I'm done looking at that fucking picture of Echo and Narcissus. I'm done writing about Narc. I'm done analyzing this "non-relationship." I'm done hiding my life in the shadows.
I'm moving my blog. I hate the current address. It reminds me of why I moved it here to begin with-- because I was running from Narc and running from myself. I'm starting over.
Here's my new address: http://hyderesurrected.blogspot.com/
I'll leave the archives up over here.
I need to take a breath.
So long, Hyde and Narc!
love,
h
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
It is Finished
March 19th, 4:42 pm:
Been good. CT scan last week, just about clear, so health is good. PopStar back, strange, disorienting, but think we'll do all right. Move in next week. Much change.
March 19th, 4:44 pm:
Also offered job on Friday, part time from home, $600 or more a week, will probably take it. And so Narc joins the working world...!
Been good. CT scan last week, just about clear, so health is good. PopStar back, strange, disorienting, but think we'll do all right. Move in next week. Much change.
March 19th, 4:44 pm:
Also offered job on Friday, part time from home, $600 or more a week, will probably take it. And so Narc joins the working world...!
The End.
Morning has Broken
He has broken his silence and written me a text. He alerted me to the new series about the Tudors on Showtime with Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry VIII. "How've you been?" he asks.
Of course, I wrote back immediately:
I'm excited for that one! I've been good...Busy. Painting icons, preparing for that conference in a few weeks, catching up on Rome, singing with a new teacher, hanging out with a lot of new people, etc. I miss you though. How have YOU been?
Of course, he didn't respond.
His message was a test. Is Hyde still there? The answer was "yes." No need to go any further.
-h-
Of course, I wrote back immediately:
I'm excited for that one! I've been good...Busy. Painting icons, preparing for that conference in a few weeks, catching up on Rome, singing with a new teacher, hanging out with a lot of new people, etc. I miss you though. How have YOU been?
Of course, he didn't respond.
His message was a test. Is Hyde still there? The answer was "yes." No need to go any further.
-h-
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts
I'm a little tired and still depressed.
Last night I tried to blog, but I couldn't write much. I had just gotten back from a visit to Forest Hills where I saw The Namesake with BigSis and Bro-in-Law. My mom and LilSis met us for a late lunch, but headed home before the movie. My mom gave me another ring for my 10 months. She's obsessed with giving me jewelry lately. (She gave me a massive opal and diamond cocktail ring that had belonged to my grandmother when I hit six months.) This one has three diamonds and two tiny sapphires and I'm guessing is white gold. It belonged to my great grandmother--my namesake... or I guess I'm her namesake. Whatever...
I had fallen behind in watching Rome, so this weekend I got to catch up with three episodes in a row. I have a crush on Mark Anthony. Ha ha... having a crush is fun. I'm obsessed with that show right now.
But for some reason, I have a headache this morning that I can't quite get rid of. I miss Narc so much.
Yesterday morning I went to a women's meeting and then out to lunch with the ladies. On Friday afternoon I had lunch with some women from the program as well.
I still miss Narc. It hurts.
B is coming over this afternoon. I didn't write about this, but on Friday he and I had a huge fight, but we made up quickly. Drippy is trying to get rid of me. It's not going to happen. I don't think she realizes that B and I are like family and we're all going to have to get used to each other. I have no interest in making her unhappy or coming between them. And I'm a little resentful that I have to deal with this added stress due to their arguing and her insecurity.
In any case, I've been reading a book about Mystical Theology and the Eastern Church. (My mom couldn't stop laughing that that's what I chose for "pleasure reading.") I just finished a chapter on "Negative Theology." The idea is basically that we can't define God by what he is. We can only define God by what he is not. He is not anything known or knowable in the world. The idea, when I actually tried to wrap my mind around it, was literally "mind blowing"-- incomprehensible. For the first time, I felt a religious impulse, not just of trying to "understand," but one of worship-- a very foreign feeling for me when it comes to religion, for despite my obsession with love and sublimation, I'm pretty much a philosophic thinker, and not one to embrace the darkness of ignorance that is required to "transcend" knowledge in mystical theology. Anyway, I realized that I have a craving for worship. I've just misdirected it in horrible ways. I worship love. I worship what I call love, even if it's not... I worship Narc. Talk about misdirecting that impulse!
My mom has always loved a poem by Alice Walker-- "Never Offer Your Heart to Someone who Eats Hearts"
Never offer your heart to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat delicious but not rare
who sucks the juices drop by drop
and bloody-chinned grins like a God.
Never offer your heart to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, over-seasoned heart consumed
he will sop up your grief with bread
and send it shuttling from side to side in his mouth like bubblegum.
If you find yourself in love with a person who eats hearts
these things you must do:
Freeze your heart immediately.
Let him—next time he examines your chest—find your heart cold flinty and unappetizing.
Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark in your soul.
Now, sail away to Africa
where holy women await you on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts with God and Song.
And I've also been listening to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah over and over. I think there's the same message in both-- somewhere along the line, our religious impulse gets misappropriated by our love impulse and we are disempowered. We get lost. Both seem to have the same message of redemption in a "higher power." And I've been thinking of my women's meetings as my personal little "sail away to Africa."
Anyway, B just called and I've got to go meet him for lunch. But I just wanted to put up a quick post of some of my musings for the morning...
love,
h
Last night I tried to blog, but I couldn't write much. I had just gotten back from a visit to Forest Hills where I saw The Namesake with BigSis and Bro-in-Law. My mom and LilSis met us for a late lunch, but headed home before the movie. My mom gave me another ring for my 10 months. She's obsessed with giving me jewelry lately. (She gave me a massive opal and diamond cocktail ring that had belonged to my grandmother when I hit six months.) This one has three diamonds and two tiny sapphires and I'm guessing is white gold. It belonged to my great grandmother--my namesake... or I guess I'm her namesake. Whatever...
I had fallen behind in watching Rome, so this weekend I got to catch up with three episodes in a row. I have a crush on Mark Anthony. Ha ha... having a crush is fun. I'm obsessed with that show right now.
But for some reason, I have a headache this morning that I can't quite get rid of. I miss Narc so much.
Yesterday morning I went to a women's meeting and then out to lunch with the ladies. On Friday afternoon I had lunch with some women from the program as well.
I still miss Narc. It hurts.
B is coming over this afternoon. I didn't write about this, but on Friday he and I had a huge fight, but we made up quickly. Drippy is trying to get rid of me. It's not going to happen. I don't think she realizes that B and I are like family and we're all going to have to get used to each other. I have no interest in making her unhappy or coming between them. And I'm a little resentful that I have to deal with this added stress due to their arguing and her insecurity.
In any case, I've been reading a book about Mystical Theology and the Eastern Church. (My mom couldn't stop laughing that that's what I chose for "pleasure reading.") I just finished a chapter on "Negative Theology." The idea is basically that we can't define God by what he is. We can only define God by what he is not. He is not anything known or knowable in the world. The idea, when I actually tried to wrap my mind around it, was literally "mind blowing"-- incomprehensible. For the first time, I felt a religious impulse, not just of trying to "understand," but one of worship-- a very foreign feeling for me when it comes to religion, for despite my obsession with love and sublimation, I'm pretty much a philosophic thinker, and not one to embrace the darkness of ignorance that is required to "transcend" knowledge in mystical theology. Anyway, I realized that I have a craving for worship. I've just misdirected it in horrible ways. I worship love. I worship what I call love, even if it's not... I worship Narc. Talk about misdirecting that impulse!
My mom has always loved a poem by Alice Walker-- "Never Offer Your Heart to Someone who Eats Hearts"
Never offer your heart to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat delicious but not rare
who sucks the juices drop by drop
and bloody-chinned grins like a God.
Never offer your heart to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, over-seasoned heart consumed
he will sop up your grief with bread
and send it shuttling from side to side in his mouth like bubblegum.
If you find yourself in love with a person who eats hearts
these things you must do:
Freeze your heart immediately.
Let him—next time he examines your chest—find your heart cold flinty and unappetizing.
Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark in your soul.
Now, sail away to Africa
where holy women await you on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts with God and Song.
And I've also been listening to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah over and over. I think there's the same message in both-- somewhere along the line, our religious impulse gets misappropriated by our love impulse and we are disempowered. We get lost. Both seem to have the same message of redemption in a "higher power." And I've been thinking of my women's meetings as my personal little "sail away to Africa."
Anyway, B just called and I've got to go meet him for lunch. But I just wanted to put up a quick post of some of my musings for the morning...
love,
h
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Empty
I want to write something-- I've been wanting to write for the past day or two, but I keep coming up empty.
On Tuesday I sang for Cherubino's voice teacher-- a very well known teacher in the city. It was a wonderful experience in very many ways. I have always had an "indeterminate fach"-- I started as a mezzo, and my previous voice teacher refused to "label me." But this new woman?
"My dear, you're a dramatic soprano! Without a doubt!" she declared.
She also told me that I should stop trying to sing light and forward and to use the back of my head more. It created a whole new sound and was much easier to do. I would love, love, LOVE to take lessons with her, but I really can't afford them right now. So, I'm putting it in on the back burner for a few days. I'll deal with it when I can breathe.
Yesterday was a marathon work day. I had an assignment due in class at 6:30 pm. I figured that if I started working at 9:30 am (after teaching my morning class), I should be able to get it done. Au contraire! I worked like a dog for seven hours non-stop without a break for food or the bathroom. That involved a commute between my office at the college and the New York Public Library where I sat in the reading room, furiously taking notes for three hours. At 4:30 I took an hour break because I thought I might lose my mind. I wasn't able to finish in time for class. I hit the computer again at 5:30 and worked straight through until 11:00 pm, missing class but getting the paper emailed off to my professor before midnight. This is the first time I've handed something in on its due date in two years. Pretty miraculous. I have a lot to be grateful for, I guess.
I also spoke to two "newcomers" on the phone yesterday. I'm so used to playing the innocent "victim" role that it's kind of strange for me to have to get out of myself and be there for these women who are even closer to their chaos than I am. It was kind of interesting. One girl I really liked. She lives in my neighborhood and studies Astronomy up at Columbia. I guess I'll call her "StarGazer."
Anyway, I barely got any sleep last night and woke up this morning with a "hangover" from too much work the day before. I don't know how I survived my teaching. My throat hurt and I felt really gross. But then I remembered that I used to feel like that EVERY SINGLE DAY and I felt grateful for the little things.
After teaching, I came home and went to bed and then showered and polished my nails. I haven't been dressing up or paying attention to my makeup lately. I've been in blue-sweatshirt and sneakers mode non-stop. Before AA tonight I actually took the time to do the dramatic makeup I used to love to do. I want to start feeling good again, but it's hard.
I think about Narc literally every five minutes. Everything... EVERYTHING triggers a thought of him. I need to protect myself the best I can. Because every time I think of him, I feel a little sick. I'm nauseated and not eating much this week. I think it's how I was able to plow through that work day without eating on Wednesday-- there was nothing I hungered for. There IS nothing I hunger for except him. There's no room for any hunger except my hunger for him. I feel like my love, without an outlet is devouring me from the insides out. And all I can think of is that he's with another woman.
But I don't want to think about this anymore right now or write about it either. It's out of my control and it's really unhealthy to dwell on it. If I don't get off the topic fast, I will without a doubt drink or have a breakdown.
Things have only been made worse by the fact that Brick has surprisingly cut off all contact with me. I called/texted him three or four times this week, telling him that I'm hurt and asking him why he's not talking to me. He hasn't responded. I miss him a lot and this really hurts. It really hurts. But, I guess he doesn't need me anymore. I guess he was just a user. I don't know what else to think. Again-- it's out of my control.
On Tuesday night, I was playing with fire. I was thinking about Brick and missing him. I went to the Townhouse-- one of the piano bars that Brick and I frequented over the summer when we were counting days. PonyTailBoy is bartending there now on Tuesday nights. I walked there from AA and sat at the bar and sipped diet coke and watched some documentary about gay porn on the plasma screen floating above PonyTailBoy's head. It was really graphic. I saw one too many enemas. Anyway, I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have been sitting in a bar. I was angry, though. I was mad at Brick and mad at Narc. How can two people who I love so much and who I've consistently been there for-- how can they throw me away like that? Aren't they worried about me at all? I started thinking that I should take a drink just to show them... just to show them how much I am hurting, how much I am falling apart. I'm tired of being strong. I want to be carried.
But then I got really scared. That line of thinking made way too much sense to me and I knew it was dangerous-- that it could kill me, but I couldn't get up. Then the phone rang. It was B.
"I'll call you back in a sec," I said.
It was enough to jerk me back into reality. Brick is not worth my sobriety. Narc is not worth my sobriety. NOTHING is as important as my sobriety. I bolted from the bar.
I haven't seen Narc in nearly three weeks. I think that this is it. I have no other choice. Believe me-- if I had the choice, I would see him... I would take whatever crumb he'd toss my way. But he's not tossing.
On my way to the meeting tonight I passed PumpedUp's dad on the street.
"Hyde! How have you been? Still not drinking?" he smiled.
"Yeah... heading towards 11 months," I smiled back.
"Come back! Come back to us, Hyde," he laughed. "We need to pay our rent."
He's made that joke to me before. I used to revel in it. But don't you think it's a little tasteless at this point?
Anyway, I saw my new "sober sister" at the meeting today-- Leseco.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm okay," I said.
I am okay. I'm surviving. I'm living. I'm working. I'm talking to as many new women as I can. I'm fellowshipping. I'm reading.
But, I'm empty.
And God oh God, I still love Narc.
It hurts how much I still love Narc.
Will I ever know a love that doesn't hurt?
-h-
On Tuesday I sang for Cherubino's voice teacher-- a very well known teacher in the city. It was a wonderful experience in very many ways. I have always had an "indeterminate fach"-- I started as a mezzo, and my previous voice teacher refused to "label me." But this new woman?
"My dear, you're a dramatic soprano! Without a doubt!" she declared.
She also told me that I should stop trying to sing light and forward and to use the back of my head more. It created a whole new sound and was much easier to do. I would love, love, LOVE to take lessons with her, but I really can't afford them right now. So, I'm putting it in on the back burner for a few days. I'll deal with it when I can breathe.
Yesterday was a marathon work day. I had an assignment due in class at 6:30 pm. I figured that if I started working at 9:30 am (after teaching my morning class), I should be able to get it done. Au contraire! I worked like a dog for seven hours non-stop without a break for food or the bathroom. That involved a commute between my office at the college and the New York Public Library where I sat in the reading room, furiously taking notes for three hours. At 4:30 I took an hour break because I thought I might lose my mind. I wasn't able to finish in time for class. I hit the computer again at 5:30 and worked straight through until 11:00 pm, missing class but getting the paper emailed off to my professor before midnight. This is the first time I've handed something in on its due date in two years. Pretty miraculous. I have a lot to be grateful for, I guess.
I also spoke to two "newcomers" on the phone yesterday. I'm so used to playing the innocent "victim" role that it's kind of strange for me to have to get out of myself and be there for these women who are even closer to their chaos than I am. It was kind of interesting. One girl I really liked. She lives in my neighborhood and studies Astronomy up at Columbia. I guess I'll call her "StarGazer."
Anyway, I barely got any sleep last night and woke up this morning with a "hangover" from too much work the day before. I don't know how I survived my teaching. My throat hurt and I felt really gross. But then I remembered that I used to feel like that EVERY SINGLE DAY and I felt grateful for the little things.
After teaching, I came home and went to bed and then showered and polished my nails. I haven't been dressing up or paying attention to my makeup lately. I've been in blue-sweatshirt and sneakers mode non-stop. Before AA tonight I actually took the time to do the dramatic makeup I used to love to do. I want to start feeling good again, but it's hard.
I think about Narc literally every five minutes. Everything... EVERYTHING triggers a thought of him. I need to protect myself the best I can. Because every time I think of him, I feel a little sick. I'm nauseated and not eating much this week. I think it's how I was able to plow through that work day without eating on Wednesday-- there was nothing I hungered for. There IS nothing I hunger for except him. There's no room for any hunger except my hunger for him. I feel like my love, without an outlet is devouring me from the insides out. And all I can think of is that he's with another woman.
But I don't want to think about this anymore right now or write about it either. It's out of my control and it's really unhealthy to dwell on it. If I don't get off the topic fast, I will without a doubt drink or have a breakdown.
Things have only been made worse by the fact that Brick has surprisingly cut off all contact with me. I called/texted him three or four times this week, telling him that I'm hurt and asking him why he's not talking to me. He hasn't responded. I miss him a lot and this really hurts. It really hurts. But, I guess he doesn't need me anymore. I guess he was just a user. I don't know what else to think. Again-- it's out of my control.
On Tuesday night, I was playing with fire. I was thinking about Brick and missing him. I went to the Townhouse-- one of the piano bars that Brick and I frequented over the summer when we were counting days. PonyTailBoy is bartending there now on Tuesday nights. I walked there from AA and sat at the bar and sipped diet coke and watched some documentary about gay porn on the plasma screen floating above PonyTailBoy's head. It was really graphic. I saw one too many enemas. Anyway, I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have been sitting in a bar. I was angry, though. I was mad at Brick and mad at Narc. How can two people who I love so much and who I've consistently been there for-- how can they throw me away like that? Aren't they worried about me at all? I started thinking that I should take a drink just to show them... just to show them how much I am hurting, how much I am falling apart. I'm tired of being strong. I want to be carried.
But then I got really scared. That line of thinking made way too much sense to me and I knew it was dangerous-- that it could kill me, but I couldn't get up. Then the phone rang. It was B.
"I'll call you back in a sec," I said.
It was enough to jerk me back into reality. Brick is not worth my sobriety. Narc is not worth my sobriety. NOTHING is as important as my sobriety. I bolted from the bar.
I haven't seen Narc in nearly three weeks. I think that this is it. I have no other choice. Believe me-- if I had the choice, I would see him... I would take whatever crumb he'd toss my way. But he's not tossing.
On my way to the meeting tonight I passed PumpedUp's dad on the street.
"Hyde! How have you been? Still not drinking?" he smiled.
"Yeah... heading towards 11 months," I smiled back.
"Come back! Come back to us, Hyde," he laughed. "We need to pay our rent."
He's made that joke to me before. I used to revel in it. But don't you think it's a little tasteless at this point?
Anyway, I saw my new "sober sister" at the meeting today-- Leseco.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm okay," I said.
I am okay. I'm surviving. I'm living. I'm working. I'm talking to as many new women as I can. I'm fellowshipping. I'm reading.
But, I'm empty.
And God oh God, I still love Narc.
It hurts how much I still love Narc.
Will I ever know a love that doesn't hurt?
-h-
Monday, March 12, 2007
Death? Or a Meeting?
I knew it! I knew it! I KNEW something was wrong.
Last night, Dan called me as I was drifting off to sleep. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. Dan broke his nose. I was sorry to hear about that.
This morning I woke up still in the dark. My alarm went off. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. It was just the alarm.
I raced from bed to check my email. He hadn't written back. I knew he was with someone else. I thought he might have gone out of town with someone new... or to Russia to see PopStarChick. Then I remembered that he can't travel due to his condition.
Maybe he's dead, I thought. Maybe he's lying dead on his apartment floor and no one knows.
The longer I sat there staring blankly at my computer, my heart in my throat, the surer I was. I wrote an email to my sponsor.
I am trying to reassure myself and tell myself that this is a crazy line of thinking, but the more I think about the possibility of something being seriously wrong, the more I am able to rationalize another attempted contact with him.
Save me from this psycho thinking!!! I've only been awake for ten minutes and this is what's relentlessly going through my head.
"Relentless" was right. Relentless.
Am I a crazy woman? Or just an alcoholic.
I took a cab to work this morning. On the way here I passed a bar where Narc once ordered Scotch eggs and made me pay. Do you guys remember that night? I'm sure you don't. Was it last March already? Actually, come to think of it-- that wasn't the bar at all. It was a different block. I lent him money that night and was mad about it. Why am I nostalgic for it now.
We hit 10th avenue. I remembered that night after his trip to Europe-- I was afraid to call him, but I did... and then I went to teach a night class. And when I got out, he had called me back and said something about coming down to his place to watch The Apprentice. That was a year and a half ago. Damn it. Was it really?
All I can think of is him. It's hell living in my head right now. Hell! Hell! Hell!
Living hell.
I want to get out of here so badly. But, how the fuck am I supposed to get out of my own head if I can't take a drink?
I taught my class. It was about Islam. And then the Franks. We were finishing one chapter and starting another. My stomach started to cramp.
I came back to my office with a student. He needed me to sign some paper in order for him to get double-time on his exam. He has a learning disability. I couldn't wait for him to leave so that I could check my email.
And there it was:
Always fretting, you are!! Worry not my dear, just been extraordinarily busy as of late--haven't been keeping with quite a few people as a result (yourself included). Also, PopStar just back in from Moscow, so figuring out all of that etc.
Pushing on with a few projects, will write or give a call soon
--Narc
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!!! It had been too long.
I'm going to die.
I'm numb, but in fact, I'm sure of it-- I'm going to die any minute now.
I want to go home and get into bed and shred my arm into streaming red ribbons of pain.
I drafted an email to my therapist telling him I needed to meet him immediately. Then I erased it and cancelled it. Maybe that's too extreme. I don't want to bother him.
Then I called my sponsor and left her a voice mail.
"Give me a call when you get out of work," I said. "I need to talk to you. But, sorry if my obsessiveness is annoying. Do you really want me to call you whenever I have a problem? Sorry if it's too much..."
And then I sat down in my desk chair and my chest hurt and my eyes hurt too. Is it weird for my eyes to hurt? They won't focus on much except for a few bright spots on the wall.
I look down at my arms and imagine them in flames. I look down at my legs and imagine them melting off. I can smell it. It's disgusting. But it doesn't hurt. It's not working. It doesn't feel like anything. I don't feel anything. I don't feel ANYTHING. I want to scream. How is it possible to hurt so intensely and feel nothing at the same time?
I called Slope.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I need a meeting or I'm going to die," I said, flatly. "What time is that meeting you go to in the afternoons?"
"12:30," she said. "What's going on?"
"I might die," I told her.
"What?"
"It's nothing," I laughed.
How can I still laugh?
"I'm okay. I'm just being dramatic."
(Am I?)
"It's just that he wrote back."
I read her the email.
"I totally know how you feel," she said. "I've been just there. Wanna get breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Don't call him though," she said.
"I'm not going to call him. There's nothing to say. That's not what I'm afraid of. I'm not afraid of calling him. I'm afraid I might take a razor and rip my forearms to shreds. I'm afraid I might carve this moment into my leg-- carve him into my leg... and that way I can't lose it... can't lose him. I want to crawl into bed and stay there until its soaked with my blood and I don't exist anymore except for a bloody bed and that way I'll just be in bed forever and there's no more of any of this."
Did I just say that? Or did I leave a lot of it out?
"Don't do that either," she said.
What did I say to her?
"I don't really want to," I told her. "I don't. I'm fine. I'm just being dramatic. It's just that I don't know what else to do."
Time has stopped. I am stuck.
"I need a meeting," I told her. "I want to stop hurting myself over him."
"Okay. So... the meeting's at 12:30. How about we meet at 11:30?" she suggested.
"Okay. I'll see you then."
"Will you be okay?"
"Yeah, of course!" I laughed. "I'm in my office til then anyway."
I smiled even though I am sitting here alone. Did I really just smile?
I need a meeting.
I need a meeting.
I went to three yesterday. I'm going to at least two today.
I need...
I need something.
So... PopStarChick is back.
I KNEW something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
WRONG.
-h-
Last night, Dan called me as I was drifting off to sleep. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. Dan broke his nose. I was sorry to hear about that.
This morning I woke up still in the dark. My alarm went off. I thought it was Narc. It wasn't. It was just the alarm.
I raced from bed to check my email. He hadn't written back. I knew he was with someone else. I thought he might have gone out of town with someone new... or to Russia to see PopStarChick. Then I remembered that he can't travel due to his condition.
Maybe he's dead, I thought. Maybe he's lying dead on his apartment floor and no one knows.
The longer I sat there staring blankly at my computer, my heart in my throat, the surer I was. I wrote an email to my sponsor.
I am trying to reassure myself and tell myself that this is a crazy line of thinking, but the more I think about the possibility of something being seriously wrong, the more I am able to rationalize another attempted contact with him.
Save me from this psycho thinking!!! I've only been awake for ten minutes and this is what's relentlessly going through my head.
"Relentless" was right. Relentless.
Am I a crazy woman? Or just an alcoholic.
I took a cab to work this morning. On the way here I passed a bar where Narc once ordered Scotch eggs and made me pay. Do you guys remember that night? I'm sure you don't. Was it last March already? Actually, come to think of it-- that wasn't the bar at all. It was a different block. I lent him money that night and was mad about it. Why am I nostalgic for it now.
We hit 10th avenue. I remembered that night after his trip to Europe-- I was afraid to call him, but I did... and then I went to teach a night class. And when I got out, he had called me back and said something about coming down to his place to watch The Apprentice. That was a year and a half ago. Damn it. Was it really?
All I can think of is him. It's hell living in my head right now. Hell! Hell! Hell!
Living hell.
I want to get out of here so badly. But, how the fuck am I supposed to get out of my own head if I can't take a drink?
I taught my class. It was about Islam. And then the Franks. We were finishing one chapter and starting another. My stomach started to cramp.
I came back to my office with a student. He needed me to sign some paper in order for him to get double-time on his exam. He has a learning disability. I couldn't wait for him to leave so that I could check my email.
And there it was:
Always fretting, you are!! Worry not my dear, just been extraordinarily busy as of late--haven't been keeping with quite a few people as a result (yourself included). Also, PopStar just back in from Moscow, so figuring out all of that etc.
Pushing on with a few projects, will write or give a call soon
--Narc
I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!!! It had been too long.
I'm going to die.
I'm numb, but in fact, I'm sure of it-- I'm going to die any minute now.
I want to go home and get into bed and shred my arm into streaming red ribbons of pain.
I drafted an email to my therapist telling him I needed to meet him immediately. Then I erased it and cancelled it. Maybe that's too extreme. I don't want to bother him.
Then I called my sponsor and left her a voice mail.
"Give me a call when you get out of work," I said. "I need to talk to you. But, sorry if my obsessiveness is annoying. Do you really want me to call you whenever I have a problem? Sorry if it's too much..."
And then I sat down in my desk chair and my chest hurt and my eyes hurt too. Is it weird for my eyes to hurt? They won't focus on much except for a few bright spots on the wall.
I look down at my arms and imagine them in flames. I look down at my legs and imagine them melting off. I can smell it. It's disgusting. But it doesn't hurt. It's not working. It doesn't feel like anything. I don't feel anything. I don't feel ANYTHING. I want to scream. How is it possible to hurt so intensely and feel nothing at the same time?
I called Slope.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I need a meeting or I'm going to die," I said, flatly. "What time is that meeting you go to in the afternoons?"
"12:30," she said. "What's going on?"
"I might die," I told her.
"What?"
"It's nothing," I laughed.
How can I still laugh?
"I'm okay. I'm just being dramatic."
(Am I?)
"It's just that he wrote back."
I read her the email.
"I totally know how you feel," she said. "I've been just there. Wanna get breakfast?"
"Yes."
"Don't call him though," she said.
"I'm not going to call him. There's nothing to say. That's not what I'm afraid of. I'm not afraid of calling him. I'm afraid I might take a razor and rip my forearms to shreds. I'm afraid I might carve this moment into my leg-- carve him into my leg... and that way I can't lose it... can't lose him. I want to crawl into bed and stay there until its soaked with my blood and I don't exist anymore except for a bloody bed and that way I'll just be in bed forever and there's no more of any of this."
Did I just say that? Or did I leave a lot of it out?
"Don't do that either," she said.
What did I say to her?
"I don't really want to," I told her. "I don't. I'm fine. I'm just being dramatic. It's just that I don't know what else to do."
Time has stopped. I am stuck.
"I need a meeting," I told her. "I want to stop hurting myself over him."
"Okay. So... the meeting's at 12:30. How about we meet at 11:30?" she suggested.
"Okay. I'll see you then."
"Will you be okay?"
"Yeah, of course!" I laughed. "I'm in my office til then anyway."
I smiled even though I am sitting here alone. Did I really just smile?
I need a meeting.
I need a meeting.
I went to three yesterday. I'm going to at least two today.
I need...
I need something.
So... PopStarChick is back.
I KNEW something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
WRONG.
-h-
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Dissipation
I will never get used to people I care about disappearing into thin air. I have resigned myself to the fact that Brick and I are no longer friends... just acquaintances who once "counted days" together. I sent him a text on Friday asking: Are we still friends?
Yes dear, he wrote.
And then yesterday I heard from him again: I do need my clothes though... i am going to the Florida roundup.
That's that.
As for Narc? I can't stand it. I really and truly can't stand it. I feel like my insides are digesting themselves and it hurts and it leaves me a general quivering mess.
I called him on Friday night and left him a dumb-ass message. And then, today I sent him an email. (Monumentally marked in my mind, of course, as "one final try.")
Hey...
I'm feeling really bad. I don't understand why you're not talking to me. Is this it? Are you never going to talk to me again? If so, I'll try to forget about our friendship. But could you please at least explain? I'm confused and I'm feeling rejected and frustrated and hurt.
I've tried to be a good friend to you-- the best that I know how, anyway. I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you.
Thanks.
Hyde
Pathetic, no?
In the meanwhile, B called me last night after 11:00, which is unusual for him. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he and Drippy were fighting because she feels like I don't make an effort to be her friend. I was dumbfounded, as I've made what I consider to be a supreme effort to be her friend! Starting in November, 2005-- I asked the two of them out for dinner, I invited her to see Rent with my friends, I invited her to a dinner party this summer (and to karaoke with my friends) and I invited her to my birthday party!
"She says that she always comes to your stuff but--"
"But what?" I demanded. "She has never invited me to anything. Not ONCE! And the other day when I called you, she picked up the phone and I said 'Hi Drippy, how are you?' and she just said 'hold on' and disappeared off the phone without any niceties at all!"
"She said that she could hear in your tone that you didn't want to talk to her."
"That's ridiculous," I said. "And that's her insecurity and her problem-- not mine. I'm doing my best."
"She said that you never want to come to our house."
"First of all, B, she never invited me. And second of all-- you're right. I don't want to come to your house. I have a lot of mixed feelings about our relationship and I have a lot of work to do on myself and it will drag up feelings for me that I don't want to confront. Those are my problem, of course, but I'm not going to put myself in something that I'm not ready for. I'm willing to get together with her, get to know her, whatever. Anyway, this is ridiculous. If she has a problem with me, put her on the phone. Let her tell me herself!"
"Hold on," he said, a sigh in his voice.
He was gone for a few minutes. Clearly she refused to talk to me.
"Look, I love you," I said to him. "I have no vested interest in making a problem for you or Drippy. For God's sake! I'm laying here in bed reading a book about Obsessive Love! Clearly I'm wrapped up in Narc. Tell her that I mean her no harm or stress..."
"It would be nice if you would write her an email saying that," he said.
"If I do, I'll do it for you," I told him. "But it's not my responsibility to reassure her. The same way it's not her responsibility to write to me and reassure me that she's not going to interfere in our friendship. If I am insecure about it, I'll deal with it in therapy. Let her go to therapy or at least confront me if she has some concern..."
After we hung up, I felt bad that B is stuck in the middle like that, so I did write an email. To both of them. Here's what I said:
Dear B and Drippy,
I just wanted to write you guys a quick note to let you know how much I wish you both happiness. I am looking forward to a lifetime of friendship with both of you. And of course, that includes getting to know Drippy better over time.
If you'd like to get together for lunch or dinner sometime this week or next, let me know.
Lots of love,
Hyde
B wrote back to me right away this morning:
Thanks, H--this definitely helps. I overslept and have to run to church (doh!!!!!) so let's talk later!
-b
And then I heard from Drippy:
If you're free on Thursday or Friday perhaps you'd like to come by for lunch. I don't know B's schedule, though, so I can't speak for him but I'm sure he's free one of those days. There are a bunch of great places to eat around here, (see the map I made on my signature below) and I've been asking B to invite you over for a long time now.
Drippy
p.s. I've been too busy to do much of anything, much less plan events, but I've been meaning to ask you to help me throw a small surprise 30 and 1/2 birthday party for B. I thought it would be cute and completely unexpected. I'm not sure if I manage on my own, though, since the rest of the semester is just going to get more crazy, so I'd appreciate a hand.
I don't know if it's just me, but I have SO many problems with this. I'm late for AA though, and don't want to get scolded (again!) by my sponsor, so I have to run.
More later...
-h-
Yes dear, he wrote.
And then yesterday I heard from him again: I do need my clothes though... i am going to the Florida roundup.
That's that.
As for Narc? I can't stand it. I really and truly can't stand it. I feel like my insides are digesting themselves and it hurts and it leaves me a general quivering mess.
I called him on Friday night and left him a dumb-ass message. And then, today I sent him an email. (Monumentally marked in my mind, of course, as "one final try.")
Hey...
I'm feeling really bad. I don't understand why you're not talking to me. Is this it? Are you never going to talk to me again? If so, I'll try to forget about our friendship. But could you please at least explain? I'm confused and I'm feeling rejected and frustrated and hurt.
I've tried to be a good friend to you-- the best that I know how, anyway. I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you.
Thanks.
Hyde
Pathetic, no?
In the meanwhile, B called me last night after 11:00, which is unusual for him. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he and Drippy were fighting because she feels like I don't make an effort to be her friend. I was dumbfounded, as I've made what I consider to be a supreme effort to be her friend! Starting in November, 2005-- I asked the two of them out for dinner, I invited her to see Rent with my friends, I invited her to a dinner party this summer (and to karaoke with my friends) and I invited her to my birthday party!
"She says that she always comes to your stuff but--"
"But what?" I demanded. "She has never invited me to anything. Not ONCE! And the other day when I called you, she picked up the phone and I said 'Hi Drippy, how are you?' and she just said 'hold on' and disappeared off the phone without any niceties at all!"
"She said that she could hear in your tone that you didn't want to talk to her."
"That's ridiculous," I said. "And that's her insecurity and her problem-- not mine. I'm doing my best."
"She said that you never want to come to our house."
"First of all, B, she never invited me. And second of all-- you're right. I don't want to come to your house. I have a lot of mixed feelings about our relationship and I have a lot of work to do on myself and it will drag up feelings for me that I don't want to confront. Those are my problem, of course, but I'm not going to put myself in something that I'm not ready for. I'm willing to get together with her, get to know her, whatever. Anyway, this is ridiculous. If she has a problem with me, put her on the phone. Let her tell me herself!"
"Hold on," he said, a sigh in his voice.
He was gone for a few minutes. Clearly she refused to talk to me.
"Look, I love you," I said to him. "I have no vested interest in making a problem for you or Drippy. For God's sake! I'm laying here in bed reading a book about Obsessive Love! Clearly I'm wrapped up in Narc. Tell her that I mean her no harm or stress..."
"It would be nice if you would write her an email saying that," he said.
"If I do, I'll do it for you," I told him. "But it's not my responsibility to reassure her. The same way it's not her responsibility to write to me and reassure me that she's not going to interfere in our friendship. If I am insecure about it, I'll deal with it in therapy. Let her go to therapy or at least confront me if she has some concern..."
After we hung up, I felt bad that B is stuck in the middle like that, so I did write an email. To both of them. Here's what I said:
Dear B and Drippy,
I just wanted to write you guys a quick note to let you know how much I wish you both happiness. I am looking forward to a lifetime of friendship with both of you. And of course, that includes getting to know Drippy better over time.
If you'd like to get together for lunch or dinner sometime this week or next, let me know.
Lots of love,
Hyde
B wrote back to me right away this morning:
Thanks, H--this definitely helps. I overslept and have to run to church (doh!!!!!) so let's talk later!
-b
And then I heard from Drippy:
If you're free on Thursday or Friday perhaps you'd like to come by for lunch. I don't know B's schedule, though, so I can't speak for him but I'm sure he's free one of those days. There are a bunch of great places to eat around here, (see the map I made on my signature below) and I've been asking B to invite you over for a long time now.
Drippy
p.s. I've been too busy to do much of anything, much less plan events, but I've been meaning to ask you to help me throw a small surprise 30 and 1/2 birthday party for B. I thought it would be cute and completely unexpected. I'm not sure if I manage on my own, though, since the rest of the semester is just going to get more crazy, so I'd appreciate a hand.
I don't know if it's just me, but I have SO many problems with this. I'm late for AA though, and don't want to get scolded (again!) by my sponsor, so I have to run.
More later...
-h-
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Breath of Life
It's been a hard weekend, but a good one. My emotions are just all over the place these days!
On Friday night, I made out with TT. On Saturday, I was blown off by Narc. It wasn't easy. I haven't heard a peep out of him since I sent that email. I don't know what that means. I don't know what he's thinking. But, my sponsor told me that my primary job when it comes to Narc is to stop trying to figure out what he's thinking. I'm trying to take her suggestions. It's so hard though. All I can think of is that this is all my fault-- if I didn't tell him that I was upset he threw away my Valentine... if I didn't tell him it bothered me that PopStar's picture was still up on his desktop... Oh well...
I couldn't fall asleep at all on Friday night. As such, I overslept and missed the women's meeting that I like to go to on Saturday mornings. I decided to head to a 10:30 beginners meeting instead-- one where I knew I would find Brick. I haven't hung out with Brick since Sunday, February 18th. It was really nice to see him again because I miss him, but at the same time, it was all tempered with semi-repressed anger. I feel completely blown off by him... blown off and used. When he needs me, he's omnipresent. When he doesn't feel like making the effort to make plans or stay in touch, he disappears. It doesn't matter what I need. Of course not...
"Are we ever going to hang out again?" I asked Brick.
"Of course," he said. "Why don't you meet me at noon tomorrow for a meeting and then we can hang out after that-- a Brick and Hyde day!"
"Okay, but you better not cancel on me!"
After the meeting, Brick asked if I wanted to get lunch with him and a friend of his, but I couldn't-- I had plans to meet B. I headed to a diner in midtown. The weather was perfect. On my walk home from the diner, my phone rang. It was an "unknown caller" and so I picked up.
"Hello? This is OddBall," came a voice on the other end.
"OddBall? OddBall?" I racked my brain. (OddBall's real name is, in fact, a quite common name. I don't know if you remember him, but he's in AA and he called to ask me out back in January. I never called him back.)
"You know... OddBall from AA."
"Oh! How are you???"
The conversation proceeded very awkwardly from there, peaking at a discussion of the beautiful spring weather. It felt like pulling teeth. I was horrified when he asked me out again for a "walk in Central Park" and I heard myself accept. What was I doing???? First I made out with TT on Friday night, not really wanting to, and then I accepted a date I didn't want?!?! (I really am "just a girl who can't say no.")
To make matters worse, when I got home, I had a text from TT:
Thanks for coming out last night. Good times. If you want to grab a bite or something between stressing on your presentation, don't hesitate to call! (What am I saying? I mean 'text.') ;-)
Ugh. I didn't answer him. (And I still haven't. Does that make me a terrible person?)
Anyway, that was Saturday. That afternoon, I got that email from Narc and later cut my wrist. Then I went to the movies with Bezoukhoff and that night sent the reply email to Narc. I feel so powerless, so disposable, so utterly abandoned... like garbage.
Late that night I remembered that I had made morning plans with Hammer and that I couldn't meet Brick for the 12:00 pm meeting. I sent him a message asking if we could meet afterwards instead.
Once again, I couldn't sleep that night. All I could think about was Narc... how much I love him and the absolutely sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
At 8:21 am, on barely three hours of sleep, I was awakened by the soft beeping of an incoming text message. I snatched the phone. Was it Narc? It was Brick.
No worries... I may hang with my sponsor after, he wrote.
So... he was cancelling on me again?!?! This made it the fourth time in a row. I called him up. We spoke for a few minutes and I told him how I felt. I told him that I felt unimportant; I told him that when he's needy he's around and then he disappears on me; I told him that it hurt. He said that he is busy and that he's trying to balance AA and work. I told him that if he doesn't have room for me in his life, that's fine, but I can't keep my heart open and stay vulnerable as a friend.
When we hung up the phone, I burst into tears. It was the first time I've had a serious cry in a long, long time. God knows, I needed it! I cried until I was choking. I cried until I couldn't see and couldn't breathe. I am so sick of investing so much love in people who can so easily discard me. I'm sick of caring so much about people who can turn around and act like I don't exist. I felt so powerless... so utterly out of control and alone. I wanted to die.
I am exactly that person they talk about in Chapter 5 of the Big Book. I am still running on self-will and it hurts like hell.
The first requirement is that we be convinced that any life run on self-will can hardly be a success. On that basis we are almost always in collision with something or somebody, even though our motives are good. Most people try to live by self-propulsion. Each person is like an actor who wants to run the whole show; is forever trying to arrange the lights, the ballet, the scenery and the rest of the players in his own way. If his arrangements would only stay put, if only people would do as he wished, the show would be great. Everybody, including himself, would be pleased. Life would be wonderful. In trying to make these arrangements our actor may sometimes be quite virtuous. He may be kind, considerate, patient, generous; even modest and self-sacrificing. On the other hand, he may be mean, egotistical, selfish and dishonest. But, as with most humans, he is more likely to have varied traits.
What usually happens? The show doesn't come off very well. He begins to think life doesn't treat him right. He decides to exert himself more. He becomes, on the next occasion, still more demanding or gracious, as the case may be. Still the play does not suit him. Admitting he may be somewhat at fault, he is sure that other people are more to blame. He becomes angry, indignant, self-pitying. What is his basic trouble? Is he not really a self-seeker even when trying to be kind? Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well? Is it not evident to all the rest of the players that these are the things he wants? And do not his actions make each of them wish to retaliate, snatching all they can get out of the show? Is he not, even in his best moments, a producer of confusion rather than harmony?
In any case, I cried until I could cry no more. I called B and tried to get him to tell me that he loves me (without directly asking him to say it). It only sort of works. Every single time I hang up the phone with B, I say "love you." Every single time, he answers "okay. Bye." I know he loves me. But I wish that sometimes he'd read his lines right. Then I called my sponsor. By that time, I was able to stop the tears. There was nothing else to do.
There wasn't time for moping through the afternoon on Sunday, as I had done on Saturday. I had plans to meet Hammer at our "German diner." We brunched together and caught up on a lot of things and then went for tea at a beautiful little Japanese tea house where we drank Jasmine tea and ate chocolate mochi. At around 6:00 I headed to my meeting and to meet my sponsor. She told me that I had to call OddBall and cancel the date.
"It's good practice for you," she said.
And so, I did. I made the excuse that I really shouldn't date with under a year of sobriety.
By the time I got home and to bed on Sunday night, I was exhausted. And I was still sad.
On Monday I got up bright and early to teach. Afterwards, I had a special plan. Does anyone remember when I decided to learn to paint Russian icons last May? (I wrote about it here. It was only a few days after I first got sober.) I never went back to work on my icon, until now. On Monday I headed back to the studio. My icon was still there-- just barely beginning, red clay edging the frame and forming a base for the halo. I sat down to work on it, and there I stayed for the next four hours, in quiet contemplation surrounded by burning incense, Russian chant and three or four other iconographers. My task this time was to prepare the clay on the halo for gilding. First I had to sand it very carefully with two types of sandpaper. Next, I had to varnish the clay, rubbing it with a piece of glass. This revealed any imperfections in my sanding and several times I had to begin the process over. When this was finally done, it was time for the gold leaf.
Tatiana, the instructor, explained to me that the clay symbolizes man, as God made Adam from clay and that the gold symbolizes the divine.
"When we pray," she said, "and we pray correctly, there is a union of mind and heart. We are able to connect our divine self to our human self. It is like the gold sticking to the clay. Since we are in the image of God, God is in us."
She told me that to get the gold to stick to the clay, we had to moisten it. Since every task in writing icons is symbolic, the way to moisten the clay was to brush our lips against the icon and breathe on it.
"Just as God breathed life into man," she pointed out.
I had already attached the gold leaf to wax paper and cut it into strips. After each breath, I had to quickly press the gold onto the clay and wait a few seconds for it to stick. Then, with a dry paintbrush, I brushed away the excess. My first few attempts at this were rather miserable and I only got the gold to stick in a few spots. To make matters worse, the gold was so delicate that small mistakes would put a wrinkle in the strip. I felt guilty wasting such a precious material, but after a while, I got the hang of it. For over an hour, breath by breath, I breathed life into my icon and laid down two layers of gold. I united mind and heart. I connected the divine with the human. I breathed life into something.
This whole process was a powerful one for me. I can't quite explain why, but it gave me a tinge of guilt for hurting myself. For disrespecting God's creation. I'm not really a "believer" in God. But, for that afternoon, I was.
At about 4:30 pm, I left the studio. Here's the result of my work so far:
That night I headed out to an 11th step meditation meeting. The speaker reminded me a lot of myself. She also lost her father as a little girl and she also made a decision not to believe in anything greater than herself. When she came into the program she didn't have any belief in God or any concept of God, but she proceeded anyway. For some reason, hearing her talk, matched with my iconography experience, things started to make some strange kind of sense to me. I imagined all of the step-work I'm doing now as the sanding and the varnishing of the clay-- necessary prerequisites to being able to lay down the gilding. And even when the clay is prepared, it's not easy to apply the gold. Every small piece has to be lovingly and carefully applied with a new breath. I can't quite explain the spiritual shift in understanding that happened for me, but that is where I was at.
In any case, that night I went home to watch 24. Dan was back in town after his trip for Florida, awaiting more interviews for his teaching programs, and so he came over to watch with me. I quickly caught him up to date on the plot. Afterwards, we talked for a while, but I couldn't stay up too late, as I had hardly gotten any sleep over the weekend and it was catching up to me.
Tuesday was Brick's birthday. Because I believe in what B has lovingly termed the "dictatorship of the birthday," I had to put my feelings aside and wish him a happy one. I called him just before midnight to be the first one to greet him. He didn't pick up the phone, but I left a message telling him that I love him and that I'm proud of him. The next afternoon, he sent me a text back: Thanks... i love u.
Tuesday was also a birthday for my home group-- the 13th anniversary of its founding. The meeting was supposed to be huge, so after teaching and lunch with B, I got there at around 5:00 pm (for a 7:00 pm meeting!) to drop off the milk and save some seats for me and Meema. Would you believe it? There were already tons of people there! I saw OddBall milling around.
"I completely understand," he said, in reference to my cancellation of Monday's date. "But how much time do you have now?"
"Almost ten months."
"Oh! So, you're almost to your year," he smiled.
"Yes," I smiled back.
Shit, shit, shit, was all I was thinking, though.
In any case, everyone was abuzz with one opinion or another about the night's speaker. Apparently, he is quite a character. He flew in all the way from LA to talk to us. Before the meeting began, I went out for a quick bite with Cherubino and a new "sober sister," Cortland. When we returned to the church, I saw Meema in our seats and she was sitting with Talis. I've only seen Talis once since I fired her as my sponsor and even though I've called her twice, she has never returned my calls. Nevertheless, I'm still sickeningly sweet to her, as she is to me.
"Thank so much for saving us seats, Hyde!" she smiled. "I think there's room for my boyfriend here too!"
There was no room for her boyfriend, nor was there room for her. I had only saved two seats-- one for me and one for Meema. In order for Talis and her boyfriend to fit, we had to push down some other seat markers on the pew and I felt guilty doing so. It was really annoying, but I bit my tongue and didn't' say anything.
The speaker was great. It was incredibly moving and he was charismatic and phenomenal. Afterwards they did a "countdown" for the anniversary. First they asked members of the steering committee to stand up, then members who had chaired a meeting, then members who were sponsorship chairs or activity chairs, etc, then coffee people, greeters, etc. Pretty soon, the whole meeting was standing-- over 400 people. Then, they asked those under a year to sit back down, then those with two years, three years, and so on. It was amazing to see those still standing with ten, twenty, thirty, forty and one man with nearly fifty years of sobriety! If I make it fifty years sober, I'll be 77! I was so overwhelmed with emotion at the scope of what is being accomplished by those of us in the rooms. I used to be so much more cynical, but I'm now surrounded by people who are actually (in the approximated words of Gandhi) "being the change we want to see in the world."
Last night, I was exhausted by the time I got home. I talked to Liu on the phone for a while, and then to both of my sisters and my mom! I also started reading The Triads by Gregory Palamas, a 14th century Orthodox scholar, a proponent of hesychastic theology, or mystical prayer. It was recommended to me by Tatiana at the iconography school.
But in spite of everything, there is still one nagging and gnawing thought returning to my mind with every thought cycle... Narc, Narc, Narc. It hurts and I hate it. Last night at around 11:00, I sent a text to my sponsor:
I'm dying. I want to text him so badly. Going to take a shower to keep myself away from the phone. I feel like I'm white knuckling it with Narc. It's maddening!!
Pray. Take it one day, was her reply.
So, that's what I'm trying to do. But it hurts so fucking bad. It hurts so much more than it shows... more than I will ever let on.
But, I'm trying... I'm still trying...
love,
h
On Friday night, I made out with TT. On Saturday, I was blown off by Narc. It wasn't easy. I haven't heard a peep out of him since I sent that email. I don't know what that means. I don't know what he's thinking. But, my sponsor told me that my primary job when it comes to Narc is to stop trying to figure out what he's thinking. I'm trying to take her suggestions. It's so hard though. All I can think of is that this is all my fault-- if I didn't tell him that I was upset he threw away my Valentine... if I didn't tell him it bothered me that PopStar's picture was still up on his desktop... Oh well...
I couldn't fall asleep at all on Friday night. As such, I overslept and missed the women's meeting that I like to go to on Saturday mornings. I decided to head to a 10:30 beginners meeting instead-- one where I knew I would find Brick. I haven't hung out with Brick since Sunday, February 18th. It was really nice to see him again because I miss him, but at the same time, it was all tempered with semi-repressed anger. I feel completely blown off by him... blown off and used. When he needs me, he's omnipresent. When he doesn't feel like making the effort to make plans or stay in touch, he disappears. It doesn't matter what I need. Of course not...
"Are we ever going to hang out again?" I asked Brick.
"Of course," he said. "Why don't you meet me at noon tomorrow for a meeting and then we can hang out after that-- a Brick and Hyde day!"
"Okay, but you better not cancel on me!"
After the meeting, Brick asked if I wanted to get lunch with him and a friend of his, but I couldn't-- I had plans to meet B. I headed to a diner in midtown. The weather was perfect. On my walk home from the diner, my phone rang. It was an "unknown caller" and so I picked up.
"Hello? This is OddBall," came a voice on the other end.
"OddBall? OddBall?" I racked my brain. (OddBall's real name is, in fact, a quite common name. I don't know if you remember him, but he's in AA and he called to ask me out back in January. I never called him back.)
"You know... OddBall from AA."
"Oh! How are you???"
The conversation proceeded very awkwardly from there, peaking at a discussion of the beautiful spring weather. It felt like pulling teeth. I was horrified when he asked me out again for a "walk in Central Park" and I heard myself accept. What was I doing???? First I made out with TT on Friday night, not really wanting to, and then I accepted a date I didn't want?!?! (I really am "just a girl who can't say no.")
To make matters worse, when I got home, I had a text from TT:
Thanks for coming out last night. Good times. If you want to grab a bite or something between stressing on your presentation, don't hesitate to call! (What am I saying? I mean 'text.') ;-)
Ugh. I didn't answer him. (And I still haven't. Does that make me a terrible person?)
Anyway, that was Saturday. That afternoon, I got that email from Narc and later cut my wrist. Then I went to the movies with Bezoukhoff and that night sent the reply email to Narc. I feel so powerless, so disposable, so utterly abandoned... like garbage.
Late that night I remembered that I had made morning plans with Hammer and that I couldn't meet Brick for the 12:00 pm meeting. I sent him a message asking if we could meet afterwards instead.
Once again, I couldn't sleep that night. All I could think about was Narc... how much I love him and the absolutely sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
At 8:21 am, on barely three hours of sleep, I was awakened by the soft beeping of an incoming text message. I snatched the phone. Was it Narc? It was Brick.
No worries... I may hang with my sponsor after, he wrote.
So... he was cancelling on me again?!?! This made it the fourth time in a row. I called him up. We spoke for a few minutes and I told him how I felt. I told him that I felt unimportant; I told him that when he's needy he's around and then he disappears on me; I told him that it hurt. He said that he is busy and that he's trying to balance AA and work. I told him that if he doesn't have room for me in his life, that's fine, but I can't keep my heart open and stay vulnerable as a friend.
When we hung up the phone, I burst into tears. It was the first time I've had a serious cry in a long, long time. God knows, I needed it! I cried until I was choking. I cried until I couldn't see and couldn't breathe. I am so sick of investing so much love in people who can so easily discard me. I'm sick of caring so much about people who can turn around and act like I don't exist. I felt so powerless... so utterly out of control and alone. I wanted to die.
I am exactly that person they talk about in Chapter 5 of the Big Book. I am still running on self-will and it hurts like hell.
The first requirement is that we be convinced that any life run on self-will can hardly be a success. On that basis we are almost always in collision with something or somebody, even though our motives are good. Most people try to live by self-propulsion. Each person is like an actor who wants to run the whole show; is forever trying to arrange the lights, the ballet, the scenery and the rest of the players in his own way. If his arrangements would only stay put, if only people would do as he wished, the show would be great. Everybody, including himself, would be pleased. Life would be wonderful. In trying to make these arrangements our actor may sometimes be quite virtuous. He may be kind, considerate, patient, generous; even modest and self-sacrificing. On the other hand, he may be mean, egotistical, selfish and dishonest. But, as with most humans, he is more likely to have varied traits.
What usually happens? The show doesn't come off very well. He begins to think life doesn't treat him right. He decides to exert himself more. He becomes, on the next occasion, still more demanding or gracious, as the case may be. Still the play does not suit him. Admitting he may be somewhat at fault, he is sure that other people are more to blame. He becomes angry, indignant, self-pitying. What is his basic trouble? Is he not really a self-seeker even when trying to be kind? Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well? Is it not evident to all the rest of the players that these are the things he wants? And do not his actions make each of them wish to retaliate, snatching all they can get out of the show? Is he not, even in his best moments, a producer of confusion rather than harmony?
In any case, I cried until I could cry no more. I called B and tried to get him to tell me that he loves me (without directly asking him to say it). It only sort of works. Every single time I hang up the phone with B, I say "love you." Every single time, he answers "okay. Bye." I know he loves me. But I wish that sometimes he'd read his lines right. Then I called my sponsor. By that time, I was able to stop the tears. There was nothing else to do.
There wasn't time for moping through the afternoon on Sunday, as I had done on Saturday. I had plans to meet Hammer at our "German diner." We brunched together and caught up on a lot of things and then went for tea at a beautiful little Japanese tea house where we drank Jasmine tea and ate chocolate mochi. At around 6:00 I headed to my meeting and to meet my sponsor. She told me that I had to call OddBall and cancel the date.
"It's good practice for you," she said.
And so, I did. I made the excuse that I really shouldn't date with under a year of sobriety.
By the time I got home and to bed on Sunday night, I was exhausted. And I was still sad.
On Monday I got up bright and early to teach. Afterwards, I had a special plan. Does anyone remember when I decided to learn to paint Russian icons last May? (I wrote about it here. It was only a few days after I first got sober.) I never went back to work on my icon, until now. On Monday I headed back to the studio. My icon was still there-- just barely beginning, red clay edging the frame and forming a base for the halo. I sat down to work on it, and there I stayed for the next four hours, in quiet contemplation surrounded by burning incense, Russian chant and three or four other iconographers. My task this time was to prepare the clay on the halo for gilding. First I had to sand it very carefully with two types of sandpaper. Next, I had to varnish the clay, rubbing it with a piece of glass. This revealed any imperfections in my sanding and several times I had to begin the process over. When this was finally done, it was time for the gold leaf.
Tatiana, the instructor, explained to me that the clay symbolizes man, as God made Adam from clay and that the gold symbolizes the divine.
"When we pray," she said, "and we pray correctly, there is a union of mind and heart. We are able to connect our divine self to our human self. It is like the gold sticking to the clay. Since we are in the image of God, God is in us."
She told me that to get the gold to stick to the clay, we had to moisten it. Since every task in writing icons is symbolic, the way to moisten the clay was to brush our lips against the icon and breathe on it.
"Just as God breathed life into man," she pointed out.
I had already attached the gold leaf to wax paper and cut it into strips. After each breath, I had to quickly press the gold onto the clay and wait a few seconds for it to stick. Then, with a dry paintbrush, I brushed away the excess. My first few attempts at this were rather miserable and I only got the gold to stick in a few spots. To make matters worse, the gold was so delicate that small mistakes would put a wrinkle in the strip. I felt guilty wasting such a precious material, but after a while, I got the hang of it. For over an hour, breath by breath, I breathed life into my icon and laid down two layers of gold. I united mind and heart. I connected the divine with the human. I breathed life into something.
This whole process was a powerful one for me. I can't quite explain why, but it gave me a tinge of guilt for hurting myself. For disrespecting God's creation. I'm not really a "believer" in God. But, for that afternoon, I was.
At about 4:30 pm, I left the studio. Here's the result of my work so far:
That night I headed out to an 11th step meditation meeting. The speaker reminded me a lot of myself. She also lost her father as a little girl and she also made a decision not to believe in anything greater than herself. When she came into the program she didn't have any belief in God or any concept of God, but she proceeded anyway. For some reason, hearing her talk, matched with my iconography experience, things started to make some strange kind of sense to me. I imagined all of the step-work I'm doing now as the sanding and the varnishing of the clay-- necessary prerequisites to being able to lay down the gilding. And even when the clay is prepared, it's not easy to apply the gold. Every small piece has to be lovingly and carefully applied with a new breath. I can't quite explain the spiritual shift in understanding that happened for me, but that is where I was at.
In any case, that night I went home to watch 24. Dan was back in town after his trip for Florida, awaiting more interviews for his teaching programs, and so he came over to watch with me. I quickly caught him up to date on the plot. Afterwards, we talked for a while, but I couldn't stay up too late, as I had hardly gotten any sleep over the weekend and it was catching up to me.
Tuesday was Brick's birthday. Because I believe in what B has lovingly termed the "dictatorship of the birthday," I had to put my feelings aside and wish him a happy one. I called him just before midnight to be the first one to greet him. He didn't pick up the phone, but I left a message telling him that I love him and that I'm proud of him. The next afternoon, he sent me a text back: Thanks... i love u.
Tuesday was also a birthday for my home group-- the 13th anniversary of its founding. The meeting was supposed to be huge, so after teaching and lunch with B, I got there at around 5:00 pm (for a 7:00 pm meeting!) to drop off the milk and save some seats for me and Meema. Would you believe it? There were already tons of people there! I saw OddBall milling around.
"I completely understand," he said, in reference to my cancellation of Monday's date. "But how much time do you have now?"
"Almost ten months."
"Oh! So, you're almost to your year," he smiled.
"Yes," I smiled back.
Shit, shit, shit, was all I was thinking, though.
In any case, everyone was abuzz with one opinion or another about the night's speaker. Apparently, he is quite a character. He flew in all the way from LA to talk to us. Before the meeting began, I went out for a quick bite with Cherubino and a new "sober sister," Cortland. When we returned to the church, I saw Meema in our seats and she was sitting with Talis. I've only seen Talis once since I fired her as my sponsor and even though I've called her twice, she has never returned my calls. Nevertheless, I'm still sickeningly sweet to her, as she is to me.
"Thank so much for saving us seats, Hyde!" she smiled. "I think there's room for my boyfriend here too!"
There was no room for her boyfriend, nor was there room for her. I had only saved two seats-- one for me and one for Meema. In order for Talis and her boyfriend to fit, we had to push down some other seat markers on the pew and I felt guilty doing so. It was really annoying, but I bit my tongue and didn't' say anything.
The speaker was great. It was incredibly moving and he was charismatic and phenomenal. Afterwards they did a "countdown" for the anniversary. First they asked members of the steering committee to stand up, then members who had chaired a meeting, then members who were sponsorship chairs or activity chairs, etc, then coffee people, greeters, etc. Pretty soon, the whole meeting was standing-- over 400 people. Then, they asked those under a year to sit back down, then those with two years, three years, and so on. It was amazing to see those still standing with ten, twenty, thirty, forty and one man with nearly fifty years of sobriety! If I make it fifty years sober, I'll be 77! I was so overwhelmed with emotion at the scope of what is being accomplished by those of us in the rooms. I used to be so much more cynical, but I'm now surrounded by people who are actually (in the approximated words of Gandhi) "being the change we want to see in the world."
Last night, I was exhausted by the time I got home. I talked to Liu on the phone for a while, and then to both of my sisters and my mom! I also started reading The Triads by Gregory Palamas, a 14th century Orthodox scholar, a proponent of hesychastic theology, or mystical prayer. It was recommended to me by Tatiana at the iconography school.
But in spite of everything, there is still one nagging and gnawing thought returning to my mind with every thought cycle... Narc, Narc, Narc. It hurts and I hate it. Last night at around 11:00, I sent a text to my sponsor:
I'm dying. I want to text him so badly. Going to take a shower to keep myself away from the phone. I feel like I'm white knuckling it with Narc. It's maddening!!
Pray. Take it one day, was her reply.
So, that's what I'm trying to do. But it hurts so fucking bad. It hurts so much more than it shows... more than I will ever let on.
But, I'm trying... I'm still trying...
love,
h
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Keeping it "Semi-Real"
Here's a little update:
Under the tutelage of Bezoukhoff and shortly after a viewing of Zodiac, the following message was sent to Narc:
Well, I hope you get done what you need to do. But frankly, I thought this was a rather strange email. I’ve known you for a pretty long time. You’ve had a lot of this on your plate for a while now and it hasn’t precluded you from being able to “surface.” If you don’t want to see me because you don’t want to see me, simply say so. But this just seems kind of cagey and leaves me feeling strange.
Anyway, take care--
Hyde
I am nervous, but emboldened by my own audacity. I still hate this.
Under the tutelage of Bezoukhoff and shortly after a viewing of Zodiac, the following message was sent to Narc:
Well, I hope you get done what you need to do. But frankly, I thought this was a rather strange email. I’ve known you for a pretty long time. You’ve had a lot of this on your plate for a while now and it hasn’t precluded you from being able to “surface.” If you don’t want to see me because you don’t want to see me, simply say so. But this just seems kind of cagey and leaves me feeling strange.
Anyway, take care--
Hyde
I am nervous, but emboldened by my own audacity. I still hate this.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
I can't breathe
Narc to Hyde:
Knew it was only a matter of time...!
http://www.esquire.com/the-side/link/24murders022007
Narc
Hyde to Narc:
Ha ha ha ha!!! Jack is definitely a hunter...
PS: You are rather "underground" these days... I don't mean to keep texting you, but I miss hanging out. Wanna do a movie night or something soon... you can continue my '80's movie education...
love,
Hyde
Narc to Hyde:
Balancing quite a few projects at the moment: "Oceans" fundraising; friend's site re-design; biz plan for video community; reality show; medical bills; and now new writing class... Will re-surface soon, let you know
--Narc
I don't believe him.
Knew it was only a matter of time...!
http://www.esquire.com/the-side/link/24murders022007
Narc
Hyde to Narc:
Ha ha ha ha!!! Jack is definitely a hunter...
PS: You are rather "underground" these days... I don't mean to keep texting you, but I miss hanging out. Wanna do a movie night or something soon... you can continue my '80's movie education...
love,
Hyde
Narc to Hyde:
Balancing quite a few projects at the moment: "Oceans" fundraising; friend's site re-design; biz plan for video community; reality show; medical bills; and now new writing class... Will re-surface soon, let you know
--Narc
I don't believe him.
TT's Tongue
I was supposed to spend the evening with Hammer watching Borat until I decided I was too lazy to meander down to the West Village. So... how did I end up with TT's tongue down my throat?
I really don't understand why he is still interested in me. But he really is... He told me that he is "lusting for me" and he thinks I am "an amazing woman." He said that he's "trying to behave," but that I make it difficult because I'm "so damn cute."
That all freaks me out. I don't even understand that... it's like he's speaking another language. I felt nothing... numb... I wanted to laugh as if it were all a joke. I felt out of myself and distracted and annoyed that I don't know how to say "no" when someone wants to put his tongue down my throat.
With a tongue in my mouth (and a pang in my gut) all I can think about is Narc. Meanwhile, Narc has been ignoring me all week long. On Thursday morning I got the gall to send him a text: I hate it when you don't answer my texts, I wrote. I hope everything is OK...
(Of course I had to couch it in a way that made it look like I was merely concerned about HIM. Nothing is allowed to be about ME... God forbid!)
He wrote back: Am still here. Going to get my blood tested again today...
And that was the last I heard from him even though I called him last night and then texted him around 10:00 today: How was your day?
Narc isn't interested in me right now. And so, I have no power. I have to just accept it and wait. I can't have him until he summons me again. I hate it.
I am overwhelmed with guilt and self hatred these days. Things are coming up for me that I haven't allowed myself to think about ever. I told my therapist something today that I've never told to another living soul. It has thrown me into a state of confusion. It makes me hate myself, but I know that it is a step towards coming to terms with myself. Everything is in flux. I don't know who I am. With Narc, it's easy-- I'm negated. When I'm with Narc, I have to be Narc. There is no Hyde. I'm annihilated and I love it. Yes... that's why I like it, I think. I am relieved of the burden of existence. (Except that never really works... part of me always remains and it gets eaten away at more and more each time). But with TT, I don't know who to be. I don't even know who to be when I'm alone with myself. I think that's why it's harder for me to blog these days.
I had a good day today-- a really difficult therapy session in the morning, some work on my fourth step, coffee with Anxious (and a shopping spree at Mac) and then an evening AA meeting.
I didn't think it would end up like this-- 1:30 am and my new hot pink lip lacquer all kissed off.
I saw PumpedUp tonight. He was a little tipsy and told me that the last words that IrishBird said to him were "I don't ever want to speak to you or see your face again!" He was sad. He gave me a Cheers t-shirt which I love. Is it weird for an alcoholic to cherish and want to wear a t-shirt from her favorite bar?
I kissed TT, but I'm so anxious about Narc tonight. If only this were the old days, I'd be drunk right now... I could call Narc drunk. We would go to the Patriot and I could feel passionate.
It's hard to find passion when you have no fucking clue who you are anymore.
Ugh. I better go to bed. I'm going to a 9:15 women's meeting tomorrow morning.
I'm confused. Did I say that already?
love,
h
I really don't understand why he is still interested in me. But he really is... He told me that he is "lusting for me" and he thinks I am "an amazing woman." He said that he's "trying to behave," but that I make it difficult because I'm "so damn cute."
That all freaks me out. I don't even understand that... it's like he's speaking another language. I felt nothing... numb... I wanted to laugh as if it were all a joke. I felt out of myself and distracted and annoyed that I don't know how to say "no" when someone wants to put his tongue down my throat.
With a tongue in my mouth (and a pang in my gut) all I can think about is Narc. Meanwhile, Narc has been ignoring me all week long. On Thursday morning I got the gall to send him a text: I hate it when you don't answer my texts, I wrote. I hope everything is OK...
(Of course I had to couch it in a way that made it look like I was merely concerned about HIM. Nothing is allowed to be about ME... God forbid!)
He wrote back: Am still here. Going to get my blood tested again today...
And that was the last I heard from him even though I called him last night and then texted him around 10:00 today: How was your day?
Narc isn't interested in me right now. And so, I have no power. I have to just accept it and wait. I can't have him until he summons me again. I hate it.
I am overwhelmed with guilt and self hatred these days. Things are coming up for me that I haven't allowed myself to think about ever. I told my therapist something today that I've never told to another living soul. It has thrown me into a state of confusion. It makes me hate myself, but I know that it is a step towards coming to terms with myself. Everything is in flux. I don't know who I am. With Narc, it's easy-- I'm negated. When I'm with Narc, I have to be Narc. There is no Hyde. I'm annihilated and I love it. Yes... that's why I like it, I think. I am relieved of the burden of existence. (Except that never really works... part of me always remains and it gets eaten away at more and more each time). But with TT, I don't know who to be. I don't even know who to be when I'm alone with myself. I think that's why it's harder for me to blog these days.
I had a good day today-- a really difficult therapy session in the morning, some work on my fourth step, coffee with Anxious (and a shopping spree at Mac) and then an evening AA meeting.
I didn't think it would end up like this-- 1:30 am and my new hot pink lip lacquer all kissed off.
I saw PumpedUp tonight. He was a little tipsy and told me that the last words that IrishBird said to him were "I don't ever want to speak to you or see your face again!" He was sad. He gave me a Cheers t-shirt which I love. Is it weird for an alcoholic to cherish and want to wear a t-shirt from her favorite bar?
I kissed TT, but I'm so anxious about Narc tonight. If only this were the old days, I'd be drunk right now... I could call Narc drunk. We would go to the Patriot and I could feel passionate.
It's hard to find passion when you have no fucking clue who you are anymore.
Ugh. I better go to bed. I'm going to a 9:15 women's meeting tomorrow morning.
I'm confused. Did I say that already?
love,
h
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)