From My Perspective- This is not a Family History Part 11
Awoken in me is a demon. Because of unpredictability of an awry upbringing, good will became misfortune. As noted in earlier chapters I do not want the causation bestowed upon my parents backs. It is my burden.
Inside that burden is a child looking desperately for an identity. I was brought up with french Quebec relatives and a King James bible on the kitchen table. Mediation between myself and the demon-like characteristics I developed was and is my responsibility. Three to five years post psychotic episode I cried out to the Lord for love. I asked for someone to console me and guide me to self-worth as my mother had done. Someone to share lustful thought, touch, and time unlike how my mother had done.
She was not in Brampton, for all I could attrat there was long lost liars and demonic triggered women who i would never trust. When my sister and Dave brought music back to me and care took to teach me the chords on a guitar I decided to go to Waterloo.
There the second Catherine had appeared. A student of Wilfred Laurier in religious studies. Our affair was periodic, and never fully felt on my end. I believe she could love me but I was too shallow to love her. A truly wonderful person, she critiqued my writing and set me forth as a professor would towards simplifying my sentences. As many pretentious asshole self absorbed artists do I scoffed at her, and said she didn’t get it. But now I thank her for her criticism. Although I still finish sentences with ‘of’.
Some women are not worth mentioning because of their minor affect on my future. Pure rejection of my homeless style-less corduroy fashion which was inspired by an earlier epoch. I must smell, reeking of instability, and to some seem unpresentable.
On the side of Childebeast my amateur soft rock band of obsessive involvement I dreamed of the quaint, artistic, strong female I believed would repair me. I moved home to Orangeville after I visited a friend circle from high-school. An old friend Jesse brought her cousin Christina to the party that night. For the first time in a while a pretty face with a decent sense of humor looked at me in the right way. Our relationship became, and I was ready to be repaired.
Instantly little betrayals triggered my insecurities. Pictures of an ex-boyfriend, she had more than a few male friends (some ex-crushes), her curiosity to look up at her ex-boyfriends apartment window were instances causing anger. Jealousy was my new protector against this girl who I thought would fix my problems. The relationship lasted a year, and in it was terrible communication toxic jealous and distrust on my part, and a lack of love again to relish. Christina appears to be in a much more stable relationship now with a better man for her. I moved on also a week after our break up to Hope. A Zellers coworker who has a great sense of humor and an artistic upside which attracted me.
I was entranced by her movements. The way she moved was unlike any one. She was a youth trained dancer and her dancing career failed nuclear family, much like mine. We saws some thing in each other which we could see in ourselves. We were children of the same nature. Neglect, art, and the revival there of. We moved to my mothers, and I began to mold her into my fantasy of a woman. “Be more artistic, more quaint, you have it in you”, “stop looking at him” I would demand again jealousy was aroused, anger too. Trust wasn’t there but we fervently tried to love each other. She said “I dont think I can get pregnant, I’m worried”. I was into the idea of conceiving. We did. two years into an unstable relationship compact with rage, neglect, jealousy, and moments of undeniable affection Owen was born. On the midwifery bed in Waterloo I saw the most alien thing occurred, an earth alien birthed before my eyes. I couldn’t believe this child was mine.
Post birth Hopes love for me dwindled to nothing, and the energy that was once spared for me went to Owen. She seemed to have what she wanted and she began talking to another man. I was jealous of my own son, and I pleaded with her for intercourse. Maybe I wanted sex, but more importantly I wanted the love she gave to Owen as my mother once gave to me.
I didn’t have the unconditional impossibility I craved, and after she and I tried to have sex one last time a month after birth, I reopened wounds, and our love was lost forever. An incident in which my jealous rage over comments about the man she was texting told me she liked him, and I jumped on the bed and wrapped my arms around her and she began crying. She thought I was going to hit her. I was hugging her. I messaged her mother, and told her she was unhappy.
Before the birth, during the first three trimesters I was reading Emotional Alchemy, and books on trust. Ever fully engaged in my pathway to strengthening my emotional stability. It was too late. I was alone in our, now my Waterloo apartment. She brought Owen to her mothers. An hour away from me I traveled to see Owen with a pick-up truck for the first year of his life.
She left either because of my rage or because of a lack of love or both. This was not like Christina or Catherine, this involved my first born son, and has become in my mind a journey to a balanced to the acts of hate upon my being. She had a child with me full well knowing what I was like. I promised her I would work on my mental disorder. Owen is my sole reason to exist. My love for him is endless. I miss him. His presence has lessened. School and distance has brought me into a funk. When a man and woman conceive there genetic lineage are united. Our connection will never divide. Our pretentious love led to a creation of magnificence. I meditated for a year, working, meditating, writing, composing, and visiting Owen. I demanded it was in Owens best interest to see me half-time until he started school. Reluctantly she complied. After a year of meditation, work, and self-reflection I met Tanya.
Immediately she was light. A blossom in the winter. She was artistic, strong, intelligent, gorgeous, and interested in me. The first six months were perfect. I wasn’t insecure. I didn’t mind her plethora of male friends. At a point in the relationship when I felt her commitment (maybe to me or maybe to Owen), for the strangest reason jealousy was lit again. All my work the past year seemed like prattling. Triggers were happening everywhere. Distrust was a snow storm covering my poor vision. Again I was not being given the essential unconditional impossibility I once received from my mother. Was this my abandonment schema?
Tanya fell in love with Owen as people do when someone is lovable, and this love for him was a consistent reminder that if I created someone as beautiful as him, then I too was beautiful. Owen it appears to me was the reason to stay while my jealousy surged, and anger erupted. She endured two and a half years of it and finally put up the strong women boundary that all women can learn from. “Either you get help or I’m gone!”
With mental disorders meditation while living a life as a westerner does is insufficient to change habits. I went to a councilor for the second time in consecutive relationships trying to heal. The first councilor guided me to indulge in self-help material. The second brought me to Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I obsessively uprooted jealousy and insecurity over the next year with CBT charts. Jealousy dropped from 95% highs to 35%, and lows of 4% which is a healthy normal level of rationalizing ones feelings about ones partners activities. CBT was the repair, but so was the will to find the woman strong enough to put up the boundary to her love, which is what my mother did when I was bad. In my mothers case it was a short time in my room, but with a partner its a love lost forever as was with Christina, and Hope. At least with Hope I have Owen. With Christina she brought me to awaken the demon. Hope brought me to search to exorcise it, and Tanya forced me to dig in and love it, and myself. A woman did repair me, or did they all contribute inadvertently?
To all the women and men in my life I am sorry for what I put you through, and I thank you for tolerating me as long as you did, you have all taught me how to work with mental illness a little better, but Tanya has significantly changed my life forever.