Monday, May 22, 2017 Working On "Normal"

I felt strong and good when I woke up, spent time with Irene working with Irene on new relationship, talking about what it means going forward.  I want our relationship to be strong and “normalized”, but I also recognize that I am insecure about that normalization.  

One of the things I enjoyed about Irene being sick (ugh, I hate admitting this) was that she depended on me and I was able to come through for her.  Her illness provided a framework to let me show her how much I loved her and how much she could depend on me.  It was a similar thing with my mom when I was able to fully move my work to home; I could take care of her.  I could "pay her back" for all the help she had ever given us and I could "prove" to her that was worth that trust.  I found taking care of Mom and Irene very rewarding, like I might actually be a good person worth the love and trust others placed in me.

So, it's been years since we had a "normal" relationship, so to speak.

I think that my pain and grief was, in some way, a means of making sure she was focused on me – at least in some small part - in the afterlife.  I hate admitting that, too.  I’ve just got to be a stronger man – not just for her, but for myself and my family.  I’ve got to be confident that we have an unbreakable soul-mate bond, but the fact is we still have individual aspects and natures that can use better development so we don’t fall into patterns of taking each other for granted or trying to control the other person, or not making ourselves the best version of ourselves that we can be.  We're so much better together when we are both individually strong and secure in ourselves and in our love for each other.  It's so easy to slip into unhealthy relationship patterns where things you need to work on are set aside because your partner is so accepting of you, flaws and all.

Had a great trip with her into town to drop some papers off at the adult adoption attorney. 

Then, stupidly and for no reason, I crashed.  I don't even want to write about it. Just re-read it from a prior entry. In my opinion it's exactly like being an addict in withdrawal. It makes no sense and there's just nothing you can do but ride it out, clinging desperately to the memory and knowledge that you don't always feel like this; often, you feel completely whole and connected and happy.  When the grief comes, though, those are really just words that seem completely abstract and hollow.