808s, Heartbreaks, and Moving On
Yesterday would have been my and Emily's sixth anniversary had we remained married. I had every intention of writing a blog detailing the recent hurtful bullshit that passed between us in the last week and ruminating on the relationship as a whole (its beginnings, the rewriting of its beginnings into a mythology, and the destruction we wrought on one another as it all fell apart) as a way to say goodbye, but I decided I really didn't want to.
(I'm still going to talk about my feelings regarding her, so those of you who knew us as a couple and have expressed discomfort when I have talked about her in the past might want to skip this one.)
I've been accused of oversharing and intentionally shitting all over someone or something in my posts for my own gratification, amusement, or lack of moral character (and not just recently: I've had people annoyed with me for these very reasons since I began proto-blogging back in 1994), and while there may be some truth in in this (specifically the amusement part), it's certainly not my main drive. I write what I write the way I write it in order to record what I'm thinking on a given day at a given time. Reading back over my previous posts I'm able to unlock mnemonic codes that open doors to places I didn't know I'd recorded. I write this for myself. I post it because I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, though to a certain extent so is every musician and artist. Every now and then I can believe what I have to say will benefit others because they might feel the same way I do and might not feel so alone in the world*1, but for the most part I've stopped selling myself that one. I write to record and I write because I enjoy the process. I post because I like to make people laugh/think/talk/feel/respond.
Emily and I talked about a week ago. It was the first time in months and was the result of my emailing her a link that would allow her to download all the pictures of our time together I had on my computer. She called and the conversation devolved into her theorizing that things she'd recently learned about herself could have saved our marriage. Instead of saying that this kind of talk wasn't appropriate and asking her to stop, I said something that was, while true, extremely cruel. It didn't help that I hadn't intended it to be cruel at all, but instead cauterizing and supportive: a way to let her know we were both in the right place. It led to supposition on her part, then accusation. I defended, then said I didn't want to do this anymore and cut every connection I could find.
It was unnecessary and frustrating. And terribly sad, though for me it's become academic. I'm sad mainly because I'm just not sad about her and me anymore. I think I should be, I think I ought to still be mourning our marriage and our love, but I'm not. The last year of our marriage was a hard one. I realized it had all been built on a misrepresentation (not a lie precisely, but not quite a truth) and I mourned as I watched what we'd built burning around us. We'd been friends once and the more we reached out to one another the more we pushed one another away.
Our relationship as a divorced couple was strained. I tried for a long time, as I did in our marriage, to be everything she needed me to be: present and available when she was interested in friendship; and distant and out of the picture when she wasn't. I finally requested that we have a period of time apart from one another without contact and she mostly respected that (as I said, it had been months since we'd spoken when I emailed her).
I hate that I'm her bogeyman as well as someone she says she misses terribly. I miss the person I thought she was (which some might say is the same thing she feels). I don't ever want to take away from anyone's impression of Emily who knew her, but I had a much more intimate relationship with her. Both our experiences are valid. She was something to you, and she was something to me. I fervently wish she still lived in that place for me that she does for you, that we had never kissed, never dreamed, never married. I miss the friend I had thirteen years ago (and while there's been some debate as to her motives back then, I still miss that person). Her exit from my life marks the end of my childhood, the end of my believing that I can help someone just because I want to. A lot of things died for me, and died slowly, as my marriage ended over the course of a year-and-a-half to two years. I imagine they did for her as well.
Something died for me on Thursday the 19th when we had our last communication. No more accusations, no more blame, no more hatred. It's time to heal and be done with it. I'll not write of her again unless something major happens, and then it will be a simple reporting of the facts. No more of this.
We all deserve to be loved. We all deserve to be accepted. I wish nothing less than this for her. I hope she finds happiness and peace as well.
~Benjamin.
1) I was an only child and extremely lonely, so the idea of connecting with someone who feels isolated means the world to me.
Yesterday would have been my and Emily's sixth anniversary had we remained married. I had every intention of writing a blog detailing the recent hurtful bullshit that passed between us in the last week and ruminating on the relationship as a whole (its beginnings, the rewriting of its beginnings into a mythology, and the destruction we wrought on one another as it all fell apart) as a way to say goodbye, but I decided I really didn't want to.
(I'm still going to talk about my feelings regarding her, so those of you who knew us as a couple and have expressed discomfort when I have talked about her in the past might want to skip this one.)
I've been accused of oversharing and intentionally shitting all over someone or something in my posts for my own gratification, amusement, or lack of moral character (and not just recently: I've had people annoyed with me for these very reasons since I began proto-blogging back in 1994), and while there may be some truth in in this (specifically the amusement part), it's certainly not my main drive. I write what I write the way I write it in order to record what I'm thinking on a given day at a given time. Reading back over my previous posts I'm able to unlock mnemonic codes that open doors to places I didn't know I'd recorded. I write this for myself. I post it because I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, though to a certain extent so is every musician and artist. Every now and then I can believe what I have to say will benefit others because they might feel the same way I do and might not feel so alone in the world*1, but for the most part I've stopped selling myself that one. I write to record and I write because I enjoy the process. I post because I like to make people laugh/think/talk/feel/respond.
Emily and I talked about a week ago. It was the first time in months and was the result of my emailing her a link that would allow her to download all the pictures of our time together I had on my computer. She called and the conversation devolved into her theorizing that things she'd recently learned about herself could have saved our marriage. Instead of saying that this kind of talk wasn't appropriate and asking her to stop, I said something that was, while true, extremely cruel. It didn't help that I hadn't intended it to be cruel at all, but instead cauterizing and supportive: a way to let her know we were both in the right place. It led to supposition on her part, then accusation. I defended, then said I didn't want to do this anymore and cut every connection I could find.
It was unnecessary and frustrating. And terribly sad, though for me it's become academic. I'm sad mainly because I'm just not sad about her and me anymore. I think I should be, I think I ought to still be mourning our marriage and our love, but I'm not. The last year of our marriage was a hard one. I realized it had all been built on a misrepresentation (not a lie precisely, but not quite a truth) and I mourned as I watched what we'd built burning around us. We'd been friends once and the more we reached out to one another the more we pushed one another away.
Our relationship as a divorced couple was strained. I tried for a long time, as I did in our marriage, to be everything she needed me to be: present and available when she was interested in friendship; and distant and out of the picture when she wasn't. I finally requested that we have a period of time apart from one another without contact and she mostly respected that (as I said, it had been months since we'd spoken when I emailed her).
I hate that I'm her bogeyman as well as someone she says she misses terribly. I miss the person I thought she was (which some might say is the same thing she feels). I don't ever want to take away from anyone's impression of Emily who knew her, but I had a much more intimate relationship with her. Both our experiences are valid. She was something to you, and she was something to me. I fervently wish she still lived in that place for me that she does for you, that we had never kissed, never dreamed, never married. I miss the friend I had thirteen years ago (and while there's been some debate as to her motives back then, I still miss that person). Her exit from my life marks the end of my childhood, the end of my believing that I can help someone just because I want to. A lot of things died for me, and died slowly, as my marriage ended over the course of a year-and-a-half to two years. I imagine they did for her as well.
Something died for me on Thursday the 19th when we had our last communication. No more accusations, no more blame, no more hatred. It's time to heal and be done with it. I'll not write of her again unless something major happens, and then it will be a simple reporting of the facts. No more of this.
We all deserve to be loved. We all deserve to be accepted. I wish nothing less than this for her. I hope she finds happiness and peace as well.
~Benjamin.
1) I was an only child and extremely lonely, so the idea of connecting with someone who feels isolated means the world to me.