Matches

There is something destructive in love. At least, for me, there was always something destructive. Maybe I should say there is something self-destructive in love. It's a passion that can make one lay all else aside to chase it. The right woman can start a fire in a man that is never-ending. Or it can last for a moment, and then it's gone. There are parts that are never the same again. As a man who loves hard, I can say the loss of love comes even harder. Choosing the wrong woman is just another form of self-destruction.

I can't see through the veil of anger right now. I can't see my future. I am wrapped — as with a blanket — in pure hate. I hate myself. I want to die. There is so much self-hatred inside me right now, it feels like it will explode. The reasons have become clear. I've had so many self-destructive habits (like smoking, drinking, workaholism, etc.). I've wanted to erase my existence for as long as I can remember. Where did all of this hate come from?

There was no love in my home when I was growing up. Being the youngest of three boys of a basketcase mom and alcoholic/workaholic/perfectionistic father meant I often had to escape my home in order to find solace. Indeed, I became a loner early on. It was much, much safer than the alternative. My love of nature probably came about because people were so damn mean to me. And by people, I mean my family, although adults were frequently mean to me because of my father's stance on politics and position in the community. 

There is cruelty in being a man. Three boys and a seemingly soulless father in one house was like a box of cruelty. Unable to fight because of my stature (believe me, I tried), my only option was flight. There is aggression in all of us. You see it every day in traffic, on the news, your favorite sports teams, various wars and skirmishes across the planet. It's in all of us. Men are violent, bestial things. We are built to fight, to conquer, to take by force, to penetrate, to send our genes into this burning world in a desperate bid to live forever. My father and one of my brothers are the cruelest people I know. Their words and actions will forever haunt me. 

My ex-wife used to remark how different I was from my brothers and father. I just thought she was yet again telling me I'm weird. But it turns out she saw how I was not like those cruel monsters. She was wrong, of course. I was cruel, too. I was just cruel to myself. I turned my aggression on myself. I fought with myself. I internalized my tormentors, letting them loose inside to wreak havoc. 

When I was a little boy, I found I could manufacture what I was missing. I could create "love," evidenced by finding masturbation at an early age. What a miracle that was. No people necessary! Hell, I could masturbate in nature! Win-win! Of course, it's a cheap substitute for actual love. And probably a lot messier.

As I grew older, I found there was nothing that could fill the void I felt. I turned to God more and more, and that was refreshing. Here I found the unconditional love I wanted. Here I was accepted in the beloved, welcomed with open arms. God's love flowed into me from an unseen, never-ending source. Here was a love that had no downside and no guilt, no shame. What a blessing. This great discovery, no doubt, saved my life. 

After recently extricating myself from a bad relationship — and after having a scrape with a real relationship with a real woman whom I gave my heart to in a real way previously thought impossible — I have fallen back to a safe place with God. I've sealed myself off in a way, and for a time. I think this is part of my healing process. I can't get better if I'm going out and getting more wounds. It's clear I need to be careful and prayerful with the next steps in my life. 

It's only during times of prayer and fasting that the anger goes away. I'm sure psychology will say all sorts of things about my situation, my self-hatred. But I think it has all come to the surface at this time for a reason. And so I give it to God. And I have to let it go. I have to walk away. 

There may never be another woman in my life. I've thought about it many times. Clearly, I'm nowhere near being ready for a new relationship. Besides that, though, I like the idea that the last woman I fell in love with was her, the woman I fell in love with during my separation. She has always meant so much to me. I will leave a memorial for her in my heart. She deserves so much more than that, of course. It feels perfect, actually, that she was the last one. We burned like matches — flared up intensely and for a short time — and in the end there was nothing left, much like the lives all of us lead. 

I guess you can say I'm done playing with matches.