It is cold in Naples, but I do not feel the cold. I went to a party to say goodbye to a colleague. Cat. She was dressed in a short one-shouldered number with sequins and rhinestones. I brought her books to say goodbye - feminist literature about the Vagina-brain connection, and essays for her to read on the way to her next posting on a DDG. Like the academic I am, I wore the same Dansko shoes I wore in grad-school and a turtleneck shirt (because it is cold). I dressed sensibly in a wool sweater. I walked down to the waterfront like I have done a hundred times.
The Lieutenants in the office have not seen me in bars much. The last (and only time) was in Germany when I was with the Dutch Marines whose presence made me feel that much closer to Sjors. Then, I had allowed myself the luxury of imagining that he was there somehow (channeled through these men, perhaps?) and still gave a damn. I laughed. I danced. I do not laugh or dance much these days (have I ever?) These days I spend my time fighting for the preservation of my program. Today, I spend the morning in my boss's office telling him that I can't execute this program if he takes my star player away from me. I wore my maroon "fuck me" heels to work to give me that extra edge. I can't lose the damn program. Its the only thing that will make any of this matter. It is the only thing that can matter to me now.
But tonight, I was there for Cat. She gyrated and danced with the men. I drank the shots that men bought me. I danced with everyone. Cat danced with me. I judge this as a measure of my hotness. Dressed as I am as an academic, Cat still decided I was the sexiest woman in the room - because rubbing up against me, she would make all the men wild with desire for her. Okay. Whatever. Go with it. It isn't like I get that much rubbing in my life.
Pete has always been snarky to me. Drunk, it doesn't seem to bother me much. He starts to mouth off. I think about him working out at the gym. I've seen him running shirtless on the beach in Cape Verde (gawped until I realized it was him). He dances towards me. He's nervous. I say, "you're so pretty when you keep your mouth closed." he smiles, says, "so are you!"
I leave before I can get really drunk. I have work tomorrow. I have to get up at 6.
I stop myself from leaving Sjors a message on Facebook. I know that this will only make things worse for my soul. He's fucking dead. They killed him. He killed him. The man I knew doesn't exist. I only wish I didn't feel it every second of every day.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Please come and find me then
Dear Sjors,
I write this, but I sincerely question the wisdom of sending it. I think it is unwise to get into any further communication with you because I hate the way that everything I say to you is scrutinized and twisted and fucked with. There is no real chance that I can have a friendship with you because of their involvement. I actually don't think that you should respond to me, because they will fuck with you more than they can ever fuck with me. I don't want them to ever use you as their tool against me again. It is bad for you. It is very bad for me.
I feel to write anyway.
Last night, I had dreams about you. They disturbed me. I would awaken, pace about, but always return to the same dream. I don't remember them that well, but the sensation of the echo haunted me the rest of the day. In my dreams, you had lost something important and were looking for it. I felt your sense of frustration and disconnectedness. I even felt the flavor of your panic. I felt a tremendous need to help you, if I could. I have always felt the need to help you, if I can.
I don't know how the universe works. In spite of all my logic and scientific training, I don't think I can claim to understand the reasons that I have cried out when you have been in pain thousands of
miles away. But I don't believe that it does me any good to deny that this has occurred. Perhaps this is one of those times. Maybe I am sensing something that is actually happening with you. Or perhaps it is the product of my imagination.
Patrick recently said to me that I continue to suffer because of what you did to me. This is only partially true. I continue to suffer because of what you are to me.
I think that what you have done prohibits me from ever being with you. You chose to stay with them; you chose to deny what we were. You chose to fight me when I tried to help you, and to align yourself in opposition to me. Most people who know me allow themselves to think that your betrayal is the primary source of my pain. This betrayal has certainly caused me to suffer. But if you were a different man, the suffering would be of limited duration because I could let the anger burn out and turn away. It is who you are that causes the greatest difficulty for me.
When I was with you, the concept of "Eternity" found some sort of hold in me. Let me explain.
The rational self tells me that I am a biological entity: that my "thoughts" are the electrical impulses of neural synapses, and that my "feelings" are biochemical connections. The natural conclusion? Death of the body is death of the "soul". There is nothing that persists when the biological organism ceases. This is the rational conclusion that I've reached and believe with all my scientific self.
But when I first met you walking down the hall of the C4I building, I had this strange sense of "soul recognition" that I have never experienced with anyone before or sense. Some fundamental part of me seemed to recognize you, say, "oh THERE you are. I've been looking everywhere for you." It was as though I finally understood that we had souls (independent of body) which had existed for billions and billions of years and which would persist for billions and billions more. It was as though our souls had known each other for much of that time and that we always looked for and found each other. That we had committed long ago to support and help the other person. When I looked
at you I saw eternity.
The more we spent time together, the more this feeling persisted. I have never been able to dislodge it. This was the reason I fought so hard for you from the beginning when I began to see that your organization was drawing you in a direction you did not wish to follow. It is the reason I have fought so hard for your integrity. It is the reason I worked so hard to protect and assist you. It is the reason that I will continue to fight if I am ever presented with a target to hit. It is also the reason I could not be with Hans after I knew you. It is the reason that I was so confused and devastated to learn that you had already married someone else (why didn't you wait for me?). It is the reason I will likely not be with anyone else in a traditional sense. It is hardly fair to say to someone, "I will spend my life with you. I will love and support you and have children with you. But you are not the person for whom I was made. I have an actual soul mate. I know who he is and I love him and know his name and you
are not that man."
It sounds so strange to write it down. But it is my truth. So this is why I write to you again.
I don't want anything for me. I don't need another sad and awful exchange with you to remind me why I hurt. But this message is for you.
If you are satisfied and happy with your life, then I am glad for you. I would not wish for you to be unhappy. I hope for your happiness. I hope that you are well and satisfied and loved. I hope that the world makes you glad .
But if you are also (as I dreamed), looking for something you have lost. If you feel that you have lost some other piece of yourself, I can at least stand here and testify that I have seen that part of you.
I have seen that Sjors. I know him. It seems that this is all that I can offer you now: a witness of the soul I know and love.
I do not get to have you now. "Until we're 85" as I had so wanted. But if we do indeed persist after this life, I will look for you in the next one. Please come and find me then.
With Love,
Elizabeth
I write this, but I sincerely question the wisdom of sending it. I think it is unwise to get into any further communication with you because I hate the way that everything I say to you is scrutinized and twisted and fucked with. There is no real chance that I can have a friendship with you because of their involvement. I actually don't think that you should respond to me, because they will fuck with you more than they can ever fuck with me. I don't want them to ever use you as their tool against me again. It is bad for you. It is very bad for me.
I feel to write anyway.
Last night, I had dreams about you. They disturbed me. I would awaken, pace about, but always return to the same dream. I don't remember them that well, but the sensation of the echo haunted me the rest of the day. In my dreams, you had lost something important and were looking for it. I felt your sense of frustration and disconnectedness. I even felt the flavor of your panic. I felt a tremendous need to help you, if I could. I have always felt the need to help you, if I can.
I don't know how the universe works. In spite of all my logic and scientific training, I don't think I can claim to understand the reasons that I have cried out when you have been in pain thousands of
miles away. But I don't believe that it does me any good to deny that this has occurred. Perhaps this is one of those times. Maybe I am sensing something that is actually happening with you. Or perhaps it is the product of my imagination.
Patrick recently said to me that I continue to suffer because of what you did to me. This is only partially true. I continue to suffer because of what you are to me.
I think that what you have done prohibits me from ever being with you. You chose to stay with them; you chose to deny what we were. You chose to fight me when I tried to help you, and to align yourself in opposition to me. Most people who know me allow themselves to think that your betrayal is the primary source of my pain. This betrayal has certainly caused me to suffer. But if you were a different man, the suffering would be of limited duration because I could let the anger burn out and turn away. It is who you are that causes the greatest difficulty for me.
When I was with you, the concept of "Eternity" found some sort of hold in me. Let me explain.
The rational self tells me that I am a biological entity: that my "thoughts" are the electrical impulses of neural synapses, and that my "feelings" are biochemical connections. The natural conclusion? Death of the body is death of the "soul". There is nothing that persists when the biological organism ceases. This is the rational conclusion that I've reached and believe with all my scientific self.
But when I first met you walking down the hall of the C4I building, I had this strange sense of "soul recognition" that I have never experienced with anyone before or sense. Some fundamental part of me seemed to recognize you, say, "oh THERE you are. I've been looking everywhere for you." It was as though I finally understood that we had souls (independent of body) which had existed for billions and billions of years and which would persist for billions and billions more. It was as though our souls had known each other for much of that time and that we always looked for and found each other. That we had committed long ago to support and help the other person. When I looked
at you I saw eternity.
The more we spent time together, the more this feeling persisted. I have never been able to dislodge it. This was the reason I fought so hard for you from the beginning when I began to see that your organization was drawing you in a direction you did not wish to follow. It is the reason I have fought so hard for your integrity. It is the reason I worked so hard to protect and assist you. It is the reason that I will continue to fight if I am ever presented with a target to hit. It is also the reason I could not be with Hans after I knew you. It is the reason that I was so confused and devastated to learn that you had already married someone else (why didn't you wait for me?). It is the reason I will likely not be with anyone else in a traditional sense. It is hardly fair to say to someone, "I will spend my life with you. I will love and support you and have children with you. But you are not the person for whom I was made. I have an actual soul mate. I know who he is and I love him and know his name and you
are not that man."
It sounds so strange to write it down. But it is my truth. So this is why I write to you again.
I don't want anything for me. I don't need another sad and awful exchange with you to remind me why I hurt. But this message is for you.
If you are satisfied and happy with your life, then I am glad for you. I would not wish for you to be unhappy. I hope for your happiness. I hope that you are well and satisfied and loved. I hope that the world makes you glad .
But if you are also (as I dreamed), looking for something you have lost. If you feel that you have lost some other piece of yourself, I can at least stand here and testify that I have seen that part of you.
I have seen that Sjors. I know him. It seems that this is all that I can offer you now: a witness of the soul I know and love.
I do not get to have you now. "Until we're 85" as I had so wanted. But if we do indeed persist after this life, I will look for you in the next one. Please come and find me then.
With Love,
Elizabeth
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Double Dutch
I spent three days in Germany at a conference. The world was white and grey.
There were so many familiar faces and old friends. How strange to have friendships with people on the other side of the world: Senegal, Tanzania, Seychelles, Gabon. I gave a presentation and, as I looked around the room, I realized that here and there were people who liked and cared about me; people who would be genuinely sad if something bad happened to me. They would come to my funeral and say nice things. This is a good feeling.
Some of my newer friends are Dutch. There is Patrick, the most profoundly "alpha" male I have ever known, and John, who met Eve and myself up in Senegal last month and worked his bum off for the program. I find that I crave the company and attention of these strong military Dutchmen. Maybe it is for themselves alone, but what portion of this hunger and open affection is the echo of Sjor's soul and the memories of Hans? I am somehow more receptive to these men, more open and full of joy than I am able to be with others in my life. I can access that part of me which rejoiced in the comapny of Sjors. It makes me feel that I am close to him, that I may (as stupidly unreasonable as it sounds) be with him again.
Regardless of the origin of this feeling, these men respond to the lucid and joyful and engaged person I become. They want my company as well and this has forged a strange bond which I do not share with many people. I have confessed myself to them in ways I could not do elsewhere.
On the first day of the conference, Patrick invited me to run with him and the other Marines. I am not fast and he knows it (I trained with him in September after we met and we played "Simon Says") but I said yes. It was icy outside and difficult to run on the snow. But I ran anyway. The four men (two Dutchmen, an American and a Brit) soon gave in to the Testosterone-fest and I watched their tight bums and running tights moving rapidly away. The female marine ran with me and we had good conversations and arranged our next work together in Cameroon. We ran past the frozen Reissensee lake and back down to the hotel.
Because I had come on that run, I became the team "mascot". For a while I deluded myself into believing that they thought of me as a little brother, but this is truly unlikely. I'm still on the outside of the brotherhood, looking in, but they called me when they went to the bar, went to dinner, and skied. I was invited everywhere. And the part of me which was discarded and neglected by a frightened man who thought he could live two lives, begins to feel cared for. Begins to heal.
There were so many familiar faces and old friends. How strange to have friendships with people on the other side of the world: Senegal, Tanzania, Seychelles, Gabon. I gave a presentation and, as I looked around the room, I realized that here and there were people who liked and cared about me; people who would be genuinely sad if something bad happened to me. They would come to my funeral and say nice things. This is a good feeling.
Some of my newer friends are Dutch. There is Patrick, the most profoundly "alpha" male I have ever known, and John, who met Eve and myself up in Senegal last month and worked his bum off for the program. I find that I crave the company and attention of these strong military Dutchmen. Maybe it is for themselves alone, but what portion of this hunger and open affection is the echo of Sjor's soul and the memories of Hans? I am somehow more receptive to these men, more open and full of joy than I am able to be with others in my life. I can access that part of me which rejoiced in the comapny of Sjors. It makes me feel that I am close to him, that I may (as stupidly unreasonable as it sounds) be with him again.
Regardless of the origin of this feeling, these men respond to the lucid and joyful and engaged person I become. They want my company as well and this has forged a strange bond which I do not share with many people. I have confessed myself to them in ways I could not do elsewhere.
On the first day of the conference, Patrick invited me to run with him and the other Marines. I am not fast and he knows it (I trained with him in September after we met and we played "Simon Says") but I said yes. It was icy outside and difficult to run on the snow. But I ran anyway. The four men (two Dutchmen, an American and a Brit) soon gave in to the Testosterone-fest and I watched their tight bums and running tights moving rapidly away. The female marine ran with me and we had good conversations and arranged our next work together in Cameroon. We ran past the frozen Reissensee lake and back down to the hotel.
Because I had come on that run, I became the team "mascot". For a while I deluded myself into believing that they thought of me as a little brother, but this is truly unlikely. I'm still on the outside of the brotherhood, looking in, but they called me when they went to the bar, went to dinner, and skied. I was invited everywhere. And the part of me which was discarded and neglected by a frightened man who thought he could live two lives, begins to feel cared for. Begins to heal.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Arranged Marriage
My sister is pregnant.
She is 23 years old and not in the best place in her life. She's had...troubles. Drugs. Alcohol. Depression. Suicide attempts (lots of them, starting when she was 8-years-old). It isn't the best time to have a kid and she's considering abortion.
I don't want her to abort. It isn't religious with me. Without any strong belief in any dogma or god, I can't say that the religious morality of the situation plays any role in my feelings.
But this zygote is part of her. Part of this beautiful person I love. So I love it already. I don't want it to not exist because it DOES exist already. I want to get to know the person it will become. Also, I feel that my sister would suffer with regret and wondering and I hate the thought of this tormenting her for years. Right to choose is a good thing. I don't want some asshole lawmaker taking that away from me. But once the pregnancy occurs, it's an all-in or all-out proposition, and there's a high emotional cost whichever direction you choose.
I would be a pretty crummy mother myself right now. I work like a maniac and I feel sad a good deal of the time. But I would certainly take the baby if she doesn't want to raise it herself.
But she kind-of does want to raise it herself. So she asked for my help. Could I bring her out to Italy? Could I help her through the pregnancy and watch her like a hawk: keep her from alcohol and cigarettes and drugs? I will certainly try.
But the problem is the damned Sojourner's permit. I have the right to live and work here - but she doesn't. The best case tourist scenario gets her here for three months. Not nine.
So I called HR. Let's start the steps for making her my dependent. Then, maybe, I can finagle a visa, and access to the U.S. military base and medical care. I don't know if it will work, but its worth a try. It isn't looking good.
So, I found myself look at Dan. Dan is a lieutenant in my office. He is 32 years old and interested in riding his motorcycle and filling his facebook page with travels to different European cities while he's here. He's thinking about maybe someday getting married and having kids. He's a nice guy. So I asked him to marry my sister.
Why not?
What did I have to lose? If he married her, I could bring her overseas and she would get good medical care. I suppose I'm a bit skeptical about marriage. God, it would be great if it was that sacred institution: that place of support and love and caring. But I look at the marriage Sjors has, and the marriages of so many other people I know who execute the modern version of the power/political/economic marriage which has dominated human history. So I thought, "what the hell? IS there a better reason to marry someone than to truly help them out?" I would have worried if Dan was some sort of romantic who was on the track to a deep and meaningful love-match, but he isn't really there. At all. I thought: maybe he'll go for it.
Well...not really so much. He flipped out. I felt like an asshole for broaching the subject.
If someone had asked me the same thing... I don't know if I would have freaked like that. I think that my primary concern would be that I might prevent myself from finding love or acting on it. Dan's concern was that she might have a claim to part of his income or retirement after they divorced. Okay. Whatever.
I have to figure out how to help this little chica. Apparently, I have no shame.
She is 23 years old and not in the best place in her life. She's had...troubles. Drugs. Alcohol. Depression. Suicide attempts (lots of them, starting when she was 8-years-old). It isn't the best time to have a kid and she's considering abortion.
I don't want her to abort. It isn't religious with me. Without any strong belief in any dogma or god, I can't say that the religious morality of the situation plays any role in my feelings.
But this zygote is part of her. Part of this beautiful person I love. So I love it already. I don't want it to not exist because it DOES exist already. I want to get to know the person it will become. Also, I feel that my sister would suffer with regret and wondering and I hate the thought of this tormenting her for years. Right to choose is a good thing. I don't want some asshole lawmaker taking that away from me. But once the pregnancy occurs, it's an all-in or all-out proposition, and there's a high emotional cost whichever direction you choose.
I would be a pretty crummy mother myself right now. I work like a maniac and I feel sad a good deal of the time. But I would certainly take the baby if she doesn't want to raise it herself.
But she kind-of does want to raise it herself. So she asked for my help. Could I bring her out to Italy? Could I help her through the pregnancy and watch her like a hawk: keep her from alcohol and cigarettes and drugs? I will certainly try.
But the problem is the damned Sojourner's permit. I have the right to live and work here - but she doesn't. The best case tourist scenario gets her here for three months. Not nine.
So I called HR. Let's start the steps for making her my dependent. Then, maybe, I can finagle a visa, and access to the U.S. military base and medical care. I don't know if it will work, but its worth a try. It isn't looking good.
So, I found myself look at Dan. Dan is a lieutenant in my office. He is 32 years old and interested in riding his motorcycle and filling his facebook page with travels to different European cities while he's here. He's thinking about maybe someday getting married and having kids. He's a nice guy. So I asked him to marry my sister.
Why not?
What did I have to lose? If he married her, I could bring her overseas and she would get good medical care. I suppose I'm a bit skeptical about marriage. God, it would be great if it was that sacred institution: that place of support and love and caring. But I look at the marriage Sjors has, and the marriages of so many other people I know who execute the modern version of the power/political/economic marriage which has dominated human history. So I thought, "what the hell? IS there a better reason to marry someone than to truly help them out?" I would have worried if Dan was some sort of romantic who was on the track to a deep and meaningful love-match, but he isn't really there. At all. I thought: maybe he'll go for it.
Well...not really so much. He flipped out. I felt like an asshole for broaching the subject.
If someone had asked me the same thing... I don't know if I would have freaked like that. I think that my primary concern would be that I might prevent myself from finding love or acting on it. Dan's concern was that she might have a claim to part of his income or retirement after they divorced. Okay. Whatever.
I have to figure out how to help this little chica. Apparently, I have no shame.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Bargain with god or the devil
.jpg)
Dear Hans, I'm writing to you now without any hope or expectation of reciprocity. I don't expect you to write back. I know that I will never be entitled to look in on your life or to ask you to share anything back with me. But the fact remains that you continue to be a very important person to me. I can choose to push that back, tell myself that it is more respectful to leave you alone. But I don't know if that's respectful at all. I don't know what the right thing is. I can't tell if I've left you alone because I thought it was better for you, or because I thought it was punishment for me. I've often thought that it was a rightful punishment for me if I never got to see you again, or reach out to you. As I think about suffering and punishment, I would take punishment, I realize, if it meant that you were spared a little bit. I got a bad phone call at 4AM from my sister and it had me up the rest of the night. So I started looking around and thinking about you. I often think of you, but I don't often go digging because I'm afraid of what I might find or how it will make me feel. There is really nothing in my life that I regret more than what I have done to you, and this keen sense of my own failing is very difficult to experience - particularly when I'm tired or weak. When I sometimes look for your pages, it isn't with the idea of pushing myself back into your life. Instead, I'm hopeful that I will see that you are happy and well because that would ease my mind about you. I always hope that you are. I saw that you had taken your facebook page down and so I looked you up on Flikr to see if that account was still active. I was pleased to see that you have posted pictures recently - and taken a ski trip to the Alps again. This made me feel a bit better. Then I saw a picture you had posted of yourself on Flikr and it made my stomach sink. Hans, you looked so miserable. I know that I am the one who made you miserable. I am the person who showed you that your deepest and most profound trust in another person could be terribly betrayed. I know that I was always amazed and frightened by your love and trust. I think I was always afraid that I would betray your trust, but I wish with all the power of my soul, that I had not. I wish that I had been made of better material than I am. As I get older, make more mistakes, and I see more and more the cracks and fissures in my character, I know that I was never good enough for you. I'm a good person. I'm strong and I try to be honest and ethical - but I'm not the "good to my core" person that you deserved to have. You always made me feel like I was better than I am. I wish I could have been. I know now that I never would have been able to be that person. I am so so sorry that I did that to you - that I put that look on your face that I saw on the picture. It was not a look of temporary sadness. It was years of pain etched in the eyes and forehead and around the mouth. If I could, I would take all the bad karma and sadness and suffering that was allocated to your life, and I would take it on me. I wish that I could make that bargain with the universe because I would do it in a heartbeat. I would give anything to have you happy and well - even if I never saw you again. As long as I knew. I would trade anything to have you live a life that gives you joy. As I consider all the suffering I have experienced in the past two years, I do not believe that it comes close to the suffering I gave to you. Please don't feel that you ever have to write back to me. You never do. This message is not an opening for anything. I don't ask or expect anything from you. I don't write this to appease my own guilt or to make my own soul feel better. I'm not so naieve to believe that anything I say now will make a hill of beans worth of difference to either of us in any real way. But maybe it will ease you a little to know that someone half a world away cares whether you woke up happy this morning, and prays to God and the universe for your wellbeing and a satisfied life, and would make any bargain with god or the devil to make that happen.
Monday, February 4, 2013
All stocked up on Crazy here
It took me a long time to feel that I might want to consider the possibility that I might, at some point, be with someone. Not BE with someone. Consider the possibility. Maybe a far distant possibility. Maybe, at best, stay open to the option.
I didn't know whether it was possible to trust any man. I didn't know if it was possible to just enjoy being with someone and have a good time and get to know them. I didn't know if I could grow into the possibility of being with someone.
When I went out with Patrick last weekend, spent time with him in the yellow and green paths of Cumae, my primary thought was, "it's good that I actually want to do this." That was the extent that I was able to feel. There were no plans. No looking into the future. Frankly, the concept of anything beyond this terrified me a bit. But as the week went on and we had dinner, and coffee, and chatted on the phone and he played the guitar for me, it was fun to begin to entertain the possibility that I could build a friendship or a romance and maybe have something healthy and normal with a man who seemed interesting.
If I was looking for normal, I should have looked somewhere else. This morning, a big helping of crazy landed on my table.
Her name was Chrissy. She had my personal e-mail address. How she got it? God only knows. She introduced herself as "Patrick's Girlfriend" and told me that he has a history of cheating and that she was planning on moving in with him in April and that she didn't want to change her life if he was cheating on her again. All she wanted, she said, was confirmation for her suspicions. She offered to "friend" me on Facebook so that I could see all the pictures of them together (apparently, she had found me there as well and told me that she had sent me a message there, too...but as I've received no message, one assumes that some other namesake also received a surprising notification this morning).
It isn't as though I lack pity for Chrissy. I have been betrayed and mislead myself. Sjors waited three months - long after I'd fallen in love with him - to dribble that important information about his marital status (and, by the way: kids. Two of them. And a big fucking white wedding five months before we met). I have no tolerance for lies or moral cowardice. I have made difficult and painful decisions because I believed they were right and because I wanted to be honest with people I love. If a man doesn't have the balls to be honest with himself and the women in his life, if he cannot make a difficult decision and make a stand, I cannot respect him. I am sorry for any woman (or man) who is lied to. But then it also begs the question: if you really are worried he's a douchebag, why would you move to be with him?
I've been seeing the guy for a week. I don't know him. Maybe he's a douchebag. Maybe he's a saint. I have no way of knowing. But in this short period of time when I'M not even sure where the relationship is going, this person half a world away tracks me down somehow and writes me a bizarre and accusatory message on a private account. Really? WTF? It doesn't say anything good. About anyone.
She writes:
So, let me get this straight: you don't know who I am. You don't know anything about me. I could be the guy's boss and you're writing this message to me? You track down my personal e-mail account (still trying to figure that one out), violate my privacy and then ask me to keep something a secret from a colleague. Really?
I do respond to her.
I didn't know whether it was possible to trust any man. I didn't know if it was possible to just enjoy being with someone and have a good time and get to know them. I didn't know if I could grow into the possibility of being with someone.
When I went out with Patrick last weekend, spent time with him in the yellow and green paths of Cumae, my primary thought was, "it's good that I actually want to do this." That was the extent that I was able to feel. There were no plans. No looking into the future. Frankly, the concept of anything beyond this terrified me a bit. But as the week went on and we had dinner, and coffee, and chatted on the phone and he played the guitar for me, it was fun to begin to entertain the possibility that I could build a friendship or a romance and maybe have something healthy and normal with a man who seemed interesting.
If I was looking for normal, I should have looked somewhere else. This morning, a big helping of crazy landed on my table.
Her name was Chrissy. She had my personal e-mail address. How she got it? God only knows. She introduced herself as "Patrick's Girlfriend" and told me that he has a history of cheating and that she was planning on moving in with him in April and that she didn't want to change her life if he was cheating on her again. All she wanted, she said, was confirmation for her suspicions. She offered to "friend" me on Facebook so that I could see all the pictures of them together (apparently, she had found me there as well and told me that she had sent me a message there, too...but as I've received no message, one assumes that some other namesake also received a surprising notification this morning).
It isn't as though I lack pity for Chrissy. I have been betrayed and mislead myself. Sjors waited three months - long after I'd fallen in love with him - to dribble that important information about his marital status (and, by the way: kids. Two of them. And a big fucking white wedding five months before we met). I have no tolerance for lies or moral cowardice. I have made difficult and painful decisions because I believed they were right and because I wanted to be honest with people I love. If a man doesn't have the balls to be honest with himself and the women in his life, if he cannot make a difficult decision and make a stand, I cannot respect him. I am sorry for any woman (or man) who is lied to. But then it also begs the question: if you really are worried he's a douchebag, why would you move to be with him?
I've been seeing the guy for a week. I don't know him. Maybe he's a douchebag. Maybe he's a saint. I have no way of knowing. But in this short period of time when I'M not even sure where the relationship is going, this person half a world away tracks me down somehow and writes me a bizarre and accusatory message on a private account. Really? WTF? It doesn't say anything good. About anyone.
She writes:
"I am sorry that you are caught in the crosswind. I promise not to reach out to you again after this. Thank you for reading my email. I appreciate your honesty. Also, I would appreciate you not saying anything to him until I can approach him. He was completely avoiding me today and we're expecting to talk on Monday night after work."
So, let me get this straight: you don't know who I am. You don't know anything about me. I could be the guy's boss and you're writing this message to me? You track down my personal e-mail account (still trying to figure that one out), violate my privacy and then ask me to keep something a secret from a colleague. Really?
I do respond to her.
I do not know how you obtained my personal e-mail address, but I request that you do not write to me again.
My name is Dr. E. I am ....a professional colleague of Chief P***. If you are Chief P***'s girlfriend - or indeed any person who cares for his wellbeing - I find it appalling that you would slander his character and bring accusations against him to someone who has influence on his career, particularly in a manner that leaves him unable to defend himself.
As I have professional respect for the Chief and see no reason to keep your secret, I have cc-d him on this message.
I recommend that you deal with personal matters in the appropriate forum.
Well, does that take care of things? At least she'll feel sufficiently uncomfortable to include me in on the drama. Part of me - a small and tender part of me - wishes I could reach out to the insecure and frightened "Chrissy" and give her a hand. But this would only make matters worse.
In the meantime, it remains to be seen whether Patrick was worthy of defense. Does the man have moral courage? Is he the wronged party who has been slandered, or is he just another douchebag? Will he use my message as a way to further mess with this woman? Maybe they'll get married and he'll cheat on her all the time and make her feel like she's crazy for suspecting. ("I don't know what you were thinking, baby. I just work with her. I swear. You're the only woman for me. Why would you do such a terrible thing to me? Why don't you trust me? We can't get anywhere if you don't trust me.")
I confess that my faith in the courage and strength of men has been seriously damaged.
In the meantime, please take the crazy off the table. I've had quite enough, thank you. Maybe I should have asked the Sibyl something. Maybe I will now.
Universe: I'm open to something sweet and normal. Something beautiful and gentle and kind. Something loving and supportive and trustworthy. Please send me someone brave and worthy of companionship. If I cannot have the man I was meant for, then give me someone who matches my strength for strength, and who can enrich my life and receive all the love and joy I have left to give.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Suspicion and Fatigue
It was dark today. There was a storm cloud over Pozzuoli and the surf pounded up against the boulders that line the seafront on Via Napoli. I ran to the pier at Bagnoli. I've run this route hundreds of times and it is comfortingly familiar now. There is comfort in all elements of the landscape: the vistas of brightly pattered buildings crowding the seafront; the piles of trash and the graffiti train that howls through the tightly clustered apartments, and the stray cats that wend their way through the black rocks. All of this will be missed by me when I leave Italy. I run through a cluster of fat-bottomed school-boys in sweatpants, and past a clump of old men. One bearded old man starts to sing to me as I dodge past him: "Amore!! Solo..." I don't hear the rest of his words.
I can run faster now than I used to. When I was corresponding with Mac and his brethren, I didn't know if they would come after me so I started to run harder, lift more weights, and train "like special forces train". Or, at least, delude myself that this was what I was doing. I lived in a constant state of alertness, wondering if I was actually in physical danger, but determined that I would get myself out of it if I needed to. In retrospect, it isn't surprising that they didn't come after me after all. It is much better (from their perspective) to wait and see what I would do and to try to paint me as "crazy" when I did act.
I could hurt them much more than I've done - but I've been unwilling to break my own ethical boundaries. I don't feel the need to protect Sjors anymore because his behavior has been so appalling, but I don't feel the need to actively harm him and I would have to do that if I wanted to make them suffer. I was disgusted by his behavior when the organization demanded his show of allegiance against me and it sometimes still hurts terribly. But I am primarily sorry for him. I am sorry that he has lost the best and most beautiful part of his soul to them. I am sorry that he destroyed it because it was inconvenient. In the end, he chose them.
I still miss him more than I can mention. Life is clockwork for me. It will always be clockwork, I'm afraid. But he chose them and there is nothing I can do to take back the soul I gave to him. When I still ache for him, I remind myself this. He chose to stay in a sham marriage. He chose to stay with an organization that exploited him and which demanded that he surrender me. He may be the match of my soul, he may own my soul, but he chose them.
In December, when I was in Gabon, he became my facebook friend. I wondered what this meant. Wondered why. After all this time. What did he want? I waited to see what he would do next. But he did nothing. There was no action to actually become a friend. After a while, it seemed so passive and one-sided, I decided he wasn't really my friend in any sense and I removed him. Now I note that Isa has re-posted her facebook page (she took it down when I said something about this in an e-mail account that the organization was monitoring). She has linked it to his. I used to feel compassion and empathy for her but I began to feel disgust when I saw her terrible behavior and the toll it took on him. Now, I just feel disgust and pity for them both. I feel angry at them for choosing something that was wrong simply because the "right" thing required courage and action.
I feel so tired these days. I slept for a dozen hours last night, but I am still so tired. I worry that the darkness will close in again. I worry that my attempts to live a normal life will be overtaken by the pain I still feel. By the longing for things I cannot have. I catch these little glimmers of hope, but they are so easily snuffed out when I start to remember the truth which is constantly clamoring at the edge of my subconscious.
It seems so strange to me that I have other Dutchmen in my life. In a way, these other men have provided a sort of salvation for me. They gave me the hope and the beauty that I needed. I even had a Dutch officer supporting the program I care most about: John. With me in Senegal. God, he was really helpful. And then, in the past year, there's Patrick and Jan and Roger and Richard. Every one of them so incredibly what I needed: clarity on the programs I was running, companionship, connection. Together, they were men who helped bring me back to life (although they do not know this). I feel badly that I've always wondered about them: what do they know? What do they want? How strange that I should fight one aspect of the organism and draw another part close to me.
I can run faster now than I used to. When I was corresponding with Mac and his brethren, I didn't know if they would come after me so I started to run harder, lift more weights, and train "like special forces train". Or, at least, delude myself that this was what I was doing. I lived in a constant state of alertness, wondering if I was actually in physical danger, but determined that I would get myself out of it if I needed to. In retrospect, it isn't surprising that they didn't come after me after all. It is much better (from their perspective) to wait and see what I would do and to try to paint me as "crazy" when I did act.
I could hurt them much more than I've done - but I've been unwilling to break my own ethical boundaries. I don't feel the need to protect Sjors anymore because his behavior has been so appalling, but I don't feel the need to actively harm him and I would have to do that if I wanted to make them suffer. I was disgusted by his behavior when the organization demanded his show of allegiance against me and it sometimes still hurts terribly. But I am primarily sorry for him. I am sorry that he has lost the best and most beautiful part of his soul to them. I am sorry that he destroyed it because it was inconvenient. In the end, he chose them.
I still miss him more than I can mention. Life is clockwork for me. It will always be clockwork, I'm afraid. But he chose them and there is nothing I can do to take back the soul I gave to him. When I still ache for him, I remind myself this. He chose to stay in a sham marriage. He chose to stay with an organization that exploited him and which demanded that he surrender me. He may be the match of my soul, he may own my soul, but he chose them.
I feel so tired these days. I slept for a dozen hours last night, but I am still so tired. I worry that the darkness will close in again. I worry that my attempts to live a normal life will be overtaken by the pain I still feel. By the longing for things I cannot have. I catch these little glimmers of hope, but they are so easily snuffed out when I start to remember the truth which is constantly clamoring at the edge of my subconscious.
It seems so strange to me that I have other Dutchmen in my life. In a way, these other men have provided a sort of salvation for me. They gave me the hope and the beauty that I needed. I even had a Dutch officer supporting the program I care most about: John. With me in Senegal. God, he was really helpful. And then, in the past year, there's Patrick and Jan and Roger and Richard. Every one of them so incredibly what I needed: clarity on the programs I was running, companionship, connection. Together, they were men who helped bring me back to life (although they do not know this). I feel badly that I've always wondered about them: what do they know? What do they want? How strange that I should fight one aspect of the organism and draw another part close to me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)