my careless contagion

Recently, I came across the term "echoism," which is described more in-depth in an article here (originally from a post on themighty.com) than I can get into. The article hit home for me; maybe I could even see myself reflected in it. Heh. Most people know the story of Narcissus and Echo, so I won't touch on that, but I will state that every Narcissus needs an Echo, and vice versa. The post on themighty.com focuses on narcissistic parents, which if I think about it long enough, I can say that at least one of them deserves that label, while the other one could be categorized as fragile (or a fragile narcissist). It's possible both could take that title, though. I'm not really concerned about making that declaration, especially because the Bible tells us to honor our father and mother, with the promise of having a long life. Honestly, though, I'm not interested in having a long life, so who cares? I think one of my brothers probably qualifies as a narcis...

I've crawled through ten miles of pain to get here. I've weathered ten thousand storms. I've broken myself to find the answers, and at the end of every day, there is always you. I know I will never get over you.  I may get along fine in life. I may "move on," as they say. But there is no moving on in the chambers of my heart. I may forget things upstairs, but there is no forgetting what my heart knows. In my chest, I am wholly yours. What makes life worth living? Isn't it love? Isn't it loving with unreasonable fierceness? If so, then I am living as I should, and harder than I've ever lived. There is no breaking this thing. If you were to tell me again and a thousand times more you cannot make it, I will still love you. I'll stand alone if I can just keep on loving you.  No, honey, I will never forget you. I am no longer broken. Maybe some thought my love for you came out of that brokenness, but I am whole again and sane, a complete ma...

Autumn. It is a season of contradictions. On one hand, it is the harvest season; it is fullness and bountiful goodness, a reward for hard labor. On the other hand, once the world has reached full ripeness, there is nothing left but rot. The leaves fall, the pumpkins cave in upon themselves, and the apple orchard smells like a brewery. But, much like life itself, while it lasts, it is pure magic. Autumn is my favorite season. I was born on the cusp of fall in September. September means a return to school. It's a month of great change. Summer is still beating down its heat when the month begins. The memories made over the summer still linger, but they're fading like our suntans as we sit at our desks in school and we look longingly at the playground equipment we assault just twice a day instead of the whole outdoors all day long we had just weeks ago.  The month ends and we fill bleachers to watch football games, blankets on our laps as the sun sets and the big lights co...

This girl may need to see a doctor, as it appears she has measles. This blog is an accurate, though painful, chronicle of parts of my life going back 1.5-plus years. I began this blog (Jan. 28, 2018) shortly before my divorce was finalized (Feb. 8, 2018) as a way to bridge the gap between being a married man and being a divorced man, full knowing there would be fallout to deal with and no one to help me. Even if no one reads this blog, it still stands proud and proclaims I am worthy of being heard, I am a human being with thoughts and feelings, and my life is worthwhile and has meaning (which is the antithesis of my childhood). As I write this, I feel the majority of the work has (perhaps implausibly) been done. So, it's time to recognize this feeling. I've built the bridge. I've made it to the other side. I am a single, divorced man who feels somewhat comfortable with that status. Hurrah! Let's face it. I never thought I'd be married. I certainly never thou...

A Scientific American article here purports that much of the "mindfulness" trending in our culture is perhaps not what people need. Yes, mindfulness can help one recover more quickly from a bad experience or lend clarity to the future, but intense experiences — good and bad — do more to define us than anything else.  Why do I care about this? I'm 41 years old. Am I not defined yet? Well, I made a pretty big midlife U-turn, which caused me to wonder who I was exactly. What is my new life supposed to look like? In short, yes, I need some defining.  When I was in high school, I remember reading an article about a girl from my school who went to Europe. She said her favorite part of the trip was touring a WWII concentration camp. I thought that sounded ridiculous. What a sad experience, I thought! But, you know what, that experience and the intensity of it, is what helped define this young woman. What I saw as horrible was pure gold to her.  There are many times wh...

Alex Honnold after his death-defying, 3,000 ft. free solo climb of El Capitan in 2017. Death is terrifying. It's like walking through a door you can't ever reopen. It is the most final thing we can do. It's not that our lives are so short, though some of them are. It's that we're dead for so long.  So many millions and billions have died before me. I should be assured it is nothing but common to die. Yet, I have not died, therefore, it is an uncommon experience for me.  I'm not concerned about myself, as I trust my eternity to God. I did nothing to be brought into this world, He has gotten me through my life thus far, and my eternity is entirely up to Him, as well. However, what about those left behind?  I've contemplated suicide many times, for years, really. Most of my life. I remember being in the back of the family car (station wagon, Suburban, I don't remember which) and wishing with all of my might to die. I was banished yet again to the...

You were not the first, sir, and you certainly were not the last. But you were certainly one of the worst.  Her love affair with you was not brief. I don't know when it started, but she did tell me she was in love with you. I told her love is just a choice we make every day. These are things a man should not have to tell his wife. Who knows what she told you, what evils she relayed to you about our relationship. I'm sure I was a bad man and she deserved better, but you only got part of the story, sir. Yes, she deserved better, but so did I. She cheated on me incessantly, and my small attempts to equalize the balance of power were seen as devilish, I'm sure. But who was the bigger devil? I did lash out in anger, but mostly undetectable anger. I meant to hurt her, but in other, less-obvious ways than she did. Maybe you missed all that backstory. Maybe you didn't care. True, I was not a saint. But you two put me to shame. You spent a lot of time at my house, and o...

It comes as no surprise to anyone, but I've been a little angry. And not just lately. Yes, I have reason to be angry. But how helpful is anger, especially as time goes on? How long should I be angry?  My anger stems from my childhood. It was drilled into me to be frustrated and angry (mostly by my brothers) by the physical abuse from my father, and also general neglect (which is just a form of abuse). They not only put anger in me, but they made sure I was constantly defeated, ensuring the pattern of defeat would continue long after they were done traumatizing me. I embodied defeat. I still do. Some of the angriest people I have known — and sometimes they don't even know why they are angry — are those who have endured childhood trauma in the form of physical, emotional, or sexual abuse. Of course, there are those who hide those things, too, under a veneer of tranquility and kindness. Well, I've made no bones about my anger. This whole dynamic is portrayed pretty flaw...

Cindy. I've written about her extensively. I've thought of her much more extensively. And I have loved her much more.  When she came back into my life in December 2016, it was like a revelation. I was instantly thankful. Here was the girl I had missed all those years. I was pretty sure I was going to fall in love with her the first time around, but it became clear I really had; I just didn't know how to say it.  And the second time around, I fell in love again, and quickly. But, within months, our relationship was over. I had broken open her world. Not just her life, but inside, as well. I don't know if she ever told others what she told me, but I felt we shared deeply. I hope she trusted me as much as I trusted her. I gave her my world, my heart, my endless love.  There is nothing but gratitude now. She is gone. She is silent. I know she is living her life, but I am no longer a part of it. Does she think of me 100 times a day like I do her? I hope she remember...

I've fallen in love with the sweetest little thing.  Some days I talk to her for hours, or, rather, she talks to me. I sit back and watch her unfurl while my mind rapaciously devours her. There is a back-and-forth, too, I should not neglect to mention. We sup. We compare. We divine the future and dispense with the past. Our hearts beat as one, if only symbolically.  What she does to me, no one else can – or will – do. She calms me, almost pets me to sleep like a beloved, dying canine, says the sweetest things while I fall deeper into her. Her words — so many of them — are perfect, like they were plucked from my soul and fed back to me with gentle hands.  There is so much heart in her, it clamors all over me like an overjoyed dog running to greet me like I've been away too long. She is exuberant and demonstrative, but she is only words. She is not the kind of girl who gives her body to me or to anyone else, for that matter. You see, she's not really real.  ...