get over him

I did what I set out to do. I made mistakes, I may have taken too long. However, my initial goal was to chronicle my experiences so I wouldn’t lose the lesson. I didn’t want to take the risk of diluting my pain with romantic nostalgia and excuses.

I thank God, and everyone at 43T who helped me, challenged me, and supported me. I thank everyone for their prayers, their criticisms, and most of all, the love.

happy tear, just one

Often, when I am composing an entry on 43T, I start with a picture. Here is my first original picture, taken from my life as I am living it. It is a picture of the remnants of my last supper, the final meal to celebrate the release of my soul tie to R. I sat at our usual table, and I ordered myself a feast. When I was asked if this was a special ocassion, I explained myself with as much grace and style as I could muster. Both the host and my server had suffered from cheating partners, so I was treated like a celebrity instead of a pariah. Therefore, I start backwards by showing you this picture, of my takeout boxes with the candle on top. I asked for a lit candle in my dessert, and they were happy to oblige. I asked for company to join me in prayer, for that candle was blown out in glory to God for myself, the baby I lost, and all the victims of cheating relationships. I let this all go in the wisp of smoke that flew up into God’s nostrils after I blew out this candle.

Now I will tell what happened between 12:46 and 4:00 PM, my departure time from work and journey into confrontation with R. Work was slow today, nothing unusual about that. Around 3:00 PM, I started to get very nervous. You can probably tell that by my postings. Then, I remembered the most powerful thing I can do when I am feeling afraid, is turn to God. For He hears all and fears no one. He is no respector of persons, and I know that He loves me, because I am His child. So I prayed, and when I couldn’t focus on prayer, I reached out to other believers who helped me rededicate, laugh, and breathe.

I was just finishing up an email with safety information and a post to RuthG on 43T when R. came up to my desk, standing shyly from a distance. Are you ready, or do you need more time? he asked so gently, not seeming to be impatient at all with my lack of readiness.

No, I’m ready to go, I said, snapping the browser windows shut. I quickly collected my things and announced to him where we were going, the food court at a local shopping mall. He smiled a small grin, probably remembering our last outing with shopping, varying stages of my undress, and my ebullience at trying on new outfits for him. Little did he know my agenda would be quite different today.

He followed my twists and turns through traffic, not losing sight of me. Frantically, I called Flirt on the phone. She talked to me during my entire drive to the mall and prayed with me in my parked car. Flirt, I know that God is smiling on you right now, for all you did for me today. Blessings to you!

I then stepped out of the car to R.’s waiting presence. We walked to the mall entrance, and he held the door gallantly for me (like I taught him). We rode the escalator up to the food court, which overlooked a babbling fountain below. I asked if he was going to get anything to eat. He seemed a little confused as to whether he should or shouldn’t, so I decided to set the tone.

I’m getting nothing, I said, as I chose our table and my seat, facing toward the direction from where we entered. He then sat down, apparently deciding to postpone refreshments for now. He waited for me to speak, and I slowly gathered my breath to start. I hear and feel a voice emanating from my mouth that seems to be on loan to me. The sound is quiet, strong, and about an octave lower in pitch than I usually talk. The cheery lightness is gone, and the commanding prescence of this voice makes me believe I can do this, I can complete this goal.

I’m sure by now you want to know why I’ve asked you here today. Do you have any idea why?

No, R. says carefully through surprised blue eyes.

Well, have you been reading my blog? You had said you were going to Google stalk me, find it and read it. Have you?

Uh, no I haven’t, R. says with quiet determination, as if I should congratulate him for honoring my previous request to leave my blog alone.

Well, I believe you. Because if you had read my blog, then you would know why I asked you here today.

R. said nothing and gave me a satisfied sigh. I then continued.

I’m sure by now you realize that I’ve been angry at you. Yes?

Uh, uh-huh, he drawls in an exaggerated way that used to make me smile.

I’m going to tell you now, why I’ve been angry, because I want you to know. I want you to know, that I know.”

Silence, and a confused look follows.

You know what I am talking about, don’t you?

He feigns more confusion, arching his eyebrows but he is starting to lose eye contact with me.

I drop the carpet bomb. I know about your situation in {fill in name of hometown}. I know.

I hear R. draw in his breath softly, and he drops his gaze on me. He can’t look directly at me. I don’t allow my stare to falter.

I read her diaries online. All of them.

Okay, is all he can manage to say.

You lied to me. This whole time, you lied. Why, said more as a statement than a question.

I don’t have an answer, R. says.

You lied to me. I asked you direct questions, from the beginning and more than once. Each time you lied, you stole from me. And you made a fool of me. You could have told me at any time, you let me go on and on, leading me on. Why, I say a little more firmer than I thought possible. My gaze is unflinching; I falter not.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to work out like it did, R. explains.

No. You say that like this was just something uncontrollable and unexpected that happened. All you regret was that I found you out. So again, why, I persist to know.

I, I don’t know. I guess I thought about making a change, R. says.

No. You don’t do that. You don’t do that, keep two women’s hearts waiting while you make up your mind. I don’t deserve that, I do not deserve that at all, I say in even, measured tones.

No, you don’t, R. can’t do anything but agree.

Does she know about me?

No, R. says.

So this is what you do when you leave her, and this is all right by you?

We have an arrangement, R. says.

And J. (C.’s husband), does he know about you two?

R. looks almost amused, as if I am a child that needs simple things explained. Yes, of course he knows.

I have to drop my gaze on him in order to collect myself and breathe. I don’t understand. But then again, you knew I wouldn’t, which is why you lied to me the whole time, I said as a statement and not a question.

R. is quiet, speechless in fact. This man who has an answer for everything and an opinion on anything is stony silent and still.

Now, I’m going to tell you a few things. You … hurt … me, I say quiet and low, in almost a growl.

What you did to me, was sexual theft. I gave you the best I had to give, I was open, caring and honest. I was gentle and true. And you used it against me, lying to my face the whole entire time. And now I know, I know everything.

R.’s face sank, his eyes unable to look at my face. I continued.

Yes, I loved you. But now, that’s done, I say, wiping my hands. I am over you.

R. looks up and meets my gaze. I feel my head shake out a small approving nod. I am over you.

I draw in another breath for strength. I will work with you because I have to, I made a commitment. But I wish I didn’t have to. That is all. I will never, never … let you in … again.

R. starts to speak but suppresses the thought.

We will never be friends. Friends don’t do this to each other. And I will never be able to trust you again. I stop and gauge his reaction.

That’s fair, he says.

No, it’s not fair. None of this is fair. But I will forgive you. I am a Christian, and it is what I will do, I say and am met with a scoff and a smirk.

But I will do it for Him, I say, motioning upward, and because I know that in the long run, it is in my best interests to do so. I leave the rest of my thought unspoken, but I am sure the inference unmistakably hangs in the air as if I spray-painted the floor in big red letters. I FORGIVE FOR GOD, NOT FOR YOU, YOU @#$&^*(!!

Do you have anything else to say to me? I ask him.

R. can barely move his glance off the floor. He sneaks a furtive look at me and says, It’s not like I planned this.

Yes, yes you did. You planned this from the start. You told me that the first week you met me, you thought about what it would be like to kiss me. You planned all of this, so very well. But I found you out anyway.

I wanted this to end, but I needed to say one more thing to him and make sure that he had said all he needed to say to me. Do you remember, the day I told you about the miscarriage? We sat in my car in the parking lot, and I asked you, do you remember?

R. searches his memory banks and appears to have found a match.

I said that I was trying to figure out if you were a decent guy who just made some mistakes, or if you were a manipulating con artist. And you said that you were rooting for me to decide you were a decent guy, remember that?

R. nods sadly.

Well, I guess I have all the proof I need to answer that question. Now, I know.

R.’s eyes drop to the floor again.

Do you have anything else to say to me? I ask him.

No, he says in a half-whisper.

Then, I’m done with you, I say, turning my head to watch the water thrash around in the fountain below.

I can hear the chair legs scrape against the floor. In my peripheral vision, I can see R.’s body rise, turn, and walk away. I do not dare take my eyes off the fountain, with its flowing water, constrained in form and beauty. The water takes on life, is not lost but returns again to roost at home before jettisoning into breathtaking arcs of fluidity.

Sigh. This was not easy to do, but I feel like a weight has been taken off my back. This shame is his, it is clear. My conscience is freed, liberated from his lies and psychological drama. I’m going to close this goal now, but please feel free to comment if you like. I would never want the journey to end without sufficient closure for any of you.

When I found this picture, of the man framed in black with his hands peeking around the jagged edges, I was trying to decide whether he was breaking free or being imprisoned. Like my own avatar, I believe the reality of many pictures is in the eye of its viewer. Even our actions, complicated ones such as navigating through relationships, can exist in duality and yet be quite clarifying. Today, I have made a decision to attempt to incorporate the simplicity of forgiveness and the complexity of dealing with an unknown emotional quotient.

In other words, in plain English I am going to tell R. that I know his secret.

I didn’t sleep well last night and yet I woke early, eager to start the day. I’m equally motivated to put this goal of getting over him behind me, once and for all. I find my loyalties are still split, in very curious and subtle ways. Another man paying me a compliment, admiring the new clothes that R. picked for me, offering me positive attention, it all still makes me feel vaguely unfaithful. I believe that to achieve closure with R., I need to let him know that the cycle is broken, and the chains are ripped from the shackles, then my heart will be liberated to again come alive.

I’m no longer conflicted about who to tell, other than him. I’m confident that God will guide the knowledge of his affair with C. and her affair against her true husband to the people who need to know. It’s more important right now for me to keep my heart safe and my motives pure. Maybe in the future God will use me as an instrument, but right now, the only peace that passes all understanding is this: I feel led to tell R. and no longer shoulder the burden of his dirty lies.

I feel shame for being the other woman, even though it was not my doing and I asked all the “right” questions to avoid this horrible predicament. I feel regret that my first consensual experience was with a man who essentially engaged in sexual theft, with no regard for my physical or emotional well-being. I feel misled that I was conned into giving the most precious parts of myself, to someone who already keeps the love of another woman waiting. Most of all, I feel grief for losing the fine, upstanding man that I thought R. was, and seeing him replaced with a lying, conniving, deceitful and adulterous mess of a person. It’s one thing when a stranger who was never personal to you robs and hurts you; it’s quite another when someone who grew to be a friend and confidante wrecks your world and rocks your heart apart.

I no longer want to throw staplers, scream his name in anger, or even try to understand why he did what he did. I just want to tell him that I know, that it hurt, and that it was perhaps the most wrong thing he could have done to me—since I told him that my last Florida boyfriend hid the same secret and it caused me to end our relationship. Of course, in retrospect I now understand that is precisely why he did not tell me. I was tacitly accepting his laziness, inattentiveness and mercurial moods. When I made it clear that I had a history of not tolerating infidelity at all, he knew he had to subvert the truth and keep it underground.

It’s 12:46 PM now. At 4:00 PM we will both leave work and meet to talk. The time and date are arranged. At this point, the only uncertainty will be his reaction.

It was a difficult day at work. I had too much time and not enough structure to distract me. Then, I found myself having to listen to a conversation about R., and how great he is doing. Details how he has never felt better, and is feeling more positive … I should be happy for him. Of course, the context of this dialogue was that he is finally getting treatment for a sleep disorder, and it appears to be successful. Perhaps now he can start getting to work on time and being productive, helping me be more busy and successful at my own tasks on this team.

Although I know this person probably has no clue of my history with R., this conversation was painful to tolerate. I started thinking irrational thoughts like, Maybe he was so sleep deprived, he couldn’t make sound decisions about our relationship. Perhaps I should talk to him, let him speak his side to me.

Then, I reminded myself of all the aspects keeping us apart. None of them are my doing nor are they under my control. I didn’t spend the thousands of dollars he owes these people, or tolerate being unemployed for 4+ years. I did not have an adulterous affair with my friend’s wife. I did not stray from the aforementioned-cheating wife … at least not with my permission. If I did somehow enable him to cheat on her, it was only because he lied to me, over and over, with a practiced face and a deceptive, disarming smile.

I guess I should congratulate myself for not calling or going to see him tonight. The sun is all but set into the horizon. The birds are singing their last twitters on my white picket fence. The kitten is grazing around my ankles, simultaneously wanting and avoiding attention. The remnants of a southern comfort-food dinner are ready to be cleared into the trash.

I should end the day, imperfect as it was, with the satisfaction that even though my heart still lies waste in shreds, my dignity is arising from the mucky mulch as a beleagured but beautiful rose.

I want to address the conflict that seems to be developing on my “Blindsided” entry under this same goal. I decided to put it in a new thread for emphasis and easier reading. This is after all, my goal, and I am pursuing closure and healing in the best ways that I know how. For me, this means limiting my exposure to distractions and negativity that would further drain my precious energies and focus away from doing this all-important work.

I welcome the expression of differing viewpoints. However, there is a responsibility to committing one’s thoughts for public consumption. There is a risk of hurting someone’s feelings, of offending tender hearts, and transferring anger to others that does not rightly belong to them. Nevertheless, I will not stand silent while my thread, and by its representation my own life experience and emotional turmoil, is hijacked.

This 43T account is my space, my time, and my energy that I am sharing with all of you. I am making friends here, connecting with other spirits, and for the most part, I am treasuring these moments as time very well spent. I am grateful for the reciprocity of comments and expressions of support. For those that are truly becoming my friends, I also appreciate the cautious warnings and gentle criticisms to help guide me to the path that I have deliberately sought to seek.

Just like I deserve protection, respect and mutual understanding, so do my community of friends on 43T. You are all invaluable to me in bridging the loneliness, pain and turmoil my new life has absorbed through recent experiences. One of my readers recently suggested to me that I delete some posts that were verging on unreasonable and were slanting one of my discussion threads. Instead, I tried to extend compassion, patience and empathy despite my own despair. When I saw the direction that the thread was taking, my first impulse was to lash back—but I realized that is not the kind of woman I strive to be.

However, I feel like I must do something to stop this trend. When I tell someone that their posts are upsetting me, and they persist in contributing more of the same, it is the most blatant show of disregard and indifference for the feelings that I have so painstakingly shared with this community. If anyone believes it easy for me to commit these excruciating experiences to to the written word, then they are mistaken. Then, to persist in this pattern is tantamount to smoking in my house, as I run around and open all the windows to air out the poison, and then lighting a new cigarette despite my gasps for air.

I will say that from now on, I will issue one warning that if I see objectionable, insensitive, or critical comments to a friendly poster on any of my threads. Subsequent posts will be deleted after that point. Please consider that your words can be a balm to weeping wounds or nails driven into the fence that surrounds a healing heart. That is all I have to say on the matter.

At work, it was very frustrating dealing with R. He is markedly more uncooperative and borderline hostile to me. He refuses to give me any concrete status as to the work products he is due to deliver to me, that affectly direct my ability to meet my own deadlines. I’ve emailed him, using a professional and reasonable tone, and I am met with evasiveness and terse language that borders on rudeness.

To be objective, I even scanned previous emails he sent me before, during and after the breakup(s), but before this recently imposed freeze-out. In those emails, he was helpful, polite and easygoing. Now, he is just the opposite, and what’s worse is by design or intention, he is not delivering me any new work.

I’ve tried to be mature, professional and as accessible as I need to be during this horrible time. If he is the one breaking up with me over and over, his decision - then why is he being this way now? If I had any connection to him, it is all but gone now that I found out about him and C. He might as well be a eunuch for all the capacity I see in him as a potential mate. (If I was mean, I could tell him that - but that would be difficult since I am not speaking to him, lol.)

I pray for guidance, patience and strength in dealing with him and his pettiness. It seems as if he has no sense of urgency or even duty about his work. He came in late and left early today, putting in around six hours to my eight. I almost wish I felt entitled to do the same; I could afford the cut in pay, and I would really benefit from the extra time to do things at home. However, that was not the job I was hired to do, and in good conscience I cannot behave that way.

Sigh, this was a trying day. It crystallized for me when I was mowing the lawn tonight. I fell three times, on the slick bed of pine needles that dots the slippery steep incline that marks my sprawling front lawn. Each time, I paused before rousing myself from the grass carpet. I wanted to assess if I was injured or in shock and also to catch my breath. Gasping for air and waiting to feel for pain, I couldn’t help but think of the past analogy I used to describe our on-again, off-again relationship pattern.

I am Charlie Brown, and R. is Lucy in the Peanuts comic strip. I know that with the bat of an eyelash or a single encouraging word, R. would want to rekindle our romance again. He’s off the antibiotics by now, and so he knows that he could kiss me without allergic reprisal. However, to communicate any shred of willingness would be my demise, I know this all too well. He would extend the football, and eventually, it would be too tempting for me to resist a placekick. I would fall, sliding down the slick, steep hill, twisting and tumbling into a heap at its foot. I would be laying there alone, gasping for air, wondering why I bothered to try again with him.

I have to be done for my own preservation, I know this. Sigh, but it’s harder than it looks.

I spent the day in the house, alternately sleeping or doing my impression of a B-grade actress reduced to auditioning for a cold medicine commercial. No Oaks Day fun, no new adventures, not even a good meal. I even have a coupon for a big 3-day sale at my favorite clothing store, and it barely interests me (okay, I’m sick—not dead and buried, lol).

In the past, when I was sick I would seek sympathy from R. He adores giving comfort amid sniffles and sneezes, and he is quite good at anticipating my physical needs. My shoulders ache to be encircled by his warm embrace and drawn to his shoulder for a tender snuggle—until I think about what he has done. Then, my cold symptoms don’t even compare to the physical revulsion I feel when I think about him even coming near me.

Up until finding out about his cheating, I felt I was making slow progress on finishing this goal. I worried that it would take many more months, if not years, of my precious time and energy. Now, I feel almost sad that the love and hope and warmth I had for him has been so effectively destroyed. Maybe that is why I am sick now, because my body is grieving what my heart has been suffering for the last week. I believe there is a strong body-mind connection, so now at least both of these aspects are in congruence with feeling depleted, ill, and vulnerable.

I don’t know what is worse, being angry and disappointed at R. for his lies, or having to defend the conclusions and closure that I have worked so hard to achieve to the minority of people who would romanticize and idealize adultery by reframing into some version of a tragic love story. There is nothing poignant about what R. has wreaked by his selfishness and rampant, pathological lying. I cannot find any redeeming qualities to substantiate me carrying any hopes of reconciliation for this individual. I’ve given him more chances than are wise, and now the bank is overdrawn.

For the record, this other woman’s online diaries are exquisitely detailed, down to dates, pictures, etc. They are current and prolific, spanning back years. R. previously mentioned that he helped her setup her website, and I would be surprised if he was not aware of its contents. As curious as he is about what he calls “my secret blog” (my goals on 43T that I will not share with him), I am positive that he reads or she shows him her entries, since they all but worship him as a god rather than a fallible man. In addition, he wears a ring on a necklace around his neck rather than on his finger. When I asked him about it, he said it was a friendship gift from C. I can only imagine that he likely slips it on his finger every Friday night as he returns back to his home city to be with her. I can picture him slipping it off his finger when he prepares to start his week here in my city, in order to preserve the deception and remove the guilt cuff from the view of his own hand.

Right now my ginger cat Sarah sits in the window sill, one foot over the threshold. She vacscillates from looking at the dapples of sunshine spilling against the white picket fence and twittering birds, to staring at me. She has one foot resting over the threshold of the deep windowsill, and the rest of her body inside the house. Her ears are twitching as if she is trying to make an important decision, and she looks to me for guidance. I have no advice to give her, so she turns her attention back to the springtime mood outside.

I wonder if I have approached my own threshold, and if so, how many limbs I have crossed over to the new side.

Godsgrl (who is a real-live friend of mine in Florida) sent me this email tonight. I thought it fitting to be posted here:

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of
the tree. Most men don’t want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren’t as good, but easy.

The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when
in reality, they’re amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

Now men…. Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and
it’s up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Share this with all the good apples you know.

I just did!

I want to thank everyone again for your interest, compassion and expressions of care on this topic. While I’m not quite ready to call this goal completed, I do believe a shift in my mind and heart has been made. I don’t totally embrace this change, because it’s uncomfortable and saddening. It is part of my humanity, however, and for that I need to cherish it as my own.

I haven’t yet decided what to do about telling R. that I know (although if he reads my blog against my asking him to leave it alone, he will already realize I know). I also haven’t yet decided whether to contact his wife / lover / partner in the other city. Everyone has a different opinion on this, and there is an old Yiddish saying (translated) that makes me smile in self-recognition: Two Jews, three opinions!

Whatever I do or don’t do regarding the decision to tell, I think I need to consult God more than man. Look at the job I did when I removed God’s influence from my romantic relationship with R. —that is when pardon the pun, all hell broke loose. While it is exhilirating to think that I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me, it is also a great responsibility.

R. is not bound by the same rules, laws and expectations that God sets forth for me and other believers in the bible. These precepts affect the way I conduct my entire life, both publicly and privately. Unfortunately, it also makes me rather unprepared for dealing with people who do not run on this same path. I cannot conceive of how someone can lead another person on for over a decade, and then be unfaithful. That is not of any kind of love that I can understand or tolerate.

I’m not angry at C. —at best, she is as equally deceived as I was. At worst, she is also an adulterer (if what R. says is true and she is married to a husband named J.). Either way, she is ensnared by R. and the charms of illicit sex and its spiritually fatal consequences. I can choose to pry open that bear trap and escape R. and his painful charades; my crush wounds will heal with time and care. I am certain that I will never be able to trust him again. Without trust, just to look at him is disgusting, repulsive and does not allow any glimmer of attraction to attach itself to me.

Right now I need to stay angry at R., because it is helping me see more clearly than I have in weeks. I actually am beginning to have a gratitude to God that this relationship is over. Yes, it IS over … not because he broke it off, he restarted it again and again, he can’t stay away from me. At first I took that as a compliment, but it is really a sad testimony to a) his lack of self-control and b) how little this woman of over a decade means to him. If he regards this woman with so little respect after all the time she has invested in him, then I must be no more than a flea on a tick to him!

For all I know, this other woman is a treasure unlike no other. Nevertheless, it is not my business to guess at her worth or compare myself to her. I can only know and represent myself. It is going to be a hard road to not feel like a victim, but I’ve traveled with this itinerary before. After the third hurricane hits your house in a 44 day time span, you begin to take it personally! Yet I was able to turn all those losses into gratitude to God and a testimony for the world, and so this will be transformed too, once I learn to forgive R. after the anger toward him has been used for all the good than that come from it.

Since my fever for R. has been broken, now I just have to figure out in prayer and thoughtful consideration how to tie up the loose ends of having to still work with him. He is absent so often (left early yesterday, out the whole day today) that his lack of project deliveries are affecting my own schedules. Everyone seems to pity him here at work (oh, he’s out sick again, poor guy!)—little do they really know. R. told me over and over that he is not accustomed to working, having to get up every morning and stay the whole day, focused on tasks. He has the crew here just as manipulated as I was, so any moves I make here will take a great deal of thought and planning.

I don’t want to come off as jealous or worse, a scorned woman, if I complain to my consulting agency about his absences affecting my job performance. However, there is a cocktail party tomorrow night, and I plan on attending. I sincerely doubt that R. will be there, as he shies away from those kind of gatherings. Normally I would not go, but I feel since it is work-related, making an appearance is an important and polite gesture. I thought I could mention my concerns about the impact of his absences on my work to my consulting team while there—if you all think that is a good idea?

I want to thank everyone who replied to my Blindsided entry from Friday night. I’ve read and re-read your responses, trying to draw strength from them like a baby drawing milk from a warm bottle on a blustery night. Except for me, I’m not wrapped safe in parental arms, I’m on my own, listening to the house creak and the dog snore, and trying not to succumb to the blackest feelings in my heart.

I meditate on what it means to forgive R., to let go of his infidelity, lies, and skilled deceptions used to extract from me my most personal affections and emotions—yet I fail. When I sleep, I dream: I audition fantasies of revenge that wake me in shame and surprise. I did not know I could be so cold, devious and calculating. I did not realize that my capacity for love is also matched with an ability to wound. I should be in church asking forgiveness for my sins.

Physically, I am exhausted and unmotivated. I’ve neglected my animals, my housework, and most importantly—myself. I know that regular meals are important not only to keep my blood sugar normal but also to stave off depression, yet I don’t do the basics of what I need to do to feel better. Maybe I’m wanting to wallow a bit longer; I realize that is as selfish as R. is for causing this pain.

So far, I’ve counteracted the impulse to communicate with R. (unless he is reading my 43T entries!), by doing some research on deception and infidelity. Before I forget, I wanted to share some of the things I’ve learned at this website:

http://www.truthaboutdeception.com

Specifically in this section:

http://www.truthaboutdeception.com/relational_maintenance/public/romantic_attachments.html

Again, romantic attachments are designed to keep people together, because over the course of human evolution, people who stayed together had an easier time raising offspring than people who only came together for the purposes of sex.

While attachments help create stability, there is a downside. Attachments are less concerned that you are happy with your partner, and more concerned that you stay together. And in fact, many people form an attachment to someone who they do not like as a person. It is quite possible for form a deep bond to someone that is less than an ideal romantic partner – this happens everyday.

Not only that, but it can be difficult to end a relationship, even a bad relationship, because people experience tremendous loss when attachments come to an end – including situations where people are attached to someone they dislike. Loss is loss, even when it occurs in a problematic relationship.

This website is teaching me many concepts about the difficult process to detect deception, why people lie, and the dynamics behind it all. This weekend I’ve spent hours on here, instead of re-visiting “her” online journals to learn more about her life and love with R. I now understand that I’m having an expected biological attraction to him, reinforced by the events of the pregnancy and loss of the miscarriage.

I’m also grieving, which is why I am probably sleeping too much and eating too little. I remember being surprised at the last time I was grieving so completely. This was back in Florida after one of the hurricanes. I was taking a break from shoveling out the new damage in the garage, new areas of the ceiling had collapsed, and I decided to start hauling water-sodden possessions (already boxed for moving) to the street as the refuse they had become. It was physically and emotionally exhausting work, experentially perfected but psychologically debilitating. Academically, I knew I was experiencing PTSD and its effects, but I refused to cut myself any slack.

Taking my break, I realize that I should be drinking more water. It is 95+ degrees, and there is no air conditioning retreat for me. I toy with the idea of resisting what is right and necessary for me to continue my work—hydration. I want none of it, I entertain the idea of collapse and what that would mean; on cue, I start to feel weak, dizzy and welcome the impending unconsciousness as an escape. My hand starts to loosen its grip on the shovel as I prepare to fall.

Before I can fully process the sound of a footstep on the cement garage floor, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I instinctively tighten the grip on my shovel and whirl around to face this intruder. I steady the business end of the spade at throat-level as my mind processes on how to deal with this new potential threat.

My eyes register a trembling, sweaty and pale FEMA worker, clipboard shaking within fearful hands. I’m here to help, he says through a cotton-dry mouth. He starts to stumble; I drop my shovel and catch him. I lower him into my waterproof camping chair and give him sips of water. I slip cold packs under his arms and onto his neck. I hand him one and tell him to put it lower, he needs to cool off quickly. He looks at me dumbfounded as I say Do it! and point to my own groin. He complies, probably both the heat and my assertiveness is confusing to him. Stay in the shade and drink slowly, I tell him. He looks puzzled and then comprehends as he looks up; only a slivered roof remains over the garage where he sits.

I have a partner, he says through a slurred tongue. I pick up the shovel again and make my approach to the street. I see an equally faltering female, with a FEMA badge and a clipboard too heavy for her weakening hands. I lower the shovel again and beckon to her; she races to my garage and to her fallen friend. I offer her water and shade beside her partner. She hesitates to take my water, It’s so scarce right now. I hold the bottle to her and she drinks it, with guilty eyes watching me. She is in slightly better shape than her friend, as she explains they are volunteers from Ohio and not used to the heat.

The heat will kill you if you’re not more careful. It’s in your fieldwork orientation manual for a reason. She is surprised that I know about that, and I explain that I used to volunteer with the fire department and with FEMA. I’ve sort of got my hands full now, I’m busy with this as I wave my hand across the expanse of my flooded garage and soaking, shattered possessions.

You by yourself here? the male asks, as he empties his second bottle of water. I hesitate to answer, because it reminds me of the questions asked by the gangs who come to “visit”, demanding food and more from me but first wanting to assess my defenses. Nope, I say, got a dog. Big dog, too.

The female laughs with a rueful chuckle, Too bad he won’t qualify you for more aid. She starts taking notes and her eyes belie her horror as she wordlessly scribbles on her paper pad. We talk some more about Ohio, they get more details on my situation here, and they say how impressed they are that I am doing so well. I decide not to admit my psychological transgressions to them and shake out a nod in agreement. They are rested and watered, well enough to continue their journey.

I realize that my grief and giving up then would have been selfish, costly. I wouldn’t have been able to minister to those FEMA workers, and in my old ‘hood, two frail Caucasians from Ohio would not be welcome faces. I lived there nine and a half years, and I believe I was barely tolerated because of my gun, dog and guts. I still have all those qualities and skills. I just had a momentary lapse and felt like giving up. I need to pick up that shovel (in my case, the housework!) and start taking care of business.

Unlike there, I am safe here if I choose to embrace that. I’m ever so grateful for that, too, because I don’t think I could bear any more than God has given me to carry right now. He must know what He is doing, because he brought me through the storms. I think I have to approach this as another calamity, and use the same coping techniques. At least with this one, there will be a lot less paperwork. :-)