I wrote my post this morning, and then... well, then I was pretty much paralyzed for the whole day. I can't stop thinking about Doug. I can't stop missing him. I can't stop crying.
The whole world is losing its mind over SARS-CoV-2 (the pandemic formerly known as COVID-19), and I can't even muster up the energy to care. I WISH I could catch it; with my immune system as screwed as it probably is from lack of sleep, lack of proper nutrition, and off-the-charts stress, I'm sure I'd have a good shot at checking out.
I've been thinking today about the bond that Doug and I shared. I remember, as a teenager, reading Chaim Potok's The Chosen, and one particular phrase has stuck with me all these years: "True friends are like two bodies with one soul." And marriage is a ritual by which two people become one, right? Doug and I were true friends; we did become one. So OF COURSE I feel like I died too; half of me DID.
I don't mean to suggest that I wasn't a whole person on my own, because I was: our relationship wasn't codependent; it was interdependent. Together, Doug and I were so much more, and so much better, than each of us was alone. We were smarter together, we were funnier together, we were kinder together, and we were simply more together.
So when I say I can only have half a life without him, I'm not exaggerating.
Kathleen's Grand Thought Experiment
I said I wanted to help you to get inside my head so that you could have a hope of understanding why I'm so convinced that life without Doug isn't worth living. Tonight, I'm going to give you the setup. This is a lot of really personal history, and most of it is ugly. But I can't think of any other way to help you understand where I'm coming from. Apologies in advance for making your eyes bleed.
The early years
Imagine that you were born as the youngest of three children. Your older siblings are seven (that would be my brother) and six (my sister) when you're born. Imagine that you idolize your older sister from the time you're old enough to have any sense of self, but that she sees you as an irritation (she's long since gotten over that, but it was absolutely true in my early years).
Now, imagine that your father is abusive, both to your mother and to all three of the kids. He never hit the kids (although he hit Mom plenty), but he was very fond of making sure we knew what disappointments we were. Get a 97 on a test? Dad would be there to ask where the other three points went.
Really, internalize this: the man who is your blueprint for future relationships is physically abusive to his wife and emotionally abusive to his kids.
School years
Now, because your home life sucks and all you want is the approval of people in authority, imagine that you go to school and strive to be THE BEST STUDENT EVER. Let's throw in there that your mom won't let you wear jeans to school - it's all dresses, all the time. And let's imagine that you were an early and prodigious reader. So we have a brainy, attention-seeking, overdressed little girl who only wants to please the people in charge. Is this a recipe for being the unpopular and picked-on, dreaded Teacher's Pet? You bet your ass it is. To say that I was unpopular would be an understatement of epic proportions. I had a couple of friends (and I do mean a couple), but that was it.
Meanwhile, my sister was held up as a beacon of what I should be: she was the pretty one (don't deny it, Sis - that's what the older family members ALWAYS said), who had a boyfriend pretty much non-stop from the time she was 14, knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life from the time she was a little girl, and had a circle of friends that would be the envy of anyone. I was the chubby, melodramatic chatterbox who wanted desperately to be liked but never measured up.
My brother wasn't overly popular either, but he and I really just tried to stay out of each other's way. He kinda hated me too.
And dear old Dad continued his greatest hits of pointing out how I wasn't good enough.
By middle school, I learned I had some musical talent, and some acting talent, and that helped me put together a circle of friends. But being actually popular eluded me. That's probably because I hated myself (thanks, Dad!), but who knows?
By high school, I started dating, and thus began a pattern of dating boys (and then men) who carried on my father's pattern of pointing out all the ways in which I was inadequate or unattractive or just plain not good enough.
Young adulthood
During my senior year of high school, my father finally left for good (he'd done this a few times before, for periods of varying length). My mom started living again. I graduated from high school and started working full-time, because affording college was out of the question. I started doing community theatre, and really found my people.
I met my first serious boyfriend the summer before my senior year. He looked like a cross between Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman, was a student at Seton Hall, and was the REAL start of my pattern of dating men who liked me but not really. We dated for a year before he dumped me for a girl with no tits and a great ass - after telling me that I'd be really beautiful if I lost fifteen pounds. (At the time, I was 5'1" and weighed about 130; not fat AT ALL, but I thought I was a total heifer. If I'd known then how fat I'd end up, I probably would've taken myself out years ago.)
Then, Mom died when I was 24 (and dating another guy who liked me but not really). Shortly thereafter, I got involved with someone in my theatre community, who once again threw me over for another woman. Are you seeing the pattern here?
The Return of the sperm donor and Thing One
When I was 27 or so, my sister got a call from a woman saying that she was our father's "new" wife, and she'd decided it was time to get back in touch with his children. SHE'D decided that, mind you. Trying to be openminded, I agreed to visit him.
Would you like to know what the first thing was that my father said to me after TEN YEARS with no communication? "Boy, YOU got fat." Is it any wonder I have self-esteem issues to this day?
Earlier that year, I'd met and started dating the man who eventually became my first husband (we'll call him Thing One). When we met, he was still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. I think he decided to propose because he was at the age when it was expected to pair up, and I was pretty crazy about him. To be fair, I thought I was in love with him, but it was the same pattern as always - I was repeating the pattern of getting involved with men who didn't approve of me but threw me enough scraps of affection that I'd stick around. So we moved to Tennessee (that's another long story that I won't get into here) and got married.
Our marriage was not good. We both had plenty of issues, and neither of us had the skills to cope with them. Plus, y'know, he wasn't actually in love with me, so there was that. We stuck it out for a few years, then he left me, then a close friend of ours died - which brought us back together. And then we had our son, who was the ONE good thing to come out of all those years of adulthood.
Divorce the First and the aftermath
When my son was three, I divorced Thing One. I'm not going to go into details as to why, but it was totally justified, and the best thing for all of us. No hard feelings.
But I was left with a toddler, a big mortgage payment, lots of debt, and no family nearby (he ended up moving to Missouri when he met his now-wife).
For FOUR YEARS, I didn't date. At all. No one-night-stands, no nothing. I was Andrew's Mom, and that's it. I figured, with all that time solo, surely I wouldn't make the same mistakes again; surely I'd break my pattern.
Hah. Don't call me Shirley.
The first fella I dated after my divorce was a super nice, super cool guy. Who was still hung up on his ex-wife. And who really, REALLY liked me, but who - as it turns out - wasn't even the LEAST BIT attracted to me. So much for breaking the pattern, huh?
For the next few years, I dated casually here and there, but nothing serious.
Almost dying will FUCK YOU UP
Fast forward to July 2007. Life was good; I'd been promoted at work, I had a decent circle of friends (all from work, since I had no life of my own), and Andrew had just flown up to NYC to spend a few weeks with Thing One's sister. It was time for Mom to have fun.
But the Tuesday after he left, I came down the the flu. At least, that's what it felt like - fever, cough, muscle aches, all hitting me instantly like a freight train.
So I called in to work for a few days, but it wasn't getting better. A friend brought me some supplies from the local Kroger, took one look at me, and made me take my temp while he stood there: my fever was 104.8. Spoiler alert, kids: the flu doesn't cause a fever that high. It also doesn't usually strike in July, but I was so hypoxic that my brain wasn't working.
Long story short, after a trip to the doctor and a chest X-ray, I was put on oral antibiotics. Which did nothing. After another trip to the doctor and another X-ray, I was hospitalized. Within an hour of being admitted, I was moved to the ICU because my O2 saturation dropped into the 80s. The ICU doctor - pulmonology being his specialty - was concerned that I was developing Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, because in the CT scan, my lungs looked "like ground glass."
I was in the ICU overnight, in the hospital for five days, and out of work for a full month. I realized that, if I didn't get myself back out there, I was going to die alone.
Enter Thing Two, or: there are worse things than dying alone
I settled into online dating, determined that I was going to find my life partner. What's sad - REALLY SAD - is that Doug was single and doing online dating at that same time, and lived only a few miles from me. But we never crossed paths then. At least, not that I remember. What haunts me is the possibility that he may have sent me a message that I ignored, and we could've had that much more time together. Instead, he got saddled with his OWN horrible marriage choice during that time.
I met Thing Two at a time when, clearly, I was vulnerable. And man, did he take advantage of that. He seemed to be everything Thing One was not: responsible, mature, serious... In reality, he was an excellent pretender who was, I guess, looking for a woman who would make his life easier. He wasn't responsible so much as he had a big inheritance from his mother. He fancied himself an entrepreneur, but really he was too lazy to get a job. He wasn't serious so much as he was humorless. Certainly, he wasn't interested in actually loving me. But I didn't see that. I continued to not see it for more than four years, and I finally left him when it became clear that he was never going to give my son the companionship and love that a bonus parent should.
Finally breaking the pattern
When I left Thing Two, Andrew was about to get his driver's license. As soon as he did, I started doing theatre again - I knew I needed to get a life before he went away to college, lest I become a crazy cat lady.
Over the next couple of years, I built a terrific social support system of friends I loved who loved me back. And I dated a bit. But this time, I had a new approach: I was staying single for good. I had a great life, and I was happy (as happy as I could have been, but I didn't know what I was missing). Nothing and no one was going to mess with my love for myself or my life. Dating was fine, but cohabiting and marriage were absolutely off the table. There was one fella in particular I really liked, but he dumped me for the woman he ended up marrying (no hard feelings there; he was a good guy, and they're happy together). I don't consider him part of my old pattern for two big reasons: one, he really did like me, and really did think I was beautiful; and two, we agreed not to be exclusive (remember, I was staying single).
So, there you have it. This is the summary of my history with men, my lack of affection for myself, and my deep, DEEP belief that I was unappealing, unattractive, and completely unlovable.
Tomorrow, if I have the energy, I'll tell you about Doug.
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