The second of my first two times occurred when I was forty years old. I had been in a failing and mutually destabilizing relationship for approximately the previous eleven years, the last three of which included the binding of marriage. That act of marriage was my last futile attempt to try and fix a relationship that was unfixable. During those eleven years, there were some very happy and memorable moments…there were brief periods of time when everything seemed almost perfect, and especially so when I compared my relationship with the average quality of existence and happiness associated with all of the other relationships I knew anything about. When almost everyone else you know in a relationship is either miserable or lying perpetually or high on antidepressants or cheating or doing everything within their power to avoid spending time with their mate, the problem of dysfunctional respect for one another coupled with a lack of mutual effective communication seems like a damn good alternative way of going about things and truthfully, it probably is. Nonetheless, it is all shit…all of it….different colors of shit….different odors of shit….different consistencies of shit…and shit that often contains either undigested or digested blood within its excrement…all shit. But, for the longest time I thought maybe, just maybe, my shit smelled better and looked better than most, so it seemed to me that my relationship had to be a good and proper thing, right? It seemed to me that that must mean I was in love, right?
My distorted sense of respect and honor, ignorantly implanted within my soul by my mother, also served to produce significant feelings of guilt within my psyche on a perpetual basis due to the constant consideration of my supposed selfishness in relationships….for my supposed wanting too much out of relationships…for my supposed taking too much for granted in relationships, as well as, everything else in life. My mother must be right, right? My mother would want me to be happy and find true love, right? But, what if mom was suffering from severe insecurity herself? What if mom was too insecure to believe in her own self-worth and because of such a thing, was too unstable to seek a relationship or union of true respect and balance…..too fearful to actually seek out someone worthy of her love? What if mom had previously fallen into a dangerous pathologic trap of the soul, like many, many others have also done, where she chose a relationship not for its potential for strength, balance, independence, and growth, but for her ability to rule it with neurotic manipulation and also for the purpose of establishing within her own psyche the permanent excuse of a woefully inadequate mate who would serve forevermore as the reason…the reason…for all of the suffering and madness and instability present within her own soul? What if mom had consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally, decided that her son, should not or could not, escape her bastardized, sick, demented and destructive “construct” of what a relationship should be? What if mom’s imprinting on me was really just a one way ticket for her son to arrive in her same hell and madness and loneliness…..to arrive in a self-sprung trap of infinite excuses…..and in a relationship destined to be empty as empty can be of respect and thus, love?
To be continued…