couple attempts to date some of the staff, to no avail. Since my divorce in 2010, only 1 of the 15 or so women I’ve dated have been over 32. I am in my mid-40’s. Its not that I’m opposed to dating someone older. In fact, I’d prefer it. However, that person has to have taken care of themselves for me to be attracted to them physically.

My parents bought me my first weight set when I was 10 years old and I’ve been an avid fitness enthusiast ever since. I go to the gym 5 days per week on average and for the most part eat very healthy. Also, I can thank my parents for the genes that have given me the outward appearance of someone younger. In guessing my age, most people arrive at between 30 and 35.

So to date someone my age, they have to have the same traits: a long-term interest in heath and fitness that is apparent in their appearance. Besides the attraction factor, the other piece to it is the mutual interest in a healthy lifestyle. If someone doesn’t get the relative importance I place on exercise and diet, then there will be conflict. Another factor to consider is the interest I have in the science of the mind and body; the two aren’t separate components but inextricably linked. One can’t live without the other. My emotions are felt in my body and they affect my behavior, which is exemplified by the action my body takes. So making the most and best use of this mechanism that I’ve been given, my body and the brain that lies within it, is a spiritual pursuit that allows me to comprehend the world and the place that my short life has in it. I look for that same belief and pursuit in a partner.

Regarding younger women, I do not go out of my way to pursue them but if they initiate flirting or interest, then I reciprocate. So that’s how the vast majority of my relationships since my divorce have developed. It starts with an indication of openness to dating from them, which I suppose is most often expressed as flirting. I will then reciprocate and sometimes something more develops.

But, as most might expect, it never lasts. The longest relationship I’ve had in the past 7 years has been… (drum roll please)… 10 WEEKS! Yep… a whopping 10 weeks. Usually it fails somewhere along the 6 – 10 week range. What happens? It’s usually a 50/50 split whether they end it or I do. If they end it, the most often cited reason is …(drum roll please)… THE AGE GAP! What a surprise! If I end it, it’s because they act their age and I can’t deal with the immaturity and/or inability to communicate.

I am an expressive person. I like to talk about deep subjects like meaning and feelings. When I was 21 that certainly wasn’t the case. Looking back, the raw material was there for the substantive personality I enjoy now but everything back then ran on autopilot without much conscious direction. Meaning and feeling discussions were despised as talking about those thing typically meant I was in treatment.

So why bring all this up? A woman named D. And she is perhaps the most attractive woman I’ve ever dated. (Note: younger people don’t say dating, which is far down the relationship spectrum towards engagement. What I call dating is now referred to as “talking”  LOL, OMG!) D initiated this whole thing and for about 4 glorious weeks she is all I could think of. Then the rug got pulled and all the text messaging and Snapchatting came to a streaking halt. My therapist suggested that I might be addicted to that type of communication and after considering it, she is right.

I loved getting the good morning text and the sleep tight texts. The snap chats of her getting ready to tan drove me insane. I kept looking in the mirror wondering if I could possibly keep up with this woman. A local radio station has an annual contest to select 12 women to be in their calendar and she is one of the current bunch. In fact, she is Miss May! (I can’t even look at the calendar because I’ll miss her too much) I see the way men look at her and she talks about all the suggestive messages she gets, both creepy and not so creepy, and I am intimidated.

So the middle of last week is when it all came to a head and the next day I was feeling really down and once again, lonely. D works at the bar and restaurant I manage and we were together there on Friday and Saturday night. Friday was a little awkward but Saturday was great! We laughed, flirted, kissed once, and even …(drum roll please)… TEXTED after!  My Love-o-Meter was going strong. Texting continued into Sunday morning then abruptly stopped in the afternoon. The Love-o-Meter plummeted.

Last night I was resigned to just ending it and woke up this morning feeling relatively good; still down but definitely not out for the count. By early afternoon I had some mojo flowing. Then she sent me a Snapchat. She hadn’t sent a Snap to ME in like 4 days. It was of her dog. I didn’t respond. Then came a text message about work related drama. I felt compelled to call. She answered, we talked, and Love-o-Meter was back up.

Now I’m trying to cold turkey it and having some withdrawal symptoms. Time to eat some chicken breast and broccoli then go to the gym. But I better charge my phone first as I’ll be checking it between every awesome set.

Exuberance

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment
“Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
                   Laughing!”
– From Chicago, by Carl Sandburg
I just returned from Chicago after visiting my daughter. Every time I travel there memories flood in of my first real visit to the city, in 2001. I remember feeling young, and exuberant about life. A rising star in real estate, visions of grandeur included skyscrapers built under my banner, with the rich and powerful interrupting their day to answer my important phone call. I was faithfully confident. Life was free, and easy, and seemingly under my control.
During my 2017 visit I watched the millenials cavorting around the restaurants and taverns, upwardly mobile with their trendy clothes and fast cars. They look happy and excited for what life might bring. I used to feel that way. Do I still? It’s different now. Sometimes I wish I could go back. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have to.
I didn’t know it then, but my plan in 2001 did not correspond to Life’s plan. How often have I felt broken and lost in the past 10 years? Too many times to count. But I haven’t given up and I am grateful. So what is it? Why is my heart so heavy today?
I regret the losses and missed opportunities. I regret losing my marriage and am not sure if it possible to recapture the intensity of love I felt for Suzanne. I want my daughter to be little again and to go back, knowing what I know now, and redo it ALL. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t go back, knowing what you know now. I’m afraid that if I went back that I would repeat the same mistakes over again. It’s only through the experience of losing things that I can seem to really know how valuable they were to begin with.
But there is something that supplants the exuberance of youth and I can’t quite define it yet because I’m going through it. Of course wisdom is involved but there is something more: an appreciation for the beauty of life that isn’t in the obvious. Youth is beautiful in a tangible way. When you’re young, life is still new and wide open, bodies haven’t broken down and faces aren’t wrinkled. The intangible beauty of middle age has to do with the quality and substance of relationships, an ability to consider mortality and how we are part of something bigger.
We went to the field museum in Chicago and walked through the Evolving Planet exhibit. (The one with all the dinosaurs). Even today we are part of this story. What we experience today is the result of what others did in the past and the experience of future generations will be predicated on what we do today, and so on and so on.
I don’t want to leave this life having “tuned out” to what Life really means. I don’t have an answer and in some ways I hope I never will. It is the search for meaning that allows for fulfillment and richness of experience versus the conclusive context of meaning in itself.
“It was one of those days when it’s a minute away from snowing and there’s this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video’s a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember… I need to remember… Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.”
– Quote from the character of Ricky Fitts in American Beauty

Happy, Joyous and Free

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

I woke up today feeling content, light, and purposeful. It has occurred to me that nearly all of my posts in Blended Vertices deal with heavy, painful thoughts. When feeling low, it helps to write. Tribulations can be considered from a different perspective when time is taken to untangle, organize, and reconfigure the circumstances surrounding them through words.

Today I wish to describe the happy events of yesterday, which were not significantly unusual but which are for some reason more challenging to commit to text. The contradicting difficulty in expressing pleasant versus painful emotion is yet another indication of what some core beliefs are. Perhaps applying the same process to the joyous and happy experiences of my life will allow for another channel, in addition to those already practiced, to reconstitute core beliefs while also bringing an understanding of where true motivation and passion lies.

On Thursday night I had a conversation with my friend and AA sponsor, S. (An entire book could be written about how much he has helped me in the past year; yet another realization of what needs to be celebrated in my life) S asked me to attend a meeting yesterday morning and I agreed, following up with an invitation to him to go out for breakfast after.

There is one thing that every alcoholic and addict has in common: the inability to control their use once the first drink, drug, or bite is consumed. That one commonality is all that is needed to pull together an otherwise extremely diverse group of people. As experienced many times, the most powerful moments for me in meetings tend to be when sharing an experience or thought believed to be unique, then looking around the room to see others shaking their heads in acknowledgement of having had the same experience. For someone who has believed themselves to be so fundamentally flawed, the understanding that deficient thoughts and actions can be attributed to the disease of addiction is spiritually renewing.

And so it was that this is how the day started. After the meeting, S and I went to a great little breakfast spot down the road in St. Paul. We then spent 90 minutes talking about the serious subject of recovery intermixed with laughter and talk of life in general. After the self-imposed isolation of the previous 60 hours, it was good to be around people and participating in society again. The protective shell that I’ve employed for so many years, the shell that served its purpose when I was a child but has now proven to be maladaptive, keeps me isolated and disconnected from others. The effort required to break out of the shell, on the occasions I let it encircle me, can feel herculean. But once out, the question arises as to why the shield was raised in the first place.

After the meeting and breakfast, I spent time reading and writing (see Old Sport). I also sent an email to my alma mater inquiring about the possibility of taking a class in an area completely unrelated to my business degree. Part of my shell is to turn off my brain and get stuck watching hours of TV or perusing social media on my phone. There are several purposes for starting Blended Vertices,  and one of them is to put my intellectual brain to good use. I was happy with the effort made yesterday, and so far, today.

I then went to the gym, which is also important for my sanity and overall mood. Poor diet and lethargy is another symptom of the ‘The Shell’. Exercise has been the one constant throughout my life and something I’ve always done regardless of what else is happening. Addiction and loss didn’t stop it and I’m grateful this has always come easy for me.

The last activity of the day was a recovery celebration called Founder’s Day. If you are going to have the disease of addiction, there is probably no better place to be than in Minneapolis / St. Paul, MN. Many people come here for treatment and end up staying because of the incredibly strong recovery community. There are two annual conventions, Gopher State Roundup, which attracts almost 10,000 people, and the smaller Founder’s Day celebration. It opened last night and runs through the weekend. At the final speaker meeting, which I attended, it was announced that roughly 675 people had already registered.

I am really, really glad I attended Founder’s Day. It’s another thing where hindsight so obviously allows that the right decision was made but leading up to it, there was fear and anxiety about being around so many people. That fear and anxiety, which is experienced in many different facets of my life, NEVER is justified once I go through with whatever the anxiety is about and is another example of how ‘The Shell’ causes more harm than good.

S met me there and I was happy to see many other friends. Interacting with such a variety of people, those I already knew and those met for the first time, it occurred to me how much is different and how the fear I still experience from time to time is unjustified. By putting forth the effort to break out of the shell, then forcing myself to overcome inertia and conduct the activities I truly know will bring spiritual fulfillment, experiences are encoded that make the shell thinner when next called upon for protection.

Faith leads me to confidence in the new and authentic identity being formed. Blended Vertices is but one component in my years-long shift from avoiding painful feelings to embracing them with a desire to learn what they are telling me. When I stop to look back at the progress made in gaining the wisdom to love myself, contentment and gratitude abound and I anticipate the promise of deep joy that comes through sharing this love with others.
Continue reading →

Old Sport

~ blendedvertices ~ 1 Comment

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

I watched the most recent version of the film, The Great Gatsby, last week. I read the book in high school and viewed both versions of the movie multiple times. For some reason this viewing resonated with me in a way that hasn’t happened in the past. Maybe it’s because my boat has hit a section of very strong current recently and continuing to paddle through it, upstream and into the future, has proven exhausting. I’ve had to take a little break and the current has carried me back to the past, where I no longer wish to go.

Gatsby wants to escape the self-proclaimed label he identifies with and to be accepted by an affluent group of people. This acceptance, in his mind at least, will signify that he is worthy of Daisy’s love and affection. Success, adulation, and possessing Daisy will validate Gatsby’s desire to be something different than what his inner monologue suggests. The problem exists though in that nothing can supplant the identity burned into his subconscious, of not being good enough, and he loses himself, yet again, to the selfish impulses of the one he falsely believes can provide salvation.

Damn can I relate to that. It’s been written about in previous posts and I won’t go to great lengths to rehash it all now. Currently I’m reading a book called Unbroken Brain, by Maia Szalavitz, about addiction. In it, she talks about the root of the majority of addictions being maladaptive coping mechanisms to trauma and extreme stress in childhood. For the author, her trauma came from believing at a very young age that something was fundamentally wrong with her. This may be a common core belief for many addicts and alcoholics and it certainly was with me.

Several months after my father left my mother for another woman (we’ll call her P), it was my father’s weekend to have us children. Mom left the house and dad came to stay with us. It had happened this way before and I kind of liked having him all to ourselves versus absorbing the negative radiation of the strained relationship when mom and dad were both together. This time, however, dad informed me that P would be spending the weekend too.

I was furious! How dare he bring her to OUR house. I had never met P before and my 11 year old mind was still desperately hoping that mom and dad would reconcile. She came over and I retreated to my room. Proudly displayed on my dresser and shelves were all the things that my father had given me and which I loved: the Dairy Queen football helmets of every NFL team at the time, the autographed baseball in it’s display case, the Hardy Boys books that I collected, my Empire Strikes Back Snowspeeder, and my framed picture of me with my mom, dad, and sisters.

I took all those items and proceeded to tear, break, and otherwise destroy them as best I could, leaving the mess piled upon my bed. I wanted dad to know how upset I was and given that the parental modeling of emotion to that point consisted solely of flash displays of rage, that’s the only way I knew how to express it.

I called my dad into my room so he could see what I had done. He walked into the doorway, shook his head in disgust, then called for P to come in there. She entered without a word, saw the pile of debris that had moments ago been my proudest possessions and listened to my dad say,”look what a great son I have”. He walked out, closing the door behind him, and I fell into a sobbing, convulsing heap on the floor. For two hours I lay next to my bed in the fetal position, trying occasionally to get up, though every time I did my senses were assaulted by the broken items centered on my carefully made up bed.

Upon forcing myself to look at the mess, I would fall back on the floor with thoughts of despair racing through my head. How could I have done that to my father? What did P think of me? And most significant of all, “How could I have done this to the most important possessions that I owned?” Adding to the intrinsic value was the symbolism behind them. My dad and I spent several months dutifully going to Dairy Queen when new helmets came out and we would carefully apply the stickers that signified, along with the color, which team they belonged to. There were two model airplanes that I destroyed and I remember the time we spent at the kitchen table putting them together.

What kind of a monster would do this?

I seriously thought from that point on that something evil was inside me and things never felt the same after. Once the initial shock of what I had done subsided, I next had to go through the process of deciding if anything was salvageable and throwing away things that were not. Most of it had to be thrown away and even seeing the damaged items on display again brought back the shame and despair; eventually it all was designated as trash and placed in the container for things unwanted. Then I was left with barren shelves, a barren dresser, and a barren outlook on what life held for me. No one talked to me about any of this, consoled me, or helped with fixing or disposing of things; my 11 year old brain was left to its own devices.

The funny thing is my father doesn’t even remember this and I’ve been battling against the current of that river my entire life. I was Gatsby and I tried to gain all the material possessions so that S could see what a successful person I was and be proud of me and happy to be married to me.

Even her love wasn’t enough to escape the nagging, disgusted voice of my soul. Look what a great husband you are. Look what a great father you are. Look what a worthless piece of shit you are.

“And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. 

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Opaque

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

So here it is a Saturday afternoon. It’s cold outside, we had our first snowfall yesterday, and Thanksgiving is next week. Typically these are the darkest days of the year for me, both literally and figuratively.

In the literal sense, well… that should be self-explanatory. I can’t say with certainty that I have seasonal affective disorder but the symptoms which develop this time of year are similar. Generally, I feel depressed and anxious. More specifically, there is a sense of hopelessness and foreboding.

However, it is possible that darker days correlate to the upcoming holiday season, which unfortunately has more often than not been experienced as a burden rather than a joyous time to spend with family and friends. My earliest memories recollect Thanksgiving and Christmas spent at my grandparents, with all my aunts and cousins there. Food, drinks, and laughter abounded. The children, including myself, were constantly in motion, building blanket forts in the basement and playing indoor tag, much to the chagrin of the adults. These were categorically happy times…

After moving to the suburban city at age 10 and the subsequent divorce of my parents, things changed. A pall was cast over those happy memories. Dad was no longer at my grandparents and a different format for “celebrating” the holidays ensued. Instead of unity there was division and I began to learn that expectations for behavior, and by extension my personality, changed according to the venue and the people in it.

With the addition of new romantic partners for each parent and their extended families, some years required four different “celebrations”; I only wanted one, that which I already knew and loved. Dad and P had a very formal, please and thank you, Christmas. Mom and B had a drunkfest and B’s family had a combination drunkfest / please and thank you Christmas. We would still go to my grandparents’ home in rural Minnesota where I felt most comfortable but the naive innocence of my young life was gone, though the complexity of that reality was not consciously understood. All I knew was that I didn’t feel as though I could be me; I tried to conform to what others wanted me to be.

As distress over the loss of family stability began to manifest in chemical use, poor school performance, and legal trouble, the feelings of identity alienation became more apparent when contrasting experiences from each distinct and separate family unit. I compensated by trying to conform even more to what others wanted of me. By the time I reached adulthood, the coming holiday season would bring dread along with it.

There have been periods where the opposite was true, most notably when I was married and my daughter was younger. In those times a feeling of being connected and a sense of patriarchal duties gave the holidays meaning, though my identity was still based on falsehoods and was built as a means to protect my soft and sensitive inner core. In those years I felt others viewed me as a success and I felt accepted, even if I didn’t accept myself.

The loss of everything that held up the facade including my ex-wife, business success, money, and possessions, has left bare what was underneath. But that is the best thing that could ever have happened. I shudder to think what the next 40 years may have looked like had the pain experienced not jolted me towards spiritual redemption. All I can do now is be honest and show myself for what I am. And just what I am, I am truly learning for the first time. Great fear existed for what I might find underneath the facade because of the illusion believed by using other people as a mirror of my soul.

It’s like standing at the edge of an opaque pool of liquid near a volcanic hotspot. You don’t know how deep it is, what temperature it is, the poisons that might be hidden in it’s chemical structure, whether the bottom is soft sand or sharp rocks, or what demonic creatures might be lurking within. At first you gingerly stick a toe in to test the temperature and make sure there is no reaction on your skin. Next, you place your foot in to test whether the bottom is sound. Gradually you begin to submerge your entire body, the pace of which accelerates as you grow more comfortable believing nothing bad will happen. Exploring first the edges of the pool, keeping your head just above in order to breath, the point comes when you are no longer touching bottom and, finding yourself in the middle of it, your eyes fervently dart around to find an easy escape route in case it were needed. Faith grows to the point that curiosity and excitement outweigh fear and you dive below the surface, feeling light and free as you are unsure which direction you are going but just knowing, knowing, that it feels right.

Either that or you accidentally fall in like the guy at Yellowstone, and the boiling hot, acidic water eats away everything but your clothes. Poor guy…

Levity.

 

Well…

~ blendedvertices ~ Leave a comment

So I’ve been thinking about starting a blog for awhile. Not for business purposes or to try and make money, at least not yet. But I used to write on Open Diary before they shut it down and it was really, really good for me. Blogging is the same I guess, but more people can read it, which is kinda scary.

I have taken quite the wild roller coaster ride the past six years and the thirty years before those were spent building the damn roller coaster. My intent here is to record some experiences from this day forward and reflect on the past while doing it. Nothing more, nothing less.

I prefer to remain completely anonymous for the time being. Most people that know me won’t expect me to write about the things I plan to write about. (The facade definitely doesn’t match the interior.) There are some hints as to my location on the home page (I think that’s what I call it?) but who knows, I might change that. Right now the “About” page is written and this is officially my first entry.

Looking forward to many more!