While I probably shouldn't keep comparing my boyfriendly-type-creature to Hitler, but I can't help that Eva Braun and Hitler's relationship is such a perfect representation of my dynamic with Herbert.
Herbert and I dated in high school, but broke up over his emotional affair with my best friend. I didn't speak to him for about 3 years after that, then we started instant messaging for about a year...which lead to phone calls, and we talked almost nightly for another year or so, but I refused to see him. I was afraid to, really, I couldn't imagine what it'd be like to see him again. Finally, 2 years ago this August, I agreed to see him again. He came over my house when my parents were on vacation in another state, and it was funny, I still refused to look at him. He was in my house, literally inches away from me but I wouldn't look at him.
Eventually I did and the day after the day after I saw him for the first time he came over again, and we kissed for the first time a second time. So we've been on the "together" side of the relationship spectrum ever since.
Between then and now, of course there was the mistrust thing and how Herbert the whole big fight we'd had had changed his views on relationships and he's now...he hasn't used the word "poly-amorous" but that's essentially what it is. Eventually we had the discussion where I said I wasn't going to tolerate anything less than monogamy. When I told him of a crush I had on a guy at The Internship From Hell he had no reaction, which I discussed in the Swallowed in the Sea post, "Is love even possible without jealousy? He said it'd be hypocritical of him, and it would, but what good is love without possession? If my affection isn't worth getting jealous over, worth being afraid of losing, then what does it matter?"
Eva Braun spent 13 years madly in love with Hitler while he ignored her. She wanted desperately to be married, he didn't. She wanted children, he didn't. She ended up, essentially, wasting her 20s and 30s because she was in love with a man who wouldn't commit.
I can't decide if I admire her for sticking with him or if I think she was kind of stupid...or maybe weak. I've always thought, since Herbert explained this to me, that he and I wouldn't be able to last very long because I can't be a part of that lifestyle. I want to be married, I want to have children and it's not something that I'm willing to give up. I want someone to be my partner and join my family, to celebrate holidays and birthdays and...just live as a unit. I want a partner. In order to have that the time's going to come where I'm going to have to make the choice to leave him.
But the thought of that is horrifying. I do truly love Herbert, I very much want him to be a part of my family, life, and future...maybe if/when the time comes it'll be easier...now I can hardly imagine it.
Hitler married Eva 36 hours before they committed suicide together.
I can sort of understand her not leaving him...she certainly had the opportunity, and he even told her to go. She didn't even have to die with him, her friends and family and even Hitler himself all pleaded with her to run away before it was too late to avoid the advancing Russian army, but she didn't. That's serious dedication and love.
I don't know...I don't know what I'm going to do or when I'm going to do it. I guess my best option is to just enjoy it while it lasts and make the hard decisions later, when my hand is forced...I finished the Eva Braun book and now that I've written about it I'll be able to not think about it so much. It's been purged, so to speak. At any rate, finishing the book now takes it out of my face.
I think I'll write a non-Herbert related review tomorrow, as it's kind of an ignored aspect of the war and an interesting view of it.
Until then, loves.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Swallowed in the Sea
Or "Salami & Orchids First-Ever Foray into Jo's Labyrinth of Depression and Self-Loathing"!!
Warning: bad similes and metaphors ahead.
Before I was medicated I'd get these things I'd call plunges. What would happen is a thought, a simple thought, either self-produced or with outside influence would wiggle its way into my mind which would set off a chain reaction of thoughts, like a row of falling dominoes, falling one after the other until it comes to the last little domino, who was on the edge of a cliff. That last little domino would then fall off the cliff and into the ocean, taking my mood with it.
The funny thing about most anti-depressants is that they sort of install a balcony about halfway down the cliff face so the little domino doesn't fall into the ocean. It splats down hard on this plane and can't fall any lower, but it knows the ocean is still below it.
Literally, that's what it felt like. There's a point, a floor, in your head and you know there's space beneath it but you can't reach it...emotionally. I mean it. It's practically tangible, like you're lying face-down on an actual floor...you reach out with your fingers, trying to find an edge to the thing, but there isn't one. You crawl a little, dragging on your belly, still looking for that edge to complete your fall but it's just not there...It's an emotional cement block that you can't walk to the edge of, go through, or find your way around. You're stuck on the platform until your mood comes back up.
If you haven't felt it I can't explain to you how real it feels. How solid. How you can peak between the cracks in the floorboards and see the ocean below but there is no way to touch it. You can smell it. You can remember how the water felt against your skin but you're plastered against that stupid balcony under the weight of your own emotions.
It's supremely weird.
But Lexapro wasn't like that. Instead of being on the top of a cliff you're a beach ball, floating along in the ocean. Sometimes the waves of your mood toss you up in the air- you can actually be happy. You can experience happiness. And you can stay happy for longer. Plus, and this is my favorite part, there's no floor. It's just that, when a bad mood comes or something awful happens- just like a beach ball- a wave swallows you for a little bit, but then you pop back up. You know how hard it is to keep a beach ball underwater? That's what it's like. It's comfortable, it's easy.
Lately I've been having trouble. It may be tied up with my menstrual cycle (PMDD?), I don't know, but the depression is coming back. I'm slowly, slowly, sinking under the waves...sometimes are worse than others. There were days when, while I was in the internship from hell (coming soon, I promise), I would want so badly to step in front of the Amtrak or Acela trains and just...explode. It would have all been over- everything, everything- would have been over in an instant.
After I posted yesterday I took a nap...and woke up iffy. After dinner my internet was weird so I just kinda laid around watching Robert Pattinson movies and feeling worthless.
I'm reading a biography of Eva Braun and the parallels between her relationship with Hitler and my relationship with Herbert were weighing on me like lead. The chapter on her diary was devastating:
"...emotionally starved by her lover's neglect and driven half insane by her need for him."
"...having given herself mind and body to Hitler, he gave so little in return that she wondered if her life was worth living."
"She never knew when she would see him next and this uncertainty kept her in perpetual suspense."
"By way of goodbye he handed me, as he has done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had."
"...his blowing hot and cold left her in a constant state of insecuirty. The banal but obvious truth- that Hilter was genuinely preoccupied with affairs of state and too busy to spend time with her...she tried to make allowances: 'After all, it is quite obvious that he is not really interested in me when he has so much to do in politics' or 'So he has had a head full of politics all this time, but surely he needs to relax a little.'"
"What happens to me is no concern of his."
"I should have learned to be patient by now."
Eva's words are in italics. And the book is The Lost Life of Eva Braun by Angela Lambert.
She was 23 and deeply in love with a man too busy for her...a man who didn't want to marry and have children, even though she did...it might as well be me. Herbert is an incredible human being...he's hilarious and has a mind I couldn't even begin to understand- in the fall he's beginning a program that will last- what did he say? 7 years? 10? He'll be earning his M.D. and Ph. D. degrees simultaneously, and getting paid to do it. That's how brilliant he is.
What am I compared to that? Eva...a sad young woman who could make the most powerful man in Germany laugh.
Side note, I'm not a Nazi- I just did my undergrad thesis on WWII photojournalism and learned a great deal about the war- but nothing about Eva Braun. I was curious.
Anyway. Herbert doesn't believe in marriage, either...and doesn't want children... but those are the two things I've ever actually wanted out of my life. The only things I've ever wanted for myself.
He doesn't believe in monogamy, either. A boy at the internship from hell was paying me a bit too much attention and I got a stupid little crush because that's how I operate- a man tries to make me smile and my heart starts fluttering. I confessed and he didn't give the slightest reaction.
Is love even possible without jealousy? He said it'd be hypocritical of him, and it would, but what good is love without possession? If my affection isn't worth getting jealous over, worth being afraid of losing, then what does it matter?
So I felt worthless. Useless. Like I was taking up valuable space in the world.
I like crossing streets without looking. I like when cars screech to avoid hitting me. It's a moment that I exist to someone else, someone that wants to avoid hurting me at all cost. For selfish reasons, but still. I'm seen. I'm worth paying attention to. Worth stopping for.
I'm rambling. The point is last night I was overwhelmed by all of this...and feeling so invisible and worthless...it would have been so easy to swallow all of my muscle relaxants at once.
But I didn't.
Hug your friends and family. Kiss them, tell them you love them...you don't know when they're going to decide to swallow their medicine cabinet.
Warning: bad similes and metaphors ahead.
Before I was medicated I'd get these things I'd call plunges. What would happen is a thought, a simple thought, either self-produced or with outside influence would wiggle its way into my mind which would set off a chain reaction of thoughts, like a row of falling dominoes, falling one after the other until it comes to the last little domino, who was on the edge of a cliff. That last little domino would then fall off the cliff and into the ocean, taking my mood with it.
The funny thing about most anti-depressants is that they sort of install a balcony about halfway down the cliff face so the little domino doesn't fall into the ocean. It splats down hard on this plane and can't fall any lower, but it knows the ocean is still below it.
Literally, that's what it felt like. There's a point, a floor, in your head and you know there's space beneath it but you can't reach it...emotionally. I mean it. It's practically tangible, like you're lying face-down on an actual floor...you reach out with your fingers, trying to find an edge to the thing, but there isn't one. You crawl a little, dragging on your belly, still looking for that edge to complete your fall but it's just not there...It's an emotional cement block that you can't walk to the edge of, go through, or find your way around. You're stuck on the platform until your mood comes back up.
If you haven't felt it I can't explain to you how real it feels. How solid. How you can peak between the cracks in the floorboards and see the ocean below but there is no way to touch it. You can smell it. You can remember how the water felt against your skin but you're plastered against that stupid balcony under the weight of your own emotions.
It's supremely weird.
But Lexapro wasn't like that. Instead of being on the top of a cliff you're a beach ball, floating along in the ocean. Sometimes the waves of your mood toss you up in the air- you can actually be happy. You can experience happiness. And you can stay happy for longer. Plus, and this is my favorite part, there's no floor. It's just that, when a bad mood comes or something awful happens- just like a beach ball- a wave swallows you for a little bit, but then you pop back up. You know how hard it is to keep a beach ball underwater? That's what it's like. It's comfortable, it's easy.
Lately I've been having trouble. It may be tied up with my menstrual cycle (PMDD?), I don't know, but the depression is coming back. I'm slowly, slowly, sinking under the waves...sometimes are worse than others. There were days when, while I was in the internship from hell (coming soon, I promise), I would want so badly to step in front of the Amtrak or Acela trains and just...explode. It would have all been over- everything, everything- would have been over in an instant.
After I posted yesterday I took a nap...and woke up iffy. After dinner my internet was weird so I just kinda laid around watching Robert Pattinson movies and feeling worthless.
I'm reading a biography of Eva Braun and the parallels between her relationship with Hitler and my relationship with Herbert were weighing on me like lead. The chapter on her diary was devastating:
"...emotionally starved by her lover's neglect and driven half insane by her need for him."
"...having given herself mind and body to Hitler, he gave so little in return that she wondered if her life was worth living."
"She never knew when she would see him next and this uncertainty kept her in perpetual suspense."
"By way of goodbye he handed me, as he has done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had."
"...his blowing hot and cold left her in a constant state of insecuirty. The banal but obvious truth- that Hilter was genuinely preoccupied with affairs of state and too busy to spend time with her...she tried to make allowances: 'After all, it is quite obvious that he is not really interested in me when he has so much to do in politics' or 'So he has had a head full of politics all this time, but surely he needs to relax a little.'"
"What happens to me is no concern of his."
"I should have learned to be patient by now."
Eva's words are in italics. And the book is The Lost Life of Eva Braun by Angela Lambert.
She was 23 and deeply in love with a man too busy for her...a man who didn't want to marry and have children, even though she did...it might as well be me. Herbert is an incredible human being...he's hilarious and has a mind I couldn't even begin to understand- in the fall he's beginning a program that will last- what did he say? 7 years? 10? He'll be earning his M.D. and Ph. D. degrees simultaneously, and getting paid to do it. That's how brilliant he is.
What am I compared to that? Eva...a sad young woman who could make the most powerful man in Germany laugh.
Side note, I'm not a Nazi- I just did my undergrad thesis on WWII photojournalism and learned a great deal about the war- but nothing about Eva Braun. I was curious.
Anyway. Herbert doesn't believe in marriage, either...and doesn't want children... but those are the two things I've ever actually wanted out of my life. The only things I've ever wanted for myself.
He doesn't believe in monogamy, either. A boy at the internship from hell was paying me a bit too much attention and I got a stupid little crush because that's how I operate- a man tries to make me smile and my heart starts fluttering. I confessed and he didn't give the slightest reaction.
Is love even possible without jealousy? He said it'd be hypocritical of him, and it would, but what good is love without possession? If my affection isn't worth getting jealous over, worth being afraid of losing, then what does it matter?
So I felt worthless. Useless. Like I was taking up valuable space in the world.
I like crossing streets without looking. I like when cars screech to avoid hitting me. It's a moment that I exist to someone else, someone that wants to avoid hurting me at all cost. For selfish reasons, but still. I'm seen. I'm worth paying attention to. Worth stopping for.
I'm rambling. The point is last night I was overwhelmed by all of this...and feeling so invisible and worthless...it would have been so easy to swallow all of my muscle relaxants at once.
But I didn't.
Hug your friends and family. Kiss them, tell them you love them...you don't know when they're going to decide to swallow their medicine cabinet.
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