The Bloody Doors Off

I’ve been trying a little aversion therapy the past couple of days: the rubber band snap on the wrist. If my brain goes dark, if I feel like crap, I snap the band hard to snap me out of it. It’s still early days, not entirely effective yet.

It was a decent afternoon. Conversation with a new friend, comfy and warm apartment, all was good. Decided the weather was not going to stop me from going to Subspace tonight. Friends would be there, a lot of holiday cheer and kink. It’s a Wonderful Life.

Only my brain just couldn’t shut down. Or rather, the emotional cloud reared its ugly head. My friend K noticed I was doing the slow shuffle to the door for a quiet, unnoticed exit (which obviously was noticed) and engaged me in a great talk. N and R joined in, and before I knew it, another hour had flown by.

But sadly the cloud wasn’t willing to dissipate so easily, so I made my goodbyes and headed off through the rain. And I was on the streetcar, my brain began to think about relationships: specifically, the definitions of polyamorous relationships. Primary, Secondary, Tertiary. And a piece of the puzzle slid into place.

But it wasn’t about me. It’s about my dad.

He cheated on my mom with another woman. After the divorce, he spent years chasing her. He’d be in a relationship with her for a couple of years, she’d break it off, he’d chase her, she’d come back. This was a vicious cycle for over 20 years, until one day she finally left for good.

He wanted a primary relationship with her after the divorce, and she treated him like a secondary — and sometimes tertiary — partner. Her own family came first (children and grandchildren should be top-most in your mind and heart) but she never really made room for him. And he sacrificed everything for her.

Even now, 2 years after the last break-up, he’s still looking for her. He’ll never sell his townhouse and convert to something smaller and more manageable, because I think he’s afraid she won’t “find him” if she ever changed her mind. (I hope she doesn’t. He’s better off.)

He never found happiness because what he wanted wasn’t what she wanted.

And now I need to ask myself: what would make me happy? And how will I find it?

Good questions.