God and Marriage

I’m going to be talking more about God on this blog than on my previous (or other) blog simply because it is a huge part of the “Redemption” part of my theme. I wanted it to be a bigger part because I feel the need to be grounded and centered that way. This does not mean I am a perfect Christian. Regular readers know better. It is because of my serious flaws that I am in need of redemption in the first place!

As someone in need of redemption, it would be foolish of me to judge others in need of redemption. And we all do in some fashion whether or not we acknowledge it. There’s the reality for you. so I’m okay with the heathens who want to hang around. You are all entitled to make your own choices.

Square1 again delivers the goods on the topic, so this is just my reply/two cents.

I believe that God takes an active part in our daily lives. I believe He cares deeply for us probably on a level that we can not comprehend. So if I’m going to follow that line of thinking, God somehow has some reason or purpose behind me being hooked up with Arwyn. Earlier this year I did make a definitive statement that my marriage was the hill I would die on. I would die before I would give it up.

God, in typical fashion, decided to put me to a bit of a test on that. And I have failed pretty miserably. The lesson here is that I’m a pretty selfish bastard when it comes down to it and there’s little that I wouldn’t do to save my own ass. Someone out there is wondering why a loving God would test me so. For the same reason a parent eventually lets go of the bicycle seat only to watch their youngin’ fall. A body has to fall once in a while, how else are you going to learn to get up and get back on again? How else is a condescending prick going to learn a bit of humility?

Not getting into specifics on this right now. But it has precipatated this bit of introspection you all are enjoying at the moment. Did God intend on Arwyn and I being together until one of us died? I don’t know God’s precise intentions. I do know that it would please Him greatly if we did but He would love us no less if we didn’t. Something that drives both Arwyn and I is the fear of abandonment. We both have that running through us at all times, in all settings. It is part of the air that we breathe. We feel the other has left us, disappointed us, abandoned us and betrayed each other on some level. There are hurts we have felt that were never fully rendered but they didn’t have to be. Our minds were capable of filling in the gaps and completing any unfinished punishment.

So it is into this mess that God has the opportunity to bring order. If He can restore balance and harmony here, He can do it anywhere. One of the few things working for us at this point is that Arwyn and I are both terribly tenacious in our stubborness. Neither wants to admit defeat and give in. There’s a part of me that hopes that this will sort of blow over with time. Maybe we can weather this out and arrive somewhere much better.

I read of a survey of around 1,000 couples where they discovered that many of them were extremely unhappy in their marriages. Five years later, they surveyed these couples again. They actually found that those who were the unhappiest that stayed married were more happy five years later than either the divorced folks or those who were happier earlier in their marriage. The conclusion reached by the researchers was that some discord, unhappiness and trouble was necessary to a healthy marriage! What’s more, was that those who persevered through the worst seemed to reap the biggest dividends.

None of that study had anything to do with God, except that God is not there to prptect us from every consequence, bump and scrape that we get ourselves in to. He is actually more interested in our character than our comfort. Marriage is the perfect manifestation of that dynamic because as long as we cling to our own comfort like a dog on to a bone, we are going to be handed more misery. At least that’s what I’m learning at the moment. So the answer seems to be to give up more of my own comfort, embrace the misery and get on with whatever Arwyn wants to dish out.

There’s something new. Easier said than done, because I need to give up whatever my terms are. Let her have it all if she wants. We’ll go to the poor house or jail or wherever we’re meant to be. This is where a faith in my own Heaven-ward destination offers me something in the way of comfort.

At this point, this rambling is me just noodling this out while writing. I do this more often than I care to admit and sometimes something just comes right out like that bit above. That’s why blogging does what it does for me. Consider that this came forth because I was reading Square1, who was reading Housewyfe, and then I posted stuff. Square1 posted more stuff in comments and so did Ed and Marie and some other folks, which all came together, here, to make this concoction you’re reading right now. God wastes nothing, even using a heathen like Ed to reveal whatever truth and reality might be lying around for me to dig up. It really is a group effort.

So now I have some positive things to think about and consider.
D.

Monogamy Sex

06/29/2005

Wednesday

I just finished reading Housewyfe Wendy’s offering on monogamy and sex. It really got my blood up. A LOT.

This could get bloody.

Actually, the comments got me as much as the post itself.

Let’s make something perfectly clear; Housewyfe is a fantasy. She might as well be a writer for Penthouse Forum. In fact, I’d rather read her than Penthouse. After reading her lovely blog for a few months, however, I had to quit. It was entirely too painful. She is a skilled and insightful writer who really does a wonderful job writing descriptively. But reading her, for me, was an exercise in frustration. True to what she offered in her latest entry, I would have no hope of keeping up with someone like her. She’s wonderfully erotic, sensual, loving, open and intimate. But there is a certain amount of pressure that goes along with that. Fortunately for her, Caveman is the perfect man for the job.

Her writing is skilled enough to evoke some fairly powerful emotions within me. And not a lot of them are good. The frustration outweighed any vicarious pleasure I might have gained. Any guy thinking he can put himself in the caveman’s shoes is really pipe-dreaming. C’mon back to reality, boys.

She did make an exceedingly insightful comment about earning her way in to or out of the marriage. That needs some more exploration by someone with more insight than I have at the moment. Square1 gave a fair treatment of it from the perspective of Jimmy Evans. He does have a pretty firm grasp on the Biblical perspective of fidelity. And for a Christian, the Bible should be the final word on the matter.

But I feel the need to be a bit more oppositional and incendiary at the moment. So I’m going out of bounds, Biblically speaking.

One commenter had the audacity to propose that us husbands might get more sex if we vaccuumed and did the dishes. That is unadultrated horsecrap. You think Housewyfe might get a richer schedule of sex if she’d just mow the lawn and change the oil in caveman’s truck once in awhile? For a LL woman, doing more chores translates into doing more chores. She uses the time freed up by a horny mate, not for sex, but for starting some other projects. Many of these projects are ones the husband will end up having to finish. If I do too many chores my wife will eventually put me off in order to change the cat litter. And we haven’t had a cat in over two years. The More Housework=More Sex is a myth.

If the division of labor is a problem, sex can be used as a chip to get more done around the house. But the opposite is NOT true.

Most women could eliminate almost all the daily chores from their lives and their horny husbands would be happy to do it. See “Real Women Don’t Do Housework” for an in-depth treatment of how to do it. Most women won’t do it, though. They resent the manipulation of reinforcement preferring the bitchiness of punishment and coercion.

Let’s move on to the monogamy bit. I agree with many of the writers’ personal stance on this matter. I don’t advocate cheating from a moral standpoint. However, if a woman is going to play the part of the ice queen, she needs to see the part she is playing, here. Juxtapose her punishing, cold and aversive ways with the warm enticements, kindness and pleasures offered by someone else…just exactly what do you expect him to do? He’s only human, afterall.

During Bill Clinton’s second term, I was as critical of him as anyone else. I thought he had disgraced the office, and was a beast. I still think he’s a terrible role model in light of his numerous bimbo explosions and the numerous rapes, murders and deaths surrounding his presidency. But I do have more compassion for the man, nowadays after having to live years with a woman who isn’t half as spiteful as Hillary. Every single day, that man would leave his angry, cold, calculating wife, and emerge the most powerful man on earth. Inside, he couldn’t help but be wounded by a woman who had never quite respected him.

Think about that. He spent so much of his life acquiring respect, power and admiration. He wanted people to like him. He wanted to be wanted. But the coldness of his wife was obvious and unrelenting. Each and every day, he went to work with a wounded heart. So along comes a spritely intern, flashing her thong and willing to play with cigars. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Vaccuum the rug? Wash the dishes?

Princess Diana was a woman who thought she had found her prince. She found depression, misery and lonliness. What the hell was *she* supposed to do? Wear sexier lingerie? Cook a few more enticing meals? Submit to her husband?

It’s so easy for us to judge others. But it is not as if either Hillary or Charles were willing to contend for their spouses against the forces of temptation that exist in the world. There is wickedness out there that does not sleep. These men and women are responsible for their decisions and the consequences should they decide to have an affair. But the indignant spouse plays his/her own role and stands to reap the bitter harvest of all the lonliness and lack of intimacy sown over the years.

If a spouse is doing everything they can do to contend for their spouse against this sort of temptation then they have a clear conscience. But a woman condemning a healthy, loving man to a state of semi-celibacy needs to examine her own self before playing the part of the one who is victimized.

In the Garden of Eden, Adam should have evicted the serpent at the outset. He allowed Eve to talk to the snake in the first place. When Eve offered him the fruit, she didn’t have to look around for Adam. She didn’t have to wait for him to come home and didn’t even have to call out to him. Adam was there the whole time. He heard what the snake said, and watched Eve pick the fruit and watched her take the first bite. He was right there. He could have stood up at any point and prevented the fall. But he didn’t. He didn’t contend for and protect his wife, and since that time, women have been refusing to contend for their husbands. Payback is hell. Even Job’s wife (the only one in Job’s family in the story who the devil didn’t bother to hurt or kill) was ready to give up on her husband “Why are you still holding on to your integrity? Why don’t you just curse God and die?”

I’m not saying that there are not women fighting alongside their husbands. But these helpmates are few and far between. I celibrate the ones that do.

As men, sex is one of our chief weaknesses. The world stands ready to attack and devour us every time we step out the door. It actually reaches inside our homes, thanks to T.V. and the internet. A sexless marriage is a wound that cripples.

And thanks to some decent blogs I read, I’ve learned that it isn’t just us guys who suffer. Women also suffer in sexless marriages. But I’m addressing the sort of guys who email Housewyfe as well as the women who want to go after and persecute guys who are cheating. There are no adult victims, here.

D.

Erections

06/28/2005

Tuesday

I’m thinking about erections. Hard-ons. Woodies. Blued steel.

Most of the time, these things are a pain in the ass. It’s the rare occasion that a nice stiffy becomes cause for celebration. I’m glad I can still have them, don’t get me wrong. But they happen throughout the day when I can’t necessarily do anything about them. I might be watching Arwyn playing with the boys, and just looking at her when one of these episodes intrude. Or just resting and daydreaming about something and all the sudden I have a hot one in my pants. It doesn’t even have to be a sexual thought, but once I’m aware of the arousal my mind leaps out of the gate.

Sometimes frustration is good. When I’m wearing the chastity cage, it’s okay because I see that as part of the deal. It’s what I sign on for when I snap the lock shut. Every hard-on is a reminder and a promise of the release to come. When I’m unlocked, I can make a date with myself fo the next morning or later in the night. It’s still with myself, though.

It’s not as if my wife has any appreciation for an erection. Perhaps this is the most off-putting bit about it. She’s not going to notice it and say “Honey, you look a bit tense. Let me help you loosen up. Let me relieve the pressure you.” Unless, of course she’s in a hurry to get me off so she can get some sleep. Then, Heaven forbid it isn’t hard enough. She is simply not a reliable source of relief.

An erection is a distraction, sometimes. Ever been in a position where there is serious emotional of physical tension? That adrenaline can summon forth hardness as fast as anything. Too bad my wife isn’t the type for make-up sex. Long drives. Sheesh! After a few hours on my ass, it’s as if Darth Sidious is just happy to be alive. I once dated a woman that understood that enough to indulge me. She was a super traveling companion. Not much on conversation, but she let be read over and play with her while driving whenever I wanted. And when it came time to stop for the night we would check in, unpack a few things and then get down to business. That has never happened with Arwyn. Ever. As a result, we don’t travel much. I traveled more in two years with the girl I let get away than I have done in 9 years with Arwyn. With the other girl, we would meander about the country, lazily looking for adventure. And then have hot sex at night and sometimes in the morning. With Arwyn, it is all business. I get from point A to point B by the shortest and most direct route. Driving begets tension which goes unrelieved and begets more tension. Unresolved, I become one unhappy bastard. It’s easier to stay home and relieve myself.

D.

The Cage

06/27/2005

Monday

It’s on my mind. I’m thinking about it which means I will probably end up doing it again in the near future.

I’m talking about The Cage, another of the cast of characters that has been recently been relegated to the back burner.

The beginning of this story actually takes place about 7 or so years ago. This is well before the days of blogging although there were a few out there. Back then, they were just web pages. I was a fairly prominent fish in the Usenet pond. On alt.support.marriage there were lots of other guys living with the unhappy reality that marriage equated with masturbation rather than passionate romps with their brides. Back then, men vastly outnumbered women on the internet, but it was changing. It was in this forum at this time that I came across Lady Misato.

Lady Misato had an entirely different take on male-female relationships, mainly that many more marriages would be happier if the women would dominate their men. I, and most other guys, promptly flamed her, but she was unaffected. She was not overly aggressive and generally kept a low profile only occasionally offering insight and advice. She would answer legitmate questions but not the flames and insults. She did exude a lot of confidence. Her site is actually quite famous and might be the most famous geocities site ever: “Real Women Don’t Do Housework.”

During this same time I also briefly made the acquaintence on another group of Laura Doyle of “Surrendered Wife” fame. I was definitely more agreeable to her point of view, than L. Misato’s. Women generally didn’t like either POV. They despised Ms. Doyle’s submissive ways and dismissed L. Misato for being overly manipulative. I personanlly think there is a place for both, although it would be a long time before I was willing to investigate being dominated.

I got away from usenet, and moved on to other things, like Ivillage’s Clashing Libidos board.

A couple of years ago, I was grepping through the usenet archives and wondered about Lady Misato. A search quickly led me to her site. It has not really changed in 7 years. In fact, I’m not sure the last time anything was added or updated. I had never really spent a lot of time there, but this time I did. I read through each section thoroughly and began to understand what she was trying to say. I was getting it. And getting hard. My outlook had changed over the years, and I was ready for a different direction.

What finally did me in, was when looking at various toys she had listed, there was the CB2000 (I see she has updated to the CB3000). I linked through and a new world opened up. The world of chastity.

I’d never heard of male chastity or even female domination before except it looked like some sort of fetish thing. I never lingered over the idea. Now I was fantasizing.

For some reason, the idea of having my cock locked in a cage with my wife holding the keys turned me on in a major way. I read Altarboy’s site, and there was (and still is) loads of information, reviews, advice and stories. The idea of being locked up kept me hard for days. I’m still not overly sure of what posessed me, but it was there. I had all sorts of fantasies of my wife teasing me and playing with me and getting turned on by the idea. That was it as much as anything. The idea of something that my wife could actually enjoy even if it involved in me NOT having sex was a huge part of the appeal. Maybe this would help her rediscover her sexuality.

She left town with the boys to visit her mother, and I ordered The Curve with overnight delivery. I could not wait to put it on. In fact, I probably got myself off several times before it came just thinking about it.

In the weeks leading up to the purchase, I had wondered about how I was going to tell Arwyn about this. I did write her a letter basically asking her to take charge of my sexuality. To become a caretaker of a sort for me and to help me to practice chastity in our marriage. This was before actually even buying the cage.

Once I had it, I spent time getting it fitted properly and getting used to it. I mowed the lawn with it, went to the store while wearing it and even went to church with it on. No one noticed. That was part of the thrill, the idea of having a secret. “If they only knew…”

Nights were a challenge. I soon realized that my penis (heretofore known as Darth Sidious) was up during much of the night. The cage makes full erections impossible and painful. So I’d get hard, get out of bed, walk or go pee, and then go back to sleep. A couple of hours later, I’d have to repeat the process until 5 a.m. or so, when the super hard-on hit and there simply was no going back to sleep. Which meant that if I was going to get adequate sleep, I need to go to bed earlier.

The cage did bring on some pretty significant changes mentally and emotionally, too. Even though Arwyn was gone and totally unaware, my thoughts became almost instantly fixed on her. I suppose reading and fantasizing primed me, I was still unprepared for the focus wearing a cock cage afforded me. I cleaned the house, mopped the floor, cleaned the bathrooms, vaccuumed the carpets and bought groceries…all before 9 a.m.! And I was happy to do it.

Folks reading Lady Misato do not realize that while it looks terribly manipulative, it is actually a message of affirmation and love. Love is essentially about pleasing the other person. A man’s most basic nature is about doing things that please his wife. The same should be true of women. Love should be about pleasing their husbands.

When Arwyn returned, I didn’t say anything for several days. I continued wearing the cage but she never noticed. Finally, at the end of the week, I reminded her of the letter I wrote to her, and showed her the cage. She was a bit startled to say the least. She had wondered about me going to bed earlier and waking up earlier. Now she knew.

It took her a few days to get used to it. I showed her afew articles I had printed off from Altarboy’s site and then handed her the keys. My thought was that she could wear one of the keys around her neck. She said that the necklace was uncomfortable and hid the keys.

The reality did not match the fantasy. Arwyn was trying to get used to it, but there was never any teasing. She never required me to do anything special for. I had some sort of fantasy about giving her oral sex, but she hated oral sex then and still does. She didn’t really want to talk about the cage and it seemed a bother to even think about it.

At first, she didn’t want to touch it at all. I had some fantasy about her handcuffing me and taking it off, playing with me and/or cleaning me and then putting the cage back on when she was finshed with me. The reality never prograssed beyond her getting the key and unlocking the lock. In the morning, if I put the cage back on, I would present myself to her and she would lock the lock. That was kind of erotic.

When wearing the cage, there was little or no discussion about it. In fact, Arwyn would totally forget about it. I’d ask for some “adult alone time” and she would forget I was locked up until she pulled my underwear off and then have to go looking for the key. Over time, as my mind became more and more fixed on her, I would approach her for more hugs, kisses and cuddles. This began to annoy her. Her lack of attention began to annoy me. She began complaining about the pressure of holding the keys. Then she wouldn’t unlock me, she simply left the keys out on the bathroom counter for me to unlock as I wanted. Or if I asked for some time for the two of us, she’d give me the keys to unlock myself.

At the beginning, we did have a contract with assorted rules for release and penalties for infractions like being annoying or whining or virtually anything else she wanted. It also spelled out conditions for release which were set at 4 days unless there were penalties and a 10 day maximum.

There were never any penalties. Ever. She did release me every 4 days and did give me handjobs on those occasions. That month marked the most handjobs of our marriage or ever. She even let me out after 3 days on an occasion or two. But if I didn’t choose to wear the cage, she didn’t say anything about that, either. And I might go a week before locking up again. The contract provided some amount of structure, but Arwyn never really took advantage of it. She simply was not into it. I suppose she could best be described as a reluctant keyholder.

I was much more affectionate and agreeable after being in the cage a few days and nights. I would do things for her because I wanted to. She could ask me to do anything and I’d do it. I would do more things without her having to ask. However, she was uncomfortable with this as keyholder, because it did put pressure on her to release me. Afterall, release was what I wanted and was willing to work for. For her part, she figured that’s all I wanted and I should be acting this way without having to wear the cage. And I seemed constantly jonesing for release.

I finally discovered the Timelock program that enabled the computer to hold the keys for a certain length of time. This seemed to work just a bit better, because Arwyn was then under no pressure to release me. At the same time, she could reap the benefits. In return, she was more open to my affections and was more affectionate towards me. There were a couple of embarassing moments when she was actually open to sex and I happened to be locked up. One of those times, I used the bolt cutters to cut the lock. We might have simply taken a rain check the other time. Of course my fantasy is that she would insist I pleasure her orally while locked up. Or manually. But that has never happened. And that is probably the single biggest disappointment about being in chastity. She never wanted any satisfaction from me, in the meantime. Rather than being an indispensible partner, I was more or less expendible, sexually speaking.

And so it is, that living with someone who has no desire for an orgasm or sexual pleasure has been so frustrating. Which is why I seriously considered finding another keyholder who might have at least some understanding or some interest in orgasm control even if they were getting off on the power exchange.

I still play on occasion, using the Timelock. I haven’t since having to redo the computer, since one key is locked in a lock box and that combination was lost with the hard drive. I just recently downloaded the Timelock program again. I do have the key that I froze in a block of ice. If I get it out, I’ll have to get another lock box for it in order to take advantage of the Timelock. I had given Arwyn a box that she hasn’t used in a year or so. I wonder if she’d let me use that.

In anycase, that is a short history of the cage. This entry can be used as a reference for any future posts I might make on the subject.

D.

Blog Reviews: Square1, Dewdrop & C-Marie

If there is no other material, a review is always easy, quick and makes folks feel pretty good. At least as long as the review is good. If it’s on my roll, it’s good. Otherwise it gets moved off fairly quickly.

Square1 and I have been reading each other for quite some time and we seem to travel in similar circles. This shouldn’t be too surprising since I used her blogroll when I was blogless and used those links to get mine going again. Hers is probably one of the best relationship blogs around, in that you do get a bit of everything. There is conflict, sentimentality, thoughtfulness and plenty of sex appreal to go around. All of it tastefully done. Square1 is a passionate writer, and this shows through in many of her postings. She is also an intelligent writer. When she is not thinking about the deeper things, she poses questions that force the reader to think. It’s all real and all genuine, which is why she attracts visitors by the busload. Another reason why she draws people in, is because she is exceedingly generous with her comments on other people’s blogs. Always generous, always kind and always thoughtful. She contributes to and compliments my theme not only as a co-traveler on the path to a better relationship but also as somewhat of a model. She puts her whole heart into forging a better relationship with her husband which is an inspiration to anyone going through a similar struggle. She’s a prolific writer, posting several times a week and several times a day on occasion.

If Square1 is a sort of companion blog, Dewdrop is the mirrored alternative universe. Her blog is the perfect compliment, because she is also struggling with parts of her relationship but from the exact opposite point of view. Whereas I would have my wife desire me more sexually and increase her libido, Dewdrop would want her husband to lower his libido and be pawing at her a lot less. Whereas I hoot and holler about how evil the LL spouses are, Dewdrop champions the LL cause and point of view. Her task is more difficult as she is one of the few LL blogs that I’ve ever encountered. she is always looking for new recruits, as it were. It would also be sort of cool to find and successfully capture a LL guy’s blog. I just want to find one who blogs about not wanting sex with the passion that Dewdrop does. I admire her pluck and courage in writing about this topic with such openness and honesty. I say nice things about her, because she is just that good, but also because I don’t want to frighten her away! Her type is definitely on the endangered list. Dewdrop journals about all sorts of other things besides her clashing libido relationship. In fact, that topic makes up less than 50% of her content. She’ll blog about her job, children, her daily activities, the weather and assorted other daily struggles as well as other observations. She writes in such a way that even fairly mundane things are sometimes made entertaining by her creative use of the english language and various epithets unique to those living in the U.K. She posts daily. If she missed a couple of days, I think I would start getting worried about her.

C-Marie is one of my newer reads. I always like catching a blog at the beginning stages as it is easier following a story from the beginning. Her story is a good one, in that she is living with a guy (JM) who really doesn’t seem terribly anxious to jump her bones despite the Marie’s efforts at enticing him away from the television. There seems to be an epidemic among a certain type of guy who will choose the television over having sex with the naked woman in front of him. I do not pretend to understand this guy, but I certainly do relate to C-Marie’s pain and lonliness and uncertainty. The guy has sent along his share of painful messeges. While having an apparent disinterest in her, he seems to have a keen interest in porn at times, and gratifying himself. This guy is *such* a candidate for being locked up, like no other I’ve seen! C-Marie posts 2-3 times per week. Sometimes less, and sometimes more, depending on what is happening in her story. When things get heavy, they seem to get VERY heavy as in an overabundance of drama. It might be her skill as a writer or it might just be that she has had to endure some pretty serious emotional jolts from this guy or both. In anycase, a body can not help but be drawn in. A few weeks might go by with very little going on, when all the sudden something happens that sends a reader’s heart into his/her throat, the sweat upon their brow and eyes dialating with panic and alarm. Hold on to your butts, this one is a wild ride!

D.

Raw

06/26/2005

Sunday

I’ve been Reading John Gottman’s Why Marriages Succeed or Fail. This not his latest book by any means but does cover some of the same territory of his earlier and later books. You can get an an overview of some of his research from his website and can see what I’ve written on my companion blog.

Gottman’s books are marked by a certain interactivity that involves gobs of self-tests designed to measure the health of the marriage. This is similar to what Dr. Phil does in his books and workbooks. After taking one of these quick tests answering “yes” or “no”, he says if you answered “yes” to so-many questions (usually about one-third of them) the marriage is in danger of being under whatever particular influence he is measuring in that test. I’m scoring about 80-90% on most of them, and a high score is not a good thing on these tests.

What I’m discovering is that Arwyn and I have evolved such a pattern of contempt, defensiveness and stonewalling in our relationship that it’s become difficult for either of us to say anything to the other without causing and feeling hurt. We are simply raw with defensiveness. Everything is percieved as a potential attack. We’ve assaulted each other so many times that even a good well-meaning gesture can be interpreted as either a fluke or a trojan horse designed to set up an ambush.

I am more than partly to blame for this. I have become a master passive-aggressive warmonger. An honor graduate of the William T. Sherman school of relationships. A good defense was a better offense. Never let your guard down. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If the enemy strikes, strike back with overwhelming force. Break the enemy’s will to fight with swift retaliation multiplied by a factor of 10. Make war in such a way that the enemy will never want to go through it again. Make Georgia Howl. Fight to win. Blood makes the grass grow. Show no mercy. Mercy is for the weak. Wax on, wax off.

All this sounded okay at the time. It sounded like a reasonable strategy for conquest and domination. But a marriage isn’t like that, is it?

NOW you tell me!

Maybe I wasn’t quite as bad as that, but maybe I was. I do know for the first couple of years of our marriage I was not emotionally available at all. I wasn’t very interested in improving things or even in maintaining things.

Arwyn probably shut down as a defense to my assaults. Or a defense to my emotional absence. Either way, she had to deal with some pain and lonliness in some way. It was a choice between the lesser of two evils: confront me and fight or withdraw and defend. She chose the latter most of the time. There were times when I could draw her out, but I was entirely too good at fighting for her to make this a regular thing. So we both settled into a hostile/detached pattern that slowly ate away at our marriage.

Under the circumstances, I’m probably lucky to have gotten any sex at all! Thing is, is that I could turn into an even more vicious of a bastard if I was ignored long enough. Hence the pattern of duty sex. But of course, this has never been entirely satisfactory.

By the time I woke up to the fact that we were in trouble, we were already careening off in a cascade of negativity. We were hostile, detached and are still somewhat in a state of living parallel lives. Arwyn has said more than once that she has all but given up. If it weren’t for the kids, she would be GONE. I’ve had thoughts along the same lines, myself.

This is what our marriage looks like now, at this moment:

We are two people who care about each other on some level. But we also dislike each other in the same dimension. We know this is not in the best interest of the kids. We struggle with each interaction seeming like a minefield. Betrayal has run deep on both sides and threatens to rip the family apart at any moment. We have actually conditioned each other to expect pain and hurt. We are always on guard against it. It is like being in a combat zone or a wild jungle where there is a threat around every tree. Defense has become reflexive to the point where we shoot first and ask questions later. Arwyn has learned the art of combat exceedingly well under my guidance and harsh training.

Communication has become a dangerous thing. There is danger everywhere. There is lonliness.

I wrote about some of the positive things Arwen has been doing. Some of these are indeed small, positive steps. Some of them are simply part of the withdrawal strategy.

D

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Improving Communication?

06/23/2005

Thursday

There’s been a fair amount of discussion amongst those the write relationship blogs about sharing these diaries with their mates. At the outset, this might seem like a good idea. One could improve communication by writing down thoughts and feeling throughout a day, when time is short and life gets too busy for face-to-face communication.

The best attempt at this I’ve seen, is Jay Loves Kitti. For the past year or so, readers have been treated to the rare opportunity to read both points of view. However, the results have not been pretty. Both partners write and express themselves exceedingly well, but the things they’ve posted to and about each other sometimes make me wince. They reveal some pretty raw emotions that can not help but provoke an emotional reaction from readers. Which is why a lot of us enjoy reading them so much.

But it’s different being a detached observer and being right in the middle of a story as a main character. I relate strong enough to Jay that I know when something Kitti writes is going to hurt. So much of what she writes is painful for me to read because if Arwyn were the writing type, these would be things she would be saying. Kitti writes about her lack of passion for Jay. She tells about how she’s not sure about their future. She writes about her annoyances with him that are near constants. She writes about being smothered and wanting more freedom and space even to the point of exploring relationships outside of the marriage.

Jay, for his part, has tried to put the best possible face on all of this. He absolutely does have passion for his wife. And I suspect that it is through her writing that he has learned more about her than she would be willing to reveal face-to-face. He wants to know her and be known (and loved) by her.

The rawness of her revelations have put a strain on the two of them. So the question is: would he have been better off not knowing? Maybe some things are better kept hidden. I can not answer for Jay, but for me it seems that the closer I try to get, the more pain I’m subjected to. Maybe this is what is behind Kitti and Arwyn’s retreat from emotional intimacy. Maybe they were quicker to discover this, and have long since abandoned the field of battle, leaving Jay and I to fend for own emotional lives.

I may never know what is truly behind Arwyn’s fear of intimacy. Much probably came out of having an alcoholic father and having her parents divorce as a teenager. She didn’t choose me out of passion but out of practical pragmatics. She was 34 when we married and obviously wanted children so the biological clock was banging and clanging away. I was apparently a safe and stable choice. A fine Christian, a hard worker with the potential to provide for a family.

I think the first step for me is to forgive her for being who she is. She can be no other. She is, for all practical purposes, the best teacher of life lessons for me even though most of these lessons are exceedingly painful. God picked her out for a reason. He called the universe into being, created the Earth and populated it in just a certain way that would bring forth the circumstances and choices she and I face today. Scary thought on some level, but comforting on another.

Guilt

While musing about, I recently stumbled upon something, so I’ll blog it out and see how it turns out…

I huge fan of Dewdrops’ Blog because no one writes about not wanting sex as articulately as she does. No one I’ve come across, anyway. I’ve got another open spot or 3 if there are any others. As oppsed to many of guys who are hoping that our wives come ’round to wanting more sex, she’s holding on to the hope that her husband comes ’round to not wanting as much sex. It’s like an alternative universe or something, like that Star Trek episode where the evil Spock had a goatee. and it’s incredibly instructive to see the other side.

It came to me that her wishes and mine are not altogether different. Incompatible on most levels but not altogether different.

When my wife gives me “mercy sex”, I feel guilty for sort of making her do something that she does not really want to do. Dewdrop feels guilty for not having as much sex with her husband as he wants. As she puts it, it is a compromise where neither is very satisfied and both are left guilty.

But there is more to our desires than simply wanting to be satisfied and happy and wanting our partners to come around to our way of thinking. We want our partners to change in the way we want, not just to suit our desires but we want them to change to release us from our guilt. As long as we are compromising, guilt is elicited from our respective selves as we struggle with our partner’s feelings as well as our own. There’s kind of a vicious cycle going on here.

Guilty feelings breed insecurity, fear, suspicion, anger and a host of other emotions that may or may not be grounded in reality. We are seemingly at the mercy of our own selfishness and subjugating the other person in our lives to a load of ill will. We may feel angry at them for their own selfishness, but I think the core feature that is driving us batty is the feelings of guilt.

I can’t help but wonder if Dewdrop and I exacerbate each other’s guilt by reading each other. I see what my own style of selfishness elicits in her, and feel bad that if my wife were half as articulate, she’d be saying the same sort of thing Dewdrop writes about, mainly that I’m just a selfish, whining, weak bastard. At the same time, she reads about all my pain and angst and wonders why she is such a twat.

So while reading Dewdrop has helped me relate more to my wife’s feelings on the matter of not wanting sex 24/7, it hasn’t really done as much to address my own guilt. My guilt about her (my wife’s) guilt. That’s just the thing; we both feel guilty about what we’re doing to the other. We both want to be free of it. The seeming solution is for one of us to change. But the insane conclusion is that we wish the other person to change. And to do it without compromise.

That’s the real struggle. Compromise isn’t making either of us particularly happy. Even when we’re not having sex and even if I don’t complain (much) my wife knows. It’s the proverbial elephant in the room. She might try to divert herself by visiting and talking with friends (ironically, two of her best friends are HL who are either divorced or getting divorced from LL husbands), doing various activities and getting overly involved in the lives of our children, trying to keep her mind from having to grapple with the elephant. For my part, I wrap myself up in my work, the kids, the bills and try to find other things to be frustrated or happy about.

She doesn’t want to be bothered about it because to be bothered means having to confront the guilt. Being married to a condescending prick is hard enough without adding that on top of it all!

For my part, I have come to a deeper understanding that my own desire for sex is more than just a desire for sexual release. It is a desire for intimacy, where the ultimate expression of it is in the act of being naked with my wife. The heaviest cross that I’m bearing happens to be the apparent truth that my wife does not desire this level of intimacy with me. It seems to scare her, despite the fact that she has stated on more than one occasion that she would like a soulmate. A soulmate to her looks a lot different than a soulmate of mine. We both state the same goal, which is having a soulmate, but I’ve yet to hear her express what that is exactly. Her and I do have similar goals. I even reviewed some of those with her recently:
-We want our kids to be well-adjusted
-We both wanted to be happy
-We both want a debt-free retirement
-We both would like the other to be happy
-Neither of us really want to divorce the other
-We both would like to get along
-We both would like to be better Christians and be closer to God

After reviewing that list with her, I asked the one critical question: what have you done, lately, to accomplish any of those goals?

She couldn’t say, altho thinking about it now, I could have put in a few for her. She is good with the kids and she hasn’t seen a lawyer, yet. So those are something. I probably should have offered something, because that question probably elicited a lot of guilt in her right there.

But sometimes guilt isn’t always bad. It can be good if it motivates us to move and actually do something instead of moping around about it. Since that conversation, Arwyn has been trying. I can see it. I’ve seen her read a relationship book or two that I’ve bought, which is a new one for her. She did actually have sex with me before leaving town, even though she wasn’t particularly comfortable with it. She has become a bit more concientious about her spending . We’ve both been a bit better about sharing our faith with each other and even offering a smidgion of encouragement now and then.

None of these are solving anything, but they are positive steps.

For whatever reason, Arwyn and I were brought together and we are meant to be together until whatever end. When it comes to increasing the quality of my character and stretching my limits, Arwyn has been my best teacher. I am forced to learn things I would not otherwise learn with a partner who was more compliant. Despite a sizable arsenal of psychological knowledge and skills, I have been forced to develop more and grow more than I ever thought possible. Arwyn has been the greatest challenge of my life. I have helped others make incredible turn arounds in their thoughts and behaviors. But Arwyn is more resilient than any of them, and has forced me to become stronger and more resilient in response. I’ve also had to confront my own thoughts in new and novel ways that I would not be apt to do otherwise. Living with her has forced me to grow. A body is either growing or dying. Sometimes I wonder which I’m doing.

D.

On Forgiveness

That last post got a little intense on me, but I’m seeing where I need to go, now.

There is a popular notion that if you really and truly forgive a person, that you should not have to do it again. True forgiveness means that you let it go and then move on and then it’s done. Ideally, that might be so. But for us petty mortal humans, that really is not the reality of being who we are. We are petty. We hold grudges forever and even though we make efforts at forgiveness, we have a very hard time letting things go. Forgiveness is more of a process and I don’t think that just because we don’t get it right the first time we should give up on it. It is a worthwhile exercise.

The problem with forgiveness is that it involves a sort of surrender of the mind. And the mind is not very keen on giving up anything. The mind is a treacherous beast that betrays its owner at seemingly every opportunity. Thoughts come and thoughts go like the wind. There’s no stopping them, they just blow and swirl around us. It seems as the most negative, irrational and messiest thoughts are the ones that stick to us. Then the mind goes to work, processing them, feeding them, nurturing them, protecting them until we are totally overun with negativity.

Bringing the mind back under control involves doing regular maintainence on it and regularly monitoring what it is doing. I’m at my best when I can clear my mind and let what’s going on in there simply blow through the other side. Letting things swirl and circulate right on out. Then seeing what pops up.

Forgiveness is more than giving up some negative thoughts and feelings. It is clearing some things out but also turning things around. If I feel betrayed by someone, I can grab that and turn it around. Have I been just as treacherous towards that person? Has that person truly betrayed me? Or have I betrayed myself? Examining all of these questions allows me to evaluate and compare the truth of each. As it happens most often, I find that what I’ve done to myself, through my own thoughts, is worse that anything any single person has done to me.

I some some extremely special and wonderful memories of Ellen. She introduced me to a whole new world. While I tend to emphasize a lot of the negative things that hang with me from those days, there are many more positive things. First off, my entire career track changed after my experience with her. I went back to school the next year and the year after that, moved to Georgia. Having something in common with the broken hearted allowed me to feel empathy for people that I never would have been able to do otherwise. In fact, empathy was really one of the biggest lessons to come out of that. I’m pretty selfish, now. Imagine what sort of monster I would be if I had never experienced that sort of thing! No, I can honestly say I gained some very crucial qualities from my short but intense experience. In some ways, I wish I would have experienced these things ealier in life simply because I believe that being younger might have made me more resiliant.

But I can’t know if that is true at all. By experiencing the things I did as an adult, I was able to act on them in a way I could not have as a teenager. I made my own choices. Some of those choices were better than others.

And that’s where forgiveness really needs to take a hard turn. It’s not about forgiving Ellen, it’s about forgiving myself for allowing myself to do the things I did and for feeling the things I did. I allowed the hurt to come in, and that was just as intense as the love that I had felt earlier. In fact, the pain was a comfort of a sort, because after losing the other side of love, I needed that intensity to fill that void. I needed and nurtured that pain along like it was a precious baby. My baby. I gave birth to it, I fed and clothed it, I helped it grow. Maybe it was more like a pet that I brought home with me to replace the one that ran away or died. In anycase, it was my responsibility to care for it.

If that pain wants to go, it is free to do so. It is also free to stay. Afterall, it has been precious to me and has helped shape me and who I am for good or ill.

And here’s another thought; is it important at all to forgive other people? do we really have to do that, or is that just a smoke creen that keeps us from examining ourselves? Maybe the real betrayal is the one where we injure ourselves. Maybe forgiving ourselves is really where it is at.

Such a complicated subject. And it seems important to me to be able to understand it.

This is the reason why this blog came into being. I need a place to noodle through this stuff. I thank those of you who contribute and are just here for the ride.

Forgiveness seems to be a very crucial component for my own redemption. But I still need to work through where exactly it intersects with reality. Maybe the concept of redemption is incompatible with reality. Being the sort I am, that juxtoposition of two incompatible concepts would hold a lot of appeal.

But I wanted this blog to take a more positive turn than the other one. Instead of bitching about how awful my relationship was or how nonexistent my sexlife was or whatever other little complaint I might self-righteously nurture along, I wanted to see if there was a way out of it. Getting out from under the heaviness and weight of all the crap that I’ve built up.

Maybe it’s a good thing I lost all that other old material from the past year. Obviously it was meant to be. With the demise of my old blog, my computer (both the one at home and the one at work) and my flash drive all within the space of 2 weeks, it does seem that God is making my business His business.

Often we pray that God do something with us or to us. And then when He does, we want to complain about it, because He didn’t do it exactly the way we thought it should be done. One thing I am learning about the nature of God, is that He wastes nothing. His ways are not our ways, and that is not a bad thing. We think we know best, when we clearly don’t have the slightest clue what is in our best interest, especially for the long run. We muck it up every single time. But in some ways, God is okay with that. He means for us to make mistakes, because that seems to be the most efficient way we can learn things. We learn nothing when things go along swimmingly well and we can just drift happily along on a slow, peaceful current. If it weren’t for the storms and rapids, we would have no appreciation for what peace and calm were. We’d begin to complain about how things were dull and boring. As humans, we actually go out and invent and create things that frighten us out of our wits. Look at the horror movie genre, or even amusement park rides. 200 years ago, they didn’t need such things, because most people had enough things to be scared of, trying just to survive. “Survivor” was all what life was about and now we make it a sort of serial gameshow!

Okay, I’m veering off. I’ll think more and write more later. Or not think anything and just write whatever pops in, which is what I’ve done here.

D.

Dead Ringer

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I saw a picture today that was worth about a million.

And here are some of those words (About 4,400 to be exact)…

Just a few days before I turned 25, back in 1988, I got a call from one of my old college roommates inviting me back down to my old alma mater to see a hockey game or two. "I've even invited a bunch of women!" he added. My friend was a short, stout hairy guy and I had some suspicions about his claim but it sounded like fun.

I made the 4 hour drive after work and walked into the rink just before the game started. I searched the stands for my friends and sure enough he was there surrounded by a bunch of his buddies and there was exactly one girl in the midst of that small knot of people.

Well, shoot. So I bought a couple of beers, determined to have a good time, regardless. I joined my friends in the stands and proceeded to do just that. In those days, hockey was a truly primitive sport. Our college team wasn't even a varsity sport, it was just a club and played other college clubs throughout the Midwest. We would yell and scream at the opposing teams, throw beer, yell at the referees and generally act like a bunch of boozed up barbarians. It was tons of fun.

For some reason this girl, one of the few at the game, took an interest in me. We talked and chatted, she laughed at my jokes, and stood beside me during the entire game. None of us ever sat down during these matches. A few years later that would all change as more people started coming to the games, and they started bringing their young kids and they forced people to simmer down mainly by raising the price of beer from 50 cents to $1.75.

This girl's name was Ellen. She was a senior majoring in Elementary Education. I had graduated the year before, so we could have known each other before, but we had never met. She didn't drink very much, so I can't really blame it the beer. But she took a definite shine to me. She complained about being cold so I let her wear my trench coat, since I was not feeling cold at all. And the more attention she gave me, the warmer I got. I might have slyly put my arm around her at one point, I'm not sure. But I was getting more attracted to her by the minute.

After the hockey game, we all went downtown to a local bar in the college town part of town. Ellen, just as natural as could be, got right in my car while all the other guys piled into the other car. We had nachos and beer and I was in rare form, just cutting up and acting obnoxious. Then my old roommate told me that one of his buddies was feeling a little sick so they had to leave early. “You mind giving Ellen a ride home?” Heck No!

I took her back to her place, and we sat outside of her apartment and talked. For a long time. Hours. Oh. And we also kissed a lot, lot,lot! I wish I could remember that first kiss, but I do remember a bunch of them. We stayed in my car because she was afraid her roommates were home. It turns out they weren't but by the end of that evening, it didn't matter to me. I was happy to be wherever she was.

Earlier in the evening, before going into the bar, I remember Ellen and I walking up to an ATM machine down the street from the bar. I remember a couple that were standing in line waiting, and they were all over each other and I kind of upbraided them telling them to get a room.

The following evening, I picked Ellen up after her shift at the grocery store where she was working ended, and we were dying for a room! We could absolutely not keep our hands off each other.

I had never felt a buzz like that in my entire life. Ever. I don't know if I've ever felt it since. We sat out in the car again after going to another hockey game and we talked and kissed a whole lot more. Then it was time for me to leave. It was one of the hardest goodbyes I'd ever had to say. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and I made the 4 hour drive back home. Floated back, more like. I saw the sun rise and it looked different than it ever had before. I still remember the ball of orange rising in the east across a wintry Iowa farm and field landscape. I wondered if I would ever hear or see her again.

I didn't have long to wonder. 2 days later, she called me on my birthday. I about melted as soon as I heard her voice. We spent hours talking on the phone, neither one of us wanting to be the one to hang up. From that day forward, I wrote her a letter every single day. Even on Sunday, when the mail wasn't delivering, I would write, so on Monday there were two letters going out.

The next weekend, she invited me down to visit and stay at her place. The initial plan was for me to sleep on the couch but since her roommate was gone for the weekend, I was offered her (the roommate's) bed. That didn't happen. I did sleep with Ellen on her little trundle bed, altho there wasn't much sleeping going on. But it's still not what you think. I was a 25 year-old virgin and Ellen hadn't any experience, either. We spent the entire night making out. We stayed mostly clothed the entire night, me in my sweats and her in her nightshirt. At one point I went down to kiss her breast and she rolled back to give be better access. Oh, that was heady! I was with this attractive young woman and she was opening herself up to me! At the same time, I was as totally respectful of her as she was a good catholic girl and wanted to save herself for marriage. I was hearing wedding bells.

She came to visit me and meet my parents during Thanksgiving break. By this time, I was absolutely head-over-heels. She stayed at my parent's house, while I stayed at my apartment. But we did spent some quality time at my place. We were lying on my bed making out and she finally said “Well, I s'pose…” and took off her shirt. I battled the bra hooks and got it off and it wasn't long before she was totally naked. It was divine. I got down to my underwear which was good enough for me at the time. My fingers did a good amount of wandering, but I never brought her to orgasm. She richly enjoyed the attention and from then on, anytime I wanted to touch her, she let me. I, on the other hand, was not exactly responding in a typical male fashion. She would try to stroke me, but I never really got sexually aroused that way. It was the oddest thing in the world. I was in love with her, no doubt. But it went totally deeper than sexual lust, as if I just bypassed that whole sexual lust business and went straight into the soul. I really did like it when she'd touch me, but I just didn't get hard. Of course, then insecurity would set in, and that didn't help matters at all! That didn't last, however.

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I took her back to her place. Her roommates were both out of town, so we used her other roommates bedroom, the one with the big bed and no windows. Ellen said it was okay, and thinking back she must have been planning this all along because she had gotten permission from this roommate before she ever left to visit me!

That night was quite memorable. Ellen was naked, with me in my underwear and we kissed and made out and I sucked her nipples, nibbled her ears and used my fingers to get her aroused. Then, I decided to take off my underwear. My non-erection phase came to an abrupt end. I got big and hard. Ellen was pretty thrilled with that, I think, but she was also a bit frightened. But my virgin self was absolutely not sure what to do. Looking back, there's a part of me that wishes I would have done what I was thinking. But I remained respectful, thinking there would be plenty of other opportunities to end my virginity with her. She was on top and began rubbing her body against me and it felt absolutely divine. Totally wonderful. Exquisitely fabulous. I was pulsing and throbbing and climaxed big time. So I suppose, that was something. Ellen was the first girl to ever make me climax like that. Actually my biggest regret is being too stupid to return the favor. I was so naive, and rather dumb. After that orgasm, I was finally ready to sleep, feeling totally spent and relaxed. She was not, though. So we stayed awake and played some more but I'm afraid I wasn't very good or attentive the rest of the night.

I drove home the next day, totally enraptured and daydreamed about the wonderful future Ellen and I had in store. In two weeks, I would visit her at her house and meet her parents. Then there would be all of Christmas break to spend together. I couldn't wait.

Her parents lived 4 hours from my house in Davenport. I left very early and arrived there in the morning where her parents greeted me. They weren't altogether too warm about it, though. But I was doing my best to be on my best behavior. I don't think I did too well. Ellen became a different person in her own home. Her parents treated her like a helpless little dingbat of a girl instead of the intelligent, independent young lady that I had come to know and love. They seemed to want to micromanage every facet of her life. It was heartbreaking to see and I'm afraid my disapproval shown through. I liked her father okay, but her mother was the puppet master in that house. And it was clear that I wasn't cutting the mustard. They were both teachers, and in Iowa that put them in the upper middle class. I was just a farm boy, which didn't even register on the “somewhat worthy” scale.

Ellen and I spent the weekend hanging out at her house, and going to the mall and visiting some of her neighborhood hangouts. One funny incident occurred after her parents had gone to bed, and we were supposed to be watching Three Men and a Baby. Ellen loved babies and couldn't wait to have some of her own. I never have seen that movie. We were laying on the couch, making out, when I accidentally kicked the lamp over. It fell with a crash that should have awoken the whole house. But no one stirred. However, I went to look for my glasses which I had taken off and put under the couch. They weren't there. We searched for them frantically as I'm as blind as a bat without them. Ellen finally went into her parent's room and found them. Her little dog (a schitzu) had gotten them and had chewed on them. The dog didn't damage the lenses but had damaged the frames. I could still wear them, and did.

Her parents offered to buy me new glasses and we even went to the mall to Lensecrafters to get some but they weren't open for some reason. Before I left their house, they once again urged me to get new glasses and send them the bill.

Sunday morning, she and her family went to Catholic mass. I, being a Presbyterian at the time, stayed at her home alone and played with the dog. That little dog loved to play catch and that's what we did. Maybe I should have gone to church.

Ellen and I left the house at the same time that afternoon. She gave me a hug and a kiss, but something was missing from that kiss. I left for home and she left for school. We shared a sizable piece of interstate, during which time I took a marker and a notebook, and made little signs that said I LOVE YOU and I NEED YOU! Then I'd pull up beside her and hold up my sign and she would smile at me. Then it came time for me to make my turn North while she traveled west, towards Ames. That was the last time I would ever see Ellen smile. I had no idea, but my spirit did. Deep down, I felt a sharp stab of sadness sink into me, and for some unknown reason, I began to cry. It was odd. I never cry. But I did that afternoon, and it wouldn't be long before I would cry again. And again and again and again.

Thinking back, I'm sure Ellen's mother had a good talk with her on their way to and from church. Whatever happened, it was just starting to sink in to Ellen as we left. According to a conversation I had with her roommate, Ellen was miserable the entire week. But I was totally unaware. At least until that Wednesday.

I hadn't heard from Ellen, and this was strange to me. No calls and no letter. I knew she had finals that week so just figured she was busy studying and doing whatever she had to do to get ready for her student teaching the next semester. She was scheduled to student teach in Cedar Rapids, which was only a couple hours from where I lived, so our commuting distance would be greatly reduced. That's what was going through my mind as I called her. Her roommate answered and said Ellen was doing laundry. Unbeknowest to me, she was sitting right there. Miserable. I just told her roommate to have Ellen call me when she got in, and she said she'd tell her.

But Ellen didn't call back. On Thursday I called again, and her roommate said Ellen was not in, but she would tell that I had called. Now I'm getting concerned. Ellen still didn't call me back. I knew that on Friday, Ellen would be returning to her parent's house for Christmas break.

I remember going out with friends earlier in the week shopping for a Christmas gift for Ellen. I was looking for a promise ring. I remember she said she really liked sapphires. I didn't buy anything, but figured I would have plenty of time before Christmas. My mother was knitting her a make-up bag in the school colors. My family really like her and they really liked that I was happy.

Whilst I was shopping, Ellen was busy writing the last letter she would ever write to me. I, on the other hand, kept writing and sending her love letters every single day. When I had visited her, she showed me the drawer she kept them in, and there were a TON of letters! I had typed them all and saved them on my computer, since my handwriting is very poor. Ellen wrote maybe twice a week. I might still have some of those letters as they represented the nicest things anyone has ever said to and about me. I also eventually printed out my letters, as the Apple II format was becoming less popular.

That Friday afternoon, I called her house, and SHE answered. No, not Ellen, but her mother. Her mother said that Ellen was not there yet but she would tell her that I had called. Now I was terribly worried. At 10:00, there was still no word from her. I tried to call her house again, and there was a busy signal. I kept trying and still there was the busy signal. I was getting scared and angry at the same time. Mostly desperate. I finally called the operator and asked her to check to see if someone was on that line or if the phone was just off the hook.

“I'm sorry sir, but there is no one talking on the line. It must be off the hook.”
“Thank you.”

I called her roommate and asked her what was going on. She apologized and sobbed that she really was sorry. This girl had seen Ellen and I together and could see the depth of the love that we had for each other. She was deeply envious as her own boyfriend was physically abusive to her except when they had sex. She thought Ellen had gone crazy and told her so. But for some reason, Ellen seemed determined.

I snapped. No, I fell more like. My heart sank to the deepest depths of a bottemless pit where my soul used to be before it was ripped out by its roots. It was now well past midnight. I called a friend, told her what had happened and told her what I planned to do. I had started a letter and was constantly adding to it as I went through the journey. It went from a love letter, to a hopeful letter to a journal of despair. At about 3 a.m. or so, I gassed up the car and left making the 4 hour drive to Davenport. I saw the sun rise again, just as I had only 2 months before only this time it would bring no joy. When I arrived at her house, her mother answered the door, and then went to get Ellen. I had not gotten her letter. Yet. Ellen said, "I deserve this…I deserve this for being such a chickenshit…I deserve to be sitting here and seeing you with a broken heart. I was hoping not to spoil your Christmas."

Her mother had been the one to suggest taking the phone off the hook. Ellen didn't know what to do, but finally said it would be okay. But she also knew that I would come. She hoped that her letter would end it all and that she wouldn't have to face me. So we sat on her couch, and talked for a bit. I had some things in the car that belonged to her and she had a few things that belonged to me that she returned. The inevitable exchanging of possessions. During the whole time, her mother went in and out of the room. She refused to leave Ellen and I alone. Her mother offered up some platitude about how we were too young and maybe if we had met when we were older or some such shit.

Before I left, I asked Ellen if she would call me in two weeks. She agreed. But she didn't want anymore letters. Her parents again told me to buy dome new glasses and send them the bill. I left for my house. My lonely, cold apartment. For the rest of the time I lived there, I never turned the heat about 50 degrees again. And I began smoking, a habit I still retain to this day. I had smoked a few times before but it was not a regular habit. I had never bought a pack of cigarettes, but bummed off of others while at parties and such.

Oh yeah…
When I got back home, her goodbye letter was waiting for me in my mailbox.

In two weeks, Ellen called just like she promised. I had held shreds of hope that she might change her mind over that amount of time, but she had not. This was supposed to be goodbye. For good. She said maybe in a year or two I could write her again and then we could maybe be friends. But she wanted no more letters.

Writing is like a habit. A lot like smoking and certainly a lot better for ones health. I was only work half-time and had way too much time on my hands.

I applied for a factory job for 2^nd shift. In addition to this, I was in the Army Reserves and later, during the spring and summer I would help out on my Dad's farm in my “spare” time. I did not sleep for more than 5 hours a night, another habit I retain to this day. I tried to fill my time and divert my thoughts from the tragedy that had become my life. My mother worked in town and would visit me if she saw the light on. I was always awake, but didn't always have the lights on when she got off work at 11:30. She was terribly worried about me. I had stopped eating and lost about 50 pounds in the space of a couple of months. I danced and flirted with death. I eventually went to counseling, and the therapist told me that I was lucky to be out of that relationship. He said I would have ended up in his office eventually anyway with her and however many kids we had. He spent most of his time asking about my relationship with my father. He was definitely in the psycho dynamic camp. But he was a good guy, and it was okay having someone to talk to. After 4 sessions, he said I was okay and was welcome to come back if I wanted but said he couldn't do much more for me unless I brought my mother and father in with me. THAT was not going to happen!

As I said, writing is a hard habit to break. And I did write Ellen a 10 page letter not much more than a week after I promised not to. She called me on the phone as I was getting ready to leave for my second job. She claimed that I had betrayed her trust and that she could never trust me again and that she never wanted to hear from me again. Ever. She sounded so angry. I might have gotten angry back and shot a few things back about how she had dumped me for no reason or something. But it was a very short conversation, and just did not go well.

I did ended up eventually getting new glasses and I did send the bill to her folks with a letter to them. I can't even remember what I wrote, but I was quite humble all the way around. I did get a check directly from their insurance company as they had filed a claim under their household insurance. On the way to get the new glasses 90 minutes away (where the closest mall to my house was) I picked up a hitch hiker. Dangerous? I did not care. As far as I was concerned, I was dead already. I was never in the habit of picking them up before, but this time I did. And I'm glad I did.

He told me his story. He had been skiing out west, when someone stole his car and everything he had and he was trying to get back to his home in Canada. He had no money and just the clothes on his back. He had a good jacket but no hat or gloves, and hiking in Iowa in January is just not the wisest thing to do anyway with the best of equipment. He told me how his fiance and his mother were both killed in a car crash just a few months before. He was frustrated and depressed. All he wanted to do was get home. That story really put some things in perspective for me. My world was no where near as bad as his, and he was still struggling on. I needed to do that, too. That guy has no idea what he did for me that day, but he did me the bigger favor than anything I could have done for him.

He rode with me the whole 90 minutes and I dropped him off at a truck stop near the interstate and gave him $20. I never give panhandlers money. But this guy was worth every penny and more.

I never heard from Ellen again. My brother was a bar tender in Cedar Rapids and thinks he saw her there once with some friends. I did send her flowers to where she was student teaching when it was close to her graduation with a simple note that said “It's okay.” And then sent her one letter every year for about the next 5 years. She never wrote back. I eventually quit writing but have never forgotten (obviously!). I moved on and might have even thrown out those old letters, I don't even know. I hope she is happy wherever she is.

Geez. What a trip! Three hours later and I'm still at this! Oh, yeah. I almost forgot what brought on this splurging of words. Time to return to Earth and reality.

Tajalude had posted a picture of herself on her blog. I have no idea if she'll keep it there or not. In anycase, she is a dead ringer for Ellen. Or at least how Ellen looked in 1988 at the age of 22. The hair, the head, the nose, the chin and the smile. Ellen had green eyes and Tajalude's looks like they might be blue. Hard to tell from that picture.

One can only imagine what that did. Well, yeah, it inspired my longest post ever!

Tajalude has the ability, through her writing, to draw people in. Ellen was not nearly so skilled. But there is a familiar warmth there, in that smile. Even some of the uncertainty and the insecurities

Maybe this was meant to be in order to give me some new insight and perspective from my past. Or maybe this will give someone else some insight if they ever make it all the way through this opus! In anycase, God works through us all. When we pray, it's silly to pray for God to do something for us or to us. He works through us. We are the conduits through which His power flows. Oh yes, He does perform miracles everyday, both great and small. But the ultimate goal is to move us towards Him. I still have so far to go. So very, very far. But maybe I'm just an inch closer, today.

For whatever reason, the universe brought forth Tajalude in order that she might post that picture which means I was brought forth and the circumstances aligned so that I might see it. I do derive a certain amount of comfort from that. I mean, what are the odds?
D.