"When you meet 'the one', you just know." Yeah we gushed those same words with lovesick grins as any other couple smitten by the lusty pre-marital phase of a relationship and on the verge of sealing the deal with a shiny new rock. We were definitely swept up in those heartfelt but sappy emotions when he proposed during Erykah Badu's "Orange Moon" at her Central Park concert. But look at us now. All that mushy-gushy love and romance had been reduced to straightforward text messaging about the logistics of joint finances, separation and divorce. No matter how convinced we had originally felt about being lucky in love, it became quite clear that luck sometimes runs out prior to "til death do us part".
I had been killing myself hyperanalyzing the very menutia of our relationship. My mind was in a constant battle to find conclusive answers about what went wrong. I had dissected our relationship in so many ways hoping to get to the bare bones of our failed marriage. And for what? I had dismembered it to the extent that the truth was not recognizable and all that was left were the bloody remains of what used to be a beautiful relationship. Finally, I conceded to the possibility that there were no clear answers, only lessons to be learned. But the questioning, the digging and the seeking had been necessary parts of my grieivng process which ultimately concretized my belief that we create our own reality. And that if we don't confront our demons or address negative relationship patterns, we eventually become their victims. So instead of continuing my futile quest for answers, I had to struggle with idea of "knowing" I had found "the one", to accepting the fact I was wrong. And then I had to face myself.
This became way bigger than him leaving me or him being a liar and a cheater. And it was bigger than my sadness, anger or hatred toward him. Or probing the lust, friendship and attachment phases of our relationship. And it was even bigger than my admission that he had fallen out of love with me to the extent that I was no longer needed or wanted in his life. For whatever the reasons may be in the grand scheme of my life, this is where I am now. Single and living in NYC. I had a choice. I could either wallow in the past or adjust to this new reality I had created for myself. So, I decided it was no longer about "us" or losing "the one". It was about ME and finding a relationship with myself.
I had always thought of myself as strong and resilient. And I guess on some levels, I was. After all, in a (broken) heart-beat, I remarkably found the power to start over; relocating to NYC, returning to performing full-time and launching an extremely time-consuming business venture. BIG DEAL! I've always escaped painful emotions by hiding behind busy. That's my MO. "Hello, my name is Keex and I'm a workaholic.". I compulsively spend long hours working my ass off as an avoidance tactic, just like alcoholics find comfort in a bottle (ahem!). Work has both a numbing and euphoric effect on me. It makes me feel all giddy with responsibility and a sense of control, albeit a distorted one. Plus, it makes me feel intelligent, valued, useful and creative whenever life threatens my self-worth. And more importantly, work desensitizes me from the painful emotions of relationship conflicts, or admitting my weaknesses, or facing my own destructive patterns of behavior. I've got a nice little buzz thing happening when I'm "on the clock". I'm exempt from reality. And if I'm not burning the candle at both ends, I experience symptoms of withdrawl like restlessness and depression.
That was just one of the nasty little demons I discovered (admitted) about myself. And if that wasn't enough to grapple with, I was also slugged with the realization that I didn't trust myself anymore; my instincts, my intuition, my character judgement or my choices in men. SHIT! Maybe that would explain why two years deep (yes, TWO YEARS) into our separation I still hadn't been on a date. Nope, not even one!
