The Long Road Out

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 t...

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 ...

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...

I am increasingly like my grandfather—reduced over time (in my case because of trauma) to 10 oft-repeated stories.  Then six.  Then three. Then one (a late night drive on the Merritt Parkway the week before it officially opened—he was CDOT's Director of Safety at the time).  I have one story: how PTSD led to clinical depression.  I know there are other neural pathways in my head but I can't locate them.   I am also increasingly like my father—he who found "the one" and stayed with her til her death (in my case, divorce).  He carried on for another eight years, remarrying a loving second wife who was my indefatigable ally at his hospital bedside the final six weeks.  But, my father and I share the realization that the best of our lives had past. I share with my dad the body shaking awareness that there's not reason to make the most of every breath left.  No one matters like our life partner once did to the two of us.   I'm also...

You think you know better, ghost at the drop of a hat, and work relentlessly to destroy your friends behind their backs. There's no remedy or treatment for this personality disorder. Psychedelics are ineffective and not recommended.  Depression and PTSD--my mental health disorders . Psychedelics are finally providing effective treatment for people like me.  Ketamine gave me an alternative to post-traumatic anxiety.  I hope to get to pure self-love by the end of my life.  That's my life project for now.  I wish I'd avoided the 30 years with nothing to show but failure, isolation, judgement, and abandonment.   I still haven't found anything that lifts my depression. You disappear in those moments when I can focus on the present, rather than the anxiety of the past or the fear for my future. Those moments are as sweet as seeing the end of a long trail when you've taken a very wrong turn together early on.  Our marriage was worse than that Mt Lola hike for...

Bright thought for the moment: perhaps I've always been depressed and being in a romantic relationship covered it up.   That's a different story than "realizing the woman you've lived with for 28 years never liked you and then you became depressed right after the incidents of March, 2022."   Either could be true.  I honestly don't know. (Depression lowers the bar at which you can make choices.  You'd think I'd know whether I've always been depressed by this milemarker, right?)   I'm working on it.   I'm depressed and indecisive. I am two sumo wrestlers tossing a medicine ball back and forth energetically.    

  I lived together with my ex-wife in a beautiful 2800-square foot apartment overlooking the Hudson River in New York City.  It was my home and the center of my life for 30 years.   I'm now divorced and selling the apartment so that I can distribute our assets as required by a settlement agreement we're slowly working on.   Because my ex doesn't communicate with me, selling the apartment is more difficult for me than it would be otherwise.  I'm a pleaser, so despite my disrespect for my ex, I feel legally and morally obligated to try to dispose of our joint assets in a way that meets her needs.  It's normal for divorcing partners to not communicate well—we're average—but I note added stress now because I'm trying to guess what my ex wants while I administer this major financial transaction without feedback.   That's not the problem.   Here's why I'm angry:  selling our largest joint asset by myself is no different from...

I would not be writing any of these posts if you got off your throne and reached out to someone who gave you everything he could for 28 years. Imagine if you had the courage and skills to deal with people who are very very angry with you. There would be many fewer of us.  But, you won’t. You can’t. We don’t deserve so much as a kiss!  Bizzou bizzou    Even if we had had a real marriage, the financial incentive to trashtalk me is growing—and I imagine you lust for the cash   You don’t have time for Doron or me at moments like this! He doesn’t remember you. And he didn’t have any assets anyway.  I wonder what he did with your RSP?   Your financial incentive to be an asshole is increasing because our apartment is worth a million more than I thought. And the house in CA is worth 500K+ more than I thought. So if you split that value increase in half, you end up with the gross value of our settlement as $4,600,000 plus $800,000! I know you have man...

The things I lost are legion.   My best friend.    The belief that I was your best friend .  Whew…I never got on her scoreboard!  But I believed I was at the top for a long time anyway.   The community we shared , as poorly matched to my needs as they all were.  Thanks for suggesting I be less angry, guys.  What part of that did you think was helpful, or in my best interest?  What would I have gained had I been able to follow that mindless and often sexist advice?  Nothing.  You had been gone for years and didn't change your behavior when I calmed down in 2012.  And I would have sold the last remaining corner of my soul, placating a monster.    My self-respect .  Like I want to be with someone when I'm number 7 on her "favorite sexual partners" list.  "I have an opening for you the third week of September, honey!"  Wow, did that open marriage proposal traumatize me.  At that...

 I just tried to wash the windows in the NYC apartment I've lived in since 1995.  Twenty-nine years I guess.   I started in the dining room.  I opened the windows and started on the upper pane.   I couldn't finish.  I've washed that window perhaps 100 times, and this will be the last.  There's an open house next week and I won't be here.  Then my home will be sold. I don't know where I'll go.  I don't have a reason or need to be anywhere. Here I am crying so loud I'm embarrassed, with a spray container of eco-Windex in my right hand and a paper towel in my left. I am not able to do this job.   I don't know how much longer it will be before I'm not able to do any jobs.   I'm overwhelmed by sadness.  One half of a dining room window is clean and the improvement in light is appreciable.  It looks beautiful outside in Riverside Park.  Spring is passing into early summer. I have no reason to continue.  I hear the call...

I'm in the process of selling my two beloved homes.  It's tough.  I'm irritable, anxious, fearful, and depressed.   I used to have a wife.  We're divorced.  But we own all this stuff together.   She hasn't offered a word of love or support in over a decade, but now we need to work together so I can liquidate and pay her the $5.3 million she's due.  This is her equitable distribution share of the assets I built during our marriage.  She lost money over the 28 years together, and increasingly see how cheap she was at contributing anything else of value.  She was just needy for attention, from the most available source.   Despite her long history of ghosting and gaslighting and backstabbing (I think I'm her prime target but you can never be sure), she's always perky on public correspondence, and signs her emails, I now see, "warmly."   I assure you there's not a warm bone in that body or brain or psyche.  ...

Your ability to deny affection to people in pain is awesome. Name one person who believes you've ever helped them.  Who trusts you to not disappear when the going gets tough.  Who are not permanently angry at you, and who, like you, know that they are 100% correct.   Actually, disgusting.  You should be ashamed, though you are not capable of that.  You are always right.  Plus you're so athletic, and better than the girlfriends you fat shame (behind their backs).  The effort you put out to appear normal is wasted, because you've hurt so many people and none of them will forgive you. Keep doing exactly what you're doing.  Assuming you live another 30 years, I figure that's maybe 60 more people who will hate your guts when you move on to your next gig.   Awesome! You owe me so much for the love I gave you.  You had nothing, and gave nothing. Could you get your RSP back from Doron and share it with us now? Now, you live in a world of...

I have had a depressive part since I was a child.  I assume that streak was genetic, and then compounded by struggles to get the kind of attention I desired as a young child.  My parents were busy, active, and had responsibilities regarding my brother, so I was on my own for long periods of time.  I recall loneliness and uncertainty at various points, and I was overweight until 9 th grade…an outsider and an insider at the same time.   Then I ran into my wife, who came from a long tradition of emotional bullying and withdrawal of affection.  On top of that, her introduction to sexuality was a disaster---she was abused, ignored, and ended up apparently have sex behind nightclubs in Montreal as a college student. She may have been bisexual but as far as I know didn't act on it, despite regular affairs. Sounds like a miserable way to discover sex to me.  At least that part of my life was filled with laughter, loyalty, and intense affection. ...

It's Mother's Day. I chose not to have children, and I believe both my wives agreed over the years. Neither of them complained, but since my second wife never complained about anyone within their earshot, I'm certain I don't know a thing about what goes on in her brain. Here's something I do know. If my ex had had a daughter, she would have mirrored her own mother's parenting.  On steroids as they say.  Like Pam, my ex-wife would have: • complained about her daughter to everyone • talked over her daughter • assumed she was smarter and more attractive than her daughter • been absolutely certain that her daughter is way better than your boring daughter, and, when she couldn't crush her daughter's talents, •competed with her daughter until she her daughter abandoned her talent and began a lifetime in therapy. And, then, the final epigenetic damage:  my wife would say this to her daughter:  "Honey, you really shouldn't wear horizontal stripes....

The events of the last 2-3 years have come home to roost.  My physical health is OK, though I'm weak.  But my mental health has collapsed, and I'm not working almost full time to try to get myself out of the trauma-induced depression.   I spent a year and a half on Wellbutrin.  In my opinion, this drug is a bandaid.  It may have covered the wound during that period.  It does not appear to have affected any healing, and it may or may not have increased the anxiety that resulted from my initial PTSD.  I do not think I'd be any better or worse now than if I had skipped antidepressants. (Most people experiment with various SSRI treatments before they find the right one…I stuck with my first effort, moving up from 150 mg doses to 350 mg.  I didn't realize how much neural and emotional damage had occurred—so I very well may have made my own situation worse.  Still, I don't think a lifetime on Wellbutrin is a "cure.")   The resu...

It's a relevant question. One is domestic and the other is political. Both are a form of rape. Shame shame shame. Your children will pay for your decayed morality.

One of the hardest things about this divorce is being forced to confront the chronic failures that could be ignored in the flow of a normal adult life.   I got no support for 30 years.  Everything I accomplished occurred in spite of my wife.  She neither engaged, participated, or praised my successes.  From the outside, and looking at the way she rejected others who she could not match or bring down, I assume she was competing with me rather than loving me.    No wonder you dropped out.  You stopped racing when you couldn't win.  You stopped law when you failed to get accolades.  You left me when I finally expressed my own value and the huge gap between us.  You could not match anything I stand for, and you never will—you'll just keep moving the goalposts to the next empty field and play there by yourself until someone comes along and beats you at your next game.   Those goalposts are heavy, friend.  Eventual...

I just finished a five-part ketamine-assisted psychotherapy (KAP) series. My powerful guided integration sessions borrowed liberally from Jungian stuff, Internal Family Systems' parts work, maybe some ERDM or whatever that tapping/eye-movement thing is, a dose of somatic Buddhism , and lots of frontal cortex stimulation .   And a plush blanket, beautiful happy ketamine music, and a very comfortable reclining chair! How far we jointly traveled, friends. Knowing a trusted psychonaut friend waited in the mountain parking lot, ready to lend a shoulder or hand or hug, to receive me and my evolving puzzle. Ketamine and my traumatized self are the stars o f my current, sad story, though. Trauma turns one inward in a destructive, hopeless way.  I had become my own only story.  Boring—and lonely.  All the elements contribute to and energize the ketamine experience. Health care professionals who are leaving anti-depressants and traditional trauma treatmen...

You had stopped offering anything, and then you informed me that you were in an open marriage.   One half of nothing was what was on offer.  If I behaved.   I had no more to give away, and lost nothing more by saying "no."   I only wish I had known this at the time.  Or in 2010.  One word was all I needed and I could have avoided the collision scene you call your selfish life.  I would have passed through my mental breakdown, and my pain, long long ago.    You would not be sepia, like a memory.  Or buttermilk, like a preserved rich moment.  You would be black.  Like a raven.

No one is responsible for my PTSD nor my severe depression. These illnesses are mine.  The trauma that induced them is mine. You cannot get your hands on me now.   My ex yawned as I crashed and burned.  That's her style and one of her least appealing characteristics.  She yawns when others talk about their trauma or pain.  She does not process guilt or shame.    My ex earned no credit for my happiness (I created 100% of our happiness and shared a lot of it with her).  Even moreso, she gets no blame for this two year mental health collapse.   My lethargy is mine.   My inability to make decisions is mine.   My inability to exercise after a long life as an athlete because I fear my broken heart will burst—that fear is mine.   My expensive treatments and therapies are mine. (I've wasted far too much of these valuable self-saving resources trying to understand why those we love don't show up when we're in...