Black Eye: Escaping a Marriage, Writing a Life

The Gift

The Gift Last night I dreamed about Carl. I had been away on a long trip. We had made tentative plans to go to a concert, to a movie, out to dinner , when I came home. He said that while I was away he would find out performance times, make reservations, and so forth. But he was also going to see if he could make his marriage work. When I came home, I found that Carl had posted in my kitchen elaborate schedules of places to go and lists of things to do. But when I asked him whether we would be doing these things together, he said no. He’d decided to stay with his wife. I was very angry with him; much angrier than I have allowed myself to be in my waking life. I woke up thinking how little I have changed, how I continue to stuff my emotions, refuse to acknowledge them until—the conscious mind defenseless—the unconscious serves them up. But Eli and David were also in the dream, as young boys, eight and eleven years old, the ages they were in 1986. I was annoyed when they snuck into the kitchen, trying to hear the conversation I was having with Carl. They were upset when they heard that he was going to leave. And as I scrounged in the freezer for something to feed them, something to make them feel better, I suddenly felt myself very much a single mother of two sons. Clearly, the man in the dream was Stu as much as Carl. Am I writing out of anger? Of course. But Stu was not the only one responsible. I feel compassion as well as anger. Sadness too. How 314 n high his defenses were. How afraid he was to understand himself. How little he was able to share. I lived with him for seventeen years and I never knew the source of his pain. It was hard enough for me to uncover the roots of my own misery. What would our lives have been like if we’d both been able to grow? n Tuesday afternoon, November 18, 1986 I’m in tears after leaving Paul Bergeson. As I was walking out the door to go to my appointment, Stu hurled another jibe at me.“Maybe you can get Paul Bergeson to help you take the garbage out and do the dishes.” I was really upset, and Paul pointed out that Stu was starting the cycle again. We talked about how strong the family system is and how slow it is to change,if it changes at all.“What do you think Stu’s drift has been over the past year?” Paul asked.“Do you think he has improved?”And I guess that he has in the sense that he’s not drinking as much, and not sleeping as much. But instead he occupies his time cataloging all our books on his computer. And although I’ve changed my reaction to the cycles of trashing , anger, and retreat, he still initiates them. “It seems like we’ve come full circle,” I said. “I’m back between the horns of a dilemma. I have to abandon my children if I want to save myself . Now I can see the horns, and I know how I got here. But there doesn’t seem to be any help, or any hope.” “That’s where I don’t agree with you,” Paul said. “You can share the pain.” I said,“That’s why I’m so upset about leaving therapy. I can share the pain with you.Who will I share it with when you’re gone? Certainly not Stu.”Then I thought of one or two people. And I thought I could also share it with the world through writing. “Are you angry with me?” Paul asked. “Obviously, I see you as a threat. I try not to cry in front of you.You threaten to open up my emotions and open me up to all that pain.But on The Gift 315 the other hand, that’s really something wonderful that you’ve done for me. On the whole I’d rather feel things, however painful they may be—I can feel the joy at the same time.” We came down to the very elemental. I said,“I don’t know whether I can share the pain without being cruel...