Soul Searching

Up. Down. Up again. Down again. For several days following the dreams I was on an emotional roller coaster. There was no doubt that the dreams were an expression of inner turmoil bubbling to the surface, my suppressed anger being a common theme in both. There had to be a reason for this surfacing now, and I had no doubt as to its source. The Chili Cook-Off approaches, an annual event that is a tradition among my circle of friends. In fact, Jeri’s* husband, Michael*, participates in the competition most years. After months of not seeing or speaking to the SoHB, I’m afraid that seeing him there is inevitable, and he will probably be with her.

Seeing him again, even with her, isn’t something I frequently fret about. I’ve recognized the possibility of running into him on several occasions. The solution to finding myself at the same bar or event has always been simple. I would ignore him and keep my distance. The dilemma of this situation is how to keep my distance without ignoring any mutual friends who may be with him. This was basically the scenario of both dreams – having to silently endure his presence while in the company of mutual friends. It had been a source of anxiety since I first arranged to buy Cook-Off tickets from Michael, only the dreams made me face it.

I spent most of the first day after the dreams in a blue mood. I missed him. I missed our comradery. I missed being able to speak with him without having hurt feelings. I missed “us.” I spent most of the day, though, trying to imagine what I might do or say if forced to encounter him and his girlfriend. Would I ignore them completely? Would I introduce myself to her? Would I ask her to repeat her name or use some other subtle manipulation to reveal that he has never mentioned it? Would I smile at him in effort to prove that I’m happy without him? Or would I ignore him completely to indicate his irrelevance?

Circles. My mind ran in circles, finding no solution. While preparing for bed, I asked God for help. I was instantly reminded of advice I recently gave another blogger dealing with an entirely different situation. Back in college, while suffering a devastating struggle with depression, it became necessary for me to face several professors and ask for undeserved second chances. With depression, courage isn’t in ready supply. I found it in an image – the image of God literally holding my hand as I met with them, like a father going with his child to meet the principal. I knew that with God there, I needn’t worry over saying exactly the right thing to argue for myself. He would argue in their hearts for me, and if any should refuse me (only one did), it was because He wished it for my sake. I thanked God for bringing this memory to my attention and immediately applied it to my image of meeting the SoHB at Chili Cook-Off.

It didn’t work.

Sitting on the edge of my bathtub, I went back to Him. “For some reason, that doesn’t comfort me. At the time it helped, I needed encouragement to speak for myself. I needed courage. This time, I’m afraid of saying too much – afraid of letting my anger run away with me. This time I need to be calmed, not goaded.” Inside, a voice asked, “Okay. So what if instead of a father holding your hand, this time I’m a young man hanging on your shoulders? What if I go with you as a boyfriend – your Best Boyfriend?”

The picture filled my mind. With absolute serenity I greet a group of friends which includes the SoHB and his girlfriend. I smile at them all, even the SoHB. I feel absolutely secure because no matter what he took from me, I regained it all and more in the young man standing behind me smiling down at them all – The Best Boyfriend for whom a girl could ask.

Even as I expressed gratitude for this help, the picture changed. Suddenly my mind filled with images from my recent past – memories of shame and regret. There I am, indulging my anger or loneliness, looking absolutely horrible to my own eyes. There He is, my Best Boyfriend, standing by and pleading with me, “Please, don’t. Don’t do this, Kwirk. You’re better than this. Don’t. Let’s just go home.” I’m aware of his presence and of his pleas, but I don’t hear him through the glory of impetuousness. I see Him silently drive me home and lie beside me. He holds my hand as I fall asleep, oblivious to his loving regard.

As I crawled into bed that night, I asked Him, “Why? Why are you still here when I ignored and neglected you? What do you see in me when I’ve been so ugly?”

“Because that wasn’t the real you. And because I knew you’d come through it and see me again eventually. I knew I could count on you to notice me again one day.”

In the darkness I couldn’t see Him lying beside me, but this time I felt Him holding my hand. It was the most peaceful rest I’ve had in a while.

The following day began with the same sense of peace, but I was wary. How many times have I considered myself free from him, the grief lessened, only to encounter some reminder which plunged me back in? I decided I should be kinder with myself. Crying … grieving … isn’t weakness. It’s simply part of loss, and my sense of loss may continue for a while yet. Grief deserves no deadline. I often wanted to cry over the next couple of days, but rarely found myself in moments convenient for it. When I did, it felt purer, without anger and blame, and I felt more cleansed by it. But my wariness over trusting the peace was well founded. I was periodically tempted to long for the relationship we shared before the betrayal and idealize our closeness. It was then that a somewhat repressed memory returned to me.

After the SoHB flirted right in front of me with the second girl in whom he was interested last year (this after setting my mind at ease that she was only a friend and had a boyfriend besides), I informed him of his insensitivity. When he refused to acknowledge my feelings, I declared that I needed to distance myself. He resisted, but eventually acquiesced. The agreement was that we could still hang around the same friends in the same places, but we would no longer depend upon each other when making plans. I had to end my social life revolving around him. The first test came that weekend.

A co-worker visiting from another office wanted to have dinner with friends before leaving. It felt strange arranging my evening without ever speaking to the SoHB. Upon arrival I chose to sit at the opposite end of the table from where he was. Conversation rarely required us to interact, but whenever he passed behind me in order to smoke at the bar, he squeezed my shoulder. I resented it. I didn’t want him touching me. His inappropriate affection while dismissing my feelings was part of the problem. When the dinner finished and most were ready to leave, The Flirt, the SoHB, and the guy who would become my guitar friend decided they wanted to continue the night at Faubacher’s. All begged me to join them, but I resisted. I didn’t need to socialize so closely with the SoHB. I resisted even as I went to my car, but the temptation was too strong.

At Faubacher’s I wound up sitting in the booth beside the SoHB. He became flirtatious as his intoxication rose. Eventually his knee pressed against mine, and I pulled away. Later, it would be his thigh or his arm. I retreated repeatedly until I was pressed into the corner. He became upset. Why couldn’t he touch me? Was he so hideous? I expressed disgust that he was disregarding my need for distance. All of us paid our bills. I made a dash for it when he returned our checks to the bar. He came after me demanding to know what was wrong with me. We argued outside my car. We argued after I opened the door and sat in my car. It became too chilly for comfort, so I told him to get in. We argued as we both sat practically on top of each other in my driver’s seat. We argued until nearly daybreak. I no longer remember anything specifically said, but the gist of it all was that he didn’t believe us right for each other despite our mutual feelings while I tried reasoning through his doubts. There was no clear resolution, but because I did get an admission of his feelings for me, my demands for distance fell apart.

This memory reminded me that his insensitivity began long before his betrayal. It proved his disregard for feelings I had openly and clearly expressed was ongoing, and not only a recent infraction. It forced me to recognize how little is really lost. And since I was never able to make him hear me, the loss is really his. Whenever I recalled this memory, my contentment was restored. I simply don't need someone like that in my life.

But still, how will I handle seeing him?

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.