Temperance, thy name is...

…Well, Temperance. And, also, not me. Winged water-bearer, creature of earth and sky and sea, dynamic balance of head and heart, moderation of the spirit. Freaking bane of my existence.

I’ve gotten better at finding the middle ground, I really have. But “getting better” in this context really just means that I acknowledge, more often than not, that there could be a middle ground, and that I consider it a viable option about 30% of the time. Believe me, this is progress.

Extremes are just so much more apparent, more… I don’t know. Real. Passionate and intense and discernable, and so often they have these clear delineations of moral right and wrong, making angsty issues like responsibility and regret so much easier to deal with. I simply must do one thing, or not do another, to be good and right. The rest, all the doubts or losses or hurt feelings, are simply the price of moral behavior. A noble sacrifice, even. I’ve boiled my life down to these sorts of decisions for as long as I can remember, and I’m only starting to realize that it’s no more than another way to dodge responsibility and assuage my guilt, the sort of cheap morality and willful ignorance that I hate so much when I see it in others.

One of the oddest quirks to humanity, in my opinion, is our need to feel justified and morally right. Some people need external validation of this, a divine measuring stick or a group of people to assure them that they are, indeed, good; others are simply self-assured of their own morality. You can dress it up as religion or politics or personal creed, but at its root it’s all the same thing. People want, desperately need, to feel that they are good and right. In fact, the absence of this drive is thought to be a sign of mental illness. So then why does it bug me so much? I know this drive is much more conscious for me than is the norm, a constant consideration in daily life. It haunts me, this feeling that I’m bad, bad, bad, that if I believe anything else, even for just a moment, that I’m lying to myself. And it’s so easy to lie to yourself in matters of morality and self-image. I know everyone does it, that it’s the inevitable result of that inborn desire to be good, but I want to be different. (Maybe that, more than morality, is the issue here.)

I can’t be perfect. I will mess up. I’ve accepted these things, and despite hating them with every fiber of my being, I know that they are, and will be, reality. However, I’m not willing to accept that I will constantly lie to myself about my own worth, about matters of moral justification and ethical behavior. I see so many people who are, in my estimation, terrible, selfish, and cruel, who believe themselves to be good. And so, there’s this constant paranoia that I’m bad and I just don’t see it, that if I let up for one second on my relentless need to analyze my own motives I’ll end up evil and cruel without ever knowing it.

The result? Chronic low self-esteem and a neurotic need for reassurance. I suspect that the solution to this (like so many other issues in my life) can be found in the elusive, murky realm of temperance.

Complexity abounds

If you are B, please stop reading. Now. I mean it. Do not bookmark this site again. Do not read any further. This is my place to vent, and it is invalidated when you read it to “keep up” with me. It crosses the line from showing interest to prying. I will talk to you about it when I’m ready. I mean it. Just stop.

And hopefully he will respect that.

I’ve been holding back so much out of fear that he’ll find his way back here and hold the things I say against me. And I have so much to say.

It has been 5 months since I found out about her. 5 months since I laid out, as clearly and fairly as I possibly could, what I needed from him to convince myself I wasn’t an idiot for staying. The things he could say or do that would help me trust him again, that would show he didn’t intend to go back to the same behavior. Things that would be my personal motivation to stop being the snooping, obsessive, email-reading, jealous shrew I had become. They were not simple things, but not impossible. Things like confronting our mutual friends who encouraged him to lie to me. Talking to her, telling her to move on with her life and quit calling, emailing, and generally pining away as though she was still 16. I wrote these things down so that they could not be forgotten or misremembered. I gave them to him in a letter (which has been in my drawer for the past 4 months because he didn’t even notice when he lost it).

He initially told me he would do all this and more. That he loved me more that he had ever loved anyone and was terrified by the thought of losing me. That he was sorry, so terribly sorry, for his asinine behavior. Did I believe him? Hell no. I’ve had way too much of that shit in my life at this point. Telling me what I want to hear is chaep and easy. I waited for him to do it.

And waited.

And waited. Five months now.

We’ve talked about this plenty during all that waiting. He says that it’s hard, that I'm asking him to humiliate himself to do these things, and he’ll do them, but I had to give him time. (For the record, I’m asking for humility, not humiliation. A subtle distinction that I’m slowly realizing he is unable to make. I find this deeply unsettling.) And so, in an attempt to be fair (and to keep myself sane) I set a time limit: 6 months. If you can’t get up the nerve to make a phone call given 6 months of prep time, odds are you aren’t ever going to make it.

The clock runs out October 13th. And I’m scared to death.

It’s readily apparent that he’s not going to do the things I asked for; this part no longer worries me. It simply is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it. The problem is entirely about me not wanting to hold to my own rules. It starts with how things have been between us this summer. He has been incredible. Not perfect by any means, but for the most part he’s been attentive, communicative, and kind, a complete 180 from how things were before I found out about her. But in the last month or so he’s become progressively more withdrawn and sullen. There are viable reasons for this, and… Well, hell. The bottom line is, I don’t know what to think. He’s reminded me of what I love about him this summer, and I’ve pulled my heart back out of it’s protective shell a bit. Furthermore, we just signed a 12-month lease. The m-word hangs heavy on the horizon, and there is some talk of buying a new car. Mostly, though, I don’t know how to be the bad guy. Whether or not he’s trustworthy or has kept his word (or, really, if any of this has been more than lip service) is immaterial. It would tear him to pieces if I left. Break his heart, and I’m not sure, given his history, that he would get through it. I still love him, furious and untrusting though I may be, and the thought of hurting him that way is… just… Wow. I don’t know if I could do it.

But for me? I think it might be better in the long run.

What the hell am I going to do? If this deadline comes and goes and I do nothing, I’m pretty much rolling out a welcome mat over my face that reads “please walk all over me.” Showing him that I don’t mean what I say, and that he can treat me however he wants as long as he apologizes afterward. I’ve played that game more than enough and I know exactly where it gets you. And I have such trouble with finding a justifiable middle ground here. Walking away is for my own good and self-respect. Staying and trying to make him change him would be pointless, not to mention petty and juvenile. But am I ready to leave? Now? Leave behind this new life I’ve been building, pay the releasing fee and try to get a new apartment while searching for a new job? Bad plan. Wake up cold and alone every morning? Hard, but I think I could do it. Break his heart? No. Just… no.

And the worst part? A little part of me is waiting for it anyway, looking forward to being single, free to pursue my own interests without any guilt of leaving him behind. Eager to find someone who thinks I’m fascinating and beautiful, or even get that wonderful fluttery feeling in my stomach when I meet someone new and not feel like a disloyal whore. And as ashamed as I am to admit it, thinking about my ex. No chance of anything new there, but thinking about him all the same. Is it just me, or does this sound like the beginning of the end?

Waiting...

Well, I still don’t have a new apartment and don’t know when I will. But there is good news, and it involves neither an amphibian nor insurance of any kind. We were able to pro-rate through the first weekend of the month in our old apartment, which means that I am not, at this point in time, homeless. Heavenly choirs sung, the sun shone down, and I even did a little dance of glee when I found out. Of course, we’re living out of boxes and tripping all over each other, but we’re doing it in the comfort of our own home, so we’re not complaining.

I talked to the manager at the new apartment this morning, and got the same old “I’ll call you when the paperwork is ready.” I’m sure I’m driving her nuts calling her everyday, and I really don’t care. For some strange reason I don’t really have a strong sense of trust or confidence with these people. Can’t imagine why.

Updates in my personal life include increased allocation of time to my vegetarian friends (God bless the hippies, they challenge my assumptions and remind me that not being a consumerist whore is not only possible, but worthwhile) and an uncomfortable distance between B and myself. We’re both stressed out from the apartment situation and his work is taking up a lot of his time and emotional energy, but honestly, I think there’s more than just that going on. He encourages me to spend more time with my friends, read new books and grow as a person, and yet he doesn’t seem to want to do any of these things himself. He says he’s proud of me, and curious about what’s going on with me, and yet he turns a deaf ear when I try to share new ideas or insights. I’m frustrated and verging on fed up. He’s just as intelligent and capable as I am, but you’d never know that by listening to him. All I can get him to talk about is his damn video game, and he refuses to read any new books, even when I beg. When I try to talk to him about it and address the issue head-on, he makes excuses, tells me how much smarter I am than him and how he just cant’ retain knowledge the same way I do. I know full well that’s not true, but even if it were, I would love to see him at least make the effort. I’m bored and intellectually stifled, and just desperate to find new ideas, new dreams, new concepts and ways of looking at the world. And damnit, I am finding them, but it’s driving a wedge between us.

I’m so attracted to intelligence, to a man who can challenge my mind with new ideas and perspectives. It’s sexy, it’s exciting, and it’s really the primary thing I look for in any kind of relationship. I get bored with out it. And right now, I’m bored with him, and I hate myself for it. He’s good to me, loves me and does his best to take care of me and encourage me in all things, but he’s setting himself below me right now, and as much as I hate it I’m starting to see him that way myself. I know, without a doubt, that he’s capable of as much as I am. It’s what drew me to him in the first place, was so stark and undeniable that I was attracted to him against my better judgment, and I know full well I didn’t just imagine it. I don’t know what’ going on with him right now, if this is another aspect of the depression, some lack of confidence or even just laziness, but whatever it is, I’m sick of it. There are attractive, intelligent men in my life who I have to hold at arm’s length for fear of developing some attachment, and I know it wouldn’t even be an issue if I was getting some of the same at home.

I miss the way we used to talk to eachother. I miss the way he challenged me, gave me something new to think about every time we talked. I know that emotional intensity fades over time, but I didn’t think it would be the same with intellectual intensity. I want so badly to be captivated, or even a little bit intrigued. Instead I’m just bored and starting to resent it. It’s one thing to not be physically attracted to someone anymore, but to not be intellectually attracted… I don’t know how long I can live with that.