reeling (70%) [ 2004-03-01, 11:05 a.m. ]

What started out an ordinary day, one in which I had the intention of making into a great day, became something else entirely.

First of all, Frank and my plans for Saturday night were interrupted. This occasionally happens when Frank's family has some kind of crisis, which is fairly often, I think. At any rate, it's usually last minute notice for me, and then I sit home feeling like a real loser (the waiting syndrome, as I mentioned in the previous entry). To make up for it, Frank promised he'd come over early on Sunday and we'd spend the day together.

By 10:30 I hadn't heard from him. Hmm, I think, it's no longer early. So I call a couple of times and express concern. Is he all right? Did things go okay with the family? Is he sick? Finally, at about noon he returns my call. He was asleep... for 15 hours. Are you okay? Yes, he says but he feels sad.

I've lit some candles for a nice atmosphere and put on something cute. I want him to feel relaxed and safe when he comes. An hour later he's at my apartment. He's in such an un-Frank state: messy hair, slouched shoulders. "C'mon, let's just snuggle," I say.

We lie down and talk for a while. At one point I'm just looking at him, grumpiness and all, and just feeling such love for him. I know he is struggling. He says, "What?" and I say, "I'm just loving you."

That's when he drops the bomb. "How can you, Duck? I don't know, you show up 100%, and I feel like I only show up 70%. Something is wrong. Something's really wrong. I can't go deeper with you. Things aren't changing between us. Something's wrong with ME. It's not fair to either one of us. My friends said maybe we should try taking a break, you know, like three months or so. To see if I miss you."

The whole time he's talking I'm thinking, well, let's finish this conversation up so we can go to the movies or something.

Shock.

Denial.

Right?

Next comes grief, anger, acceptance.

I couldn't believe it. Felt blindsided. Last week felt so amazing. I thought we had a breakthrough, even.

But I can see how unhappy he is. He tells me he still feels like my brother, and he can't find his passion. He's tried. He feels like he's faking it. Everytime he sees me, like today in my lingerie, he feels fear. Will he be able to be passionate, get hard, satisfy me? He keeps saying, "It hasn't changed."

What dawns on me is the word "it". What he means to say is HE hasn't changed. I've changed plenty. I started going to therapy last year. I've changed the way I eat, where I live and where I work. I've tackled some major issues that are very scary for me. Frank hasn't done much of anything different.

So I said, "Well, maybe you don't want it to change, Frank, since you've been talking about going to therapy for six months now, and haven't done anything about it."

He admitted that this was true, and made a vow right there to find a therapist by the end of this month. Through a lot of tears, a lot of words... we lay there for three hours talking. I felt colder and colder and stupider and stupider in my flimsy negligee. So naive. How could I think things were getting better?

One important point, which I think is the basis of the whole problem, is that Frank is such a caretaker. He's spent his whole life, his childhood even, taking care of his family. Before he met me, all the women he was involved with looked to him like a daddy. He financially supported them and care-took them as if he were their father. And they were crazy, crazy women... very dramatic relationships with lots of arguing and fighting.

In our relationship, our friendship is easy. We take care not to hurt each other. We've never yelled and called each other names-- we don't fight like that. Instead we take responsibility, for the most part, for our feelings. And we hardly ever argue anyway!

So what's missing is the passion. My theory is that Frank's not used to a relationship where there's not so much drama. Before me, there'd never been someone who asked him what he needed. Who saw him as a person. So without the drama, he doesn't know what to do. He connects passion to that kind of fucked-upness. So when it's not there, he goes into caretaker mode. And that's why he feels like my brother. He doesn't know how to be an equal partner, lover and friend, in relationship. We've talked about this and he admits that that is possibly what's going on.

"What do you want to do?" he asked me. He knows what I want to do. I don't want him to leave. I want to forget about this whole conversation and go to the movies.

I said, "You are the one that is in the most pain right now. If we separate, then I'll be the one in the most pain. We can do a few things. You can start therapy and we can see how it goes. We can try to more clearly delineate what's caretaking and what's not. We can--" here my voice broke "try the separation thing..."

He said, "We're just talking for now. I've laid a lot of stuff on you. We'll just keep talking over the next few days. I meant what do you want to do with the rest of this day?"

He thought I would want to stay home and cry to my girlfriends. Only I really don't have the kind of girlfriends I can talk to about this. The situation is so complex, hard to explain, and heart-wrenching for me, that I really can't do it. Especially when friends such as Kelly and Anna jump in with a) anger at Frank and b) unsolicited advice. Sometimes girlfriends think they are supporting you by invalidating and criticizing everything the man is doing, but I don't find that to be helpful on most occasions (only when I'm really, really in the anger stage-- remember, I'm in my shock/denial/possibly grief stage). Besides, I don't even feel angry. I just feel sad, and so does he. We're just looking at each other and crying, and feeling bad that things are so difficult. It doesn't make sense when other things are so damn easy.

So we went to the movies. Let me tell you, if you are going on a first date, or what might possibly be your last date, do not go see The Passion of Christ. I couldn't stand anymore whipping. Chunks of flesh falling off this guy. Gross is gross, and yes Christ suffered, but the fact that I felt like I had just been flayed inside wasn't helped by watching this guy being beaten into hamburger.

I spent the night at Frank's place. We held each other through the night. Woke up at five with Frank curled around me, such tightness in my chest, like I'd been stabbed with knives. Woke up at seven with my nose against his shoulder blade, my arms wrapped around him. Woke up at eight and put my hands on my chest, tears leaked out of my eyes. Frank came, put his head on my heart and wept.

What are we supposed to do now? I don't even know what the rules are. Every time I go to touch him or kiss him, I don't even know if he really wants me to. Before I left for work we told each other we love each other. We really do. I cried the whole way.

I am reeling. My heart is gashed.

Nothing's happened yet. But the fact that we're talking about the possiblity... and knowing Frank's pessimism... it's hard for me to be positive. It really is.

Think a good thought for me today. Please.

Thank you.

Duck

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