A year to the day …

Given my busy schedule, with the baking/shopping/working, and of course Skyrim, it’s hard to believe that I actually had time to notice that a year has passed since that fateful afternoon I spent with Ms L. But I did. In truth it’s hard not remember, given that it coincided with my brother’s birthday. Well technically it was the day before. The fallout started on his birthday. 

So, a year on, where are we? Nowhere.

Whatever friendship there might have been is long since dead. Sad, but such is life. I’ll be honest, part of me is still disappointed at how things turned out. I extended the olive branch more than once, but got nothing back. Given that we are in the same profession, and in the same city, I had hoped we could at least have parted amicably. Nothing makes a conference or industry event more awkward than being introduced to someone who would quite happily scratch your eyes out (I know this from experience, but that’s a story for another time). While the situation hasn’t presented itself yet, I am aware of the possibility, and have prepared a response accordingly.

Long ago I mastered the ancient art of civility. I don’t often practice it outside of work, mostly because my friends accept me for the cranky bastard that I am, but it is a skill I possess. I harbour Ms L no ill will. So if our paths cross, I will smile and nod, engage in polite conversation (if the situation calls for it), and then be on my way.

But I won’t be offering gingerbread. That’s only for my peoples.

Convention for those wounded in love

I should be doing my assignment, but I thought I would take a moment to post this up. More than a few people have been having less than stellar personal relationships of late. Some of us are coming out the other side of our funks, and some of us are still wading through. I found this a while ago, and reading it helped. It seems appropriate to put it up now.

Convention for those wounded in love by Paulo Coelho

General provisions:

A – Whereas the saying “all is fair in love and war” is absolutely correct;

B – Whereas for war we have the Geneva Convention, approved on 22 August 1864, which provides for those wounded in the battle field, but until now no convention has been signed concerning those wounded in love, who are far greater in number;

It is hereby decreed that:

Article 1 – All lovers, of any sex, are alerted that love, besides being a blessing, is also something extremely dangerous, unpredictable and capable of causing serious damage. Consequently, anyone planning to love should be aware that they are exposing their body and soul to various types of wounds, and that they shall not be able to blame their partner at any moment, since the risk is the same for both.

Article 2 – Once struck by a stray arrow fired from Cupid’s bow, they should immediately ask the archer to shoot the same arrow in the opposite direction, so as not to be afflicted by the wound known as “unrequited love”. Should Cupid refuse to perform such a gesture, the Convention now being promulgated demands that the wounded partner remove the arrow from his/her heart and throw it in the garbage. In order to guarantee this, those concerned should avoid telephone calls, messages over the Internet, sending flowers that are always returned, or each and every means of seduction, since these may yield results in the short run but always end up wrong after a while. The Convention decrees that the wounded person should immediately seek the company of other people and try to control the obsessive thought: “this person is worth fighting for”.

Article 3 – If the wound is caused by third parties, in other words if the loved one has become interested in someone not in the script previously drafted, vengeance is expressly forbidden. In this case, it is allowed to use tears until the eyes dry up, to punch walls or pillows, to insult the ex-partner in conversations with friends, to allege his/her complete lack of taste, but without offending their honour. The Convention determines that the rule contained in Article 2 be applied: seek the company of other persons, preferably in places different from those frequented by the other party.

Article 4 – In the case of light wounds, herein classified as small treacheries, fulminating passions that are short-lived, passing sexual disinterest, the medicine called Pardon should be applied generously and quickly. Once this medicine has been applied, one should never reconsider one’s decision, not even once, and the theme must be completely forgotten and never used as an argument in a fight or in a moment of hatred.

Article 5 – In all definitive wounds, also known as “breaking up”, the only medicine capable of having an effect is called Time. It is no use seeking consolation from fortune-tellers (who always say that the lost lover will return), romantic books (which always have a happy ending), soap-operas on the television or other such things. One should suffer intensely, completely avoiding drugs, tranquilizers and praying to saints. Alcohol is only tolerated if kept to a maximum of two glasses of wine a day.

Final determination:

Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflict, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they have to accept both the agony and the ecstasy of their choice.

And those who have never been wounded in love will never be able to say: “I have lived”. Because they haven’t.

Head shrinkery

As you are all aware I have been talking to a shrink to manage some of the crap that has been going on in my head. The contents of my brain is dark and twisted at the best of times, but when it gets stuck in a loop there is no other option than to get that external assessment. Your friends can sympathise, but aren’t always qualified to help you plan your next move (though they may be more than willing to assist you in the disposal of a body).

In this respect having these appointments has been very helpful. Sometimes it’s not what's in front of you that is really the issue, or at least not completely. Sometimes it’s just the trigger. The trigger in this case was Ms L, and the implosion of our friendship. While the feelings of hurt (and my ongoing trust issues) are in no way insignificant, it is not the central issue. It boils down to two things: loss and grief. In part for Ms L, but mostly for my Pop.

My Pop died two years ago last January. He had been an alcoholic for much of his life, but had been sober for nearly 5 years. It was when he had stopped drinking that they found the cancer in his liver. I won’t go into his final stages in great detail, just the two important points: he died in my arms, and my family were at each other’s throats by the end of the funeral.

With everything going pear-shaped I didn’t really get an opportunity to grieve. It is one of my many (many) in-built flaws: when things go to shit I put my feelings aside and get on with what needs doing. Part of my problem is that I have been doing that for a very long time. As a short term solution it has its benefits. As a long term solution it’s about as helpful as serving bacon sandwiches at Middle East peace talks. Mmmmmmmmm bacon.

So while I was left feeling hurt and grieving the loss of my friendship with Ms L (who was the first person I really connected with since my Pop died), I was hit with the original grief that I hadn’t processed. The severity of my funk now makes a hell of a lot more sense.

Ms L is the only person who will ever know why she reacted the way she did (and as much as not knowing bugs me, it is something I will have to live with). I still miss my friend, but now I can at least understand my own reaction. Not bad for three sessions.

I may be sane by easter ;)

 

shrink wrap

Ok, so the last post was about not sharing. More specifically, about not discussing Ms L with Miss R. Of course, given how much Miss R and I do actually talk about stuff, I explained my reason behind this. Not a short discussion. Not as traumatic as it could have been, but still no walk in the park.

By the end Miss R was strongly advocating that I go and talk to someone about this stuff. Someone professional. Now as anyone who has had to prove their sanity (and I have the little pieces of paper that say so) will tell you, I’m not keen on this. But the truth is, this Ms L thing isn’t getting better.

It is better now than say December, when things first went to shit. And it is better than January, when I was angry. But it’s now the end of February, and it’s still eating at me. Now I know that you don’t have all the information, so this isn’t going to make a lot of sense. For the sake of clarity, without going into detail, it breaks down like this:

 

• I told Ms L something very sensitive about my past. (It’s not something I normally discuss, as I have huge trust issues on this topic, but I told her because I did trust her. My mistake, obviously).
• Hours after this sank in I got “the email” from her about liking me, and how what I told her was too much in a boyfriend, but that it was ok for a friend. (Apparently I was only attractive until I had baggage).
• I sent the email clarifying that I already have a girlfriend, and was as gentle as humanly possible. I was also more than forgiving about the rejection part, (though I’m certainly not in a hurry to trust anyone with that information again).
• Then came the complete cutting of ties, the unfriending, and the refusal to talk to me in any/every way, shape, or form. (Was like being in high school all over again).

The fact that this is still bothering me, nearly three months after the event, would suggest that it’s not going to go away on its own. I’m not going to get any closure from Ms L, so I haven’t really got much in the way of options. You guys are all great, and patient (with only the occasional slap), but I think Miss R is right. It’s time to call in the big guns. Not really something I wanted to be considering now that uni has gone back, with the study, the home work, and the stair-rage (walk to the fucking left people, it’s not hard).

So, tomorrow I’ll make the call. I figure it can’t make me feel any worse.

A homily on forgiveness

As we round the 60 day mark since things went pear-shaped, I’ve been looking back and doing some cleaning out. My old laptop is almost officially purged. I just have to empty my inbox for two of my email accounts and all trace of my “relationship” with Ms L will be gone. While this cleaning house is necessary, I still miss my friend. I know this doesn’t make sense to anyone. I know many of you have wanted to slap me silly. Some of you even have. The most common question I get about Ms L is: how can you still want to be friends after everything?

The easiest answer would be that I’m stupid, or a masochist, or I have a thing for lost causes. Two out of three have been true at one point or another in my life, but I don’t think they apply here. I could be wrong. We all know I’ve been wrong before. Instead I like to think this is about forgiveness.

I have not always been Hawm of the infinite patience. I have been Hawm of the incredible (bottled) anger; Hawm of the impenetrable void; Hawm who falls off the face of the earth, and Hawm of the inexplicably complicated. I don’t think I’ll ever truly be able to shake the last one, I have managed to grow out of the other three. 

My relationship with my mother is probably the best example of this. I didn’t have the most brilliant childhood. There were more than the occasional beatings with the leather belt, there was the psychological warfare that existed between my Mum and my Nan (we were the both the prize and the pawns), the unresolved anger between my parents (divorced nearly 30 years now and it's still there), and the constant need to control our lives even after we ran away from home as teenagers. If you asked me how I felt about her then I would have been completely sincere when I said that I wanted her dead. 

When I came back from the army my perspective slowly started to shift. I was still angry, and the huge slices along my shins only added more fuel to the fire, but I started to fight back. Unfortunately fighting fire with fire, especially in my family, doesn’t improve things. It only makes for a bigger fire. So we didn’t speak. Not the best way to deal with a problem. Sometime the distance helps give us a clearer picture. Sometimes we need to have shitty relationships of our own to understand other peoples. I only knew how to have dysfunctional relationships, so I managed to rack up quite a few shitty ones. Until I figured out what I was doing. Well, that and I started having heart palpitations. Nothing quite like having what feels like a heart attack at 21 to put things in perspective. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. I had several attacks before I figured out that what was putting the biggest strain on my life was me.

My anger. Me being angry at everyone; my life, my family, lovers, work, the world in general. Being angry was fucking me up. And when anger is what has kept you upright for so many years, got you through all kinds of abuse, it is an extremely hard habit to break. Even now anger is seductive. It’s so familiar, the buzz you get from the adrenaline, the energy, and you just want to push everyone away and give yourself over to it. Giving into it never ends well, as my body made a point of reminding me early last month. I hadn’t even realised I was slipping until I was sitting here with chest pains.

The reason I no longer hate my mother, and eventually managed to love her (and my father too, though I don’t claim to be able to like the man), is that I was finally able to forgive them for being human. They were young, and made bad choices (which fucked a lot of things up for all of us), but they were trying to do the right thing. Raising two children on her own wasn’t easy for my mother, and she didn’t always get it right, but she looked at my two year old self carrying a bong to my pothead father and decided she wanted more for us. I can’t blame her for that. I didn’t understand why I didn’t meet my Dad until I was 10 years old. I didn’t understand why we weren’t allowed to get in a car with either him or my Nona if they came to the school. None of these things made sense to me as a child, but as an adult I understand. I may not always agree with the how or the why, but that doesn’t matter.

Forgiveness isn’t about right or wrong, it’s not about blame or recriminations. Forgiveness is about looking at a situation and recognising, with brutal honesty, that if we were in the same position there is no guarantee that we would have dealt with things any better. We’re human. We do the best that we can, and hope that the people we love don’t judge us too harshly. 

This is how I can think of Ms L and miss my friend.