The Ugly Truth, Vol.II

Over the years, I've begun to look at this blog as a friend of sorts: a place I can go and just air out my thoughts, no matter how nerdy or how trivial or how uninteresting. This is a place where I can just feel free to say whatever is on my mind.

Well, blog, my life is falling apart.

Several weeks ago, my wife and I decided that This Isn't Working Out, and a real separation...not the weirdness that we did last year...is now in order. On May 1st, she will head west, to Denver, Colorado, and begin a new life for herself, while I'll remain here in D.C., working at my job and living my own life.

Although the separation is a mutual decision and our relationship is still one of love and respect for each other, blog, it has gotten bad. Relationship-long resentments have become bullets in an open war of past grievances. Neither of us can get through an entire day without getting drunk or popping pills. The reality of it all is so cold and cruel and uncertain it is killing both of us.

Throughout the course of our relationship, one of us has always been weak while the other has been strong. Now, though, life has thrown us a hurdle that has brought us both, simultaneously, to our knees. A friend of mine, one of the few who knows what's going on, said to me that our marriage hasn't failed, because we still support each other and help each other. That's true, I do believe that...but I also know there are married couples who, upon reading this, are going to think "Wow, thank God our relationship is nice and healthy." That's going to hurt. Because, about a year ago, I was that asshole. And now here I am, losing arguments against a fucking straw man.

I am so, so tired of going over this shit again and again, blog! As the title indicates, this isn't the first time I've come here, heart on my sleeve, full of relationship woes. I assure you, the lack of communication about it since then by no means meant things were okay. I was just managing it the best I could. If I had known back then, that living in a rented room two blocks away from my actual home would be looked back on as good times, I probably would have killed myself then and there.

(That's a figurative thought, blog. Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt myself or others).

When I think about the future, I'm not too worried about her well-being, or my own. She's tough and resourceful; she'll find a job quickly, along with a nice apartment, and be on her way. She's got a good friend in Denver, and is certainly willing and able to make more. And me, I'll be fine, too. I've got a lot of friends here. I've got a good, solid job, that doesn't demand much of me, and when it does I can deliver in spades. I've got ambitions about expanding into a second career (teaching), and getting some writing published. And, of course, there's the tabletop thing, which, with her gone, can become an even larger part of my life than it already is.

Where the despair comes in, blog, is in the future of my relationship with her. She is my best friend, blog. She is...was...my partner. She's pushed and poked and prodded and kicked me into being the man I am now. I would be nothing without her, and I'm not at all exaggerating that. I wouldn't have had the drive to join the Army (let alone the fortitude to remain in for nearly six years), I wouldn't have had the motivation to finish my Bachelors degree (let alone the industriousness to get my Masters), and I wouldn't have left my podunk hometown. I would have remained a lowly cashier at the Casino, always talking about what I was going to do but never actually doing anything. She made me.

But above all of that, blog, I plainly and simply love her. And I don't know how that's going to look in as little as four weeks. Our relationship needs change, but I fear that change. I fear facing this world without her by my side. I'm SO fucking angry at myself for the way things are falling apart now. It's our last month together; we should be the stars of 80's style montages, going to circuses and visiting wineries and having laughs and deep conversations till morning. Instead, a simple conversation on Google Chat just two hours ago degenerated into swearing at each other and a lot of caps-lock action. How fucking pathetic is that?

For a little while there, we were proud of how we were handling this. Could you believe that? We actually thought about how no one could possibly understand our relationship, this marriage built on trust and love, and how we love each other so fucking much that we are willing to let each other go, rather than hold each other back. Isn't that fucking beautiful? But, alas; we are the angry, spiteful, dysfunctional couple that is the caricature of every movie divorce. And that angers me, because we're better than that, and yet I feel like there is no way to get past it.

Don't worry, blog, I'm getting therapy. Saw a new psych yesterday because I don't think my current anti-depressant (Wellbutrin) is strong enough to deal with all of this anymore. And on Monday, I see a new therapist in the city, and I'm actually looking forward to it so I can talk to somebody about this hell I'm in rather than typing it up on this blog that's supposed to be about wizards and dragons and shit. She's got a regular therapist who's been really good to her, and they're going to continue their sessions via Skype when she leaves.

That's if she leaves. That best friend of hers I mentioned earlier? They had a sort of falling out earlier this week that hasn't been resolved yet. She's supposed to be staying with that best friend of hers when she moves. If they don't work out their shit, and she suddenly has no where to go come May...Jesus fucking Christ, I don't know what the fuck we're going to do...

So now I think I've said enough, and I'm left wondering why I wrote any of this...or, perhaps more specifically, why I'm going to hit "Publish," then hit "share," and show this to the world like it's my next rant about the nature of hit points or armor class or some shit. The short answer, of course, is because it helps to get all this bullshit out. But then, why do I have to share it? Is it because this is some awful cry for help? Maybe. I don't know. I'm telling myself it's because this is my blog, I keep it public, and that is what allows me to write consistently, because this is a living thing on the internet, and every day without an entry is something I can be held accountable for. I think some of it might also just be plain old reflexes: if you're a writer, you write, and though you write for yourself first and always, you also write for an audience (even if that audience is just one other person), and writing that you hide isn't writing; it's just a recorded conversation with yourself. And good writing comes from the heart...and this dark shit, all right here, is what's in my heart right now.

Or maybe....just maybe....all the heartache and all the madness has left me completely unable to give a shit about anyone or anything. I'm so stuck in my own pain and so unable to move past it right now that I'll inflict shit like this upon the world and be happy either way: either people will read this and feel sorry for me, or no one will read it and I'll be justified in knowing exactly where my place in the world is. Either way, I'm pretty sure I just don't give a shit anymore.