2 January 2003
Whomever said that “it is better to have loved and lost” obviously never lost at love...
My parents have been together over fifty years – that’s half a century folks! I am 46 years old. If we count adulthood from age 18, then I have been an “adult” for 28 years. Of these 28 years, I have been married – twice – for a total of 13 years. It does not take a rocket scientist to see that I have been single longer than I have been married.
My standing joke is that I make a great boyfriend and a lousy husband. I think that S. and L. could attest to that one, much to my shame. I have to wonder why these marriages, and every other significant relationship in my life, went belly up. I know now, looking back, that it was my temper. I could lose it and break into loud shouting tirades at a moment’s notice. My therapist told me that it was post-traumatic stress syndrome from my childhood (how convenient is that?). Whatever the reason, the result was a semi-conscious state of fear, anxiety, adrenalin (oh that bitter taste in my mouth and the feeling of my gut tightening up for battle…) and a sharpening of an already acute tongue led to disastrous consequences for anybody within earshot. The irony is that anger sickens me. I don’t mean that metaphorically: I get physically ill when I hear an argument.
The good news is that I’ve gone now for three years without any real anger issues… but I have also avoided a serious romantic relationship for that time. I’ve found myself in a curious place in matters of the heart. I’ve had more than ample opportunity to hook up with women, but have not been able to take the risk involved with intimacy. It seems that the closer you were to me the higher the risk of anger. You get the picture.
I’ve wondered if this is simply the price of admission, like a drunk that can’t take a drink if he is to remain sober. I hope not. There is a part of me that craves a relationship. I miss being with somebody and have, for the past three years, grown weary of waking up alone. I want cook for somebody, to hear another person in the house, and – more than anything – to love and be loved again. I’ve only partly joked that I have dated psycho-chicks of late. Much of that is bad luck (and I do have some stories… that is another posting) but some of it seems to be having chosen women that cannot commit. Pretty clever, huh? My particular favorite was the divorcee that continued to cohabitate with her estranged husband. That pretty much made any commitment impossible.
Let’s do some arithmetic… so, 15 years of single life, three years without incident. That means that I have the equivalent of one in five years without incident. I’m not certain what that really means… it’s not like I was angry for the other four years. I wasn’t. I had some really moments, though. Three years without incident… I think that it may be time to test the waters?
There is more to my fear of testing the waters, though. I tend to love very deeply (I fall hard, fast, and deep… a bit impulsive, am I?) and it takes a long time to get over love lost. My first love, a girl named K. who was 18 when I was 20, took nearly ten years to get over (encroaching on much of my first marriage, I might add; I never said anything, but I think that L. knew). The first marriage took years to get past. My daughter once asked me if I still love S. (my second ex-wife). I had to be honest and say yes. She shook her head, as if to say, “Daddy, I love you but you’re pathetic…” I understand. I don’t know how to get over love. I do know that in order to love completely that I need to let the past be in the past and live in the now. This is not to say that I cannot be friends or even intimate, but it does cast a shadow on the big “L.”
Better to have loved and lost? I have a nearly perfect record of losses in love. Let me tell you, it sucks big time…
Ah, but I am just a fool…
