This Glorious Sadness That Brings Me to My Knees
A bottle of wine was not enough to numb, or even really dull, the sting of last night.
I’ve been talking a big game about being freed from a relationship with cancer. And it’s all true. But hearing ugly details about how he’s blatantly continuing his affair in the newsroom made me mad and sick and fragile all over again. Comments that cut through and are stuck, swirling:
“He’s not acting like a man who is going through any kind of sadness”
“He follows P around the office like a little puppy. It’s entertainment.”
“They showed up at a party together a few weeks ago. They disappeared together too. It was a scandal.”
(Please note, this one is especially offensive BECAUSE NOBODY AT THE PARTY KNOWS I’VE MOVED OUT. He still hasn’t told anyone, and he had the fucking nerve to show up at that party. With her. And tell people that I was out of town on business)
“He told me not to say anything to anyone about you moving out. He said he’s trying to find a way to work it out.”
“He said you’re younger than him, he’s always had to take the lead and carry you. He actually said that he’s smarter than you and doesn’t know if he can learn anything from you.” (She at least laughed when she said that one)
So this morning, I’m back in the place where I have to take a big breath and make sure my throat is steady before I say anything out loud. I have to do the blink as fast as I can trick before I get up to go to the bathroom because I’ve got tears forming at their own will. These tears are pissed off, they’re frustrated, they’re disgusted.
Somehow, the motherfucker has managed to delete the satisfaction from my silence.
The woman who told me all of this was in P’s role when I met her. She told me last night that when she saw them walking out of Starbucks one evening, she could practically see how’d they’d ended up there: he started as her understanding and sensitive friend, always saying nice things about his wife and playing the role of a straight gay friend.
And she could imagine the conversation they were having right then, walking out of starbucks. Him asking her if she’s ever wondered if there’s someone else out there for her, someone other than her husband. Then kissing her on the mouth as soon as the elevator doors closed shut.
posted by do over @ 9:45 AM
3 Comments:
Oh, Jess, this sucks. It reminds of when a counselor I was seeing told me -- at a point where I thought I couldn't take it any more -- "This is going to get worse before it gets better." Fuck. I couldn't believe him. I'll die, I thought. I did not die.
I'm really sorry for you, and the Avenger in me wants to expose the two losers or worse. Alas, the Avenger knows better.
That said, I'm really sorry. But my God is this guy doing his best to show you he's not worthy of you. And I know that's almost no consolation, and I don't know what is.
Ever notice how he’s maybe not the most confident man? Consumed with constructing defenses for himself…
Of course he says he’s smarter than you. Any comparison like that is a sure sign of ruin, anyhow: you’re smarter, more attractive, with a better career, more social effervescence, charm, health – and neither of you could handle a relationship that unbalanced.
So he disappears like a lap dog and lies to all his colleagues at the Press League of whom he must just be, constantly, terrified. Terrified of rejection, I guess, though those Freudian games are less satisfying than wine-as-anesthesia.
He IS trying to find a way to work it out, via denial, that lame ju-jitsu of turning aggressive (venomous) on the one he originally victimized – because I don’t think he sees it that way at all. For him, it’s you that did the hurting, did the wrong, just because you didn’t… I don’t know… stay home more or make him more tea-sandwiches, because you weren’t always guaranteed to never leave and because you weren’t always at once the other girl, the grass on the other side of the fence, as well as the stability and constant comfort of home. I don’t want to sound cliché and say that he’s reeling from a childhood that didn’t turn out so well, but, really, the truth is more than he’s still stuck in it, he’s still the kid who makes faces in the mirror, turning himself into a monster, just so the other kids won’t laugh at him… It indicates a fairly tentative grasp on reality, too. Disappearing from parties is a stupid, stupid move. But lying to people who he should know also talk to you: that’s beyond incomprehensible.
If something can be “beyond incomprehensible.”
Well, he’s always suspected and been jealous of the fact that you might be a survivor, too, and strong, stronger. I bet he used to test this, and try and keep you down, broken.
You can get sick and fragile and be honest with yourself and the world about that sickness and fragility. This, I think, is the ultimate and unbridgeable distance between you and him.
note: this is not written by that p.
omg, jess. he's a narcissistic pig, a total misogynist, and entirely unworthy of your concern. personally, i would have severe doubts about spending too much time with a man who would sign his name to that condemnation of the dove ads for the whole city of chicago+ to read... good god!
i would tell your divulging friends that, while you know their heart is in the right place, you're simply no longer interested in hearing about his antics. it's soul pollution right now. you need all the fresh, clean, positive air you can get to grow strong new roots and be entirely self-sustaining.
hang in there. if you wanna do some more drinking, i'm in. ;)
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