CTD

I read somewhere that doctors will sometimes use made-up, yet universally understood to medical professionals acronyms to describe patients. 

For instance, if an elderly person simply refuses to move onto the next plane, 

they give them the FTD tag. Failure to Die.

This post, however, is about CTD.

My marriage and relationship with my best friend is CTD.

Circling the Drain

When it becomes clear that something, more often someone, is not going to make it, they are CTD. Circling the drain. Making the arbitrary rounds down, down, down until gravity and life do their unfortunate thing.

In the medical sense of the word, we're not dying.

I mean, we ARE. Everyone is. We're not dying faster than anyone else.

But we are most certainly circling the drain. 

I printed out a petition for divorce today.

10 pages stating hard truths in a very cold and matter-of-fact manner.

Yes, I want to be given sole custody of our son.

Yes, he will have standard visitation rights.

No, I am not currently pregnant.

Yes, we have arrived at such a discord that resolution

seems highly unlikely.

10 pages for the big bad person asking for divorce.

3 pages for the spouse on the business end of it.

Page One

I, ___________________________, am the Petitioner, the party requesting divorce.

I married my spouse _____________________ on or about the following date **-**-**

(etcetera, etcetera) 

In those two lines alone,

they succeeded in making me recall when I got married

and how I must have felt then compared to how I feel now

compared to how I felt in the very beginning of our lives as a couple.

With each blank I filled in, I could hear the gaping drain getting louder.

But.

I must force myself to accept my role in this pickle.

Yes. I am unhappy.

Yes, he's been talking to other girls since day one.

Yes, he's an alcoholic on the mend.

Yes, I've known all these things for many years now and I got married anyways.

But I have to accept more responsibility that simply knowing he had a closet full of big-tittied skeletons. I have to accept all the ways I have failed him as a companion, girlfriend, and wife. 

I am a very critical person.

Certain things come exceedingly natural to me (music, for instance),

and I have a very difficult time exercising understanding and patience

for people who have to take a different approach to learning.

And that's not even factoring in certain learning disabilities. ADD, for instance.

I have failed him in that I did not make enough earnest attempts to understand him and help him learn in a way that made sense to him.

Does that excuse him secretly flirting with every girl who thought he was funny in high school? Certainly not. But for my part, I can see how my lack of compassion for things as seemingly basic as honesty and trust may have driven him further away.

And I'm no angel.

I must also accept this fact.

While his infidelities were largely masturbatory and meaningless,

I had the audacity to have an emotional affair with someone for YEARS before realizing how I was hurting my own relationship.

Years! I carried on a friendship that began innocently enough, a meeting of like-minds, two poets in a world that doesn't fucking read, it was all very romantic. 

And that emotional affair that I carried on, that I felt a form of love for (though it could not have been nor will I ever confuse it with REAL love - the kind of love that physically endures your worst and still comes back because its seen your best), that emotional affair took me away from my best friend right in front of me. 

Instead of sharing my thoughts and dreams and desires with him, 

I was giving them to someone else. 

Of course that drove him to seek attention elsewhere.

I accept that this probably damaged our relationship more than I'll ever realize.

Now, I'm not saying I'm the one who ruined this marriage.

In truth, we're both responsible for the Toy Story 3 ending happening right now.

There's no hand holding, but there's a furnace alright. 

And it's coming, and it's coming fast.

Could a crane magically appear and carry us to a place where we can start over? Try harder? Be better? Well sure. You saw the movie.

But it doesn't come from sitting around hoping it does.

This takes active and constant participation on both parts,

so I must also accept that I am not readily willing to put in that work.

Let me explain.

Over the years, some very unnice things have happened in our relationship. Apart from the cheating (on both sides), there's been the alcohol abuse and all the hilarity that ensues. If we're talking statistics, I have been on the ass end of these unpleasant happenings 90% of the time. Each blatantly unkind thing has hardened me to him.

I remember I was crying my eyes out one night. I had found a treasure trove of girls Nick was talking to. He was still getting black out drunk. He didn't care about me or about us. And I was crying like a girl very much in love.

And mom told me that it wouldn't hurt forever.

That eventually, I'd form callouses and it would take the sting out of it.

And that seemed crazy then.

But you know what? She was right.

Most recently, we have encountered the same problem of him talking to and treating girls in a way that married men ought not to. I got angry like I have for years, but I didn't cry. Even now, filling out these divorce papers, I don't feel the urge to cry behind my eyes. I don't feel anything about it. I feel a love for him that comes with knowing someone for years, but I don't feel IN love. I don't feel the sting of jealousy or insecurity because I just don't care anymore.

The freeing aspect of motherhood is...

it isn't about me anymore. It isn't about my love feelings or my loneliness or my secret desire to get dolled up. It's all about Herbert. Everything. Everything I am and do and feel is channeled into this little boy. I am mom shaped now. He climbs me like a lumpy mountain. When he summits, he doesn't plant a flag. He bites and leaves his mark that way. And I am happy for this. Blissful even. But I must also accept that I am lazily replacing my husband with my son in that I don't feel I have to work on keeping Nick around. I have my son. I don't need Nick. 

And that's incorrect.

I need him more than he will ever understand.

There is a good bit of ego that I'm fighting here. I don't want to sound like I'm the worst wife there ever was, cause I'm not. In truth, I think I'm pretty open. I think I'm more understanding than he's ever given me credit for. I think I'm firm but fair. I have been accused of wanting too much sex before. On the wife scale of SHIT to PERFECT, I'd say I was hovering comfortably between EH and I GUESS. And again, I shouldn't be okay with that. My son comes first. I will never compromise there. But that shouldn't mean that Nick gets thrown down the ladder past my job and the dog. 

Having a child has done things to my body that I cannot erase or run away from. The stretch marks are there forever. The process of aging in conjuction with having birthed a large pineapple has made me more aware than ever that I am not an attractive girl. At least not attractive by conventional standards. I see the girls he talks to. Flirts with. Has pictures sent to him from. These girls are pretty. Nice tits. Nice asses. No stretch marks. Some young. Some his age. But none of them, I repeat, NONE of them look a thing like me. So, yes, much as I like to pretend I don't care how I look, there is a fair amount of insecurity still in me. I want my husband to want me. Duh. I want him to consider sending me a dirty text before he decides to send it to someone else. I want him to entertain the thought of finding me attractive. Even if he's only pretending. Maybe he could fool me. I don't know. 

The impact this impending divorce will have on Herbert is not lost on me. 

I know he would benefit greatly from having two parents who actually loved each other. Worked hard at discovering new ways of understanding and wanting. There isn't a single functional marriage he'll be able to reference on my side of the family. And coming from a dysfunctional household, I can speak to how seeing those things affects a young mind. I wouldn't be considering a divorce if my unhappiness were only mild. Or the problems were only temporary. No. For me to be filling out paperwork now means we're very near the point of no return.

What do I think is at the bottom of the drain?

Knots of wet hair, more than likely. I have no desire in my heart whatsoever to replace him with another mate. In all likelihood, my family and I will continue to raise Herb. I'll keep going to work and coming straight home. I'll keep reaching for new positions with better pay. I'll keep reaching for things that will improve my family's life. But I'll be doing it alone. I'll be doing it without someone I used to love more than all the avocados, heath bars, and Big Reds in the world. And I'll not be able to stop myself from wondering who is keeping him company in his downtime. If he'll totally revert back to his alcoholic ways. If he'll somehow be the perfect guy for the next girl. It'll eat me or it won't. He'll prosper or he'll deteriorate. I'll move on or I'll inadvertently raise my son to believe his fellow man is evil and useless. 

I don't want any of these things.

So why then are we still circling?

It does no good to have an epiphany on my own.

It must be mutual and it must be miraculous.

Truthfully,

I don't expect the claw to save us.

I don't believe he's going to wake up tomorrow

and touch my heart with his newfound understanding.

If I'm being perfectly honest, the history does not support it.

But that's why they're called miracles, I guess.

Who knows.

Maybe that metal hand will come down and scoop us up

and it'll be him at the controls

moving us to safety.

Maybe the doctors will have to invent a new acronym for us,

so close to sinking 

and disappearing,

then suddenly out and managing our faucet together.

Actually, they've already got an acronym for that.

FTD.

Failure

to 

Die.