I suppose that one of the barometers of my emotional wellbeing is the condition of my apartment. When I am doing well things are clean and orderly. Well, maybe not too orderly, but most assuredly clean. Chaos in my home is very disconcerting. I can deal with a little clutter here and there, but I like things to be in some sort of discernable order. Lately my home has been a mess. Today was time to reclaim my environs.
It Seemed Like I Only Slept Here
My little apartment was my concession to my daughter’s need to be on land. Prior to this I was happy living on my boat. During my nautical hiatus, I lived a life that required that every thing have its place and every place had a thing that was assigned to it. A boat, even one as large as I inhabited, is a small place. There is little room for clutter, especially underway. The expression “ship-shape” is survival on-board. Chaos can be disastrous on a vessel. Order is part of survival.
While my boat was not always “Bristol,” it was orderly. My home had become disorderly, no not merely disorderly, it had become downright dirty. During the past year and a half I had come to a point of only sleeping here. I read in previous postings a concern that I was not in my space; my space was becoming a drop off point. I had allowed myself to fall into an orbit around an unworthy sun. This, I believe, exacerbated the chaos that followed – and was displayed by the condition of my home.
When my marriage to SL ended, I slipped into a very deep depression. Living on the water was my salve. The ocean is healing for me. The need for order was therapeutic. I moved on land when my daughter began to require more privacy than a 34-foot long sloop would allow. In a sense, I had severed my connection with the ocean that was healing to me. My depression became more pronounced and I began to realize that I had to reform my life. That, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. Life is evolution. Nevertheless, the circumstances that ensued began my decline to my nadir.
Need Meeting Need?
I met MM during a time of grief for both of us. I was acutely aware of my isolation and wanting to be “coupled.” She was divorced and had just lost a parent. I believe that it is cynical to reduce emotion to the mutual fulfillment of needs, but I will not discount the motivation to find in another what we crave for ourselves. I believe that she was craving a sense of loving that she missed; I know that I was craving a partner. I tried to date some following SL. I also knew that I could easily have fallen into a period using sex as a drug. I realized, when I bedded a young secretary at the agency where I worked, that I was beginning down that path. I stopped. I had a few unsuccessful dates. There was, however, no real relationship for nearly two years after my divorce.
My life had become chaotic. I was looking for order. I thought I might have found it with MM. I was mistaken. Instead, I found greater chaos and consider that I narrowly averted falling into her many neuroses. I do not believe, looking back, that MM is capable of equal loving. She takes. She did not know how to give a gift. She would make investments, but was looking for a return. Equally, she did not know how to accept a gift; she looked for the hidden clause, the trap, the attached string. I gave unconditionally. She could not see this and considered that there was some implicit demand being made. There was none.
I do know, as I look back, that I began to lose myself.
Now, I have to say that I am not attempting to indict MM. On the contrary, I am responsible for the choices that I made. I chose a needy person that, in the end, may have some more serious issues that I hope she will address. I suppose the pressing question is what was so damned attractive about a person that was one step away from emotional implosion? Ah, there’s the rub…
From Chaos Comes Order?
This may work for cosmology and for Nietzsche; it does not work for me in a relationship. I looked at my home and realized that the chaos was reasserting itself. It was doing this in no uncertain way. It was doing this in a way that would ultimately be destructive for me. The dirty floors (which I had previously scrubbed once a month) and the mound of laundry were only symptoms of a greater issue. I was letting my life spin out of control. This is dangerous for a person fighting depression. This is difficult for a person whose loss is clouding his vision. This was dangerous for me.
I’ve already written enough about the ending of this relationship. There is no need to say more. It came to a bad end, sadly. One that was fostered by lies, manipulations, deceit. My part in this was to allow it to happen. All at once, I saw. I felt no anger, just the compelling need to break free from the darkness that MM had brought to my life. It is over. I am glad for that. To celebrate, I scrubbed my floors.
That does not sound like much of a celebration. However, it was a reclaiming of my space for me. That is more to the point. I cleaned and organized as if I was striking at the periphery of the chaos that had begun to reassert itself in my life. There is much work to be done, but the floors are clean enough to eat off of. My bathroom feels like the restroom in a four-star restaurant.
What Remains to Be Done?
There is much more than scrubbing floors and organizing the house for the simple pleasure of eating at my table and feeling at home in my space. That is a great thing. It began with my getting rid of the leopard that MM had given me. I gave it to the little girl next door. She is two. She can have it as a nice toy rather than being a constant reminder of a lost love. I threw out the shirt with the leopard on it from Las Vegas. I’m done with her. Be gone.
I have begun to work again. I have to complete my credential. I will do that this year. I have to organize my finances. I have to find a decent car. All of these things will be done. I want to organize my life to make space for a woman that is worthy of me.
That sounds so egocentric to me, still. I have always thought of myself as the one that had to be worthy of my partner. This tended to make me see my partner is an exaulted light, as more than she was. In a very real sense this was incredibly unfair to any partner since they could never be what I saw. Changing the paradigm also changes the need for this person to be something she is not. She only needs to be honest, kind, forgiving, strong, loving, and wise.
I am reclaiming food that I loved and loved to prepare: beautiful seafood, mushrooms, lamb, all seasoned for a mediterrianian palate. I am listening to the music I love: Blues, Jazz,and doing it live. I am reading again. I am enjoying fiction for the joy of the written word. I am riding my bike again. I am finding the things that gave me joy before I shut them away to suite the whims of another.
I am moving on. I cleaned my floors. I organized my kitchen. I am sorting through the mess that I laughingly called my finances. I am coming out of the storm. My sails are set and my course laid in.
It is my space, not a shitbox. I live hear. I like it here. Bristol. Yes, it is Bristol.
