Imaginary computer people, you’ll never leave me will you?

(Where did you all go….)

I have abandoned the blogging for a while now…mostly too much time at work and then too much time with C when I’m not at work. It’s been mostly wonderful. I haven’t missed writing out my miseries in this sodding thing, although I have missed the comraderie of the melancholic brigade. We pour out our anxieties, our twisted silent screams, our failures to fit into this world that absolutely nobody fits into, even though most of the time it feels like everyone but us fits in. And there’s acceptance. Understanding.
Granted, mostly we accept and understand because we don’t have to spend any actual time in each others presence because then we’d no doubt just annoy the hell out of each other. Nonetheless, the acceptance and freedom to blurt out our pathetic fears without wreaking judgement and criticism is nice.

Tonight is not a good night. I am having a silent fight with C.

You know those?

I guess you either do or you don’t.

She was kind of manic when I got home – I was kind of tense after a day of reading intensely boring research and a way too stuffy office which made me feel like I was living in some kind of fever dream.
Seriously it was about 2 degrees C outside, I had the window wide open, and I was still slowly baking to death.
The radiators must be powered by some kind of top secret fusion reactor.

I digress. Probably because I don’t want to talk about this, but if I don’t get it out I will surely implode.

C gets kind of brusque and impatient when she is being a little manic. with me anyway. She generally manages to be very polite and charming with other people, but with me, its mostly the impatient, not a huge amount of consideration for our emotional ties, and my immense insecurities and emotional issues. My problem she would no doubt say. Maybe so.

Anyway. I was trying to explain to her what I had found out during my hours of tedious research, and she was being all terse and impatient, and I was getting all defensive, not in any way prepared for anything other than a warm and welcoming partner after a depressing day. I tried to say she was being all spiky, and she responded with saying it was all in my mind (which is pretty much guaranteed to annoy me, and by now she must know that), and that didnt go down well at all. I would be the first to admit that I am prone to emotional messiness, but when C gets manic, her mood changes, she gets slightly aggressive, curt, bullish and impatient. She tries to make out that I am the only person in the world who has ever witnessed this. That everyone else finds her charming and terribly efficient. She points this out in a way that is designed to make me feel confused about my own perceptions and that my opinions are ill informed and pretty worthless.

This of course is somewhat infuriating.

When C is manic, she doesnt seem to care much about the effect she has on me. Its just me and my inability to deal with the world and my insecurities. She is of course flawless.

I am too shaken by this to want to have a fight. I am already pretty depressed by a day of boredom. I spend the evening in agony at our seperateness, wondering why my feelings matter so little. She spends the evening chatting to a friend and playing a game online.
Obviously, I am the loser here. I end up more depressed and miserable. She is all dandy.

Often I find it impossible to talk to C about my depression, my anxieties and idiocies because she just pushes through such things, doesn’t ever have them in the first place or has techniques to deal with them. I don’t like listening to myself talking about stuff that she finds so easy to push aside, or feelings that are alien to her. Her way of dealing with my problems often leave me feeling worthless, more depressed, or worse, trigger deeper emotions that set off defensive anger, that she retaliates to with soul destroying effectiveness. I can’t fight with her, because I already feel worthless. I have lost before I begin.
If I can’t share my fears and insecurities with my lover without fearing it ending in feeling worse, or a fight, then what is going wrong there?

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Sure you can look back, If it means moving on

Sure you can look back
If it means moving on
And you can take me back
But you must come home
We are both a in maddening cloud

[audio:miserybutterfly/008maddeningcloud.mp3]
(Blonde Redhead – Maddening Cloud)

Been a while huh?
Admit it, you missed me…

Really. Its been like 2 months or something. You must have noticed.

Whatever…

I apologise for my absence for those of you who have come to enjoy my stumbling efforts to make sense of my world. Or just steal my salsa recipes and claim the glory for yourselves (you know who you are).
As one or two of you already know, life happened, and I have been busy with living, rather than writing about living. I enjoy writing about living, but recently its been changing so much, and so many changes are going on in my mind that I have been at a loss as to how to describe how I feel, or what the changes actually are.
I say that as if I have somehow reached a point where I can describe it. Alas, you are to be disappointed.

I can’t recall what I have said or not said about recent events in my life, so a quick recap…started new full time job in June, wife left same week to move to different part of country. Spent couple of months learning to work full time again after 5 years self employment. All I pretty much did during this period was get my head together, work, and pay the rent and the large pile of debts I had accumulated. I drank some…I reconnected with friends. I breathed again, and thought a lot. I recognised how much happier I was out of the marriage. I moved on a whole lot.

Then I had a visit from a new friend. It was supposed to be a short visit, a few days…
She is still here.

That time has been spent in a crazy blur of discovering another person, discovering myself, discovering what love actually is, and what it is not. There is so much more I could write, need to write, but finding the time and the right words is so difficult. The process is ongoing, and wonderful, and stressful and new.

I just wanted to get this post out of the way because its been sitting in my drafts for weeks, in one form or another, and I need to break the logjam. I have stuff to say.

And you can touch me there
Just don’t leave me alone
And you can call me softly
When I dream and ask for more
You can slow and fold and mold my mind

And she said
I can’t feel my toes
And she must be alone
And far too cold

And he stares
Like he doesn’t see
He must be scared
And far too lost

Under and over
We must have glanced
Face to face
We’ve had to dance
We’re both in a maddening cloud

Sure you can step back
If it means moving on
And you take me back
But you must be alone
You can choke and smoke and rock my mind

Simulacra and Simulation

[audio:donotwanthis.mp3]

Sometimes, only sometimes, you realise that the map you use to find your way around your mind is of equal size and complexity, and possibly even containing more layers and levels than the plane you try to exist upon at any given time.

That one we call reality. You might have noticed it.

I am nihilistic and twisty.
Sometimes there is a core of anger in me that rises with no reason at all. Self-hatred, futility, weakeness. Bitter fucking hate.
I hide it well. I take it away from those I care about. Or try to. Which is ridiculous because the only thing that can stop it is to be held until the anger has no fuel.

Sadly when I am like this, I don’t let anyone near me.

So instead of bothering people, instead of asking for help, I will drink, and pretend I am fine, and it will be buried, and squashed down, into that layer of silt at the bottom of my mind. God help me if if gets disturbed by some giant footstep some day.

Tasty beer. You will never leave me…

The original is unfaithful to the translation.
(Jorge Luis Borges)

the divine mockery of words

Its quite a moon. I am a little lost in it. Not in a bad way, although the line between good and bad is a little blurry on nights like these… things just, are…

This is what I am drinking to keep the ghosts away:

Its the key ingredients of the Darkarita!

Viz:

The Darkarita

  • A jigger of Sauza Tequila Blanco
  • A small jigger (pony) of Cointreau
  • A splash of Blue Curacao (for the darkness you know, plus drinking blue stuff makes me smirk)
  • A healthy squoosh of fresh lime (about a third of a small lime but go with your tastebuds)
  • A smidgen of lemon juice (just a brief squeeze)
  • half teaspoon of palm sugar
  • Coarse ground salt

Chuck everything but the salt in a blender, with ice, blast the hell out of it.
Rub lime juice around the rim of the glass, grind the glass into a saucer of salt so the rim is coated. Pour tasty goodness into glass. Sit back and be endarkened.

So now you know the secrets of my success. Ignore. Avoid. Hide in the cellar until they go away. Scraping fingers at handle, whispers, curses.
Its a waiting game. Its only when you’re relatively sane that you know that they do go away, eventually, and you just have to let it play out. The ghost dance in your head. Some of you will understand what I’m talking about, some of you won’t. It doesn’t matter. The divine mockery of words…

No one leaves magic mountain

[audio:inbetweendays.mp3]
(The Cure: Inbetween days)

I have literally no idea what is going on in my mind right now.

Its almost amusing, how blasé I seem to have become about, well, everything.
I spent so many years simply surviving, lurching from one horrible phase to the next, that this ever-increasing not-miserable period has imbued in me a sense of ‘what the fuck’…I’ve been in the shit, and I survived, and yes it smells bad, but I can survive it. Why bother emerging from the shit simply to spend your life dodging shitpools?

Alright, so I am not terribly eloquent today. I don’t care…I aint here to impress you lot with my highbrow repartee.
Here have some Dylan Thomas, should keep you quiet…

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light…

(Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas)

[audio:feelinggood.mp3]
(Muse: Feeling Good)

And I think you all know where I’m coming from now…

What do you mean ‘haven’t got a frickin’ clue mate?’ I bare my soul, and you just sit there picking your fingernails? Heathens.

Ok. Look. What am I saying? I am having a hard time concentrating. Its been a busy week at work, I seem to keep accumulating more and more side projects because I am hyperfocused and hyperactive at work, so get at least 5 times as much done as would be expected of me.
Its also a dark moon weekend. This messes me up quite a lot. Normally a dark moon will make me quite emotional and prone to melancholy, but throw in hyperactivity and it seems to blend up into a big jazzy frothy intense brain blowout confusion smoothy.

I need to calm down. I am making coffee.
Those two don’t seem to go together do they?

I have no control over myself at times like these. Its when I most understand what manic-ness must feel like. I do whatever I feel like, I lose all caution and could care less about consequences.

Fortunately these moods last only a short time. I’m sure this one will have dissapated by the morning, or possibly the start of the week, it being a dark moon.

I have coffee. I have no idea what I was going to write about when I started this post. Thats awful. Another casualty of manic me. My short term memory, never the best in the first place, falls apart completely.
Strangely, I feel tired as well. Tired and manic. Is that normal? I can’t even remember if that is normal or not now. I can’t remember anything, ahhhh, who am I? Whats going on?

Fuck it. I’m giving in…

I might edit this when I come round.

At magic mountain
Nothing changes
Everything stays the same
Cross my heart
And hope to live
All the time
With a little fever…
(Magic Mountain:Blonde Redhead)

Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air

This post was originally a comment, from the last post, in reply to a comment from PA, and it might not make any sense in parts, but I figure, why waste a load of words on a comment, when I can recycle it as a post and save myself some bother? Energy efficient that is… Go with it. You know you want to. 

The newest computer can merely compound, at speed, the oldest problem in the relations between human beings, and in the end the communicator will be confronted with the old problem, of what to say and how to say it. – Edward R. Murrow

I did a template change in lieu of actually writing anything.
I feel bad for not writing, but then, I wonder why? In case I lose the two or three people who occasionally check my blog? Kind of pointless really. Its not why I started a blog, but theres always that pressure isn’t there? To entertain…It kind of spoils it for me. And I have lost a sense of that community with some of my favourite bloggers going quiet, or just plain vanishing. Everyone seems quiet recently.
And of course I am busy with work, so can’t afford to spend a whole day spilling my guts onto a page. Or rather, preparing to spill my guts, and then spending an hour actually translating the spillage into words ;)

And., there’s the depressive guilt that always comes when you’re actually feeling okay, and not really that depressed. I feel like I shouldn’t write about good things because it will just piss off everyone I know in the whole world because everyone I know is manically depressed, bipolar, suicidal, or otherwise generally hacked off with life.

Pole to Polar has blogged recently about the whole Top Trumps of madness scenario (does Top Trumps work as a metaphor over the pond? Not sure) so I won’t linger too much on that. The ‘I am madder than thou’ one upmanship. I feel faintly embarassed at feeling relatively ok. But I shouldn’t, because I’ve struggled to get to a state of stability for so long, and I’ve sacrificed so much to get here.
Speaking of Pole to Polar, they blogrolled me a while back, but never ever answer any of my comments or acknowledge my presence in their electronic world. I find it a bit spooky. I get paranoid. Am I just saying really stupid stuff and being ignored? Theyre not a huge responder to comments like some bloggers, but I’ve seen a fair few responses to other people, but never to me. Maybe they’re scared of responding to me? Maybe I am looking at it the wrong way…maybe they think I am weird and don;’t respond in case it encourages me ;) But then why blogroll me?
Oh, I don’t know. These are the tiny tiny details that slightly worry mentalists even when they’re reasonably stable. I don’t wake up in the night screaming ‘why won’t they talk to me!’ but you know…it nags doesn’t it…

communication

It brings me neatly onto another topic that has been nibbling at my cortex recently…the whole blog thing…now I can really only see the point of blogging if you get comments, and you respond to comments, and you can actually have a meaningful debate between intelligent people. Just blogging, and getting nothing back, to me, is a bit pointless. Yes ok, it gets the thoughts out, but I am looking always to growth and progression, and I know full well that listening only to myself and my own points of view is limiting and will only lead to me thinking a load of utter mad nonsense. We all need other voices to drag us (kicking and screaming) back to ground zero, the centre of our mentalist wanderings. We, especially need dialogue because we are all prone to those madcap Pirsig-like blinkered voyages into proving the world is round using only the power of our minds.
You (PA, still talking to you yes) have a fair amount of commenters, and respond well, and therefore get some discussion going, when you’re not blogging about stuff that people don’t know what to say to of course. You have been blogging for a good while now, you blog, well, a lot, and have built up a number of readers, some from the medical sector, some from the mentalist sector, some from the kinky lesbian freak sector ;) etc.
Thats basically what it takes to get a goodly amount of commenters. That and doing a lot of commenting yourself.
And I think being female is good, as its reasonably rare for guys to bother commenting on other guys blogs. Don’t know why…I do it, but it is quite rare.

I am losing the thread…
Erm. Anyway. I want more discussion on my blog. But I don’t blog enough, I have no way of attracting enough intelligent people here, and it all seems a waste of time. And the people I like are the very people who just explode and then disappear. Regularly. Its a pain.
Ok. Fuck it. I just posted in the comments section. At least that way I won’t attract any more readers! You have to be really fucking dedicated to check the comments section of a 2 week old post! Well, check the latest comments list anyway. Which I do at all the blogs I read, but I don’t know how many people do.
you see, I’d love to ask a load of questions about how people blog, and how they read, but I’d get maybe two answers, so it would just be depressing. Maybe I should just do guest blogs on a more popular and hip blog. Steal an audience…
Minx? Dame? You need a blogger? )

The more elaborate our means of communication, the less we communicateJoseph Priestley

COMMUNIQUE

****Incoming message from the big giant Ian*****

‘… the history of Society is only, after all, a symptom of increasingly more organised madness.’ – Kilgore Trout

Bill used to give himself lots of lateral downtime, or so he called it. This would involve him, maybe a beer and smoke, and lots of time drinking tea. It would help his creative preserves he said, sort of allowing himself to become sort of a better being, he said.
Strange thing was, Bill never did seem to get any better as the weeks would slip by.
Then one day, there was mum making mince in the kitchen on this summery evening and Bill turned from where he sat on the backdoor step , saying casually
“Thats it Marjorie, i have decided its probably better if i lived the rest of my life as a Bedouin Dancer”
and so off he went. I never did find out, but i like to think that somewhere in the corner of the world Bill does still whirl away in long desert robes.
And so it went.
***
When i was 23 i believed my friend was trying to poison me. I saw the vapours, and we didn’t like each other too much at the time anyway.
When i was 21 i believed Pearl Jam wrote a song about having seen me at a live gig.
When my Dad was fifty, my sister once told him about eating healthily, eating pasta. He always counted the pasta shells: thirty to make a good meal.
And on it went.
***
All life is, is one whole big collection of stories. I made this decision years after hearing that infamous ‘The Whole World’s a Stage, and we merely actors upon it’ – it took me a while to really grasp it Shakespeare, i guess i was always a windowshopper decider. Just like all the books on my shelves over the years have grown and shrunk, my life has been filled up with faces and lives and ideas. Little fragments of dreams and other worlds appearing and gently snuffing out, forever forgotten. Some enduring books and even whole collections stand constant and dusty, assured of their faded importance.
Life doesn’t have to make sense.
***
So this was it, i had decided to not sleep with my ex tonight. I would go around, collect some of my stuff, we’ll talk and watch a movie, she will see that i am still a nice guy and i will leave this evening both of us feeling like we are better individuals. I felt good, imagining myself like a Sufi Prince detached and joyful about my life. This would just be the beginning, i would start being a better human being across the board; i’d be able to politely turn down the lures of drink or boredom or melodrama. I’d start studying again and using my life creatively.
The next morning found me sauntering back home, and so on it went.
***
maybe i should get off the tablets-
i was chatting to a friend of mine today, this was the guy who told me a while ago: ‘It takes three years to recover from a breakdown’,
he seemed to be a little sad this time. I don’t know, something in his eyes maybe. My friend’s an ex-soldier, living on a frantic low income as a builder. he drinks hard, harsh tinnies in the town square – he’s a great guy; he’s always willing to have a cheery word. I remember once, before work i was sat, 8:45am in one of his old cars, with two of the local town street celebrities. We passed around some harsh weed and one of the guys behind me started going on about the beer he’d spilt in his lap. He’s got a wonderful alliterative use of the most disgusting swearwords of all time. The ex-soldier start saying ‘calm down, calm down’ in that slightly scary paranoid way: this was it, i thought. My Life is a Comedy. I am a bizarre rerun of Last of the Summer Wine.
He asked me what i was doing with myself when i saw him today, i always say an embarressed ‘Nothing.’ Shit. What are you supposed to say to that? I wander around morose, i shake with fear in my own home, i try to get by. He always gives me strange advice about ‘Doing What You Want To Do!’ going back to university, become a proffessional guitarist. I like him for that.
But today he seemed a little sad, almost as if he sensed my embarrasment, my reticience at our usual, ritualized question.
It takes three years to get over a nervous breakdown, my last breakdown was 20 months ago.
And so it goes.
***
Earlier this year i wrote a story about an improbable interview between various future me’s. They had all been different versions of me from different future dimensions, about six years from now. The current me (2007 me that is) interviewed them.
They kept on saying the same thing.
***
The first time i had sex was on a friends sofa at the end of a party. I was stoned, and fumbled a lot. The lass who had chosen me had a little daughter, only a baby, and she was committed to study Law and maybe go to University so she could get to know how to keep custody of her kid. i sometimes wonder what happened to her and her kid, what her alternate future dimensionary self would be like. I actually had an experience of meeting a future alternate (but at the time current i should say) dimensionary version of another young mother i knew.
Her name was Dannielle …(Bossinau?? I never could figure out how to say or spell her name). We knew each other as juniors and kids, i had a bit of a crush on her.
One day a friend in a college class was detailing to me the finer points of the CB radio. It was a little world that suddenly opened up for him who was like me i guess, a bit of a loser. A little whole community of people who talked to their husbands working on the passing boats, people chatting away about their corners of their world and the tasteless obsession of listening-in to the emergency service radios. Anyway, it turned out he had talked to Dannielle! He didn’t know her, but apparently she’d asked after me because she found out we both went to the same college. She’d dropped out after school, and had a kid. She lived with her parents, and was cheery.
I never heard about her again for years until i met her future (but at the time current) alternate dimensionary self. One summer break from University i bumped into her outside her old house just a street away from my estate. She looked really good, had her baby with her and i was struck by how things could have been different, how my expectations of her were so removed from this version of her.
Maybe i’ve got a single-mother thing.
***
When i was 28 i still believe that maybe, somehow improbably my future could be ‘saved’ by a glorious secret talent or luck or divine will.
When my Dad was 28 he believed that if he opened the front door a gunman would blow his legs off.
Puts it in perspective, sometimes.
***
Another other girl i had an unbearable crush on was my sister’s best friend. Her brother didn’t have any future alternate dimensionary selves. Her brother and his best friend killed himself in his car. He used to help me out at the Boys Brigade Youth Club. I kinda idolized him, in a teenage way. The dissappearence of his future alternative selves had a huge impact in our community, far more than i had realised until, years later my ex-fiancee (who had come from the same town i had, had used to go to the same places but we had met in a far off university in another Country) had told me the story of the couple of well-liked boys who had killed themselves in their car outside one of my old haunts.
Their tragedy escaped me really, like a transatlantic cement truck gliding past me on a foggy night. But the wider community didn’t know that my sister’s best friend’s brother had written what i still think is one of the most touching comments upon life. Apparently a part of it read; that all he wanted to do was to go live in Middle Earth with the elves.
***
One alternate me did most of the things i never did. When he was 9 he really believed in the power of that title ‘Man of the Match’ for throwing himself bodily against opponants as Defender. Shit. Why not- its not as if he was ever going to score or anything. He liked winning the mock boxing fights my friends used to have at 15. He probably even learned to write well, get good marks at Literature and now works as a clerk or a bookseller. His life is probably small, still in Southend but he feels comfortable, and confident, happy.
He’s lucky, he never made the mistakes i did, or the divine will looked favourably on his life. Just think, if there really are infinite dimensions then in one of them there is the Perfect You!!
What a jerk they would be at parties.
I wonder if the other alternate me sometimes stops at a window, before he answers his partner cheerfully and honestly as he always does. I wonder if he too is ever scared that Reality can shrink schizophrenically, in fragments.
***
There is this state i get into sometimes, when i’m really really high that somehow all of these stories make sense… My life is part of some big pattern, and its no big deal to worry about anyway. It’s peaceful.
***
Another alternative future me i bump into regularly goes to television and radio production shows. The kinds which like audiences to cheer and laugh or make votes and things. He tells me that if junkies were given adequate places to live, with reasonable rents you wouldn’t have this image of them all living on mattresses in squatted flats robbing bins for food. Poverty and addiction are directly related, as the Ratfarm experiments showed. If you were given a better and better environment to expand into you would, logically have no reason to try to escape it.
I feel sorry for this future alternative me. He’s doing well, but he became better friends than i did with Adam and Smiley, two of the older guys in my college philosophy class.
Red haired anarchist-buddhist Adam doesn’t have any future dimensionary selves either – we never knew but Adam had a genetic heart complaint, and once, taking whizz he just dropped down dead. Adam himself knew about it of course, which was probably why he started taking the whizz. I guess he just didn’t like having all these alternative future dimensionary selves running around.
***

(sub)missive from: Sacred Chao Brigade. Hail Eris.

It ain’t easy being mean…

Mega post warning: This post is long rambling and, no really, its like, long, dude. Get a cup of tea, or a beer, and maybe a snack. Or come back when you actually have the time to read it. You’re going to want to comment. One way or another.

Ok. I am working on a long rambly and probably quite tedious update (edit: this post became long and rambly and its teacup overfloweth into other areas….I’ll fill you in on the rest over the next few posts), but its taking me so long, and I can’t figure out whether I actually want to write it for myself or just out of some sense of blog duty, and continuity….Soooooo, to break the logjam, this is by way of a interim post. I’ve found myself having to actually try to be mean lately, simply to get things over and done with, and this is something I enjoy very little. In the long term though, it is going to be better all round. I suck at being mean. Even when I am trying to be mean I feel bad about it. When I’m not trying to be mean, I seem to get accused of being mean.

the-simpsons-mr-burns-excel.jpg

It all leads me to the conclusion that me and women are not meant to be…I try so hard to be a nice person and then whenever I end up with a woman they seem to want me to be someone other than who I actually am. I mean….wha? The person you wanted to be with isn’t actually who you wanted? I is confused. Fuck it. I hereby swear to never ever try to be anyone other than who I am, and if smelly old women can’t hack it then they can bally well not try to be with me in the first place.

Anyway….thanks to my wifes recent reluctance to accept my decision to break up, the subsequent mentalness, the bitterness and her incessant making everyone around me think I am the spawn of Satan, I am feeling a little surrounded by people that think I am a twat. So they’re not people who I actually care about….anyone I do care about knows me, knows what went on, knows what I’ve put up with for the past two years and understands my decision to quit. They may or may not agree with it, but they understand it, and respect me enough to support me in it. (and if they don’t they’re keeping quiet about it!)

Yes, I told my wife our relationship was over -While she was in another continent for 3 months. Via email. Yes this sucks, but I am pretty useless on the phone, and I am pretty eloquent in the written form, and telling someone why you have decided to end a marriage requires something more than a few grunts and verbal shuffling. I didn’t want to wait until she came back, and do it in person (which would be the preferred option) because I wanted to give her the option to stay in her home with her family and never see me again. It seemed mean to wait and let her think everything was fine. Isn’t it?

I appreciate that people seem to think the phone is better than the letter, but I do not. I really am useless on the phone. You don’t get me when you talk to me on the phone, you get a total twit. I am me in a letter, I can form my thoughts in the written form as they sound in my head. Albeit slower. To me, a letter is personal, the phone is not. And she is aware of this, she has known this for a long time.

People just choose things to be mad about when they feel hurt.

So I broke up with her.

She came back from the states. She was still of the opinion there was hope for us, even though I had made it very very clear my decision was final. Even at the beginning of the 3 months I had stated that I wasn’t sure we would have a relationship when she came back. It wasn’t like I was surprising her with this decision. I also wouldn’t make a decision like that unless it was final. I don’t dilly dally in such things.

I had got friendly with a lady on the internet in the few weeks prior to her coming back. The friendliness grew. It didn’t contribute in any way to my decision, which if I am honest with myself I could have made in the first week she was away, but wanted to give due consideration. What it did do was force me to make the decision, because I don’t cheat on people, and I do consider a net relationship cheating. It is isn’t it?

So I couldn’t not formally break up with her. It had to be done. However I did it.
But then another conundrum. Do I tell her about the internet lady, or not? Now my first instinct is to just go with the full disclosure. In for a penny in for a pound. I know I’m going to have to go through the emotional ring of fire, so no point leaving anything out. Its not like I’ve done anything…got friendly with someone, also decided that my marriage is a failure. Hey, we’re going to argue anyway, its a given with my wife….

But then I’m thinking – I know her….if I mention at the same time as telling her we are definitely over that I have also met someone I like on the internet (even though I have no idea if is going to lead to friendship, romance or nothing) then I know for a fact she will blame my decision on the other woman, and it will get all very messy and she just won’t get at all my reasons for my decision.

I also know how much it would effect her if she decided that I was essentially leaving her for another woman (which is so not the case, but I could see where it would go). I didn’t want her to think she wasn’t good enough for me, because that wasn’t the case either. There was basically no way I could do the full disclosure and end the relationship in a way that would convey to her why I was actually ending it.

Ok, it got pretty complicated and messy in my head. You all know I am sure, the machinations and worries that accompany any attempt to end a relationship whilst wanting to leave your other half with as little baggage as possible. I went with the not telling her option. Concentrated in the breaking up part. I did tell her I had made friends with people on the internet, and also told her one in particular I had got on with, and even told her I was going on a visit as a brief respite from life before starting my new job. (I was going to go travelling even prior to meeting the internet lady, so the trip was not even provoked by the meeting, but there you go)

I didn’t really know what else to say because I didn’t know what else was going on. You don’t know what kind of a relationship you are having with someone you’ve never met do you? Especially when you’ve only known them a few weeks. To me, it was all pretty much irrelevant to the break up anyway, and I just wanted her to realise that too. Not a hope in hell…and I was foolish to ever think it could go down any other way than the messy hell that ensued.

So basically the wifes insanity gene kicked in, the house was torn apart looking for evidence. My email was snuck into after I left, my blog was ransacked. (my blog was previously kept private, not because I wanted secrets but because my wife was incredibly insecure and would read anything into nothing, would be convinced any female bloggers commenting were madly in love with me and jeez, its just not worth the hassle…) The upshot was that she realised my relationship with the internet lady was a little more than mere friendship. We were of course officially broken up by this point.

I received a few nasty emails….I got back to an atmosphere of such ferocity that it hurt to even breathe. I started my new job a day and a half after coming back. I didnt get much sleep the first 3 days. Tuesday night I was woken up when my wife came into my room (she had moved into the office) and started yelling at me at 1am, ranting like a total lunatic. I didnt get a lot of sleep that night.

I don’t know. I feel bad because no it’s not the ideal way to break up with someone, but I’m not sure what else I could have done…the circumstances weren’t ideal…I hadn’t seen her for 3 months…I had told her several times over the course of the 3 months that I was trying to work out if we had a relationship left. I didn’t expect to meet someone. I decided to break up with her, and met someone at the same time. Is that a coincidence or was I just trying to reach out to someone else to ease the transition. Its always possible, but I’ve needed someone many times in the past, and theres never been anyone even close to the kind of person I could connect with. I think sometimes life just throws you a rope you know? The human concerns of leaving a suitable period of time between partners is just that, a ridiculous human concern. It doesn’t make a mockery of our relationship. If I am honest, I have been unhappy for a long time. Its not something thats happened quickly.

I’m sure I’ve missed out a lot of important detail that makes me sound like less of a bastard… but I have at least got it out…I didn’t intend to haul out the whole sordid tale.
The sole details my wife has been sharing with people is that I don’t want to be with her anymore and that I have been prancing around behind her back while she was away. Thats it. No mention of the two years I spent putting up with her insecurity, paranoia, quite scary anger outbursts about well, nothing at all, moods, general mood swings and weirdness. And I take prozac for depression and anxiety so you can appreciate maybe how hard it is for me to cope with living with somone so …. unprecictable and stressful.

To some extent I have deliberately avoided trying to persuade her of my innate niceness because I realised there was little point to it, it wouldn’t really help matters. She needs her anger to put some space between us, to help her heal, to make her realise we weren’t meant to be. I don’t need to be the nice guy. Its too late for that. So I have let her rant and call me names mostly. I’ve made little effort to try and change her opinion. I resent the fact that she’s been badmouthing me to people, that she felt it ok to totally fuck up my first week at my new job whilst calling me selfish. But to regain her self worth, it helps if I am unworthy of her in her mind. So thats what I aimed for. To convince her I was a nice guy, that I did still love her and that it was just circumstance and an inability to live together, that would be a cruelty really. It might lend her hope, make her think there is room for hope. There isn’t…I’ve been worn down so much over the last two years that my love for her is a distant thing now…through necessity. I can’t share my life with her. It hurts, but I know it for a fact. I’ve tried to make relationships work long past the point of realising this before, and the last time it ended in me having a nervous breakdown. I know I have to recognise when to stop now. I can’t push myself too far. I am weaker and more fragile than I used to be.

She moved out on Wednesday. She’s coming back on Tuesday to get the last of her things. I think she might be moving elsewhere in the country.

It hurts me that I feel little but relief about this, but thats probably a temporary thing. All I really want is to recover. To pick up the pieces of me and try and figure out if relationships are really worth it. Maybe it’s time to just focus on myself until I understand me. Would seem a good first step before I expect anyone else to…

If anyone has any advice, unbiased opinions, criticism, or other viewpoints…feel free. I hope the women in the audience aren’t all silently cursing me… I’ve been on the other end of this, a couple of times. I know how it feels. I can say I did it with more honesty than my ex did it to me, so I at least learned something from that….

hugs

It ain’t easy being mean…

Mega post warning: This post is long rambling and, no really, its like, long, dude. Get a cup of tea, or a beer, and maybe a snack. Or come back when you actually have the time to read it. You’re going to want to comment. One way or another.

Ok. I am working on a long rambly and probably quite tedious update (edit: this post became long and rambly and its teacup overfloweth into other areas….I’ll fill you in on the rest over the next few posts), but its taking me so long, and I can’t figure out whether I actually want to write it for myself or just out of some sense of blog duty, and continuity….Soooooo, to break the logjam, this is by way of a interim post. I’ve found myself having to actually try to be mean lately, simply to get things over and done with, and this is something I enjoy very little. In the long term though, it is going to be better all round. I suck at being mean. Even when I am trying to be mean I feel bad about it. When I’m not trying to be mean, I seem to get accused of being mean.

the-simpsons-mr-burns-excel.jpg

It all leads me to the conclusion that me and women are not meant to be…I try so hard to be a nice person and then whenever I end up with a woman they seem to want me to be someone other than who I actually am. I mean….wha? The person you wanted to be with isn’t actually who you wanted? I is confused. Fuck it. I hereby swear to never ever try to be anyone other than who I am, and if smelly old women can’t hack it then they can bally well not try to be with me in the first place.

Anyway….thanks to my wifes recent reluctance to accept my decision to break up, the subsequent mentalness, the bitterness and her incessant making everyone around me think I am the spawn of Satan, I am feeling a little surrounded by people that think I am a twat. So they’re not people who I actually care about….anyone I do care about knows me, knows what went on, knows what I’ve put up with for the past two years and understands my decision to quit. They may or may not agree with it, but they understand it, and respect me enough to support me in it. (and if they don’t they’re keeping quiet about it!)

Yes, I told my wife our relationship was over -While she was in another continent for 3 months. Via email. Yes this sucks, but I am pretty useless on the phone, and I am pretty eloquent in the written form, and telling someone why you have decided to end a marriage requires something more than a few grunts and verbal shuffling. I didn’t want to wait until she came back, and do it in person (which would be the preferred option) because I wanted to give her the option to stay in her home with her family and never see me again. It seemed mean to wait and let her think everything was fine. Isn’t it?

I appreciate that people seem to think the phone is better than the letter, but I do not. I really am useless on the phone. You don’t get me when you talk to me on the phone, you get a total twit. I am me in a letter, I can form my thoughts in the written form as they sound in my head. Albeit slower. To me, a letter is personal, the phone is not. And she is aware of this, she has known this for a long time.

People just choose things to be mad about when they feel hurt.

So I broke up with her.

She came back from the states. She was still of the opinion there was hope for us, even though I had made it very very clear my decision was final. Even at the beginning of the 3 months I had stated that I wasn’t sure we would have a relationship when she came back. It wasn’t like I was surprising her with this decision. I also wouldn’t make a decision like that unless it was final. I don’t dilly dally in such things.

I had got friendly with a lady on the internet in the few weeks prior to her coming back. The friendliness grew. It didn’t contribute in any way to my decision, which if I am honest with myself I could have made in the first week she was away, but wanted to give due consideration. What it did do was force me to make the decision, because I don’t cheat on people, and I do consider a net relationship cheating. It is isn’t it?

So I couldn’t not formally break up with her. It had to be done. However I did it.
But then another conundrum. Do I tell her about the internet lady, or not? Now my first instinct is to just go with the full disclosure. In for a penny in for a pound. I know I’m going to have to go through the emotional ring of fire, so no point leaving anything out. Its not like I’ve done anything…got friendly with someone, also decided that my marriage is a failure. Hey, we’re going to argue anyway, its a given with my wife….

But then I’m thinking – I know her….if I mention at the same time as telling her we are definitely over that I have also met someone I like on the internet (even though I have no idea if is going to lead to friendship, romance or nothing) then I know for a fact she will blame my decision on the other woman, and it will get all very messy and she just won’t get at all my reasons for my decision.

I also know how much it would effect her if she decided that I was essentially leaving her for another woman (which is so not the case, but I could see where it would go). I didn’t want her to think she wasn’t good enough for me, because that wasn’t the case either. There was basically no way I could do the full disclosure and end the relationship in a way that would convey to her why I was actually ending it.

Ok, it got pretty complicated and messy in my head. You all know I am sure, the machinations and worries that accompany any attempt to end a relationship whilst wanting to leave your other half with as little baggage as possible. I went with the not telling her option. Concentrated in the breaking up part. I did tell her I had made friends with people on the internet, and also told her one in particular I had got on with, and even told her I was going on a visit as a brief respite from life before starting my new job. (I was going to go travelling even prior to meeting the internet lady, so the trip was not even provoked by the meeting, but there you go)

I didn’t really know what else to say because I didn’t know what else was going on. You don’t know what kind of a relationship you are having with someone you’ve never met do you? Especially when you’ve only known them a few weeks. To me, it was all pretty much irrelevant to the break up anyway, and I just wanted her to realise that too. Not a hope in hell…and I was foolish to ever think it could go down any other way than the messy hell that ensued.

So basically the wifes insanity gene kicked in, the house was torn apart looking for evidence. My email was snuck into after I left, my blog was ransacked. (my blog was previously kept private, not because I wanted secrets but because my wife was incredibly insecure and would read anything into nothing, would be convinced any female bloggers commenting were madly in love with me and jeez, its just not worth the hassle…) The upshot was that she realised my relationship with the internet lady was a little more than mere friendship. We were of course officially broken up by this point.

I received a few nasty emails….I got back to an atmosphere of such ferocity that it hurt to even breathe. I started my new job a day and a half after coming back. I didnt get much sleep the first 3 days. Tuesday night I was woken up when my wife came into my room (she had moved into the office) and started yelling at me at 1am, ranting like a total lunatic. I didnt get a lot of sleep that night.

I don’t know. I feel bad because no it’s not the ideal way to break up with someone, but I’m not sure what else I could have done…the circumstances weren’t ideal…I hadn’t seen her for 3 months…I had told her several times over the course of the 3 months that I was trying to work out if we had a relationship left. I didn’t expect to meet someone. I decided to break up with her, and met someone at the same time. Is that a coincidence or was I just trying to reach out to someone else to ease the transition. Its always possible, but I’ve needed someone many times in the past, and theres never been anyone even close to the kind of person I could connect with. I think sometimes life just throws you a rope you know? The human concerns of leaving a suitable period of time between partners is just that, a ridiculous human concern. It doesn’t make a mockery of our relationship. If I am honest, I have been unhappy for a long time. Its not something thats happened quickly.

I’m sure I’ve missed out a lot of important detail that makes me sound like less of a bastard… but I have at least got it out…I didn’t intend to haul out the whole sordid tale.
The sole details my wife has been sharing with people is that I don’t want to be with her anymore and that I have been prancing around behind her back while she was away. Thats it. No mention of the two years I spent putting up with her insecurity, paranoia, quite scary anger outbursts about well, nothing at all, moods, general mood swings and weirdness. And I take prozac for depression and anxiety so you can appreciate maybe how hard it is for me to cope with living with somone so …. unprecictable and stressful.

To some extent I have deliberately avoided trying to persuade her of my innate niceness because I realised there was little point to it, it wouldn’t really help matters. She needs her anger to put some space between us, to help her heal, to make her realise we weren’t meant to be. I don’t need to be the nice guy. Its too late for that. So I have let her rant and call me names mostly. I’ve made little effort to try and change her opinion. I resent the fact that she’s been badmouthing me to people, that she felt it ok to totally fuck up my first week at my new job whilst calling me selfish. But to regain her self worth, it helps if I am unworthy of her in her mind. So thats what I aimed for. To convince her I was a nice guy, that I did still love her and that it was just circumstance and an inability to live together, that would be a cruelty really. It might lend her hope, make her think there is room for hope. There isn’t…I’ve been worn down so much over the last two years that my love for her is a distant thing now…through necessity. I can’t share my life with her. It hurts, but I know it for a fact. I’ve tried to make relationships work long past the point of realising this before, and the last time it ended in me having a nervous breakdown. I know I have to recognise when to stop now. I can’t push myself too far. I am weaker and more fragile than I used to be.

She moved out on Wednesday. She’s coming back on Tuesday to get the last of her things. I think she might be moving elsewhere in the country.

It hurts me that I feel little but relief about this, but thats probably a temporary thing. All I really want is to recover. To pick up the pieces of me and try and figure out if relationships are really worth it. Maybe it’s time to just focus on myself until I understand me. Would seem a good first step before I expect anyone else to…

If anyone has any advice, unbiased opinions, criticism, or other viewpoints…feel free. I hope the women in the audience aren’t all silently cursing me… I’ve been on the other end of this, a couple of times. I know how it feels. I can say I did it with more honesty than my ex did it to me, so I at least learned something from that….

hugs