A CHRONICLE OF ONE MAN'S DIVORCE
Phew, feeling much better today. I'd forgotten how therapeutic writing can be. That and a good sob session. Yeah, I cried last night. It was a long time coming and I'm fucking relieved I got it out of my system. For months now, I've had moments when I could feel tears well up, then recede. Like that feeling you get when you're about to sneeze but can't. It's irritating as hell and leaves you craving the actual event. Last night I finally fucking sneezed.
And it felt good. And shitty. But mostly good. I realized last night that there's something deliciously perverse about sobbing. You do it (usually) because you're feeling sadness or grief and, sure, those feelings linger for a while throughout. But at the same time, the actual action of sobbing feels physically good, primally satisfying, pleasurable. I almost didn't want it to pass. But pass it did, and consequently, I'm feeling much better today. Still, I'm thinking of some things that didn't get explored last night.
Like the Cascading Effect.
I've developed this theory that when a relationship is near its end, there is a dovetailing of events that happen with increasing frequency and frustration and spiral faster and faster downwards until crashing. It reminds me of the dying process of an elderly person, who suddenly starts exhibiting one illness after the other until the body is overwhelmed. Any one thing (diabetes, heart issues) might be beatable, but collectively, it's too much and the body succumbs. In the case of marriage, its miscommunications, misunderstandings, angry words, missed timing, etc., etc, things that tend to reflect and amplify the issues that were prominent in the relationship. And it's feels like you're powerless to break the pattern, like you can't do anything right.
Once I recognized it, I began seeing the humor in it. I mean, when one thing after another keeps going wrong, sometimes you just have to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and roll with it.
Then, I could almost see a bright line—like guiding lights on a runway or a AAA Triptik (yeesh, never mind dating other people, I just dated myself)—from each one of these moments to every problem or fight or challenge we ever had, especially recent ones. It's as if, suddenly, years of marriage are reduced to an object lesson in everything a) inherently problematic with the relationship, and b) I did that contributed to its downfall. Each moment becomes a case in point of why it couldn't have worked, why it was doomed from the beginning (if only we could have seen it). Or a chance to examine just how badly you fucked up in that moment and if only you'd done X, Y, or Z, things would be different now.
It's crazy-making, sure, and of course only part of the truth, but there it is. Until it isn't.
So, today's a new day and a beautiful one. Not feeling the grief or elation or anticipation or dread of the past several weeks, just a calm centeredness. And for now, that's just perfect.