What Dreams May Come

I rarely remember my dreams, at least for long. When I do, they rarely make sense, other than the occasional anxiety dream in which I am very obviously worried about (usually) work or money or both. I don't even have the recurring nightmares of my youth any longer.

Lately, however, my dreams have been speaking to me. I think my mind is preparing itself for the battle to come: I head back to therapy on Wednesday to work through some old, old issues.

A couple of them have been reassurance dreams, as I see them, much akin to the dream I had ten months ago in which I firmly and contentedly rejected The Ex despite being unattached, lonely, and (frankly) horny as hell. When I woke that morning, I woke with the realization that two important questions had been answered: no, I didn't want The Ex any longer in any way, and no, I wasn't going to go back to him just because of loneliness.

The other night I had a dream in which The Ex suddenly married his girlfriend. For some reason, MTL and I were at the house when they returned from the wedding. I helped the girlfriend/wife put items away, and as we worked side by side I saw that she was already upset and frustrated in her new role. And in my dream, I stood there with my hand covering a sympathetic (and slightly smug) smile and said, Oh dear. I know.

I know. A little passive-aggressive, that. But I woke with the clear understanding that if and when The Ex does remarry, I certainly won't feel hurt--but I might feel a little pity.

The dream that has me reeling still, however, is one that I will mention on Wednesday to my therapist, because it goes to the heart of so many of the issues I still have with insecurity and anger and fear of abandonment, fear of Not Measuring Up.

Saturday afternoon MTL and I lay down for a much needed nap, and I dreamed one of the most vivid dreams I've had in some time. In my dream, four women suddenly showed up at my door: my mother and three classmates from high school. They are all women with whom I have been close at some point in my life. I am still close with two of them (my mother being one, of course) and keep vague tabs on the other two through blogs and FaceBook. In my dream they came tumbling into my house, uninvited, and I felt myself retreating through the rooms as they advanced. They weren't there in a menacing way--rather, it was as if they were intent on simply having a good time in my presence--but I felt invaded and uncomfortable. They were chattering away about what music and concerts and such were the proper ones to attend--vivacious small talk, you see--and I realized that I didn't much like anything they mentioned. And as they rampaged through the rooms, I suddenly realized that this was not my house at all, but my mother's, and suddenly I didn't know where MY space was--the place that was truly mine rather than belonging to her.

I felt small and alone and very, very much on the fringes.

Then MTL woke me because it was time to get ready for the wedding we were attending that night, and as I stood in the shower mulling over the dream, I suddenly realized that these four women are all women whom I deeply respect but who also leave me feeling judged and insufficient on a regular basis. They all lead lives and have views and strong beliefs that vary considerably from mine, in various areas, for they are not by any means identical to each other. But because I do respect them, their opinion of me matters more than, perhaps, it should.

In my view, I don't battle demons. I battle dragons--thus the name of my other blog.

The other night, in yet another dream, MTL fought dragons at my side.

I have some work to do, some battles to fight. But I'm not alone.

The Ex-Factor

We are very Civilized.

That's the word a coworker used when we were chatting about Halloween plans and I listed all the people who will be with us for that Event.

You see, MTL and I have, by blending our families, become the center of this trailing extended family involving Exes and others. And since we are amicable and try to focus on the children, we'll all be joining forces for certain events, such as Trick or Treating. On October 31st, our enormous group will consist of me and MTL, our five children/stepchildren, MTL's Ex and her husband and their daughter (MTL's kids' half-sister), and then The Ex and his girlfriend. The Ex's mother, with whom I am still close, may also join us. A massive group of six children and six or seven adults with a tangled web of connections.

Very Civilized.

And we are, honestly. To the best of our abilities, we get along and avoid conflict and try to keep the focus on the children. The Ex and I haven't fought about anything in ages and have become far better at communicating and working through occasional issues than we ever did when we were a couple. It's a level of teamwork that was markedly lacking in that marriage. As a close friend (who knew us when we were together and is still friends with us both) said to me yesterday, The Ex and I do much better when we don't have to take care of or worry about each other as individuals and spouses--we're quite decent co-parents instead.

Who would've thunk.

MTL and his Ex do fairly well that way too, though with different areas of trouble and ease than The Ex and I have. Of course. Their dynamic is different because they are different. But still, overall...Civilized. She and I get along quite well too. In fact, I even "rate" enough to get those annoying text forwards that are the new evolution of the email chain letters--you know, the ones about beautiful women and send this to the ten most beautiful women you know blah blah blah?  Yeah, those. JOY. It says something that we're at that level of amicability, though. And this weekend MTL and I have her daughter with us so that she and her husband can actually celebrate their anniversary.

It reminds me of the whole Bruce Willis/Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher situation. With much the same responses from people who hear about it, really. And I'm grateful, because it means there's so much less drama and the kids aren't torn apart by parent conflict.

But here's the catch. As much as we all Get Along and, I'm sure, will get even better at Getting Along as time goes on, there's still an underlying sense of unease about the Exes. One time when MTL and I were chatting online (we were at work) about cooking and laughing a bit about our respective Exes' cooking problems, I wrote that The Ex did actually bake really good pumpkin pies. MTL said something snarky along the lines of There will be no complimenting of exes! Just trash talk. I agreed. I'm not interested in hearing compliments about her, either. Not total bashing--they're not evil, either of them--but certainly not praise.

There's something unsettling about the existence of another person with which the other has spent a significant part of their lives, with whom the other has children, with whom the other did Significant Other things including the intimate stuff. Neither of us likes to dwell on it.

And I'll admit this: when MTL's Ex calls, which she does frequently, to talk about the kids and work out transportation and all that sort of thing, I have to fight back a little surge of jealousy. There was this one day last week when MTL was talking to her and she said something and he laughed and called her a dork. That's an affectionate term in our family, and I hated that he called her that. Last night she called to check how her daughter was doing with us, and she said something funny and he laughed, and I hated that too.

It's silly. It's petty. I fight it and I don't make a fuss about it and I'm sure it will get easier with time. But it's there.

I'm sure there are ways he feels the same with The Ex, too. I know that months ago when The Ex and I met at a restaurant to go over some legal paperwork, MTL struggled with it. He knew it was silly, but the whole idea of my meeting The Ex for dinner, all by ourselves--it triggered the same sort of jealousy. And the other night when I had a long phone conversation with The Ex about the kids and DramaBoy's school and some behavioral things we've been seeing with them both and Halloween and all that sort of Co-Parenting Stuff, I noticed that MTL stayed close and listened in--much as I often do when he has similar phone conversations with his Ex.

I know that it's good that we all get along and cooperate and co-parent. It's healthier for the children. And that's why we do it: for the children. I know perfectly well that if there weren't children involved, neither of us would have much, if any, contact with the Exes at all.

I don't fear that he wants to be back with her. I know better. I don't fear that he doesn't love me. I know better. The whole thing has very little to do with logic.

That's the Ex-Factor, isn't it? And I--we--have to get more comfortable with it, because it's not going away. Not as long as we have children in common. It's just a part of our life.

But I don't have to like it.

"[in]sanity"

This one? I think it speaks for itself.

*********************************

"[in]sanity"

conventional wisdom says
we should take it slow
don't rush into things
test the waters carefully
wait and
wait some more

conventional society says
we being crazy
insane fools
we should take a step back
think and
think some more

but i've never been one for conventionality
i'd rather be unique
and when i look in your eyes
hear your voice
feel the beat of your heart
i know
this is more real than
conventional can ever create

so even though we're crazy
leaping off this edge
trusting in an ephemeral future
i'd rather be a fool with you
than sane without

"apology"

The first time I hurt MTL's feelings--however unintentionally--I faced a new kind of reality. For the first time my emotional reaction and my apology were based not on fear of losing him (though I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a tinge of that--yay emotional baggage!) but on pain for having hurt him at all.

So this is what I wrote. He'd already accepted my apology, but this seemed to heal the hurt.

******************************

"apology"

i hurt you
and in hurting you
hurt myself
because somehow
somewhen
you became more than just
someone i know
this connection between us
links us in joy and pain alike

and even though you say
we're okay
the ache lingers like a bruise
and likely will
until i can look into your eyes
get lost in their cerulean depths
kiss your lips
feel your body beneath my hands
the thrum of your heart under my fingers
until i can whisper love in your ear
breath warm against your skin
and sink into the peace of You

until then
all i can do is send my love
and apologies
across the miles between us
fumbling with the words that must substitute
poorly
for the reality of how i feel

"fear"

If you read my other blog, you know that I write and post poetry from time to time. There are a few poems that I wrote during the earlier days of my relationship with MTL that I never felt comfortable posting over on D and D. But as I look back at them, I think they may have a place here. I'll be posting them over the next few days.

This first one was the first poem I ever wrote for MTL--and the first poem he'd ever had written for him (that he knows of, at least). Less than a month after we first met, I already knew that he was Trouble for me, if I wanted to keep my heart unattached. Realistically? It was already too late.

Boy, am I glad.

*****************************

"fear"

you frighten me
to the core
your eyes see more
than i intend to show
strip away my defenses
peel back my armor
crumble the mortar of my walls
and all with such gentleness
that i scarcely feel it happen

i am naked
in more than body
and find myself yearning
to climb within your arms
rest against your chest
and let your heartbeat soothe my mind

i want to trust you
but hold back
unsure despite your words
for you are something new
and though what i've known
has failed me time and again
still
it's easier to stay with the familiar
i am uncertain
if i can take the risk of the unknown

although

when you look at me
i find myself opening
and i wonder
if perhaps i have the courage after all

Why It's Hard To Love

They left again.

As they always do. As they always have. It's a part of the life they've chosen, and all the pain and sorrow they feel at the leaving cannot change the essential truth: they leave me again and again and again, and I have felt that pain since I was a child.

Not just them, you see. Always there was the leaving, with me in tow, friendships made torn asunder and only sometimes fed fuel from time to time, rekindled in later years.

It made me angry. It makes me angry.

And I feel ashamed of that anger.

How can I be angry when their lives hold so much meaning? When they do so much good? How can I be angry when that life gave me a richness of experience that I value to this day? How can I be angry when I know that others have never had the depth of love I have been given since the day I was born, who have also been torn from friends and family, who have suffered tragedy of such dimension that my pain is dwarfed by theirs?

How dare I?

So guilt and shame is mixed with anger and sorrow, and the poison cocktail has soaked the crevices of my heart for three decades. I bandage the wounds but let them fester, ignoring the ache until they crack and bleed again.

I would not let myself fully love, for love means loss. Love means pain. And if everyone always leaves, than it must mean I am not worth staying for.

They always leave.

********************************

He bears many of the same wounds, though from different poisons. He too built the walls.

We dared each other to take the risk. And, gambling on the outcome, went all in.

I still panic about it. There are times when I want to reach out and pull back just a little of my Self, keep some in reserve, Just In Case. There are times when I can barely breathe with the momentary certainty that he will throw up his hands and shake his head and walk away.

I was angry this last weekend: they had left, and the anger I cannot admit was welling up into overreaction to everything and everyone else. He came to me, and I found that with him I could admit the truth, and with him I could weep, and he held me, and then he said the words that told me that he understood the deeper truth behind my fear and sorrow and anger and pain: I'm not going anywhere.

He's had to say it to me before. And I know he'll have to say it again. The fact that he even understands that need says so much about why I have allowed myself to love him as I have never loved anyone else--not just romantically, but at all. Some of those wounds are healing.

But not all.

The anger is still there, and it has washed me in darkness this whole week. I have been taking offense to the slightest things, feeling unintended insults from all directions, fighting back a shadowing of despair. Yesterday I had a moment when I had to remind myself, again, of his words. I'm not going anywhere. 

Becoming part of this new Us, this larger Family that reaches beyond just me and him, is a terrifying thing at times. I'm choosing to take more people into that circle that involves risk and loss. I'm choosing to open up my heart to the possibility of pain.

Because they always leave.

Even when they don't want to.

Grief Has No Logic

Several months ago I had to lay to rest--and mourn--the death of a dream that I didn't even know I had. Or would ever have. Every now and then, however, it shimmers into my periphery, and I have to once more let it go.

I don't know why it came into mind this morning. But it did, just for a moment, as MTL and I were stumbling around in quasi-waking states getting ready for work. I turned and saw him brushing his teeth, and my gut clenched for a split second.

I will never have a biological child with My True Love.

We will never have a child that is born from us, together, fully ours.

My grief doesn't even make logical sense, really.

First, I don't want another pregnancy. I don't want to deal with a newborn again. There are ways in which I fear it, because of the PPD that shadowed those three long years. I also don't want a vertical c-section scar, as shallow a reason as this is, but that is what I would get: I was told that if I had another pregnancy, they wouldn't want to use the same bikini-cut entry point because three abdominal surgeries have built up too much scar tissue there. And with my medical history, we can't risk labor.

Second, MTL had a vasectomy years ago. Combined with my (much-loved and effective) Mirena IUD, the chances of getting pregnant are so infinitesimal that if it happened, we'd know it was God saying Thou SHALT have a child. So there. And I imagine that it would cause some serious initial issues, since (1) getting pregnant with an IUD is generally a Bad Idea and (2) MTL would be seriously wondering about paternity.

All that aside: we don't want more children. We have five, combined. We have enough.

Apparently there's a part of me that doesn't care. There's a part of me that hates the fact that we will never have a child that is our love made flesh. There's a part of me that, as much as I love my boys, as much as I am growing to love his children, yearns for that biological connection to him and is angry that we will never have it. There's a part of me that resents that other people have that connection to him and to me instead.

My sister just had a child. Both MTL and I have been all aflutter about how adorable he is and getting mushy about babies in general. We both have a soft spot for them. We miss the smell and feel of our babies, all the things about them that go to that mushy center.

(We don't miss the poop or the crying or the sleepless nights, though. We're not that crazy.)

And that part of me, the part that doesn't care about all that, the part that isn't based on logic, is insanely jealous. Not only that she has a baby, but that she has a baby with the man she loves.

I don't have that.

And I never will.