117/365: 1998-1999

Saturday, 20 September 2008.

 

40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]

An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.

 

For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.

 

Year 31: 1998-1999

 

I spent the week of Thanksgiving 1998 in Hawaii. Northwestern was playing Hawaii the following Saturday, so I went with my friend Tom and his new bride, Lavinia. I felt a bit third-wheel-ish, but I didn't let it bother me much. I mean, I wasn't passing up a trip to Hawaii just to avoid a small amount of social awkwardness. The week proved to be fantastic. We rented a convertible and drove all around Oahu, hitting most of the major spots: Punch Bowl, Pearl Harbor, Diamondhead, etc.... all well worth seeing. Then, while Tom and Lavinia spent some time at the beach, I did some exploring on my own. I could never understand the appeal of lying around on the sand on vacation, when I could just as well do that at home. I'd rather be out seeing things I can't see elsewhere. I bought a puddle jumper ticket over to the big island, and signed up for a van tour. We circled the entire island, and I got to jump around on some lava -- much better than a beach. On Thanksgiving day, we cooked a turkey in the kitchen of the condo we had rented for the week. We put pineapple slices on top, and they burned to a charred, unrecognizable crisp, so we laughed, snapped a lot of photos, and threw them out. It was great fun.

 

I wished Dave had been there. I think he would have enjoyed it, but when I asked him about it while I was in the planning stages of the trip, he said he wasn't interested in going. I wanted to think it was because he wasn't interested in the football game we were using as our excuse to go, but I had a nagging suspicion that it was because he didn't want to commit to plans with me that far out. Our relationship had started to become strange and silent. Where once there had been amusing conversation or comfortable silence, there was now a silence that felt heavy and oppressive, as if we just no longer had anything to talk about. At least part of the problem was that Dave was adamantly opposed to talking about himself. Very early on in our relationship I noticed that I was doing all the talking when it came to subjects like personal histories, family life, hopes, dreams and fears. When I asked him why that was, he said he didn't like to talk about himself, that he felt it was boring. Over the years, of course, I was able to draw a good deal of those things out of him, but it never came naturally to him.

 

It would be dishonest to blame the silence entirely on Dave, though. The truth is, I had withdrawn inside myself to the point where I'd become a different person. I had begun therapy in 1996 to deal with an eating disorder, but by 1999, it had become painfully apparent that what I really needed to deal with most was the traumatic event from my early childhood. I supplemented my regular therapy with thematic group therapy, and began to delve deeply into the issue. As a result, I became intensely focused inward, and the world outside my head became either faded, or recast as supporting characters for my inner drama. Dave tried his best to be supportive, but my shifting moods and unpredictable anger and sulking frustrated and confused him. At the same time as I was trying to bridge the gap between us and pull him closer, I was also pushing him away. And so the gap grew until I feared it would swallow us up. One morning in April, while we were lying in bed waiting for the day to start, I just said out of the blue, "I can't take the silence anymore." I didn't need to explain what I meant. Dave knew. We started couples counseling the following week.

 

Initially, counseling seemed to be a magic bullet. We were affectionate, playful, and attentive with each other, and it felt more like our earliest months together. But, when that began to fade, and things got difficult again, our counselor reminded us that there is often a honeymoon period that follows the start of couples counseling because of the sudden renewal of hope. When the reality of the hard work of rebuilding a relationship sets in, that giddiness fades. We struggled. Dave had to fight his natural inclination to clam up, and I had to battle my own fear of being truly honest with him about how broken and scared I was inside. I was afraid that if I really showed him all of the turmoil and ugliness roiling around in my head, he would decide that I was repulsive and not worth the trouble.

 

While all of this was going on, I was also focused on preparing for grad school. I was taking high-level, reading- and writing-intensive courses. I wanted to build my research and writing skills, but most importantly, I needed to develop the study skills that I had never acquired as a high school and undergraduate student. I knew I would never survive in grad school if I didn't know how to devote my time and energy to it. I spent hours reading and re-reading, outlining and writing, pacing around the house to stretch my legs and shake some hidden idea out of some dark crevice in my mind, all the while trying not to think about the one I loved most in the world slipping away.

 

Who am I?

 

I am a product of therapy.

 

And thank God for that. If you don't need it, the idea of therapy seems absurd and tedious (hell, even if you do need it, sometimes therapy is absurd and tedious). But, if you need therapy, there's just no adequate substitute. For some people there are just going to be times when you need to focus inward. Sometimes that's going to exact its own high price on your life, but when you need to go through something, you need to go through it. Some things you just can't circle around.

 

[ view previous | view next ]

 

Texture Credits

 

"texture107" by Sick Little Monkey

 

Done