Shoulder that weight.

In September of 2010, I had a bike accident and separated my right shoulder. Here's how it happened:

I was heading East on 45th from Wallingford to the U District. Just as I was mounting the curb on the bridge over I-5, I had to swerve left behind a utility pole. What I didn't see was the access box on the side of the pole. I struck the box (thank goodness for my helmet) with my head, which set me off balance. I then struck the square, wooden post with the "ramp metered" sign on it. It was painful and all that. I more or less recovered in about 5 or 6 weeks. I also neatly snapped the wooden post (apologies to WSDOT).

That broadly covers the mechanics of how it happened. Here's the why:

I talked to a girl.

There are bike-posts at the EMP. I had seen a white Bianchi Pista fixie locked to one of them several times and always wondered about to whom it belonged. As I was leaving that particular day, there was the owner of the Bianchi unlocking her bike! Her name is Monica. She's very pretty and - as near as I can tell - very nice. I was excited to meet her and strike up a conversation. We spoke of bikes and jobs and all that kind of chit-chat. But when it got a bit more personal, it also got awkward. We established that we were both riding towards the U District via Fremont/Wallingford, then - after a long pause - she pointedly informed me that she preferred to ride alone. I took the hint and just kind of dropped the whole conversation. This would have been the end of it, but we kept shadowing each-other all the way over Dexter and into Fremont. At some point she changed course, I've not seen her since.

So all of that in mind, I continued up Stone Way and then onto 45th. I was disappointed that the whole encounter had gone so awry. It began as an examination of the conversation, but morphed into a depressing critique on how ill-adept I am at talking to girls. It went even further to become a proof that women do not like me and that I shall be alone for the rest of my life. It was in this frame of mind that I went sailing onto the bridge. I was so distracted by my self-flagellation that I wrecked and ended up with $2,500.00 in ER bills, a separated shoulder and six weeks of relative inactivity (and weight-gain). Who knew that talking to girls was so hazardous?

Now I'm riding again; still trying to lose the weight (again!). Also still trying to talk to girls in spite of the apparent danger. I have managed to make a couple of friends (work friends, not "let's go hang out" friends) with the effort, but I can't help but feel like I'm still doomed when it comes to dating. It doesn't help that most of the girls I've ended up talking to are eight to ten years younger than I am. No matter how nicely any given conversation goes, I end up feeling like the "creepy old guy" at work. All of this says nothing of feeling like I'm always vastly out-classed by the women I work with. So, what's a boy to do?

I re-activated my OKCupid profile. I get an occasional visitor, but that's it. I've sent messages to a handful of women, but none of them has ever replied. The whole online dating thing is frankly stupid (but at least I'm not paying for the service). I haven't read one profile yet that didn't thoroughly intimidate me. In fact, lots of profiles I've read seem to be designed to make men run headlong the other way. There are a few who are so prickly that I wonder why they bothered to make a profile to begin with; I got the distinct impression that they didn't want to meet anybody at all. Equally baffling are the ladies who present the reader with a list of demands on personality and physiology (and indirectly income!) so particular as to exclude almost every man. Perhaps that's the point. But why go to all the trouble to prove to yourself (and anybody unfortunate enough to read your profile) how fiercely independent you are? Do you really expect anyone to find that endearing in any way?

Every time I read my own profile, I want to delete it and start over (or just delete it for good). Doubtless I'm over-thinking the whole thing, but I get so many mixed messages from the profiles I read that I don't know how to present myself anymore. I guess it's good to know what you want (or what you think you want); but I can't help but feel like my business isn't needed or even particularly desired.

Check this out: Every single day at work I see dumpy, schlubby guys with beautiful girlfriends/wives. It's mind-boggling! I can't help but wonder what it is that they have which I haven't. Can it be that I'm irreparably pudgy, dumpy and unattractive? Does it really just come down to resource allocation and the perception of a man as safety and being a provider? I'm at a loss and I'm starting to take it personally.

That's the worst part of it: taking it personally. I catch myself becoming angry at attractive women(!). WTF is that about? Resentment at a perceived judgement or perceived rejection? At least I catch myself; but it's such a compelling story to tell myself (how worthless I feel I am). It's difficult to break it up once it's rolling along. Again, I'm surely over-thinking this thing; but what the hell does one do with this kind of frustration?

Here's a joke that the ER doc who looked at me didn't get at all:
Doc: We've got your x-rays here, your right shoulder isn't dislocated after all, it's separated.
Me: Oh. Does that mean it's going to divorce me?
Doc: What?

It's (not) over 9,000!

So, it's over. The divorce is final. I was there at the final moment, to put it to rest personally. She didn't want me there, I think; it was her show, after all. I found it remarkable that I was silently bawling in front of the judge and Jen seemed frankly happy and buoyant! Hooray! What a cunt.

Have I mentioned that she has a personality disorder? She does. Narcissism that borders on being a sociopath, sometimes. She will be the very last person on Earth to admit it or even acknowledge that there might be something amiss with herself. Makes me wonder what the hell she talks about with her therapist. I know she was working on her "daddy issues", but really that just goes along with making everything about her. When I was super depressed, not bathing regularly, not brushing my teeth regularly, just not looking after myself ("why bother?" says depression), she actually said that I was trying to push her away and make her not find me attractive anymore. Thank you for making my depression all about YOU. Furthermore, nothing could have been further from the truth. I was DESPERATE for her acceptance, her affection, her attention. ANYTHING would have been better than living with a person who was so completely emotionally detached. I was still completely in love with her, but I was panicking at the growing emotional distance she was putting between us.

My reaction? To clam up, not say what was bothering me, don't make waves. Admittedly, it was a stupid tactic, but that was the head-space I was in at the time. "Just don't make things worse if you can help it." That, of course, made things worse. Lack of communication on my part (both our parts, really) and utter lack of understanding (and interest) in what I was going through. It's hard to deal a person going through a depressive episode, but it's got to be totally impossible for a narcissist. A person who only thinks about how things affect or benefit themselves is altogether unable to begin to sympathize or empathize with depression. When we went to see my therapist (at my therapist's request, she wanted to meet Jen), Jen's question to her was, "If he gets depressed, what do I do?" Wow. Like there was a magic charm that would fix me so that she wouldn't have to deal with it.

She did things like this often and not just to me, either. The way she dealt with people was baffling to me. She was your implacable ally until she didn't need you anymore. After that, it was like you didn't exist. She was done with you. Family, friends, co-workers, husband; these were all just factors in her ongoing cost/benefit analysis. You aren't a person to her, you are a thing that might benefit her for some reason; a thing that might gratify some desire temporarily. All of these insights came well after the fact, of course. At the time, I had pangs of uncertainty about her when she did things like this, but I was in love with her, I let them slide.

It may be pointed out that all people are like this to one extent or another. That might be true. But with Jen, it was definitely true; she made a science of it.

"Bob" help the next person she ends up dating. He's in for a rude surprise somewhere along the way.

The whirlpool

Why do I do this to myself?

I took one quick look at her profile and now I'm having cold sweats and want to off myself. She's getting skinny (frankly, I think she looks ill), she's having fun, everything is going her way. I had such a surge of HATE flow through me, it was scary.

I then went through my FB page and deleted all the photos of her I could. It was like setting myself on fire. There is still such an abundance of hurt for me in this.

The Darkness

In my whole life, I've never been so angry that I couldn't sleep until all of this divorce bullshit started. Now, whenever I get an email from Jen (guaranteed), I end up wide awake and seething for at least half the night.

If I start to drift off to sleep, I always wake up moments later from horrible, dark dreams which I can't bring myself to describe (beyond "horrible" and "dark").

So, do I stay awake miserable and angry, or do I try to suffer the dark nightmares of the deepest recesses of the reptilian part of the brain and get some sleep (even if it's not particularly restful)? This dilemma SUCKS.

All aboard the hater train

Everything falls apart.

Well, the divorce becomes final any moment now. Jen has refused my last offer to undertake some kind of therapy / reconciliation. I've been grappling with all the underlying anger of the situation; I've had terrible nightmares and sleepless nights from it. I get NO closure in this, Jen refuses to talk about it (to me, anyway). One interesting aside: Her offer to give me three months living expenses in exchange for signing over the condo to her was pretty funny. I countered that I would sign it over for $10,000 and be done with it. NOW she wants to go to mediation! LOLZ She wants to be rid of me, but she doesn't want to help me in any substantial way. Of course, she's dislocating her shoulders from patting herself on the back for her generous offer; I think it's going to be an interesting mediation.

She's lost ALL touch with what things really cost. She makes nearly six figures and thinks that all I have to do is get a job and everything will be fine, I'll be instantly prosperous. I had to remind her that most apartments want first/last/deposit to get in the door, she said, "Oh, I hadn't thought of that." No shit. That's one item in a litany of things she hasn't thought about.

When we had only been together for a short time, I heard her complaining to her friend, Kong, that her first job after college only payed $25 per hour and Kong agreed that that was chump change. The feeling was all indignation and repulsion at the very thought of ONLY making $25 per hour. I interjected, "what does that say about me, then? I only make $16 per hour." They fell all over themselves trying to backpedal and justify what they said, but their meaning was clear enough to me. Now imagine going up against that feeling of entitlement in a divorce mediation.

What else... I've got a job which pays crap and offers VERY few hours (and no benefits), but it's the first job I've landed in over a year, so I'm keeping it for now. However, I certainly can't afford rent on what the job pays, so I'm kind of stuck again. A couple of friends have offered that I can stay with them for a while, which is very generous of them, but they both live well out of the way from where I need to go. Argh!

I'm also running out of meds. I can get them refilled, but it means using the money I was lent for getting into an apartment. Fuck's sake.

So, everything is falling apart (again).

What the hell has happened?

I'm staying at my sister's place. It's small. She and my brother-in-law have been very gracious and generous to let me stay here this long, but I know they'd like me to move along.

Jobs are a pain in the ass. To get, I mean. I've had one interview for a custodial job which I was mislead to think was full time; turns out that it's "contingent", more or less on-call, but you have to call them everyday to find out if there's work. Ugh.

I have an interview at a bookstore soon; that job will only pay $8.75 per hour, but I'm betting that the atmosphere of the place will be better than sweatin' it in the middle of the night in an office building (when there's work).

I've been REALLY damn depressed for the last three or four days. I don't know exactly what's brought it on, but it's awful. I know that it's particularly awful because I've been planning my own death. I know, I know... Nobody wants to read that. Even I shudder to admit it. But things are rough.

I think I'd been circling this particular dip for a little while, but what put me over the edge was having fun. I went to Honk! and had a great time. I even talked to a couple cute girls and enjoyed that as well. Then, on the way to where ever it was I was going next, I actually felt my spirits drop through the floor. It was bad. I managed to find a sunny place to sit and tried to give it room, tried to give it space.

Later, I went to Bikes Are Beautiful and, in spite of my foul mood, managed to have a good time and talk to a couple pretty ladies. Again, on the way home, I felt my spirits take a dive. It was all I could do to get back to my sister's place and go to bed without flipping out.

Next day, I made myself ride Bike Sabbath and it was great. My round trip was 36 miles and we did a LOT of hill climbing. I had a lot of fun and got some exercise. Then, on the way home, down again into the abyss. WTF? Why am I not allowed to enjoy anything?

The BIG dip happened Tuesday. Jen asked me to bring my tax forms over so she could do taxes. I was had a minor panic attack on the way over, which was lovely. When I got there, she was already gone to her Ultimate Frisbee practice; but just being in the condo again made me burst out crying. I think I won't really start getting over it until the divorce is final. That said, I still don't want to get a divorce, I so want to pull this out of the fire. I miss her so much.

After the condo, I went to .83 and was in such a foul mood that I made an ass of myself. I was in no mood to climb hills and was vociferous in my displeasure with it. Frankly, I rather doubt anybody but me really noticed, but I felt terrible for being so bellicose. I cut out early from the ride and came back to my sister's place, still really upset.

Today, I totally lost it. Bawling, hysterical. I talked to my mom, which helped somewhat, but I'm still touch-and-go.

So, prolonged unemployment, a pending divorce and not having a place to really feel "safe" (as in "my own place") all add up to awful emotional upheaval. Ugh. I don't know what else to say about this.