What time is it?

Hmm, Sunday...April. Wow. At some points I was quite certain I would not make it this far; how to breathe when the oxygen has left you (for another set of lungs in Scotland)? Like it or not, I am still breathing--this oxygen substitute is almost like the real thing.

I have been....distracting. Engaging in self-centred, ego-boosting distraction. Big project at work, lots of travel, for work and to see my best friend. All roads have led to Vancouver, and that's not bad. I have my young cousin staying with me presently. She has just finished her teacher's practicum and in just a few short days will be a fully qualified teacher. Having her here has been a fabulous distraction, because, despite our 16 year age difference (guess who is older) I feel like we have been roomates, and my lack of attention to household chores and the other mundane requirements of being an adult just sort of seems age appropriate. Never mind that it is appropriate for her age, not mine. I have just managed to slide by doing less than the minimum. Cats are still alive; I doubt they would let me get away without feeding them.

That's not to say I have been neglecting myself! Oh no, to the contrary. New clothes, shoes, hair, to outfit my slowly diminishing figure. And lots of going out. I'm a young social butterfly, newly escaped from my cocoon! And dripping in purple prose.

On the self esteem front, things are okay. My young cuz tells me I have a more exciting life than her; guys HER age are asking me out. I guess I'm not dead, or over the hill, or quite so boring as I imagined. I don't want to un-exist anymore; not for the moment, anyway. I see possibilities, lots of them. Too many. I don't know what to do this summer. My choices: visit my best friend and her husband in Australia where they will be for two months (he's a professor, will be teaching at U of Sydney); while they are away, stay by myself at their fabulous urban-chic condo in downtown Vancouver (15th floor, view of the ocean), complete with car and all amenities; visit my screenwriter/actor friends in Toronto and my buddy in Boston (doing his PhD at MIT); London and Paris, by myself (I've been both cities before and I love them). Not bad options.

Still no word from hubby, save the Valentines flowers and card. I know he loves me. I know I am the best thing that has ever happened to him. I know he has problems. I still love him, always will. Next month is our anniversary--6 years. I expect I will hear from him then. I have made plans to be in Vancouver, and I think I might have a date.....

Q

Hairapy

What is it about having really great hair that can change your mood, your outlook, the way people respond to you? I had a great week last week, despite it being V-Day and all. I spent the cursed evening in Vancouver with my best friend and another girlfriend. All without male accoutrements for the day, we gathered in her metro-chic condo, ordered in a Thai feast, drank Champagne Cocktails and did girly stuff. We put on hair-masks and face-masks and did our toes and fingernails. And in our pjs with shower caps on and green muck drying on our faces, making it impossible to smile or laugh without looking slightly demonic, we toasted sisterhood and beauty products. Next day we all got our hair and makeup done and went for lunch, accompanied by alcoholic concoctions that seemed downright sinful for a Friday afternoon. And the hair! Best friend's now sleek and straight, shimmering a thousand caramel highlights, other friend looking like an updated Charlie's Angel, all waves and volume, and me---ME---Miss Straight-As-Pins Hair, full of glorious curls, ringlets even! I fairly glided out of the salon, curls bouncing as I went. I felt buoyant, different, beautiful. The curls lasted an incredible 4 days, and the compliments! Strange, a little thing like hair. But I felt I could take on the world, and win. The curls are gone now, but not the feeling.

I have a photo. It is the first one in a long time I actually like to look at.

Q

What Was

Walk in
Walk out
Leave your face at the door
I see your smile; it haunts my mind
And drips from my eyes to the floor

Take my trust
Steal my soul
Render me wasted and bare
Puncture my veins; bleed me of life
Accept me; say you care

Weaken my knees
Strangle my strength
Tug on my heart with your claws
Feast on my fear
TELL ME YOU CARE
Lie to me; bring back what was....

Okay, I wrote that quite some time ago, for another unrequited love, but never was able to finish it. I think I found the words. But it describes more aptly what I felt 8 weeks ago, although I could never have concentrated long enough to actually think of words then. I do want What Was. But I know it is gone, and absolutely unfair of me to expect someone to change fundamentally in order to support my happiness. I wouldn't be happy anyway. I so accutely feel the pain of those I love, that I am far healthier and happier when THEY are happy. But I do miss the illusion of normalcy---married, nice house, all so very middle class. Now I fear I am again being exposed for the alien I am, that I have always been. So unlike the others, so desperate to keep that a secret.

Q

New Shoes

I did something very unlike me. I invited 6 of my friends, whom I trust and respect and admire, to read my last post. This blog is still somewhat uncomfortable for me, like shoes that don't quite fit. I have always written out my angst...in poetry, epic tortured ramblings on scrap paper, sometimes only in my head. But I NEVER let people read it! It would be like walking out of the house naked or getting up to sing the national anthem at the Stanley Cup final. But, taking advice from the great modern philosopher, George Costanza, I decided to "do the opposite" of everything I would usually do. As George said so eloquently, his life was going nowhere doing what he was doing, so theoretically, if he did the exact opposite, it would turn around. And it did.
So I went public.

I wanted these people, these wise friends who have known me between 10 and 30 years, to give me answers. Although my good brain knew they would not criticize or think me self-consumed (I'm not, right?), my distorted brain imagined their responses: "Oh, she thinks she's a writer now!"; "For God's sake, isn't she over this yet...blah blah, we're all bored to tears already"; "How dramatic! Get over yourself!".

In fact, this is what they said:

"You promised not to give up on love. You didn't. He did. A relationship takes the commitment of two people, not just one. The relationship died. You didn't. Hopefully you learned about your capacity to love, care for, and forgive in a relationship. Hopefully you never blame yourself for his decision to end the relationship. If love is a rose and one person is the sun and the other is water - it takes two to make it grow and remain beautiful. When the sun is removed, or no water remains, the rose cannot and will not survive. But the sun can find other flowers to bring life to, so too can the water nurture life elsewhere. So your vow was to not give up on the love you found. Honest and sincere, you meant it and stuck by it, but sadly he doesn't want you anymore. So let god, karma, fate, destiny take care of his journey through life. Your vow - which is ultimately to be the most loving and caring person you could be, is complete. Til death do you part in this instance wasn't about the physical death of a person but the figurative death of the relationship."

"When the vow breaks you realize that it took two to make the vows. You vowed to each other. When he goes, there ain't noone left to be loyal to. Your vow, my sweet, is really to G.D. That is who you stay loyal to, not a person who does not at this time understand the significance of a divine union. Stay loyal to G.D and know that you are still a beautiful, significant woman. Give your love to a small child who has none. See how your divinity is made manifest in your vows through that relationship instead. So much more purposeful right now."

"I've been thinking about your question of vows. I don't know the answer, but I do think I understand the question. As it bubbles around my brain, I keep coming back to the idea of energy, how it cannot be created or destroyed, only changed in form. You're right, just because he has chosen to (is unable to, whatever) no longer honour his vows, doesn't mean that you have to 'break' yours. But maybe there's a different way of thinking about this. Maybe the vow can stay just as strong, but change in form. A vow is like a prayer, it has power. The words actually do something in the world, they change things, they act upon others. It's why we say them out loud. But they're not static. They can move and breathe and change form, just like we can.
To me, the decision to get married was just as much a decision to be present and alive as it was a decision to be faithful to X. It was a commitment to myself. Maybe part of what make vows so profound is our capacity for making them. You still have that power. While you're healing, your promise to love, honour, and cherish is still acting in the world. And while it's shifting and changing form, maybe that vow can come back and take care of you as you work through this. "

I have some wonderful, wise friends. For that, I am eternally thankful.

When the vow breaks....

When does a vow end? How does it end? If you are a person who values your integrity and believes in meaning what you say, then can you ever "end" a vow? When I wrote down my words and then released them into the heavens above the church we married in, to touch the ears of all our friends and family and especially my beloved and God, I meant them. And I believe I kept them, to the best of my ability. I remained loyal and faithful and committed for the past 6 1/2 years (even before that, if truth be told, as we made our vows to each other a year before). So now, my beloved, he is gone. He did not keep his word, his promise, his vows. But does that invalidate the words I said and the promise I made? Does that end the vow "contract". If I truly meant what I said..."till death do us part"...then can I in good faith and with integrity, end my promise? I know he is gone, the marriage is over, the relationship is dead. But I am struggling with the dissonance between being a "woman of my word" and moving on. Is there a delete button, an editing function, in the world of vows? Not the legal world, but the ethical, spiritual realm.

The problem is, I still mean what I said...it's just that the person I vowed it to is gone, so it seems rather impotent, like watering a plastic flower. I still love him. I am still loyal to him. But he is gone. So what do I do with my orphaned vows?

Q

Shrink Wrapped

The sun's gone dim
And the sky's gone black
For I loved him
And he didn't love back.
--Dorothy Parker

(that's for you, Jack :) )

7 weeks post-abandonment, I'm still breathing. Strange, that. My brain has become a psychological frat house, inhabited by a 15 year old girl in the throes of first (failed) love; a two year old holding her breath and stomping her feet in glorious tantrum; a geriatric cat-whisperer; and a 14th century martyr, hell-bent on suffering (and I suspect, secretly finding satisfaction in it).

I have ventured South to see my unbelievably patient psychiatrist, with whom I bonded after he glued my brain back together when my father died, 7 years ago. At that point I, having done all the grief counselling courses, read the books, etc., decided in "mind over mood" and that really, the whole "grief thing" was just not convenient and besides, I had read the last page of the book so I knew how it ended anyway. So, ever the responsible eldest daughter, I kept working, scheduling "grieve" on my to-do list for Thursday night, when I could sit and cry without disruption, and my swollen eyes would not garner too much attention the next day.

But then I couldn't sleep. No big deal, lots to do when one doesn't sleep, especially in a city that is open 24 hours and when you don't particularly feel like being part of society anymore. Grocery shopping, banking, laundry, all could be done in the dark, with the gentle, harmless denizens of the West End night--the students, Goths, homeless, sex-trade workers and other societal misfits.

Then I noticed large amounts of time at work disappeared. I mean, I would log on to the computer, start to work on a report, stop for a moment and when I looked back, I had lost 4 hours to...to....what? Staring and blank-brain. I removed myself more and more from people, starting to do my work at night, and from home. Hmmm, fingernails have stopped growing...odd, that. And hair. Oh well. Then the panic attacks in crowds, then the obsessive compulsive ruminations that I knew made NO sense, but like a superstition you don't really believe in but walk around the ladder anyway, I erred on the side of caution, and began adopting these odd, nonsensical rituals. Then, when sleep had eluded me almost completely for about 3 days, the mania set in. Thoughts tumbled downhill so quickly, they rolled over top each other and changed direction as they left my mouth in words.....

My friend, mentor, clinical supervisor, R, a very wise psychiatrist told me that was it. He warned me that if I came to work he would put me in hospital. Enough, he said. You are playing with the edges of reality, and I've let you, but enough is enough.

I asked my boss for a few days off, "just to catch up on my sleep". Another wise man, he gave me a piece of paper with an appointment time and an address and said "go see this doctor". I did. I ended up off work for 10 months, in the belly of a Major Depression. I survived, though I couldn't see how, at the time, I was going to. Dr. L. just kept saying, with the utmost of certainty, "It WILL get better". And what do you know....it did.

Fast forward 7 years, and here we are again. R is still my friend and mentor, he still monitors my sanity casually as any good friend who is a psychiatrist will do. And I am back to see Dr. L. to see if my brain can once again be glued together.

My first appointment, I cried throughout. Bawled. Diverted the discussion from what my husband did and how I felt about it to how much I hate myself. Everytime he emphasized what A. did, I defended him, loved him more, and swore that if it were my life or his, I would gladly give it all for his safety and happiness. Yes, gentle readers, I still feel that way, even knowing how misplaced my anger is.

And so it goes. Back for a second session with Dr. L. Still living the D's, although drinking is confined to a glass of wine maybe once a week. But still hating myself and loving him. A new twist though....I have, for the first time in my LIFE, lost my appetite. Poof! Gonzo. How WONDERFUL!!! So now I don't eat, which makes me feel smug, and powerful, and like I take up less and less space in the world. Fat has always been me. Eat when lonely, sad, angry. Comfort in food. Not now! I don't even think about it! It's like a blind person being able to see after 42 years in the dark.....so THIS is what it's like! 10 lbs smaller, lots more before I can take on the scary-skinny, suffering soul look I aim for. Why? I'll ask Dr. L.

PS: My name is Q and I still love my husband.

PPS: 7 weeks and no contact from him, not a morsel.

Q

The D's

It's 4 weeks since he left. Not a word. He conveniently managed to avoid my birthday, Christmas, Boxing Day (our traditional party) and New Years. "and a Big Yellow Taxi took away my old man"...sing it Joni. You know. When Joni sings "I wish I had a river I could skate away on" I can relate. Very Canadian, that. A river to skate away on. But something so appealing, just glide away, cold air in my face, a subtle "woosh" from the skates...on and on until there is no one around, no one left, not even me.

So cliche, but "I can't believe it's been 4 weeks!" I have been dutifully practicing the D's---denial, dissociation, drinking (not so much, just a bit). I only cry when it attacks me, grabs me by the throat and explodes through my eyes and diaphragm. And I don't know why I cry, and it scares me, and the cats. Peaches comes over all concerned and mows and sniffs my face. And then it is gone and I go back to D1 (denial) for a bit.

I hate myself, I hate this body. I wish I were one of those alien creatures who only inhabits a corpse to move around in, and when it is destroyed, they just climb out and move on to something else (I'm sure I saw it in a movie once...one of those science fiction ones I never wanted to watch but did because he loves science fiction and I would do Anything to spend time with him and make him happy). I would crawl out of this fat, ugly body and inhabit Posh Spice or Keira Knightley.

I'm not angry at him. I think that might be why I am passively, indirectly killing myself.