I'm here again.  A layer of frustration clouding everything I do - a faint desire (but one too lazy to action) for everything to end, for life to stop coursing through me, to just be free from this repetitive cycle of pain and misery. 

I believe in my heart that I am not an angry person.  I believe very much that I am not at all my brother, who lashes out at those around him and constantly feels remorse for not being able to control himself, nor my mother, who lives mired in a perpetual state of victimhood.  

To feel like I am constantly prosecuted for a bloodline I've all but forsaken so that I (me, just me!) can find some semblance of peace and happiness in my life feels so incredibly unfair.   

The irony of all of this is that she is quite possibly the most stubborn person that I know.  The very notion to be offended when I get upset at something she's told me tells me she doesn't care to understand my perspective, nor does she perceive it as problematic.  

We had a difference in perspective, borne primarily from a misunderstanding.  What she said was upsetting to me.  Her reaction to that was even more upsetting. 

This continual cycle is unproductive and painful, and I fear what the future holds for us when we no longer have the children to tether us together.  

First off, I know your intent was to give the kids a fun time, but I still wanted to thank you for a restful weekend.  I didn't realize how much I needed it until I had it.  Secondly, I am sorry again for any bruising to your arms.  I did not meant to hurt you but it's clear I did, so I apologize for that.  Thirdly, I want to thank you for being a good mother and a role model to our children, even in these difficult times.

I feel you and I have the possibility for a loving marriage, but that our deepest flaw is our inability to deal with conflict.  We have the capability of being supportive and nurturing to each other, but too often we fall into these dark episodes where words are said and actions are taken that leave lasting, permanent damage.  We leave these moments with deep pain and resentment in our hearts, and the complete breakdown in communication and icy period that follows makes our home a less loving place and our family an uncoordinated mess.  

Between getting individual therapy, going through couples counseling, reflecting on our relationship and reading books about conflict, I remain as resolved as ever to fix this one aspect (the fighting) that is killing our marriage.  More than anything, we have two beautiful, healthy, curious and bright children between us, and our eldest is far more perceptive than we give her credit for.  For them, I want them to know that their parents - while not being perfect and being incompatible in many respects - loved each other and did their absolute best to make things work.   

Please take a look at this marriage and tell me if you think I am wrong, and worse, whether you still feel that our conflicts are fundamentally driven by my personality, my failings, my family or whatever other sins I have caused against you.  If there's even a sliver of thought within you that recognizes that this is our problem that we need to fix together, and not a me or you problem, then I think there's hope for us just yet. 

Today is ordinarily our day for couples counseling, so in lieu of that, I'd like to do some repairing and reflecting tonight, together.  If tonight is not convenient, whichever evening works for you - after the children are asleep.  I am around and ready, whenever you are.

Fighting the Impulse

Ten years ago, I would have laid clutching my pillow, a raw yearning in my heart, an acute awareness of the inevitability and permanence of desire unfulfilled. My thoughts would've turned to escape, to resolutions arrived at too quickly for cool reason to intercede.

I think I've grown a lot since, though. I've learned how quickly passions ebb and flow, of the heart's capacity to mend itself and readily clutch to new hopes, the foreknowledge that eventually (and always) the dust settles and life goes on. An exorcism that would've taken months now lasts just a few days.

But that initial moment, the mental 180 one has to make when denial slowly melts away (which, unfortunately, comes roaring back in unpredictable ways) and optimism and risk-taking fizzle to damage control and determined withdrawal...that will never, EVER be easy.  When the living present catches up to the imagined future and charges a deafening wallop to its jaw.

Suckle Sweet

Lipstick lover, pursed and shuttered,
Scent of salt and moist-filled utters,
Supple luster, pushed asunder.
Tickle sweet and coax a-flutter,
Lick the sap that spills from under,
Sticky slime of sugar plundered.
Feel my stubble, lips-a flutter.
Shiver n' shake with all that wonder.