State of the Disunion

Melinda passed away more than three years ago and I still have difficulty dealing with a number of emotional issues.  Writing about some of them over the last year or so has helped a lot, although it has never been easy to sit down and commit my thoughts for public display.  While I know that most everyone reading these blogs are friends or family, I open myself up to the possibility of judgement or ridicule, something I have generally handled poorly.  Although I want to talk about my current struggles with Melinda's loss, I would like to give you a glimpse behind the walls that I erected long ago.

At my core, I am a very insecure person and have been for as long as I can remember.  When I was 10 years old, I wrote a note and buried it in the back yard.  I don't actually recall writing it, but my father dug it up without my knowledge and then held onto it.  He shared it with me a few years ago when he and I were having a heart to heart, and it was eye opening in that my poor self image started at a very early age.  On December 17, 1975 I wrote:

I'm Dino Helsley.  I am a flop.  I can't seem to do anything right.  I'm a coward.  I have to force myself to do anything brave.  My greatest secrets have just been told to you.

It's hard for me to imagine a 10 year old having those kinds of feelings, yet it's plain from the note that I was struggling with self image, even then.  Looking back on that point in my life with the benefit of therapy and introspection, I'm sure that the note was related to an incident with someone I considered to be my best friend at the time.  His name was Steve.  He ended up making a new friend one day and, completely out of the blue, threatened and humiliated me in front of his new friend.  I was no stranger to a fight as my older brother Jerry and I went to blows on a number of occasions, so my confession of cowardice doesn't ring true to me now.  What I remember is that I felt betrayed and confused at that moment.  Anger wasn't even part of the equation.  I do remember thinking, "What did I do wrong?", as if I had brought it on myself somehow.

That was not the only time I was betrayed by someone who appeared to be my friend.  In 3rd grade, I trusted a friend with something very personal and as soon as we returned to class, he announced my secret to the whole class.  I can still picture them all pointing and laughing at me.  I believe those incidents affected how I have viewed myself over the years.  Thankfully, my self confidence is better than it was when I was younger, but back in my late teens and early twenties, if I saw a group of people laughing and they even looked in my general direction, my first thought was that they were probably laughing at me.  I remember when Melinda and I were dating that she wanted to go roller skating.  I had never been on skates before, of any kind.  When I got out onto the floor, I'm sure I looked like a foal taking its first steps, my legs flailing around for some sort of balance and my arms swinging wildly.  In retrospect, I can appreciate how humorous I must have looked.  In that moment though, when she was laughing and said I looked like Robby the Robot, I became furious and demanded that we leave.  I wasn't able to separate a good-natured ribbing from mockery.

I struggled with that insecurity for years.  It lingered below the surface and affected my relationship with Melinda in very negative ways..  It informed how I approached arguments because I was always on the defensive, struggling to prove how I must be right and blind to the possibility that she might have a valid argument.  Being "right" was more important to me than resolving the issue.  Early in our relationship, I would fight to my last breath rather than admit I might have been wrong.  Sadly, I believe Melinda had similar issues.  In retrospect, it was a terrible combination.  If she had been open to counseling, I believe our marriage could have been so much better.  We both developed unhealthy habits those first years in how we communicated and although we improved over the course of our marriage, we never fully shook those bad habits.

The lack of self confidence also contributed to my infidelity early in our relationship.   Please understand that I am in no way excusing my behavior.  We are all responsible for our own actions and I was clearly at fault.  I just remember how I felt when this other woman showed an interest in me.  I could hardly believe Melinda was into me, but here was another woman who was attracted to me.  I still recall how I felt after we hooked up.  It certainly wasn't love and it wasn't even lust.  It was simply validation.  Unfortunately, I was oblivious to how that would make Melinda feel if she found out (which she did).  That led to trust issues that we never fully worked out, even years later.

What I failed to understand at the time is that she struggled with her own issues.  Melinda told me that her step brother raped her (I think the year before I met her), but I had no concept of how that affected her, so betraying her trust was probably one of the worst things I could have done.  I would get upset in our last few years when she would make comments like 'How was your girlfriend?' after I'd get home from seeing my friends.  I had remained faithful for so many years, yet my old sins were never forgiven.  What I recently realized though is that I've never fully shaken off what happened in 5th grade with Steve, therefore can I blame Melinda for not getting over my infidelity when she didn't have the necessary tools to be able to move on?  Again, counseling could have helped us rebuild trust and develop a healthier relationship, but I believe Melinda felt like it was an admission of failure to do so.

As you can see, our marriage was far from ideal and we struggled with basic communication near the end, when we were in the middle of the kitchen renovation (something that can test the best of relationships).  We fought a lot, sort of made up when possible, and avoided subjects that we knew would end up in arguments.  The only thing I was sure of at the time was that I loved Melinda more than I could adequately express to her and I wanted to give her the world.  In that, I failed.  Melinda died before the kitchen was done and we were so deep in debt because I gave her practically anything she wanted, thinking that would provide her with some level of happiness.  She and I had so many unresolved issues and they will remain so unless I am fortunate enough to see her again.

So here I am, three years and five months since Melinda died, and I feel like a war veteran with PTSD.  On a day to day basis, I'm actually doing quite well.  I am happy in my new house in Arizona, just ten minutes from my parents, who happen to also be my two best friends.  Indigo loves having me around all the time since I'm working from home, and he is content to follow me around and nap somewhere close by.  But I'm still not free from near crippling moments of sadness when watching a movie or TV show.  In any scene where a spouse or loved one dies, if I'm invested in those characters and the actors are convincing in their portrayal of their grief, I cry.  I'm not talking about becoming a little teary eyed, which is how I might have been before losing Melinda.  This is full on blubbering, making Indigo wonder if I'm okay kind of crying.  The kind I would try hard to stifle if someone else is around because I would be embarrassed.  What I have noticed is that these emotional outbursts are not directly caused by the death.  Instead, they are triggered by the grief expressed by the survivor(s).

Death is a common dramatic tool used in telling stories, so I refuse to simply avoid them.  I feel like I need to face my feelings head on.  I just don't understand why scenes like that provoke such a strong reaction after so much time has passed.  I don't think I'll ever be ready for another relationship until I can get a handle on the pain I feel whenever I see someone dealing with grief, even if it is fictional.  A verse from Holding Onto You by Twenty One Pilots has resonated with me for a couple of years now, and even though he's talking about depression, it still feels relevant to my situation.

Fight it, take the pain, ignite it
Tie a noose around your mind
Loose enough to breath fine and tie it
To a tree tell it, you belong to me, this ain't a noose
This is a leash and I have news for you
You must obey me

I need to take control of my grief and not let it drag me down.  I'm not entirely sure how to do that, but I refuse to let it control me.  Until then, I will continue to live my life the way I want, watching the shows or movies that I like, even if they kill off all the characters I love.  Death is a natural part of life, and I have to figure out how to process that (real or fictional) without becoming a complete mess.  I know it's possible, because everyone else seems to handle it better than me.

Suicide

Music can be such a pure expression of an artist's thoughts and emotions.  Those artists who lay it all out there and write songs based on personal experiences share something quite special, because when a listener connects with those lyrics, they know that they aren't alone in their struggle.  A song by Arcade Fire called Creature Comforts has been on my mind for weeks now.  It's an excellent piece of music, but the lyrics speak to me on a whole other level.  I have flirted with suicide on multiple occasions, so my connection with the song is very genuine.  What follows is my interpretation of the lyrics and how I relate to them.

Some boys hate themselves
Spend their lives resenting their fathers
 
Fortunately, even though I have self image issues, my parents are not the source of my problems.  I have always looked to them as examples on how to conduct myself, and they never set unrealistic expectations that I felt I had to live up to.  Still, I often felt like I came up short when I measured my life against theirs, and I don't know the reason.  Most people are their own harshest judge, but I feel like I've had Simon Cowell inside my head my entire life, ready to dispense disapproval at every decision.  I am trying to accept that I won't always make the best choices and that's okay as long as I put forth my best effort.

Some girls hate their bodies
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

Speaking of self image, I have a perfect example of how skewed my thinking has been for a long time.  For almost my entire life, if you asked me to rate my own looks, I might give you a 5 (or 6 if I was having a really good day).  I never thought I was ugly, just simply average.  It wasn't until a few years ago that I had a realization.  I had always thought my father was handsome, a sentiment echoed by friends and family throughout my life.  Looking at pictures of us at the same ages, we look a lot alike, enough so that I once did a double take at a video of my father, because I thought for a second it was me.  So it finally dawned on me that I might actually be attractive to somebody out there.  A small victory, but a lesson I try to remember and apply to other areas in my life.

Some girls hate themselves
Hide under the covers with sleeping pills and
Some girls cut themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback
Some boys get too much, too much love, too much touch
Some boys starve themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

The theme throughout the song is about people who are unhappy with themselves.  It's not a pleasant topic, but one that's worth discussing.  I'm trying to understand what may have happened during my childhood to affect my self image at a fundamental level.  Although I may not recall a lot of details from my teens, some memories are quite clear.  I can tell you that at 16, I had little confidence in myself or a sense of self worth.  I went to a Christian school and one day a man visited us to give a speech and to briefly speak individually with each student to give us a message from God.  I remember him laying his hand on my shoulder, leaning in and saying "God has great plans for you".  I could barely contain my tears because at that moment, I felt like my life would count for something.  As if, without that prophecy, my life previously had no value.

God, make me famous
If You can't, just make it painless
Just make it painless

I've discussed this line with a few people, and I believe it can be taken one of two ways.  From a non-suicidal viewpoint, it's a plea to be known and loved, giving some meaning to life, and if that's not to be, then at least make life bearable.  For me, the song is clearly about suicide, so I tend to go with the darker interpretation.  It's like someone saying "I'm going to end my life so people will think of me, and that's the only way I can be relevant.  If it doesn't make people remember me, then at least make it painless."  It's a sad and yet very poetic way to encapsulate a tragic thought process.

Creature comfort makes it painless
Bury me penniless and nameless
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you but you can't see it
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you but you can't touch it

People who are fundamentally unhappy try to cover up their sadness with material things.  It may help for a while, but if you're unsatisfied with yourself or your life, those are merely diversions and not a solution.  You have to be able to find worth in both yourself and those around you.  To me, "Born in a diamond mine" means that we come into this world surrounded by love and possibilities.  The problem is that not everyone can see it, or if they can, they believe those things are out of reach.  I certainly felt that way when I was young, and during some of the darker times in my life.

It goes on and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it
On and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it
Well if you're not sure, better safe than sorry

The daily struggle to go on for someone who is feeling suicidal is not something I would wish on anyone.  I've been there and quite frankly, it's a miserable state of being.  Here, that mindset is plainly laid out with the confusion of someone wondering if they want to continue living.  I like the last line in particular.  If you're still not sure what to do after hearing the song, then "better safe than sorry."  You can cut your hair too short and it'll grow back if you decide that was a bad choice.  You can't undo a suicide, so the plea is to consider the permanence of that decision before doing anything rash.

It's not painless
She was a friend of mine, a friend of mine
And we're not nameless, oh

I want to cry every time I hear these lines.  No matter how painless you think your suicide will be, you are only considering your own discomfort and not the people that love you.  You may think that no one cares, but trust me when I say that you have people in your life that care about you, and they will be suffering because of your choice.  You may not think you matter, but you are not "nameless".  Every life has value.  You may touch other people's lives in positive ways and not even be aware of it, and that's a big reason why I'm still here.  I'm keenly aware of what suicide can do to a family, and I wasn't even old enough to understand it at the time.

My father lost both of his brothers in the space of five months.  I was only two years old, so I only know second hand what transpired, and honestly I usually avoided asking my dad about it because I feared it would be too painful a memory.  We did have a very open and honest discussion about it recently, because I was thinking about writing this blog and it gave me the courage to ask.  The details of our conversation are private, but it was helpful to speak so candidly with him about something so personal.  Their suicides left an indelible mark on the family.  It's a shame that their children had to grow up without their fathers.  I didn't even know them and I feel robbed.  My father is a warm, funny and loving person.  If Denny and Terry were anything like him, then I missed out on two great uncles.

Please understand, I'm not judging them for their actions.  If you've ever contemplated suicide, then I only want you to consider the effect on those you would leave behind.  And as I mentioned earlier, I've come dangerously close to it myself.  What's stopped me every time is knowing it would hurt the ones I love most.  Of course, that doesn't take away the pain that you're feeling.  It's merely a deterrent to doing the deed.  What I've found to be the most helpful during my lowest times is to focus on other people, because everyone has their own set of problems.  Reaching out and helping someone else in need not only removes the focus from your depressive thoughts, but contributes to your sense of self worth, and hopefully you're making their life just a little better.

The closest I came to checking out early was the year or two prior to Melinda's death.  We were drowning in debt and unable to discuss it.  We were slowly becoming strangers and she didn't want to see a therapist. I felt I couldn't leave because she had never worked and I feared she would end up at a shelter (she told me her mother would not take her in).  Also, I loved her deeply and what I wanted most was to make it work.  I was paralyzed in my misery and didn't see a way out.  I thought about ending my life often during that period, searching for information on sleeping pills and other drugs.  After all, if I was going to commit suicide, I really didn't want to fuck it up.

The reality of the situation is that I had a number of options that all involved making tough choices, none of which I was prepared to make.  I could have insisted that we seek counseling.  I'm not a fan of ultimatums, but with our marriage in that state, it was probably warranted.  Maintaining the status quo certainly wasn't working.  I could have been firm about the finances as well.  I was afraid of driving her further away and besides that, it seemed to be the only way to make her happy.  The vacations and house projects gave her something to look forward to, and I couldn't bear to take that away from her.  The thing is, I felt I had no control over my life when in reality I was too afraid to do what was best for everyone involved.  In the end, if Melinda truly loved me (and I know she did), she would have respected my decisions.  And if not, then at least I would have been able to move forward with my life.  The point I'm trying to make is that you may believe you have no other options, but maybe like me, you are afraid to make the hard choices available to you.


Another thought to keep in mind is that whatever is weighing you down today is not permanent.  What seems insurmountable now can and will be overcome, although not always in the way you might expect. At my lowest point, I would cling to the words from Amazing by Aerosmith (our all time favorite band).  So much of it hits home and is relevant to the conversation, but the most important lines to me are what I'll leave you with:

That one last shot's a Permanent Vacation
And how high can you fly with broken wings?
Life's a journey not a destination
And I just can't tell just what tomorrow brings


Dedicated to Dennis and Terry Helsley, who I hope to meet in another life.

Denny Helsley

Terry Helsley

Denny, Terry and Tom (my dad)