I have been in a horrible mood over the last 72 hours. Many factors contribute. Some of which are home related. Summers coming for one thing, which means I get to gear up for the common hardships of summer, and I refer to more than hot temps and mosquitoes.Over the last 8 years, summer has had one prevailing theme, difficulty, heartbreak, and loss. That part of the season has already begun.
Trudging my way back into school through financial ineptitude in our culture can leave one feeling sub-human, as the university system cares only about money. One could have a thousand letters of recommendation; those won’t help you. If you owe them $17 (I owe a little more, but not much really) they aren’t interested in your abilities. As in most things these days, you have to pay to play, no matter what. Still, the financial ineptitude itself is yet another of the things that have ruined the last near decade of summers.
It costs more to work in the summer than I can make from part-time jobs (the 23 unanswered résumé for real jobs suggest I will not be able to count on a full-time position). This leaves me with tons of stress as we skimp by on charity, whatever I can earn mowing, odd jobs, and sell. The selling has already begun with this past weekend’s yard sale. I am doing a ton of professional work these days, but guess what, nobody else has any resources either.
So, I keep building my résumé hoping that with more school, it will someday matter, or more likely, an opportunity works out for which a piece of paper will be largely superfluous.
Summer is also lonely time for me. Not outwardly, as the house will be full of friends and kids, but I speak more of my “heart.” When I am not hating my life daily and trying to work through the stress of poverty, I have been, over the last several years, getting my heart-broken by whomever I have fallen in love with, or tried to start a family with. It began with Ivy’s mother abandoning us, then the Rebec-xodous, and finally, Hilary’s use of deception to give me hope, until she could make her escape to the life she is really after. Fortunately this year, nobody is in the process of leaving Ivy and I. But that doesn’t mean heartache will be stricken from the menu. I don’t want to write what I am about to write. It makes me feel pathetic and weak, but I would rather be those than self-deceiving.
I have spent months trying to let Hilary go. I have been to a therapist, confronted her, confided in her, helped her, blocked her, talked about and written about her over and over and over again, tried to date and be open to new relationships. I have gained no ground. I love her more now than I did a year ago. Truly addicted to way my mind responds to loving her. This is very disappointing but the life I lead.
How do I deal with this? I no longer hate myself, so I will not be suffering like I did last summer via internal disgust and a failure complex. I also don’t have the distraction of trying to improve my health from a horrible state of physicality, as I have done a lot of work in that vein as well. All of that realized, my strategy is to go back to the beginning, and look again.
I am going to have to accept the preposterous and annoying emotional truth: I love her. Fighting it has been exhausting, and likely fighting it is the source of a few of the last year’s failures. Manifestation doesn’t seem to have worked this time. No matter how many times I try to condition away from this love, it comes back stronger. Whenever I attempt to show love to another, I am only reminded of my true love. One cannot live nor grow relying upon this cognitively paradoxical vista. Which is why, I am going to stop fighting it. I will not be able to express my love to her, but I cannot “pretend” my way into being over her. And while I have no remaining affection for the periodically pathological relationship we had, there is also no way to deny that a modern attempt could be the most beautiful thing either of us could experience. My daughter loves her so much; I love her so much. No intellectual argument could deny the power of what our family would be capable of with a choice of togetherness rather than the reality of giving up.
Sure, she no longer chooses me. It is also more statistically likely that she could never be in love with me again. That can’t be allowed to influence my choices.
The choices of another can only define our environments, we must navigate those worlds. Hilary’s choice cannot make me sad. Rather, I can respond with sadness to the choices she’s made, but this isn’t about her, is it? If I hope to ever feel that connection with another, there is a strong chance they will have to be able to fall in love with my love for Hilary. Tall order, but I cannot hide from that issue. Doing so has lessened my quality of life, and thus the quality of life for everyone around me.
Good news though; if this story is boring the shit out of you after months and months of hearing me whine and moan about this situation, you can go ahead and ignore the blog for a while, check back this September to see what may have changed. My annual summer blog series “The Story of An Arkansas Atheist” is about to kick off, and you, my Gentle Reader, can bet my feelings about this are gonna be in it, more than once, in further MMs as well.
I will understand.
I would be sick of it too.
But if you can take it, there are other things afoot as well, that are more than interesting. Were I you, I’d wade through the heartache to get to the good stuff. After all, that’s life, no?