David Foster's Divorce--Encountering Bad Faith for the First Time

This is a metaphorical post. Literalists won't get it. I'm doing my next psychotherapy-assisted psychedelic journey in two days. I have a choice of dozens of intentions ranging from " welcome my Inner Critic" to "I miss you mom." Instead I think I'll examine the choice between a current vibrant beautiful Tesla, and the worn lost mystique of a car that only exists in the minds of a decreasing number of old people. The Silver Thunderbird is silent. It does not move. It never requires or expects another charge. None of its family are still alive. It longs to reunite with the lost ones. Rust never sleeps but my car never awakes. It's too late for petty distinctions. All models are the same, in the final judgment. Lower that baby into the hole and sprinkle the dirt. Tonight is our last trip…the dashboard lights have faded…there are ashes only. Take me down…

I loved my marriage but any idiot would say that the writing was on the wall as far as my wife's respect for me, and others.   I knew this in 2012 when I allowed her back in the house after she deserted me to sleep with some person in Arizona and then didn't come back when my dad got sick and died.   She showed her true trashy side then, but I kept reaching out to her trying to keep the connection alive.  I succeeded, which was the single worst error I've ever made.  Nothing else comes close.   Except: I did the same thing again at the end of 2022! I survived another in a long string of arrogant ghosting and criticism moments—very obvious she didn't give a shit about whether I was alive or dead.  But me?  I kept reaching out, full of anger and shock and indignation.  Mina didn't change a thing…she just kept attacking me with anyone who would listen, and abandoning those friends who tried to keep in touch with me.   Eventually, she crawled back. 

My focus at the moment is trying to remember if I ever heard "What are your needs now, David?" during my marriage.   I'm pretty confident that I never heard those exact words from my life partner.  I think I would have remembered.   I recall many comments that I didn't have any needs that were unmet.  Most typical of that genre was "it's impossible to buy gifts for you because you have everything you want or need."  I would always agree and offer "please don't get me any gifts…just being together is more than enough."   I meant that.  It was enough.   Now I don't have that, either.  I'd love a lot of gifts now!  Large ones, and maybe expensive ones.  I don't care what's in the box.  Just that my name is on the outside somewhere.  And it's really for me.   Perhaps my ex, if she were available to me, would be able to remind me of the many many ways she asked what I needed.    I can't recall

We've been at trying to document the Agreement we reached with a mediator for 11 months now.  (When we left the mediation, we shook hands and agreed that we'd done good work and resolved the issues.  What a laugh that turned out to be.  Collaborative lawyers are not bound to honor mediation, since they're so busy being humanist.)   Here's the current fracas these bozos are negotiating on behalf of their client:  I had to pay $28,000 in taxes on income my ex wife made in 2023.  Her income was 1099.  I filed extensions April 17, and our joint CPA estimated that the $28,000 was due.  Cash out to the IRS.   The extra income triggered estimated payments for 2024 too…a separate story but I've paid $25,000 in estimated 2024 taxes on behalf of my ex-life partner.  So far.    Her lawyers refuse to reimburse me for Mina's tax liability until the actual returns are filed October 15.  If ever.  This despite the fact that I'm also supporting her financ

I've been captured by PTS and the manic anxiety of traumatized. Today, I had a brief moment when grieving for the love I've lost arrived, sparkling and new and with gushing tears. I grieve the loss of my best friend. I loved her very much. I grieve the loss of the part of myself that could entirely trust another person. I like him…that David. He was unusual in his creative views, and kind an empathic perhaps to a fault. I grieve that I'll never hold Mina again. I felt so safe when we touched. There were so many parts of you I loved to touch and explore.   I grieve that I'll never have the rest of the great conversations I looked forward to. I grieve that my dearest friend and life partner could never say that she valued me. I grieve that I’ll never see your smile again. When you smiled, you were happy.  I was filled with joy when I saw you that way. I grieve that you’re apparently sick, and no longer the person you were.  The thought that the woman I loved does

I cannot have a new relationship now.  I do not trust others to not hurt me by casually disregarding my needs.  And I'm terrified I'll repeat the mistake of finding another truly dreadful and abusive grifter.  Someone who sees me as a meaningless easy mark.  Internally, I can't control my reaction to others, even if kind.  I reject validation, laugh at compliments, and defer gifts.  But mostly I isolate myself from new contacts out of deep fear.  It feels like terror, many times.   Everyone constantly sorts for safety after trauma, and that's the key part of my neural activity.  This makes me project a desire to cause me pain on other people. I'm an empath, but now I can not sustain the quality or quantity of holding space for others.  I interrupt people now when they share, out of need for validation and lack of boundaries.  This is not who I was prior to PTS, though, like you, I've always hoped to engage in continuous emotional improvement.  PTS ta

It's been over three years, filled with anger and shock at the disdainful treatment my life partner handed out.  She has very little experience with love.    But, I keep working on myself.  I have no choice!  I'm an unhappy mess and I have severe depression and anxiety symptoms.  "Not fucking up" is still my definition of an acceptable day.  "Sublime" joy" is a concept I can only achieve with the aid of psychedelic-assisted therapy.  Maybe someday soon.   So, baby steps.  Today I had empathy for my ex, in between the self-hatred and harsh judgement.  She is unique in my life, and there will not be another partner.  I am damaged beyond the ability to want to depend on another human, or to ask for help.  I intend to make my own way, and suffer the consequences—with some silent celebrations at the small accomplishments.   Like today.  This is a self-celebration.   I empathize with you, my dear departed, because I know you, too, are i

Lots of inputs these days: Intense talk therapy An upcoming MDMA journey welcoming the Inner Critic (or another part…see below) My beautiful brother Glenn is in jail again after going off his meds last weekend.  He's charged with assault this time, it appears, so his manic detachment is having worse outcomes each time Microdosing .15 psilocybin My equine therapist Titan (and his friends Chet and Jet) have more to say to me as I get to know them better.   The talk therapy jarred me yesterday.  I don't know quite what I learned yet, but discovered something around this idea—my overactive Inner Critic is in overdrive because I can't get the outside approval it needs.  It's not because of my abusive marriage.    This changes the algebra of healing.  Maybe I've been trying to manically solve how my ex could be so consistently cruel for such an extended period of time, but even if I could solve that puzzle (all I have is that she inherited sociopathic

Yesterday felt like I was living my life.  At least the majority of the hours did.   I spent an hour talking to my new favorite horse.  Chet.  Jet and Titan chimed in, and so did Charlie.  Chet apparently had heard from my mom, in response to a direct response I wrote last week.  As we stood together in the pen, I couldn't understand the message.  But the connection was there.  Most importantly, I showed up.    I went for a two hour ten minute mountain bike ride that included an hour and a quarter climb.  It also included a rocky bumpy descent that I generally don't like.  I have a new 29" bike, and I was surprised that both my body, and my bike, conspired to convince my mind that the rocks were small and not worthy of notice. (I still struggled with the steep uphills with obstacles.  I'm not that strong now.)   For some reason my cats understood that I was having a good day, and they stuck to me like glue.   Ceci spent half the day purring with me. 

 Dear David: You loved your partner for a long time and you still do. She does not.  She does not even think of you.  Why do you hurt yourself so much for her?  Why do you love her and not me?  She has nothing to give, and I have so much you deserve and need.  I am you, and I'm rich with compassion and respect and gratitude for everything about you.  I value every breath you take.  I marvel as your chest rises and falls as you sleep.  I see the beauty and gentleness of your heart, and long to caress you.  I will never hurt you, and you know that despite your clouded vision. I am the safe, powerful you...I am what you long for.   Here are the things you could get from me, if you would reach for them:  acknowledgement that the current political environment is terrifying, particularly for people who live alone like you do.  Radical left discussion has been crushed in the United States.  The government will be coming to our doors very soon.  Yes, it's terrifying to realize no one w

 I got reintroduced to a little pride this week.  I ran a conference for my professional association and it was really good.  And I know everyone loved it.  I really enjoyed it too...lots of great speakers, hours of time with lifetime friends, the chance to moderate discussions with experts on a bunch of complex topics, and more. Welcome back.  I've missed you. I haven't seen you since I was injured by the end of my marriage.  There wasn't much room left once the Inner Critic asked for the microphone.  Certainly not much room at all for Pride, which, I suppose, is not frequently seen in the same rose garden. I can feel Pride in my body.  It's a different somatic experience than I've felt in a long time too.   I think Pride has a pretty clear message--"I want you to feel better about yourself." It also wants me to know that I can accomplish great things, even if I'm not 100%.  "It will take more work than it ever has, but you will be surprised by h

My life partner, who suffers from NPD, struggles.  She's attempting to heal using various methods from functional health to diet to riding her mountain bike in a higher gear on the good days.  She may be using illegal compounds but she has a group of friends and associates who get triggered by the use of the word "psychedelic" so she writes in silly code language. Her friends should get on the mental health bus.  Morons. Anyway, I empathize with my ex.  I suffer too. I am surrounded by damaged people now, including myself.  We measure ourselves on a difference scale than hers.  And we define functional health as searching for the cause of neurological damage. Not taking supplements or using the $299 massage tool of the day. What's our scoring metric? Here's the most common one: was I able to get out of bed today?   Another benchmark: what is the current tempo of my endless tears? A third: my friends are suffering.  Was I able to answer their calls for help?  Mostl

I resigned as the chair of the NYC co-op where I've lived for 30 years.  And the first open house to sell my beautiful home there is Sunday.  Miserable but necessary, and I'm not capable of paying for or maintaining something so large and so worthy of care.    I probably would have been OK simply staying in bed, many states away from New York, on Sunday.    Unfortunately my cat chose this morning to disappear during her normal outside time.    She was nearby, but for 15 minutes pet owners fill in the blanks with grizzly death from coyotes, or hawks, or dogs, or whatever.    Those 15 minutes destroyed my body!   I'm nauseous.  I have intense pains on the right side of my chest, up near my armpit.  I keep crying. And, as is the case whenever we're thrown into shock, I'm weak.  I tried to get on my mountain bike and could not lift my leg over the saddle.   I do have to function this weekend.  I have a graduation party tonight and I'm fl

I met a woman at a restaurant last night.  This was the first circumstance I've had in the last two years that could conceivably be called a "date."  We spent three hours together and I enjoyed it…nice to learn about someone new, share some good food, and talk a bit about how the future might be better than today. Thank you, Nancy.  It never occurrs to me that I could possibly be attractive to someone else.  If there were any of those vibes, I could not see them.  I am damaged and I am not attractive.  I do not deserve to have my needs considered by another human being, and I'm certain no one will ever care about me enough to imagine what my needs might be.   (I have only one need now.  I need to be safe. I don't expect to feel satisfied today, or perhaps ever again.  Despite all my mental health work, I am no closer to a goal of safety today than I was when I had my trauma-induced crash in 2022.  A crash that was decades in the making, but deferred

My depression journey continues…I had a unexpected crash the last week.  Unexpected because I've been generally trending  back towards the light.    The most obvious reason: another three day holiday weekend without seeing another person.  I also did cocaine for the first time in 18 months.  The high has never been worth the depressive dip on the way down.  Good to be reminded, particularly when I'm using healing medicines to aid my path forward.   The endless days alone, without plans, makes me recall the friends I used to have.    What on earth was I thinking?  These were never my peeps, and none of them were the kind of empaths who could help someone who craves safety and care. Or who realized I felt like a failure every time I saw them, since I couldn't find the connection I needed so badly.  I've known so many others who were much better matched—hopefully I met some of their needs—but for whatever reason I invested most of my energy in a f

Hi, Mom... Man, I could use a hug from you.   I'm struggling now, though look how far I got before I fell into troubled times!  I want to thank you. I think I was your young man from an early age.  I recall you had a miscarriage when I was just five, and on your directions I ran across the street to enlist Ms Washburn (?).  Soon ambulances arrived and all was well.  Is that true? Did you think I was a good child? Do you still think that?  I hope you were proud of me.  Mature and self-sufficient for my age?  I sensed that I pleased you as a kid but I don't know all these years later...  As I said, I'm struggling...my mental health has been terrible recently, filled with anxiety and sadness that ruins all the good stuff.  I drink more than I want, and did coke for awhile to self-medicate.  I don't like myself many many days, and I haven't had a relationship or partner for over 30 months (probably way longer but I didn't notice).  I'm lonely at a level I did no

Now that my 30 year marriage is long over, I realize that I was told every single day that I was a sexual failure.   To some degree, we were simply mismatched.  Normal couples sort these things out without blowing up.  We always blew up.   The core issues were:   Tempo…my wife wanted sex five times a week and I was more in the 2 times range.  So, every morning was a dreaded uncertainty and we started most days with a sense of rejection Purpose…I don't know why my wife had or liked sex.  She seemed so angry at the process.  I saw sex as the fastest route toward intimacy. I require a lot of safety around sex.   These two differences are enough, I learned, to generate hourly messages of hurt and disappointment.  I became increasingly hesitant and moody, and did everything I could to avoid the topic since the only outcome was a relationship meltdown and days of separate bedrooms or whatever.      

 I didn't realize that I was clinically depressed at first.  I believe my trauma-induced anxiety disguised my underlying problems. So in the year or so while I could not get off the couch, and my self-critical nature went out of control, I got significantly sicker.  By the end of the first 12 months, I was barely functioning.  I was addicted to my anxiety mess...not working, sleeping 16 hours a day, and withdrawing from the last of my community. I didn't expect to be alone, afraid, and angry.  I didn't understand the increasing self-hate.  I consumed a lot of cannibis edibles, which helped by masking and relaxing the manic tension I felt every moment.  Edibles don't necessarily create a desire or ability to connect with others.  They don't reduce that instinct...they just don't magnify it! So, there I was, on the couch, alone, for days on end. I used to have a life partner.  She was absent through all this, of course.  She doesn't want to have anything to do

My impression of my fellow men and women has declined significantly. I now have my own experience with the idea that blood is thicker than water, but both flow downhill at the same speed. Changes my politics. Life is not that valuable, I've discovered. Israel bombing refugee camps and designated safe spots and hospitals is the norm. The equation "an eye for an eye" continues to work, even with random number generators on both sides of the equal sign. To stay alive, healthy, and vital Is quite a marvel. I didnt know until now that it's a statistical aberration. My ex-wife taught me this. What does this have to do with fairness and divorce? Simply that no one cares in the end. Certainly no one cares about how or when I die. I'm wishing better for you, despite the long odds.

I'm selling the $5 million home I've lived in for 30 years.  It's probably a good idea--the place is too big and costly for one person, and I'm 69. I pay $60,000 a year in real estate taxes to the City of New York.   The reason I'm selling, unfortunately, is my divorce, which makes the experience very very sad, even when I try to convince myself it's the right thing for me. Because we're co-owners, my ex has had to correspond on group emails with our realtor.  So, for the first time in several years, her name is popping up inbox (she's not a communicator with those who disappoint her:  I'm talking about four messages over two weeks.  None, as is her style, longer than two sentences). I'm happy to discover that, finally, seeing her name doesn't infuriate me.  I ascribe that to my recent ketamine treatments, which gave me some alternatives to the manic anxiety I suffer from.   (Thank you to the medicine...though, without the PTSD, I'm now l

Here's my list of very special places in Paris I love and recommend to all my friends.  Cultural stuff and a summary at the bottom of this list. Frenchies Vin et Bar …Rue du Nil, 2eme.   We like the wine bar over the full restaurant across the street, but ate at both places and would go back whenever we can. This is our number 1 favorite go to restaurant...crowded and worth it. Pink Mamma --Italian 9e--no reservations so you end up wandering around Pigalle before having amazing cheeses, pizza, etc.   Cafe Ineko  13, rue des gravilliers,75003--ideal lunch spot La Terrasse …Hotel Terrasse, 18eme Montmartre.  Best view of the City I know of and fantastic food Liza , 14, Rue de la Banque--Lebanese...world class, for lunch, dinner, and particularly for brunch on weekends...you can't surpass the middle eastern flavors Bespoke …3, Rue Oberkampf, 11eme.   Also great selection of tapas and fun bar scene.   This is the restaurant we were at the night of November 13th 2015—around

I'm sitting in a Bond Street coffee shop, reading the FT this morning.    Dozens of women and children will die today in refugee camps US college students are getting beaten by cops (and the NY Times is blaming it all on a 63-year old career civil disobedience trainer—those gullible kids who are swayed by peace signs!). Shame on you, trustees! Your job is to protect education, unless you're on the Columbia University Investment Committee.  In which case you probably think the FT is worth reading while you're flying to Omaha.  Yes, I'm talking to YOU in seat 3A. The five major arms exporting countries are adding eternal debt to the balance sheets of the other 177 countries—debt that won't be paid off for nearly 100 years, if ever. Citizens of the globe: You are working for the rest of your lives to pay for weapons…in South America, Africa, South Asia, Baltimore. Trump is money laundering right in our faces—using the NYC market and the IPO liquidity sc