Boo hoo wah. Blame it on the Lupron.

I look back on the past two years and I wonder how the hell I made it through with my sanity marginally intact (the jury is still out on it at this point).  It seemed to begin (at least for me) in February of 2009; but on March 13 (Friday), 2009. That was the day where my marriage nearly ended.  From there, the year just went mostly downhill. My father suffered a sudden and rapid decline in his health—I was told I needed to make all these desperate preparations for my mom, dad and brother to move to Oregon; a move that actually didn’t happen until the following April.  This was the same move that ultimately killed my father. That was May of 2010. Of course, before all that, my husband was laid off. Then my difficult mother became so ill on several occasions, requiring hospitalization.  There was the task of getting her back to some measure of manageable health (seemingly against her own will) and placed into assisted care (while battling my family every step of the way).  Then there was also my becoming the guardian to a 38-year-old 2-year-old. Then we went on to trying to survive on the 30%+ reduced income and trying to keep our little house out of foreclosure while battling the whole fertility thing, fighting with my sisters, the surgeries for my abdominal issues, the medications, the ups, the letdowns, the hurt of a betrayal of a trusted friend in the ORS (and subsequent forgiving of her) and the thankless burden the once joyful thing had become.  I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemy.

Oh man... I’m TIRED. I’m ridiculously, hopelessly tired.

At SOME point something good has to happen. Something positive. Yes, I have my horse, and I have my husband who loves me and I am proud and happy to have overcome difficult times together, we have a home, our two overweight obnoxious dogs, a cat I insist that I do not like (murdering bastard), at least ONE decent friend who is there for me)... but holy hell people.  It’s time for a break. It’s time for a windfall. It’s time for good news. It’s time for a vacation to Europe with my husband, or I don’t know... SOMETHING. Maybe that rich SOB George Soros will take pity on this poor Hungarican Chick and will say: Hey, here’s some money... buy a horse farm, be happy! You’ve paid your dues.  You’ve worked your ass off and deserve it. You’ve blazed trails through the wilderness so others could saunter down them unknowingly thinking ‘hey, this ain’t so hard!’  Good things come to those who work hard and who are responsible and doing the right thing... right? Isn’t it?  Maybe not.  Maybe this barrage of the impossible never ends for folks like us. If that’s the case, stop this ride, I WANT OFF. :::facepalm:::

This is probably a Lupron-induced diatribe, or maybe it’s just that sense of defeat I’ve been keeping at bay getting an edge on me.  I suppose I can be pleased with some things. I’m at the 12 lb mark as of yesterday morning.  Hubby’s lost almost 27 lbs.  You can really see it on him now.  I have my horse, and my health. I have a marriage that has become so strong and healthy and wonderful in spite of... or maybe because of the bad things that happened two years ago.  I have the idea of adoption to look forward to regardless of the success of this treatment, and we are going to move forward on that. We are registered for the classes required by the state to qualify for the program.  

There are some difficulties I know will get easier. Especially if Mom Satan moves to Puerto Rico as she plans (sometimes she changes her mind when someone asks her how she could leave her son behind).  I can only hope that the job situation will improve enough that we won’t be scraping by to keep the things that make life worthwhile, like this guy for me:

You could go bankrupt buying carrots for this guy. :)

And this guy for my hubby:

It's the black one in the foreground. My hubby's Monster.

I’ll try and stay positive. I keep myself looking forward by cramming my life with projects so I don’t dwell too much on the moment at hand, which is usually stressful.  I’ve managed to fight off hopelessness sans medication for more than nine years now.  But with this Lupron, my moods are magnified.  Anyway, I’m done whining.  For now.  I try to keep it to a moderate level, and try very hard to keep it off Facebook. I’ve been struck lately at how easily a person can come off as a whining fool on Facebook.  Status update after status update of incessant complaints about really superficial and stupid stuff.  OMG... Shut up!  LOL.

/Whinefest.  Ahh.... I feel better.  Have a nice Wednesday.

Just knowing.

I think a lot about relationships; especially these days. I think about my instincts, and about my senses; I think about my reactions and my capacity to look at someone and to give the benefit of the doubt. I’m sort of proud of that… even if it exposes me to the risk of heartbreak. The truth is, I have learned; by way of some very simple, but probably the most profound advice I’ve ever gotten; to go with what my heart tells me. My aunt told me this; to trust my instincts; to go with what feels right. Even the tiniest shade of a doubt should always be a respected as a sign. It has been true every time. When I’ve chosen to go against what my instincts are telling me, I’ve always found out the hard way that I should have listened to my instincts. Intuition is everything.

I know. I’ve always known that my husband is as close to perfect a match for me as he could possibly be. I know this, because we have something that is amazing; we have the ability to be who we are when we are together. No faking, no pretending, no tiptoeing—flaws, idiosyncrasies, quirks, failures, mistakes, blunders… all those things are okay. It doesn’t mean it’s a fairy tale, relationships never are. If you go into a relationship thinking that you’ll never once be disappointed by your partner; you are completely deluded. Don’t think your instincts can account for the anomalies and the crises that can make or break a relationship; they do not make you immune. You will resonate to one another one day, and grump at one another the next. You will still misunderstand and stumble with the best of them. The difference is; that your friendship remains strong… your ability to look into their face and to see the person you love behind the mistakes and the anger… that you can stop, set aside all the expectations and just see that person as they are, and realize that is what is most important.

Through it, you are yourselves. You are comfortable enough to be who you are. That’s the most important thing. With my husband, it’s been like that since day one. No kidding. I had the most humiliating thing happen to me on our first evening date (and pretty much the only real ‘date’ we ever had) together and his reaction to it was all I needed to know to realize he suited me. The little signs… the little sense of rightness… I will not share this hideously embarrassing event, but suffice it to say, it makes my ears and cheeks burn even thinking about it today. I thank my stars that it was with him because of how easygoing and accepting he is as a person; because anyone else would have probably bailed—and had I not felt comfortable enough with him from the start, and I was trying to hide my flaws, I probably would have been too embarrassed to stick around too. Instead we laughed it off, and felt like old friends immediately.

The truth is; the whole act of dating is kind of a sham. You spend each date hiding your flaws from the person you’re interested in; and then once you’re through that stage and are committed; then you end up spending all your time excusing them, or defending yourself against them, or justifying them; or being miserable for having to always hide them; being upset because this person is surprised by them. It’s a dance of disillusionment. I never ‘dated’ much in my life, to be truthful. I’ve always met guys, and sort of scoped them out then and there, and if I felt the vibe, it was smoocheroos, and if I didn’t, I simply didn’t. No dinner, no planned activities, no long romantic walks on the beach (or off short piers). Just people connecting… or not.

What I have realized is that being who you are is the biggest test of a relationship. Honesty; admissions, openness… If it doesn’t send your partner packing, then you’re off to a good start. If it does, then it wasn’t meant to be. Nobody is worth staying with if they cannot respect the essential things that make you who you really are.

Your past, your habits, your family, your less-than-proud moments, those are the tests. If you feel like you have to make yourself love what they love, or you have to squeeze yourself into the mold that they seem to desire in a partner, and you have to bite your tongue, or hide your past or your family, to pretend anything to earn their affection, then maybe you’re not on the right track. The truth is, love is an act of pure acceptance. It’s accepting a person despite their flaws and their mistakes, and being able to rise above the mistakes and acts of humanity. We all do stupid things; we all act out in different ways when we don’t think we’re being understood. We all handle our ire and our disappointment in different ways… it’s a matter of trying to change your perspective to see it… of stepping back and being a friend before being a lover, and to be there no matter what. Even if it fails, and being there doesn’t work, at least you can know you reached out when you needed to and you were the friend you promised you would be.

It’s hard to be who you are if you’re not sure. A lot of people allow their relationships to define their identity—they allow their relationship to become who they are. They let the “I” become “We”. You are allowed to have your own identity, your own choices, your own ideas, and your own dreams and still be in a relationship---you *should* have all those things that are just for you. It’s not a crime. To exist only for the ‘we’ is not a healthy way to live. You cannot truly be with someone unless you are whole yourself. So it’s important to figure out what you like, what you don’t like, what stirs your heart, what inspires your passions… and even if it deviates from your partner’s preferences—and to be secure in those things! You need to figure out who you are. You need to stick to that, and you need to refuse to sacrifice any shred of it for the sake of a relationship; because you are creating the inevitable; and you are insuring failure. How can someone love you for you; if you don’t know who ‘you’ is?

I know who ‘me’ is. I know that I am capable of great joy and of great sorrow. I also know I’m capable of forgiveness; and that whatever I’m risking, I’m comfortable with that, because if I have faith in anything, I have faith in my instincts, and more importantly in my friendship with my husband. Both tell me what I am doing is right. Maybe some people think I’m insane; but I don’t care. I have the courage to try. He has the courage to try—and there’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of there.

Of course the three-dozen roses didn’t hurt either. ::smirk::

The good things I will miss...

I've been dwelling too much on the negative things lately; harbouring my anger for all the injustices and the cruelties I've seen in the last few weeks. I've been forgetting the important things, the things that made things good... the things worth remembering... the things that I will miss most.

So I wrote them down to remind me... when I hear the cool cast of his voice, or I get an email that is particularly defensive and angry... I wrote them down so I can see him in a caring light, and keep him in my heart when everything seems so horrible.

• The “Just Because” flowers.
• The way he played with the dogs.
• The occasional bagel and tea on the counter in the morning.
• The smooch on the top of my head.
• His smile.
• The way he made me laugh like few other could.
• His laughter.
• His tenderness.
• His playfulness.
• His compassion.
• His meatloaf and potato salad.
• His soft-spot for animals.
• His robot dance.
• Long, lingering hugs.
• His face.
• His kiss.
• His friendship.
• The sound of his car coming up the driveway each night.
• The comfort of his warmth beside me.
• His gentleness.
• His soul.
• His goodness.
• His generosity.
• His sense of humour.

I realized that I am grieving him as if he has passed away. I feel as if he went away one day a few months ago, and he hasn’t returned; that some horrible trajedy occurred in the field, and that the person who came back is someone completely different; a stranger, who is cruel, and uncaring, and who looks at me with hard, cold eyes and speaks without warmth or compassion.

I feel like a widow.

Darcy's Gaze

This weekend, I had a friend come up and stay the night. We practiced some dances for a workshop on Saturday, and then we decided to pull out my much-played 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice; initially to assure that we’d gotten the dance right, and then afterwards to fast-forward through most of the movie, stopping only to watch the bits with Colin Firth playing Darcy. We both sat there; both just slightly tipsy, and drank in with painful longing at the overwhelmingly disgusting, unrealistic romance that we both adore so much. It’s so beautiful it’s ridiculous. It’s almost physically painful.

We both wondered if we were completely deluded to want that kind of romance in our lives; and we both questioned if it at all existed to begin with. Was Jane Austen, a lady who refused to settle—even at the cost of becoming a burden on her family; and who died never experiencing the kind of requited love she gave her heroines, just feeding us all something wholly unreal? Are there really and truly any Darcys roaming the earth, profoundly tormented by their feelings; willing to sacrifice what they must and to fight to obtain or keep their woman’s affections? Or are we just idiots to desire that sort of passion and to let these stories lead us on?

I don’t know. In my heart, I believe that if someone writes about it, that it has to exist on some level. I have to hope it does. I have to believe that there is that broody, painful, longing, first-love kind of passion in this world that is requited for a change. I need to know that men are capable of that depth compassion and affection. I have to believe that there is a kind of love that would make even the most reprehensible soul be willing to change his or her ways for the sake of love—for someone to give up something astronomical to be with someone they adore.

As a mean, I cannot stomach chick-flicks. I really can’t. I despise sappy, saccharine romantic comedies, and predictable, formula flicks. But I can’t stop watching Jane Austen adaptations. I also am a sucker for Buffy—for that kind of crazy, irrational love like when Spike chose to torment himself for eternity by getting his soul back, simply to be worthy of Buffy (who in my mind, never deserved that dedication from him to begin with). That sort of sacrifice is mythical--to set aside your pride, and to subject yourself to the ill-perceptions of others, to open yourself to possible pain just to show that person you love that there is nothing in the world that would make you stop loving them. Nothing.

Am I deluded? Maybe.

Maybe after dealing with the pain of infidelity, the image of Colin Firth’s brooding eyes gazing lovingly at Lizzie makes my heart hurt more than usual. The idea of Spike making himself insane with guilt just so that Buffy could see that he had a soul makes me want to cry. Those stories kill me. They are so beautiful, it’s painful. Maybe it makes me want someone to look at me that way, and know that there’s no reason in the world, no possible hurt I could inflict on this man, to cause him to take that loving gaze away.

When I got married, I truly believed that it was there—in his gaze. I saw it when I reached him at the altar. I really believed that the unconditional dedication was reflected in both my heart and his. I called him my dedicated Colonel Brandon. I imagined that I’d waited this long to marry just because I was waiting for him. I truly believed that. I think that’s the worst part of all this… the infidelity itself, that’s not what ripped my heart out… the thing that is the most painful about this whole thing is the overwhelming, devastating disillusionment—the heart-wrenching discovery that the love in his gaze wasn’t unconditional, that it wasn’t whole—that the desire to fight and sacrifice wasn’t quite as mutual as I believed it to be, that is undying dedication was quite as undying as it appeared to be.

Now I live with the knowledge that if I can find it in me to trust him again, and to bring him back into my life; that the special, adoring gaze not only never was what it seemed, but in truth it will never really be like Mr. Darcy’s.

I’m Pushing 40. Am I beyond that kind of love now? I know idealistic ideas like this should be reserved for the young… and that the reality is marriage is a roller-coaster… relationships are a bear, but if it doesn’t work out, is there a chance that I’ll ever have that passion again? What if it does work out? I know it’s impossible to expect anyone to never disappoint you; we are all human after all—but even with that reality; there is always your capacity to rise above it, to see beyond the disappointment, and to see them as you did once before, with pure, truly unabashed love and adoration. I know I have that, I know it’s inside me, but I wonder if it’s in him. And I wonder if he’ll ever look at me that way again or will his eyes always be emanating his shame?

Barely coping.

No, things have not been going too peachily for me these last few days—as you might have surmised. I’m in a state of fugue… I feel like I do when I lose someone close to me; as if the world has pulled back into a surreal grey mask, and only the ugly things catch the corner of my eye. I’m trying to keep positive, and trying to be hopeful; trying to not let the cloud enshroud me. It’s not easy—especially when my brain chemistry is suited for moments exactly like these; and really, really wants to just run with the depression. It’s a battle just to get out of bed and function; a struggle just to focus on basic things.

My marriage is crumbling. I’m trying my very hardest to look beyond the mistakes, and to be forgiving. I’m trying. My heart is broken—and worse… my trust has been betrayed; and that’s a tough one to get back. What I do have is the tremendous love I feel for my spouse; I hope that it is enough.

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