the dissonance

As I mentioned previously, I killed my previous blog because I had lost a certain degree of anonymity. This loss prevented me from giving naked confessions – secrets that, if discovered by certain associates, would certainly have negative implications for me.

Below is the exact message I sent to WS – my final message to WS. Why am I sharing this here? I don’t know. But something compels me to. So here it is.


You’ve obviously decided to stop communicating with me. And I respect that. I don’t know if you’ll read this, but I felt compelled to write something in, I don’t know, defense of my verbal actions, regardless if this “defense” is read by you. This will be that last you hear from this piece of shit.

In a previous message I wrote that I would regret not saying enough, not saying too much. Maybe that was a mistake. I don’t know.

Perhaps you think I’m delirious. If you do, I want you to know that my heart, my intentions were pure in everything I said/wrote to you. I don’t know what your motives were – if you even had any – in contacting me, but regardless, you triggered something inside me that, at the time, I couldn’t understand. But I believe I now know.

You were the last pure thing I knew before things got severely fucked up with me. And I now know that I’m a fuck-up in every sense of the phrase. Soon after we disconnected 14 years ago, things turned ugly for me. I coped with my, for lack of a better word, depression with very harmful ways. I began cutting myself. I contemplated suicide. And if not for my mother still living, I would’ve killed myself long ago. But before those thoughts corrupted my mind, we met in the strangest of circumstances. I believe that, somewhere buried deep inside me, the harmless being of that 19-year-old still exists, and when you found me via FB just days ago, those pure feelings arose for the first time in years. I believe that whatever horrible things happen to a human being, somewhere deep inside, that unharmed soul still exists, searching for a way to resurface.

Look, I know more than a decade has passed since we first met. I know that we’ve both experienced many changes that have harmed ourselves. But when I think of all the horrible things and thoughts that I’ve done to myself, I remember you on that night at Meijer. Your beautiful eyes. Your perfect skin. Our shy and awkward behavior. I remember it as if it were yesterday. And when that memory reignites inside my heart, I experience a momentary glimpse of peace – a time when things were simpler, less complicated. All those feelings resurfaced when we chatted for three hours on FB. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

All I wanted was a chance to meet you again. Talk. Catch up. Relearn each other’s lives.

But it didn’t happen. Because I’m a fuck-up. And I always fuck up things like that. My emotions blind everything and I make inappropriate confessions. It always comes out wrong. Always.

AND I’M SO SORRY IF I THREATENED YOU WITH THOSE FEELINGS OR MADE YOU FEEL CREEPED OUT. AGAIN, MY INTENTIONS WERE PURE. You impacted my life like no other woman has had before – and that’s difficult to conceal. I’m sorry. The last thing I ever wanted was to intimidate you or freak you out – but that’s exactly what I did.

I don’t know what to say… How we met those 14 years ago defies explanation – and the fact we rediscovered each other 14 years later means… what? Nothing? Something?

Nearly three years ago I made the decision to become a nurse. I didn’t want to make money for some faceless corporation. I wanted to do something meaningful with my life – to help the helpless and vulnerable. I eventually want to become a hospice nurse, which are the nurses that care for people suffering from terminal illness – their sole purpose is to ensure that the dying die with respect and dignity. I want to do this because no one should die alone, or in pain.

______, inside I’m a good, honest person who would never ditch his responsibilities to his lover or child.

Yet I want to die because practically every meaningful relationship I’m in or attempt to establish explodes in my face – and it’s always my fault.

Maybe it’s delirious because I know we no longer know our present selves, but, assuming we met and discovered a remaining spark between us, I saw myself with you and your son. If we reconnected, I could totally see myself being with you and your son, which is something I never thought I’d believe. Meeting a single woman with a child never appealed to me, but I believe that the spark we shared that night 14 years ago still exists – somewhere inside you and inside me. But maybe I’m delirious.

But all I wanted was a phone conversation. A meeting over coffee. But it didn’t happen. Because I the fuck-up fucked it all up.

If you ever think of me again, PLEASE don’t think of this sad, broken man, but think of the shy 19-year-old you met some 14 years ago.

I’ll never forget you, _____. And I’ll never forget what you represented to me – before things got so fucked up. You were the last pure thing I ever knew.

Lost in sincerity,

That’s what I wrote. I received no reply. And in the days since I’ve obsessed over practically everything – from her initial Facebook contact to the last message I sent.

I don’t know what else to say. I don’t understand how a single person can push me to the brink of—I don’t understand how a single person – someone who was absent for 14 years – could push my mind to such dark places.

A couple of years ago GF wrote a research paper about (appropriately enough) mental disorders. As she compiled her research, she discovered a condition called borderline personality disorder (BSD). It struck her because she believed I exhibited some of the symptoms. Reading from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, BSD is defined as “a pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity that begins by early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts.”

Nine diagnostic criteria exist, of which five must be met to achieve diagnosis, for BPD. The following seem eerily familiar:

– “Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment…. The perception of impending separation or rejection, or the loss of external structure, can lead to profound changes in self-image, affect, cognition, and behavior… inappropriate anger even when faced with a realistic time-limited separation or when there are unavoidable changes in plans (e.g., panic of fury when someone important to them is just a few minutes late or much cancel an appointment…. These abandonment fears are related to an intolerance of being alone…. Their frantic efforts to avoid abandonment may include … self-mutilation or suicidal behaviors.”

– “[A] pattern of unstable and intense relationships. They may idealize potential caregivers or lovers at the first of second meeting, demand to spend a lot of time together, and share the most intimate details early in a relationship. However, they may switch quickly from idealizing other people to devaluing them, feeling that the other person does not care enough, does not give enough, is not ‘there’ enough. These individuals can empathize with and nurture other people, but only with the expectation that the other person will ‘be there’ in return and meet their own needs on demand… prone to dramatic shifts in their view of others, who may alternatively be seen as beneficial supports or as cruelly punitive.”

– “There may be an identity disturbance characterized by markedly and persistently unstable self-image…. Although they usually have a self-image that is based on being bad or evil, individuals with this disorder may at times have feelings that they do not exist at all.”

– “[D]isplay impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging. They may gamble, spend money irresponsibly… or binge eat… recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures or threats, or self-mutilating behavior.”

– “They may display extreme sarcasm, enduring bitterness, or verbal outbursts. The anger is often elicited when a caregiver or lover is seen as neglectful, withholding, uncaring, or abandoning. Such expressions of anger are often followed by shame and guilt and contribute to the feeling they have of being evil.”

If I do suffer from BPD, I believe it may be related to a failure to resolve Erikson’s fifth stage of psychosocial development, identity vs. role confusion, which occurs between the ages of 14-24 years. When I entered this stage, my parents divorced and I found myself struggling to not just “fit in” with my school peers, but to discover the nucleus, even it was an unsettled and currently evolving nucleus, of my identity.

This lengthy post relates to an earlier entry in which I felt as though my recent developments/conflicts represented some turning point, a crucial occurrence in which I’m forced to confront this dissonance of being.

But I don’t know how.



~ by the coordinates of memories on 13 May 2011.

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