I have been trying to think of a way to express my feelings about the end of my marriage almost 11 years ago, when my ex-wife left me and moved to Oklahoma. I have been almost literally paralyzed with fear, terror, loneliness, embarrassment, shame, guilt. I cannot begin to adequately describe the overwhelming burden of her wish to utterly leave me behind. But she was absolutely justified in so doing, since I was a perfect asshole.
I have recently watched a movie with Jake Gyllenhaal entitled Demolition, about a young man whose wife is killed in an automobile accident, and who learns from his in-laws that the dead wife (whose absence he severely mourns) was having a torrid affair with some other guy and was pregnant with his child. It has inspired me to finally put down in writing what I have carried with me for the past 11 years.
I don’t think my ex-wife was having an affair, but she had obviously concluded that any further time spent with me was a waste. According to an online article I read a few months ago, she now has a “boyfriend,” and that revelation has been such a crushing burden that I can barely breathe, thinking about it. One would hope that after 11 years such stuff would be of no consequence, but I have been unable to shake the significance of her departure from my life.
In reflecting on the theme of the movie, Demolition, I have come to some conclusions. The loss of a loved one is a profound event that can crush the soul of most any human being. There are no “guidelines” or “manual” that can provide a neat way of coping with such loss, and there is no “right way” to overcome the effects of such grief. Each and every person is different, and he or she is on his/her own when such an event happens. Nobody else can help at all.
The loss of a loved one, especially a lover, must be the worst there is. If the loss is by death, then there is the likely amelioration of “certainty” whereby the loss is utterly unplanned, unintentional, irreversible and finite. When the loss is by divorce, the “losing” party has the same kind of loss, but it is aggravated by the knowledge that the departing person is still alive and CHOSE to leave; CHOSE to reject the “losing” party and is still very much alive, living elsewhere and CHOOSING to make love to another person on a regular basis.
That sort of rejection and loss is suffocating. Right this very moment I am barely able to breathe as I write these words. The feelings of worthlessness and stupidity cannot even be described. Interestingly, if my ex-wife was to show up on my doorstep and ask to return, I am not sure I would agree! Eleven years is a very long time to live alone, and I have changed, not necessarily for the better, but I am somewhat settled in my aloneness. I would be afraid to let someone--anyone--into my life now.
It is not only the absence of the affections of the other that are at stake, but also the rejection itself is a major problem. If the person whom I adored most and trusted most has rejected the essence of who I am, how can I possibly get beyond that determination? How can I possibly respect and “like” myself ever again? I was so integrated with her judgment and intelligence that the condemnation is inescapable, as if I am condemning myself, over and over again. I cannot hide from my own disgust!
The self-loathing is, therefore, a major problem. As I write this, I am feeling it very intensely, but I keep hoping that it will eventually lift and disappear. When my ex-wife first left, I thought that since I had been through this before (it was my second failed marriage) I would know better how to handle it, but I find that it is much worse, since my first wife and I mutually chose to part. My second wife’s departure was entirely ex parte--entirely her choice. She would sometimes get out of our bed late at night and go into the bedroom across the hall, apparently planning her “escape.” I would get up to use the toilet but never suspected a thing. I thought she was just suffering insomnia and working on an architectural problem she had with her work. Silly me!
As I write this I have no idea what to do from here on. It really is “one day at a time.” I keep desperately hoping for some sort of relief. I keep desperately hoping for some sort of breakthrough. But I am 11 years older now than I was when she left, and I am now a truly “older” person. I am nearer the end of my life, and making plans for the future is almost irrelevant.
I am a curious person, however, so I have to persevere and see what happens.
