Aftermath

I swear I’m wrapping all this up and putting it all behind me. But I’m human and I have my weaknesses.

The day after telling Alan never to contact me and all the stuff outlined in my last post, I looked at his profile on Grindr and saw this:

I can’t help feeling like if all those things were true, it would be unnecessary to advertise it. Maybe that’s just me.

Seeing this literally made me laugh out loud.

I’m still sad and I still really feel sorry for him, but I know I’ve done everything I can do for him. There’s no hope and no point in continuing to want something that will never be. More than anything else, this photo serves as a reminder to me not to waste any more time on him.

Last Words

Well, it’s really over.

I mean, it’s really been over for a year, but it’s really, really over.  On Friday, November 15th, I received a blank text message from Alan.  Literally, just an empty bubble.  I was out driving so it took a minute for me to process what had happened, to realize that this was a message from the man I love who had ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped all over it with glee.  (Clearly there is something very wrong with me.)

I believe I am a, mostly, sane and rational person, so if I had somehow managed to send an accidental blank text to someone I had had zero interaction with for 7 months, I would have followed that text message up with something along the lines of, “That was an accident.  Sorry to disturb you.”  So I waited.  I waited to see if he would send some sort of explanation.  No explanation came.  For five days.

Look, I will freely admit that I have not handled every part of this experience in the healthiest of ways.  I’ve spent the last year of my life stuck in a terrible place, holding on to a sliver of hope that somehow he would be the exception to the norm.  Somehow, he would be one of the few that actually achieves self-realization, faces who they have become, and seeks help to heal.  Because of this delusion, I have kept an eye on his on-line activities, not to monitor him, but to have an idea of what’s going on in his life and where he might be in this process.  I knew that he had not used his Grindr profile in about three to four months.  I knew the he had logged off of Scruff the day after Labor Day and with the exception of three times that I could tell, 1) to delete his profile picture, 2) to block me from his account, and 3) to unblock me a few days later, he had not been actively using Scruff either.

Suddenly, he was back on both apps.  He had updated his profile picture on Grindr, and added one to Scruff, both the same picture, (one that was taken when he and I first started dating, which he had sent to me via text when he was off on a nature adventure with his friends.  Could be a coincidence, but as this drama unfolds, it becomes harder and harder to believe anything he does is by accident).  He was back on the apps, pretty constantly, as he was when he first dumped me – as he does when he is “single”.

This information, coupled with his “accidental” blank text, gave me a pretty clear picture of what’s happening, but I wanted to give him a chance, the benefit of the doubt, as it were (though that is a loaded statement and not something I give him any longer).  So after five days and no further contact from him, I sent a simple message:

“Was there something that you wanted to say?”

Two hours and five minutes later her replied, “My phone screen’s acting up lately.. sorry.”

“mmmm.  okay.” I replied, knowing that his answer was completely implausible.  I can think of no feasible way that he accidentally sent me a blank text message after seven months of silence due to his phone screen acting up, unless he has had zero text communication with anyone since the last time we interacted.

“How are things?” he asked me, as if there was no tumultuousness in our history and my disbelief was not clear in my response.

The last time we interacted, he was cold, aloof, and indifferent to me.  Theoretically willing to try to be “friends”, but not anything more.  I knew then that I couldn’t do the friendship thing and, painfully, I let the communication drop.  This time, I knew he wanted something, but I didn’t expect him to be nice.  Regardless, I was not going to let my guard down.  I was not going to feed him, and give him any information to use against me.

“Better question is how are things with you?”  With every message I sent I expected hostility, for the façade to drop and for things to go awry.

“Same old same old, I guess. I’m moving (again). Lol”

“I figured you would,” I replied.  “I would ask to where, but I’m sure you won’t tell me.”  Last year when he moved, while we were theoretically still in each other’s lives, he wouldn’t tell me where he was moving to.  He would invite me over “when he was ready.”

“To Fremont,” he answered to my surprise.  Fremont is a big town with a lot of apartments, but its still more than I expected.

While still dating, we had a conversation once about where we would live if we were to move in together at some point.  He works for the fruit phone and his office is in Sunnyvale, California, my life is in Oakland.  Obviously, we would need to find some place in the middle, except he was unwilling to do so because his commute across highway 237 would suck (to be fair, he is right).  But now suddenly, after we are no longer together, he is moving farther north and east and farther away from work.  (Also, he works and worked from home most of the time so the location wasn’t especially relevant since he doesn’t actually make the commute very often.)

“Intersting,” I replied.  “So much for your commute you were so protective of.”

“It’s a good deal,” was all he said.  His current roommate was moving out and his lease is about to expire.  “I think it’s time for me not have room mates.”

I reminded him that I had told him when we were first getting serious that he should have the experience of living alone at some point before settling down “with someone” (meaning me, of course).  He said, “Haha you did.  Still single so..🤷🏽‍♂️”  An innocent enough comment on it’s own, but loaded with subtext under the circumstances.

He asked about me again, but I evaded the question, saying simply, “As you said, same ole same ole.”  He said he wouldn’t pry any longer, and that he hoped I was well.

I asked, as I needed to know from the beginning, “Don’t guess anything has changed since our last conversation.  Still not interested in going to therapy?  Still solving all your problems with the gym?”

He confirmed that he is not going to therapy but stated that he’s been more open with his friends which he suggested has been helpful.

“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I try to keep texting to a minimum these days.  I’ve learned that it leads to misunderstandings and problems.  I’m open to real conversations via telephone or face to face, but minimal texting…”  he acknowledged this and I went on to say, “Also, when I say ‘real’ conversations, I mean conversations about real things, not small talk and not bs’ing.”

“Noted,” he replied.

I had all I needed to know.  Of course, I can never know for certain, but from all that I have experienced with him, all the research I have done since he dumped me and everything that has happened since, I was able to draw a pretty clear picture of the situation.

SIDEBAR:  There is a website called quora best described as Yahoo Answers, on steroids, upon which I stumbled by accident in the early days, and now I get regular “digests” from them in my email.  It is disheartening, to be honest, how many people have questions and answers about dealing with someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) and what that implies about how rampant this evil actually is, but I am also grateful for the site and the people on it, from whom I have learned so much about this situation.  On Quora, and I’m sure in many other arenas, the victims of narcissists, and NPD abuse are referred to as “supply”, because that’s how the Narcissist sees us, not as human beings, but as a “supply” of the adoration and admiration they believe they so richly deserve.

Typically, a narcissist cannot be without supply.  They are usually looking for the next supply, even while they are in the devaluation phase of the narcissistic cycle with their current supply.  One post in the forum referred to narcissistic supply as being like air.  You can hold your breath for a few seconds and its no big deal, but pretty soon things start to look pretty grim without air.  For a narcissist, being without supply is the same.

I already know, by his own admission, that Alan “cheated” on me once while we were together. I put quotes around cheated because since we had never discussed and agreed on exclusivity, he didn’t actually cheat, but since he did it behind my back and waited four months to tell me when it would have the most hurtful impact, we’re going to go with “cheated”.  He admitted to doing it once.  I wouldn’t doubt it was much more than that.

I digress.  Here’s what I believe happened and lead to his “accidental” blank text.

Alan met a new supply on Grindr sometime around late July or early August.  Alan stopped using Grindr so that New Supply would believe that Alan was all in.  Clearly, Alan thought that New Supply didn’t use Scruff so that was safe.  For two months, Alan would still get on Scruff pretty regularly, but not as often as he had done before.  Due to the afore mentioned unhealthy behavior on my part, I saw in my favorites, that Alan was within seven miles of my house all of Labor Day weekend (I live 31 miles from his apartment in Milpitas).  On Labor Day, Alan returned to his apartment and logged off of Scruff.  Other than three instances mentioned above, he had not been on it again.  One guess is that he got caught by New Supply so he stopped using Scruff as well.  Again, I’ll never really know.

Regardless, the week before last, New Supply wised up.  Clearly he is smarter than I.  New Supply kicked Alan to the curb and Alan was caught unprepared and without a new New Supply lined up.  Alan logged back in to both apps, updated profiles and pictures and started actively hunting for the next supply, only, as we have seen, a narcissist cannot be without a supply for long so Alan thought, “Hmmm…  maybe I can lure Kevin back in to fill the void.  It won’t last, but he loves me and I was able to dupe him before, I’m sure I can drag him back in for a bit.”  And lo, the “accidental” blank text message was born.

He didn’t count on me having wised up, too.

I made up my mind.  I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t want to tip my hand prematurely.  On Wednesday, I sent Alan a text message.

“Is there any way we could get together tomorrow for a cup of coffee or a walk or something?  I feel like there’s more to our conversation from yesterday and as I said, I prefer in person these days.  My schedule is wide open.”

He responded with, “tomorrow would be a bit busy for me in the evening.. tonight, I have dinner plans with some friends, but I’ll be done by 8:30.. that wold be nice though”. (A narcissist always has to control the situation.)

“I have to work tonight,” I said.  “Right now actually.  And it’s Dreamforce. I made a bunch of money in a short period of time last night.  It would be dumb for me not to drive after work.”  (I am an Uber and Lyft driver as well as a Massage Therapist)

“Nice! Ok, we can play it by ear tomorrow then.”

First of all, “play it by ear” with Alan, is always a no, it’s just a no that is designed to string you along and keep you waiting on him for hours before he lets you down.  I didn’t hold my breath, and on Thursday when I had heard nothing from him, I went on out and drove some more.  Around 7:00 I looked at his profile on Scruff and he was 112 miles away.  (So…  he knew he was going out of town on Thursday, but he wanted to play Thursday night by ear?)

I reached out and he confirmed that he was out of town, “But we can still talk if you want,” he told me.

“I’d rather meet in person,” I said.  “I’d like to schedule a get together for when you get back.  I’m out driving right now.”  I did not expect a response.

Scruff told me, on Saturday, that Alan was on his way back.  Yesterday morning, he was 16 miles away, so I reached out again. “I’m available after 6 tonight or anytime tomorrow.”

His response: “Let’s play it by ear tonight.  I’m spending time with the fam today and have other things on my plate.”

“‘Play it by ear’,” I said, “is always ‘no’.  When can you get together, or do you really not want to?”

Over an hour later he answered with “Reaching back to you is a wrong move on my part.  take care and wish you the best.”  and then he blocked my phone number so I couldn’t reply to him.  But he couldn’t so easily block me on scruff.

“God you’re such a childish coward, shooting of your rude message and then blocking me so you don’t have to deal with the aftermath.  But at least you’re predictable.

“You’re absolutely correct.  Reaching out was a mistake on your part.

“I really wanted to get tougher so you could hear my voice, see my face and not be able to project your own anger and hostility onto my words, as I know you will now do.  I wanted you to know that I am not angry.  I am sad and I pity you, but I am not angry.  I also wanted to give you a chance to say your peace like a grownup and maybe we could walk away from each other with little shared dignity and respect.  I guess you’re not really capable of that.

“I can’t stay on this roller coaster with you.  I know you don’t believe it, but if you are not a narcissist, you absolutely have many narcissistic tendencies and serious emotional issues that need to be addressed.  I believe you are a full blown narcissist and you have proven it over and over.  This exact situation helps prove it again.  Do yourself a favor and research it, in depth!

“Therefore, as much as I still do love you, I do not ever want to hear from you again, unless you are in therapy and taking it seriously.  That is what I wanted to talk to you about in person.

“I’m not going to block you and if fate makes us cross each other’s paths again, so be it, but your message last week was nothing but a fishing expedition and I saw through it from the start.  You can’t keep doing that to me.

“The next time you contact me, if you ever do, the first thing you have to say had better be, ‘I have been in therapy…’

“I’m sorry it has to come to this.  I really hoped for more for you and I really hoped we could find a way to be in each other’s lives, but you have proven yourself to be a good person who does horrible things.  I love the good person, but I can’t watch and I can’t be a victim of the horrible anymore.

“I hope some day you find the peace you need and find a way to be mentally and emotionally healthy.  If that ever happens I’ll be happy to hear from you.  Until then, do not contact me again.”

Of course, I expected a response.  I expected cold, callous, unfeeling disdain.  I got disdain, but…

“Is that all you have to say?  Have you not said enough?  I actually thought that we actually can meet and have an adult conversation.” (That’s why you refused to commit and then blew me off?) “But apparently, you already have a projected image of my ‘full blown narcissistic’ tendencies.  That’s your opinion and everybody’s entitled to that.  I’m sorry if my behavior has caused you so much pain.” (Not actually an apology.) “If this is your way of projecting yourself, and to actually find closure, so be it.

“As far as I’m concerned, my relationships with my friends and family were never toxic, nor did I even try to play with theirs nor any body else’s.”  (Of course as far as you’re concerned.  A narcissist would never see it any other way.  Also, the grammatical incorrectness and missing words are verbatim.  I used to attribute this to English being his second language, albeit one he speaks fluently, but again, I question whether it’s deliberate vagueness.). “That was never my intention and I believe you have already said your peace over and over again – may it have been unsolicited or not.  If you never found peace sending me an unlabeled mail, stalking me on LinkedIn, and now assuming immediately that I am trying to avoid hearing what you have to say in person, then you will never be at peace.  Ever.” (I sent him a letter after the last time he blocked me before I could respond to him and I deliberately left the return address off to increase the odds that he would actually bother to read it – he did.  I have no idea what stalking him on LinkedIn is supposed to mean.  How could I not assume you are trying to avoid hearing what I have to say in person when you blocked my phone number?) “I feel bad for you.  I actually thought you were sane.  Your life choices reflect a lot about how you think.  I see it over and over again.  You were a mistake.  Everyone around me who has met you were right. (Four people with very limited interaction and no knowledge of who I am or what I’m about.  Two were his roommates who were almost never home when I came over, and two were people who he told me at the time, said they “approved”, but whatever.) “The fact that you cannot even hold a decent relationship with your own family is true testimony to your projections.” (My family is abusive and hurtful.  Self preservation is not the same as “cannot hold a relationship”, but he never bothered to familiarize himself with these facts.) “I cannot be a part of that, nor comply to your unsolicited assumptions and/projects of who I am.  Keep telling yourself I need professional mental help.  If that helps you sleep at night and move on.”  (It does, because it’s clearly true.)

This is an example of a narcissist who has been rejected and how they become unhinged in response.  His only objective here is to hurt me as deeply as he can muster as a final assault.  Despite how it may sound to some, he did not hurt me.  The commentary above is to put into perspective for those who do not actually know either of us just how insane his rant really is.

Nevertheless, there was one error on my part.  I genuinely wanted to keep the dialogue focussed on behaviors and not on people.  So I sent one final message.

“I will offer you one apology in that I should not have said you are a childish coward.  I should have said it was a childish and cowardly act.

“I won’t bother to respond to your message as there’s no point.  I think we can both just count our blessing that this is over and move on.”

Four hours later, he responded with, “Please do”

It was all I could do not to send one last message.  “Last word!”

The Innocent

A few years ago, after several years of consistent writing (and a fair amount of therapeutic results), I had to stop writing on this site.  You see, my brother had stumbled upon it unexpectedly. I never wanted my family to know about it because I wasn’t ready for my family to really know me.  My brother was the worst possible member of my family to be the one to find this blog because he does not have the first clue about respecting people, let alone boundaries.

After finding the blog he spent an entire weekend reading through the entire thing, and apparently, making notes about every single thing that he felt painted him in an ugly light, was, in his mind, inaccurate, or in some other way pissed him off.  He sent me a lengthy, angry email about all of this and told me I had no right to write, and say, the things I did.  He then refused to unsubscribe to the blog because, he said, I needed to be held accountable for the “slanderous” things I had and might say about him.  “Slanderous”, of course, equals wrong.

I tried to maintain control of my circumstances.  I moved my blog to another platform, but he hunted it down.  That platform, unlike WordPress at that time, allowed me the option to block his IP address, and email address so that he wouldn’t be able to see the blog, but he knows a lot more about computers than I, and he utilized some technological wizardry to force his way in.  I tried setting up a whole new blog, but ultimately, it just didn’t feel right.  This is my blogging home.  So I gave up and I lost something that had meant so much more to me than just a place to exercise my writing ability.

As if all the harm he had done to me over the course of my childhood hadn’t been enough, he had taken away the one thing that, at that time, offered me some hope for healing and achieving peace and happiness for myself.

Some time later, I found this on-line:

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I’ve posted this here before, but it is relevant today.  You see, part of the work I’m doing now is to figure out who I am. Not who I need to be to make other people happy or like me.  Not how to live up to the expectations that others place on me to make me acceptable in their eyes.  But who I am.  For me.  Today.  And always.

My life is mine.  My stories are mine.  What has lead me to this moment, to this point in my life, I own that, and I can do with it as I please.

I no longer wish to hide from anyone.  I no longer wish to live up to anyone else’s expectations.  I no longer wish to seek approval or blessing from anyone.

Going forward, in these pages, there will be no name changes “to protect the innocent”.

THERE ARE NO INNOCENT.

If people want me to write warmly about them, they should behave better.

Therapy Homework: Manifestation, Pt. 2

Let the record show that I have not forsaken my therapy homework, something which I have been very prone toward, partly because some of the homework hasn’t felt that relevant to me, partly because it’s been too hard, and partly because I genuinely forgot about it.  I’m quite sure Melissa will be shocked to find that I’ve bothered.

I’ve continued to think about what she asked of me.  For a little while I thought maybe I was missing the point focussing on love and relationships and not the grander scheme of my life.  The fact is our entire conversation that day was about Alan’s disappearance from the last remaining vestige of connection we had…  (well, I had.  He’s forgotten all about me) and where I expect my so-called love life to go from here.  The last thing I expected my “homework” to be was to think about what I want to “manifest” in my life, following that conversation.

Look the fact is, I simply don’t believe in “manifesting” things in our lives.  Life happens to us.  We don’t have much control over it.  In fact, I think trying to exercise control over our lives is part of what makes most of us unhappy, and I’m as guilty as anyone of it.

Alan was everything I dreamt of.  Look where that got me.

I think the most we can hope for is simply to do our best in whatever situations we find ourselves and wait for the inevitable crushing blow that will remind us that we’re really not all that…  we’re not even the bag of chips.  The sooner it all ends, the better.  But since we apparently don’t even have much control over that, we just keep doing the best we can with what we’re given and wait for the next crushing blow.

I do not believe I will ever love again.  I do not believe I will ever find myself in another meaningful relationship again.  So, sure, I can try to picture an ideal scenario relationship and hope that somehow that will come to pass, but I don’t believe I can cause that to happen through “manifestation”.  And still, at this point that so called ideal scenario relationship is Alan, getting the help he needs, coming back to me and professing his love that he was too scared to accept and face when we were together, begging my forgiveness and willingly living up to the list of conditions that I have in place for the very unlikely event that he does come back to me.

(“Conditions” may be too strong a word.  In order for me to give him the second chance that I want so badly to give, he has to acknowledge his problem, sincerely apologize, go to therapy, prove he’s in therapy, stay in therapy, acknowledge how badly he hurt me, and accept that it s going to come up from time to time, not because I want to hold it against him but because I’m human and healing takes time.  And he doesn’t get to be angry or defensive when it comes up because it’s his fault.  He did this and he has to accept that.  He also has to agree to go to couples counseling separately from his own therapy.  For him to agree to any part of this, let alone all of it, would be a minor miracle.)

You see, I can’t conjure up an image of myself in love with anyone else.  It’s Alan or it’s no one, and since it’s clearly not going to be Alan, I guess we have our answer.

But setting that aside, for a moment, the next best scenario I can imagine, as I mentioned in a previous post, is a wealthy man, who has no compunctions about being with a very much not wealthy man and providing for my every need for the rest of my life.  He should be young, and handsome, and physically fit with a full head of hair.  He should have a great smile, and a fantastic sense of humor.  He should be filled with self-assurance without being arrogant or condescending to anyone.  Oh and he should NOT be a workaholic to accomplish and maintain said lifestyle.  And somehow in all of that should be some semblance of genuine love, though, again, I have no idea how that could happen.

I can’t get any more specific than that.  I don’t believe in going into relationships and situations with preconceived notions of what I think it should amount to and look like.  That’s a sure way to get hurt.

Since I don’t believe any of this is going to come to fruition, I started moving on, thinking about other aspects of life and what I want to “manifest” in it.  A year and a half ago, I made the decision to get out of the corporate world and go to school to learn to be a massage therapist.  I had equally altruistic and self-serving motivations for this…  Maybe not “equally”.  I have always wanted to do a job that I felt mattered, and made a difference in the lives of the people I serve.  I also wanted to stop making other people rich, stop working 60 plus hours a week, pursue other interests in my life, and make a decent living in the Bay Area.  I also wanted to stop working for and with other people and no longer have to deal with the inevitable personality conflicts and workplace frustrations that I have proven incapable of avoiding thus far.

I became a Certified Massage Therapist in January and started a massage job in February.  It’s a great opportunity that is genuinely more than I could have hoped for coming out of school.  The pay is the most I have heard for a payroll position and the location and clientele are excellent.  I work 24 hours a week for this place with no benefits, and then spend another 30-40 hours a week driving for Uber and Lyft to make ends meet in one of the most expensive economies in the country.  Not only am I not making someone else rich, I’m not making myself rich, either. I sure don’t have time to take care of myself, let alone pursue other interests.

I choose to believe that this is temporary.  I have begun working to build my own private practice and I do have a few clients, but it’s slow going and unsteady work, for now, so I keep working longer and harder hours than I ever have before to try to survive.

So what do I envision my future looking like?  What do I want to “manifest” in my life?  I want steady work, but not more than 25 hours a week.  I want reliable, consistent clients who pay my fee without batting an eye, and who when, on occasion I feel the need to raise my rates, will continue to come to me, and will pay those new rates, still without batting an eye.

I want to be able to afford my life without stressing over every little expenditure.  I want to be able to afford health insurance, and not just health insurance, but health insurance I can then afford to actually use.  I want to be able to set money aside for retirement, because I know I’m not going to be able to stay in this career until I die.  I want to be able to do my taxes each year without fear of how badly I’m going to get screwed by Uncle Sam.  I want to be able to afford to take time off a couple times a year to travel and reinvigorate myself.

Most of all, I want to be able to be happy.  But I don’t even know what happy looks like for me.  I never have been truly happy, except when I was with Alan, and even then, I wasn’t completely happy.  There was too much else going on in my life that was stressful and making me unhappy, but when I was with him, when I was in his presence…  Yeah.  I was happy.

So, no.  I do not know how to answer the question.  I do not know how to “manifest” anything in my life.  I do not know how to do anything more than wake up each morning (grudgingly) and slog my way through whatever shit I encounter until I can finally fall back into bed, drift off to sleep and wait until I have to do it all again.

Radio Silence

My family is weird.  We mostly communicate in writing, which frankly, is just fine with me.  I hate talking on the phone and I really don’t like being interrupted and condescended to when I have something to say.

When I came out to my mother years ago, I did so via e-mail.  That may seem like a cowardly approach, but, again, we communicate mostly in writing.  It gave me time to put my thoughts together in a coherent manner.

It took my mother two weeks to reply to the message.  When she did it was a multi-page email riddled with inconsistencies and contradictions which I dismantled one by one.

I don’t remember much of the email anymore, except for the part which said, “I’ll have nothing to do with anyone or anything that puts your name and the word homosexual in the same sentence.”

A loaded statement to be sure.

I responded with two salient comments.  “I am putting my name and the word homosexual in the same sentence.  Will you have nothing to do with me?  I’m prepared for that if that is your choice, but I will not be the one to walk away over this.”  Followed by, “Are you telling me that if I should find myself in love with someone with whom I want to share my life, I cannot bring him around to meet my family?  Do you really believe that given the same ultimatum, my sister would choose you over her husband and children?  I guarantee you she would not.”

It took another couple of weeks for her to reply to that message and all she had to say was, “I love you very much.”

Sounds sweet and touching, right?  We have never spoken of my sexual orientation since.  That was seven years ago.

When I made the decision to come out to her, knowing that she would not approve, knowing that she would judge and condemn, knowing that she would react pretty much exactly the way that she did, and knowing that I was choosing to disrespect myself, in order to “respect” her.  I made that choice willingly so that I could live my life more fully, more openly, and, I thought, more honestly.

 

Last year I met the love of my life.  I met a man who was everything I wanted in a boyfriend and future husband.  I fell hopelessly, desperately, completely in love.  Beyond that, I believed I had received a message from the God I used to believe in, telling me that this was THE man I would spend the rest of my life with.  I was over the moon.

I didn’t tell my mother about Alan, not because it was a secret, or because I was ashamed of anything, but because we don’t talk very much, we live 1800 miles apart and there was simply no opportunity in which it made sense to say anything.  We hadn’t discussed my sexual orientation in 7 years.  Hell, we hadn’t discussed my sexuality in 43 years.

Alan, turned out to have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and ultimately, he destroyed me.  The end of our relationship was a tumultuous ride which I won’t get into today, but suffice it to say, I was strung along for months, and I bit, hook, line, and sinker.  He unraveled me to my very core, and in the end, he just dropped off the face of the earth, leaving me to try to pick up the pieces while refusing to give any answers or explanations or offering any sort of insights that could help me make sense of what happened.

The final, final blow came in early February, and I was a wreck.  My life fell apart around me.  Everything that had mattered, everything that had been good, was just an empty shell of vague relevance which I didn’t care to protect.  I wanted to die.  I couldn’t get through a single day without falling to pieces, and my eyes were in a perpetual state of bloodshot puffiness.  I cried, I thought, until there could be no more tears, and yet, as I write these words the tears are brimming.  I sat in therapy just yesterday and wept over his disappearance from the only source of connection that remained for me.

 

Within a few days of that final, final blow, my mother and I had a text conversation.  I don’t remember what it was about.  It was not especially relevant.  We finished the conversation and resolved whatever we were discussing, and then suddenly, she called me. On the telephone!

I steadied myself and answered.  “I just wanted to let you know I hadn’t forgotten about Christmas,” she said, after we exchanged the customary pleasantries, “I’ve just been really busy and haven’t had time to do anything about it.”  Her boss was writing a book, she told me, which basically means that he was scribbling notes long hand on legal pads, and she was writing a book. She’d been so swamped with deadlines and re-writes and all the other day to day stuff that already filled her life that she hadn’t had time to even think about the holidays, long passed.

I told her that she didn’t need to worry about it.  Since I made the decision to leave the corporate world and pursue an entirely different career path that is still in it’s infancy, I’ve been pretty broke and giving gifts was the farthest thing from my budget, let alone my mind.  I’ve never been comfortable receiving gifts when I’m not able, or inclined to return the favor.  It was just as well that she hadn’t done anything, and didn’t need to.

“Well,” she said, “I’m your mother.  It doesn’t matter if you give anything in return.  Besides, if that’s how things are right now, it sounds like the best thing I can do is just  send you some money.”  It’s worth noting that she never did.

She continued, “Other than that, how is everything?”

There was a moment of deafening silence as I tried in vain to put my thoughts in order and figure out how to reply.  How could I respond to the woman who told me she’d have nothing to do with my sexual orientation when the only thing that mattered in the world was that my heart had just been ripped out of my chest, hurled to the ground, danced upon and set on fire by the MAN I loved.  How could I tell her that every breath is a struggle, climbing out of bed every morning is like climbing Mt. Everest, and every smile I fake for the sake of my clients and coworkers cuts a little deeper and makes me feel a little more dead inside.

In that split second of deafening silence, I opened my mouth to speak the truth, and the only thing that came out was a sob.

“Oooh.  Loaded question,” she said.

“Yes…  And not one that you want to hear the answer to.”

Without missing a beat she said, “Okay.  Talk to you later.  Bye!” and hung up the phone.

We haven’t spoken since.

 

Recently, I found out that in the only conversation they’ve had about me since my life fell apart, my mother told my sister that she (my mother) seems to have “fallen off of [my] ‘acceptable people list'”, an ironic choice of words, I think.  There have been a few half-hearted attempts on my mother’s part over the months to contact me, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to respond or engage.  Naturally, my mother, who I have come to realize has some narcissistic tendencies of her own assumes that for some reason I’m mad at her and giving her the silent treatment.  I suppose she’s not entirely wrong.  I am mad at her.  I’m mad that in the most critical moment of our relationship, she couldn’t find it in her to set aside her bigotry and judgment and just be there for me.

But that’s not what the silence is really about.

It’s been almost ten months since my world stopped moving.  My earth is standing still on it’s axis and I am on the dark side of the planet during a new moon.  There is a power outage. The clouds are heavy and the fog is so thick, I can see no stars.

Nothing matters.  I still struggle to take every breath.  I climb the highest peek every morning I have the misfortune of waking up again.  My body aches, my heart hurts, my mind reels and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to make it stop.

What I do know is that only I can.  And she definitely cannot help me.

The silence is me trying to figure out how to take care of myself.  Trying to figure out how to heal and come out of this anguish better than I went in.  The person I was before is gone, never to return.  And thank god for that, because that guy was a loser who was easily manipulated and taken advantage of, as evidenced by the fact that Alan was not the first emotionally deficient man with a personality disorder to get his hooks into that guy.  No, that guy cannot be allowed to return and I have to figure out how to destroy him for good.  One thing I know for sure is that I won’t heal and I won’t come out of this better than I was by focusing on making other people feel better.

I spent my entire life trying to be what other people want me to be, to the point that I don’t even know who I actually am.  This is the time to find out.  I don’t know how I’m going to do that.  I don’t know what it’s going to look like, but I know that I don’t yet know how not to be that same simpering, pathetic loser I was before, so I steer clear of situations that invite him to resurface.

And that includes talking to my mother.

So for now, I stay radio silent

Confrontation and the Associated Risk

Anytime a confrontation is required there is a strong probability of losing someone. If you and the person you must confront are not both emotionally mature enough to handle a confrontation with open honesty, hear each other out, consider the others point of view and reach an amicable compromise, most likely you will lose someone. The question is, will you lose yourself, or will you lose the other person.

Unfortunately, most people are not capable of such emotionally intelligent interaction, especially not on a personal level. So the question becomes, are you willing to lose the other person in order to preserve your own since of self, your own emotional well-being, and your own emotional health?

I was so afraid of losing Alan, that I lost myself in our confrontations in order to keep him.

I don’t know where that leaves me. I only know that everything written up to here is true…