I promised my FaceBook friends a couple of days ago that I would write a blog post about what I was going through… It’s not divorce. Not this time.
I was going to go into some self-pitying diatribe (big word… no idea what it means but it fits nicely) about how I was at a crossroads again and how I needed to take the road more often travelled this time because I had barely survived the previous choice of taking the road less travelled.
I’m glad I didn’t stoop that low.
To writing about it. And to taking that road more travelled. Because, frankly… I did survive the choice and, frankly, it was the right choice to make and, frankly… I’m not a road more travelled kind of guy. That should be a celebration and not a deter(g)ent to continue to take the road less travelled no matter how many crossroads I meet along my way.
I’m stupidly brave that way.
But I’m not alone. I have a lot of friends who have chosen to be stupidly brave. Although some had the choice thrust on them. They aren’t as brave, though, to write about it. Not yet. So I’m going to write on their behalf. Because there is a story to be told in the hope that others can, maybe, understand what it takes to survive that very lonely, very dark path.
What it takes to survive divorce.
There are no differences, ultimately, between what we all go through. Where there aren’t children there are still other mutual attachments… The innocents. With their big, sad, confused eyes and their silly but very real sense of guilt where there never is. We look into those eyes every day (even when they aren’t in front of us) and face our own larger feelings of guilt. Even if we aren’t… we have also heard all the “there are always two sides to a story” mumblings. The fairy tale love story has let us down. There was no happy ending. We put our hearts into someone else’s hands and the rug got pulled from under our feet.
It was never part of the plan.
But we live with the pieces. We live with the guilt. We live with those eyes.
Live? Nah… We barely fucking survive!
I hit a low so dark that the only reason I didn’t end it all was because I couldn’t even muster up the strength to put a gun to my head. Going to the trouble of finding something to overdose on was more trouble then I was capable of. My sons weren’t even a deterent (I clearly like that word today)… I had already convinced myself that they would be better off without me in the long run.
And I wish I could tell you I was the only one that hit that low. I wish I could tell you I don’t hit those lows anymore. But I do. And I’m not alone.
But we find a way to survive. We find a way to try numb the pain and the guilt. We find a way to make us see those eyes a little less and we find a way to find the courage to stand on wobbly legs. We find it in a bottle or meaningless sex. Some of us find it in an addiction to work. I found it in fast cars and reckless driving.
I’m not excusing what we do or did to survive. None of us are looking for attention or forgiveness. And none of us needs to be rescued. All we want to do is find a way to survive.
So… Love us. No matter how hard that gets. Turn a blind eye to our irresponsibility. Pointing out the sins of our ways just pushes us deeper into the hole. Believe us… we know what we’re doing is often wrong but we don’t have the luxury of time to think. We’re just trying to survive.
Watch our backs.
Because we promise… we’ll get through to the other side. With the strength and understanding to quietly watch yours.
Posted in Divorce, Love, Suicide
Behind Blue Eyes 