Last updated on November 26, 2023
I have started and stopped work on a memoir repeatedly since 2007. For the last few weeks, I have been attempting to resurrect the work, in part because readers of this blog, listeners to the podcast, and social media followers continue to ask for such a work. It is doubtful more than a dozen copies would be read. That would still be 12 tiny Amazon royalties for a Kindle edition.
Tonight reminded me why I keep stopping the effort.
(If I manage to write this post coherently, portions will likely enter the manuscript.)
Writing either a memoir or a reflection on relationships requires revisiting everything I dislike about myself.
The greatest failure in my life isn’t that I am not a teacher or a successful writer. It is that I was not a good friend and companion to the person I love most in the world.
My memories of the years 1997 through 2003 have major gaps.
During those years, I was treated for migraines, seizures, severe pain, ADD/ADHD, anxiety, depression, and other conditions. There’s a list of diagnoses, medications, and medical procedures somewhere among our files. Susan documents everything important.
There were the psychologists and psychiatrists, who instead of helping me be a better person (the person Susan deserves) intentionally or unintentionally reinforced self-destructive choices. These experts seemingly supported and sometimes suggested, choices that sabotaged relationships, trust, and my self-esteem.
I don’t want anyone, no expert, no outsider, no friends or family members to question this one truth: Susan means more to me than any, absolutely any, other person does.
Marrying Susan while I was undergoing so many medical and mental health misadventures was a mistake. I take full responsibility for that. But, I place a significant part of the blame for our brief first marriage and the few years following directly on the experts I trusted.
Hopefully, I never trust a “mental health expert” again. I’m skeptical of every counselor our daughters see because of my experiences.
(Mature content follows.)
Susan was the first person I made love to. She is still the most beautiful person in the world to me. My attraction to her isn’t physical, it is intellectual and emotional. Though, of course, there’s a physical result from the attraction.
Reading my notes from the experts angers me. The words of the experts are paraphrased, though based on notes from within hours of the appointments.
I first went to see a psychologist to help me with focus, so might finally succeed in graduate school. That would then allow me to make up for the previous employment failures and be the person Susan deserved. To my mind, Susan should have a partner emotionally, intellectually, and financially. I was none of those things at the time.
What did the therapist say?
- How did I know Susan loved me?
- Did we have an active physical relationship?
- Was Susan spontaneously affectionate?
- And so on…
The experts told me that I might not be the problem. It was possible, even likely, that Susan wasn’t attracted to me. I should ask myself who wanted to spend time with me. I should consider who flirted or seemed interested. Compare that to how Susan and I interacted.
Meanwhile, the doctors prescribed medications to “help me relax” and “lower my inhibitions” so I could be my true self. That was an unmitigated disaster.
The doctors were actively working against my relationship with Susan, as I look back on the notes. Maybe they were correct that we had problems, but their solutions didn’t help me and they certainly didn’t help Susan.
“Talk to other people. Explore other potential relationships,” the doctors said.
What kind of advice was that? Because, in the end, talking to other people reminded me that I wanted Susan, or at least wanted her to be happy.
“Maybe Susan also needs to find the right relationship. Tell her that.”
Looking back, this entire experience was messed up and did lasting damage to me, Susan, and our relationship.
Instead of calling off our wedding, Susan and I married at a time when the experts were telling me that it was unlikely Susan cared about me. It was doomed.
A lot happened, some of which should probably be in an honest memoir, but I need to discuss everything with Susan. (And some things will never be shared because I love her.)
What really stinks is that the doctors didn’t help me discover how to hold down a job. They didn’t help me be the person Susan deserves. In fact, one therapist advised me to quit my job as vice-president of a mortgage company. He said the workplace was contributing to my problems.
I quit a six-figure job, ruined the relationship with the person I love most… of course, none of this helped me feel better about myself. The therapist was like Gomez Addams crashing a model train for pleasure.
It turns out, a lot of my problems were probably the result of being autistic, a diagnosis I didn’t receive until December 2006.
In the present, we’re still paying for expert advice.
What I hate most about those lost years is that the comments and questions of the doctors have remained in my thoughts. However fragmented my memory, I recall some comments about our relationship and its problems… as determined by the experts.
The questions asked during therapy appointments continue to replay when I’m struggling with self-esteem.
- When is the last time Susan said she loves you?
- Does she ever surprise you intimately?
- Are you sure you’re the person she wants to be with?
We struggle, as a couple. We aren’t fun, passionate, romantic, or any of the things I wish we were. I know that’s my fault. I also know the experts I saw more than 20 years ago continue to haunt our marriage. Maybe I just want someone or something to share the blame. I realize I went along with the experts and didn’t resist enough. I made the mistakes. I had the doubts.
I absolutely miss how we were before the experts, before the therapy sessions and medications. I have journal entries, notes, and letters about those times. I have some of those wonderful memories.
Fooling around with Susan was incredible because I love her. When she did dare to tease and play, it was magical. More than anything, I want that magic back with the woman I love. I wish that we, together, could rediscover those moments from before 1997.
Recreating that past would be a good future.