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.