Over the weekend I installed Mac OS X release 10.4 on my two Macintoshes. Overall the experience was a good one. Apple includes a nice “archive and install” option that makes a copy of the current OS installation just in case. Selecting this option also enables the more important, in my estimation, “preserve users and network settings” option. Which does exactly what it claims to do: preserves your home directory.
When we updated from 10.2.x to 10.3 I made good use of the preserve option on both machines. The only lost data was my fault. I have lots of open source software that I use for J2EE Web application development, and it all lives in the “/usr/local” directory on my machine. Naturally, “preserve users” isn’t setup to backup this directory, and I wasn’t paying close enough attention in my haste to upgrade. So I lost all the packages temporarily until they could be downloaded and installed again. The only real damage was to my ego.
As I recently upgraded my hard drive, and installed the original into a FireWire/USB enclosure, I thought that this upgrade would go very smoothly, without even losing the /usr/local directory tree. The funny thing about having a backup device is that now your focus shifts slightly. Without a backup you kind of ignore the potential to lose your entire digital life, damn the backups, full speed ahead!
With a backup potential at hand you suddenly face the possibility that you’ll lose all your data and that the backup had better be good. And that the restore process had better work as well. Adding to the pressure was my very real awareness that the documents on Michele’s computer were now truly irreplaceable.
However, as I said at the start, the experience was a good one. Both installs worked with out a hitch. And restoring my development libraries worked flawlessly as well. So now both computers are
Tiger, tiger burning bright, In the forests of the night…
“How are you doing?”
This is the rudest, most insensitive, least caring, worst way to engage with some one. Ever. In the history of the world. I hate this question. Hearing it directed at me induces a rage that I can barely contain. The next asshole who asks me, “how are you doing?”, I’m going to hit so hard their family will feel it.
When we lived in Illinois the half bath off the kitchen had pithy sayings on it. One of them was: (more or less) “Don’t tell them about your indigestion, ‘How are you’ is a greeting, not a question.” And therein lies the problem. We have isolated ourselves from everyone else to the point where we want to avoid any connection with another human being, even when we just inquired about them. Pundits would have you believe that the Internet is isolating people. I say that western society (I am using the term ‘society’ very loosely here) started isolating people with the birth of the idea that we shouldn’t expose our emotional knickers to any one for any reason.
Several times in the past 41 days (yes, I am counting them. Want to know the hours?) people have asked me, “How are you doing?”, only to get blasted in return.
“How are you doing?” “I’m fucking miserable. That’s how. i fly into rages for no apparent reason. I cry so hard and so long that I throw up. I can’t sleep with out taking drugs. Food tastes like shit, and that’s only when I can force myself to fix it. I can’t focus on anything for more than about 12 seconds. And I can’t make any of the pain I have go away. Fuck you very much for asking.”
I can see the scared, “oh shit” look in their eyes. I know that all they wanted to do was fill their assigned role in society as the “concerned friend” by asking. They didn’t really want to know, they can’t handle that someone in their midst is so beyond their reckoning so they just want to follow the pro-forma script and get on with their existence. Well I can’t get on with my existence until I fully express how I feel. And if I do that in a way that upsets you, well boo-hoo. The absolute WORST part about this, beyond the obvious, is having to take care of other people and their reactions to Michele’s suicide.
In the few moments of lucidity I’ve had since October 10th I understand that her death, and the manner of her death, is having a huge impact on everyone I know and everyone she knew. Not everyone can handle something this in-your-face real. I am perfectly willing to give those people who will respond in kind a place to sort through their stuff. But those people who just want to anguish over her death, and who want to “fix” me, those people I have no time, patience, or compassion for.
Instead of, “how are you doing,” which indicates to me that you haven’t even really thought about me, why not take two seconds and observe where I am in that moment and base your inquiry on that? For example,
“Gee, you look really down today. Would you like to go someplace private and talk - I’m in a good space to listen.”
“Wow, it’s great to see you smile. I can’t imagine how you manage to smile at anything right now.”
“Hey, I was thinking about you, wanted to let you know that you can share with me anything you want.”
Or if you can’t even bring yourself to figure out how to engage on a real level then just say, “Hey” or “Hi” and move on.
If you live in a large city sooner or later you will see a construction dump truck, or cement mixer, rolling down the road or highway in front of you. They all have the same legend painted on the back:
NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR DAMAGE - STAY BACK 500 FEET
The idea is, by painting this warning (usually too small to read clearly until you are well within the 500 foot limit) the company and operator of the vehicle is not responsible for bits of rock, debris, concrete, et cetera, that fall off the truck and damage your vehicle.
Actually I think what they mean to say is “We won’t be held liable, under any circumstance, for damages caused to your vehicle by the improper operation of ours. Because we painted this sign on our truck, we can now act like irresponsible children and get away with it.”
And no matter what they paint on the truck, they are responsible. They didn’t properly clean all the cement off the equipment in the back. They were driving 20 miles an hour slower than the flow of traffic, causing a mini-traffic jam behind them as people tried to go around. They dropped a Danielle Steel novel-sized chuck of concrete on the interstate in front of my car.
With traffic on both sides of me, and some cretin tailgating me from behind I did the best I could to not precipitate a three or four car pileup and still miss the bounding hunk of rock headed towards my car. The passenger side of the front bumper is cracked and the fog/drivng light assembly has been knocked back into the cavity behind its normal position. I’ll have to go get an estimate this week, but I expect it’ll be at least a $1000, maybe $1500 as the bumper is all one piece, and the whole freaking thing will have to be replaced.
Not responsible for damage? I don’t think so. You are so totally responsible for the damage. I am going to release you from any debt though. I don’t want karma with you. I just hope that you contract a virulent strain of leprosy and rot for the rest of your life.
My frustration level is at an all time high these days. The slightest wrinkles in my plans leave me seething with anger. I know that the root cause is the loss of the one place where I could talk out the surface “story for publication” crap, and then explore the real underlying motivation and emotions. Most people when you talk to them about something that is emotionally charged want to fix or alleviate the cause of the charge. I don’t want you to fix my life - it isn’t broken. All I want is some one who will listen to me, validate that I have real feelings and that, no, I’m not some freak because I’m upset by some tiny event.
Immediately trying to tell me how to address the surface cause of my emotion, or rushing to say, “I understand, look what happened to me…,” only serves to cut me off further. If I say I had a long miserable drive home, that it took 45 minutes to cover ground that normally takes 20, and you say, “Yeah, but it took me 2 HOURS to get home,” then all you have done is make me feel my stuff is insignificant to you. Any real connection that might have occurred by honest listening will now, never happen.
Several days ago my lunch time plans were disrupted by events beyond my control. I usually only eat out once a month and these plans had been in place for two weeks. Not getting to participate they way I wanted was extremely upsettng. Yesterday coming home was a miserable drive, construction delays combined with leaving at 5:00 pm on a Friday, nearly tripled my drive time. I was supremely frustrated and upset. Without Michele as a safe place to fall I had no place to vent my frustrations, no place to clear off the surface distractors and get to the real underlying problem. This morning only added to my pain as I was unable to follow through on my plans to spend the morning at work. Despite my having specifically asked if I had weekend access to the building, and being assured that I did, I was denied access this morning after getting up on my day off, and having a construction delayed commute.
Happy, happy, joy, joy.
I know that these little things are just indications of a larger issue. As I try to sort through it I think the underlying issue is the disconnect between the surreal landscape I now see at every turn, and the normal one I perceive everyone else inhabiting. The rest of you still have normal lives. Your world hasn’t stopped spinning, your days aren’t endlessly long exercises in emotional tight rope walking. I want to yell and throw things at the people around me. I want to scream at them until they understand just how fucking awful this one event has made my entire life. And yet I still have enough compassion to recognize that they are just being human, and that were our roles reverse I’d be act much the same way they are.
And therein lies the rub, I want to scream and hit and destroy, but I know it won’t help. I want understanding from outside when what I need is acceptance of myself. I need a place with no judgment to express my thoughts and emotions, a place where they can be validated. I have been putting off finding a support group because I wasn’t in the mood to expose my self to strangers, even if they were going through a similar experience. However, I see now that I need a group if only to help me see that I am not the only person going through the aftermath of death by suicide.
I reached a new low today. A series of seemingly small events culminating with a missed opportunity for lunch out with my coworkers left me in tears. I couldn’t think or respond to anything. In the past when the stresses of the day ganged up in me to leave me reeling like this I would grab my cell phone and call Michele. She was always there to give me a safe place to fall, always there to offer unbiased counsel, always there to tell me that I would be okay.
Today I desperately wanted to talk to her and I couldn’t. I have had the inclination to call her several times in the last 7 weeks, almost daily in fact. But this event was the most powerful in terms of the emotional impact it had on me. I had to leave the building and retreat to my car where I could try to center myself and regain some kind of hold on reality.
I have considered writing letters to her to express the things I can’t say out loud any more. Considering this is bittersweet at best, even though writing is a good outlet for me, knowing that she’ll never read my words has thus far prevented me from using this tool. I have noticed that my output on this site has increased in the past few weeks, so I am writing some. But I sorely miss the safe place to fall when the pressures of the day overwhelm me.
Michele and I had bought plane tickets to travel to NC for Thanksgiving way back in early September. We did this through Expedia.com and I called them to see about getting a refund once I made the decision not to go by myself. I sent all the paperwork they asked for THREE weeks ago and today I called to see what the status of the exception refund was. They claim they’ve never received my letter.
Now I know that when I’ve used that excuse in the past I was lying, so I am assuming they are lying as well. When was the last time the USPS lost a letter? They just don’t want to refund the $526 to me. So now I get to resubmit my claim, this time using a “traceable shipping method.” I.E., Fed Ex.
Bastards.
The worst part is they are only going to turn around and submit it to the airline for me. They say it could be 2 - 3 months before I get the refund and that my claim could be denied altogether. Happy happy, joy joy.
Sigh.
Once upon a time I wrote about dysosmia, which is the fancy term for olfactory hallucinations. When my allergies or sinus are upset I smell smoke where there isn’t any. Usually it’s just a faint whiff of smoke and I know that there is nothing there, but sometimes the odor is persistent and strong enough that I start to wonder if there is a fire. I used to ask Michele if she smelled it on those occasions to reassure myself that everything was okay. Now I have to move through the apartment looking in closets and checking appliances.
It’s funny the little things that you take for granted in a relationship, that are there and important but unnoticed against the larger backdrop of life. Even things your partner did that annoyed you are missed. The fact that Michele left rinsed but dirty dishes in the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher meant that she was there. The empty sink is a reflection of the emptiness in my life right now.
I guess a part of grief is exhaustion. I find that I run out of energy very quickly these days; two hour naps upon arrival home from work are becoming the norm. Of course the first few weeks of this ordeal I was unable to sleep until I was utterly exhausted. Trying to go to bed before that state was reached only resulted in an internal slide show accompanied by a litany of questions for which there are no answers. Several times now I have resorted to taking 1/2 a Xanax which not only makes me a little drowsy, it keeps the demons of “what if” and “if only” at bay.
Tonight I had planned on attending the normal Tuesday workout at the new dojo, but even after a 2 hour nap I was still so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. Instead I had a meal of leftover meat loaf and potatoes, and then I took a hot soak in the tub. I’ve just finished a small bowl of chocolate ice cream and I am headed to bed. Hopefully to sleep long and peacefully.
Every night the we went to sleep at the same time Michele and I shared some endearments. It was a part of our daily ritual and I have missed it. The past week or so I have started saying my part softly in the darkness and listening in my heart for her responses. It has been helping, which makes the night time a little less daunting.
In 2002 Peter Gabriel released his latest album, called “UP”. One of the songs on that album had previously been used in the soundtrack for the movie “City of Angels”; a song called “I Grieve”. In an interview I read about the album Pete Gabriel talked about the impact an earlier song (“Don’t Give Up”) had made on people struggling with overwhelming odds. This new song he said was similar in that he hoped it would talk to people grieving.
It has certainly spoken to me.
It was only one hour ago It was all so different then There’s nothing yet has really sunk in Looks like it always did This flesh and bone It’s just the way that you would tied in Now there’s no-one home
I grieve for you You leave me so hard to move on Still loving what’s gone They say life carries on Carries on and on and on and on
The news that truly shocks is the empty empty page While the final rattle rocks it’s empty empty cage And I can’t handle this
I grieve for you You leave me Let it out and move on Missing what’s gone They say life carries on They say life carries on and on and on
Life carries on In the people I meet In everyone that’s out on the street In all the dogs and cats In the flies and rats In the rot and the rust In the ashes and the dust Life carries on and on and on and on Life carries on and on and on
It’s just the car that we ride in A home we reside in The face that we hide in The way we are tied in And life carries on and on and on and on Life carries on and on and on
Did I dream this belief? Or did I believe this dream? Now I can find relief I grieve
For several weeks now I have been holding my tongue regarding a posting made to Michele’ site. Shortly after I converted the site to be a place to remember Michele her brother sent me a posting to include, along with a composite picture to display.
Immediately upon reading his words I felt myself trapped and uncertain what to do. I knew that Michele’s experience with her brother was vastly different that what Lee was portraying, that they weren’t close at all. In fact Michele had cut off her relationship with her brother as it only brought her pain. My quandary was what to do with his posting, after all I had solicited comments and postings from all her friends and family. So I posted it to her site and held my thoughts.
I frequently visit the site and reread the words there and every time I run across that posting I get angry and upset again. Obviously I needed to do something to address the feelings it brought up in me. Through out our relationship I tried to balance my fierce desire to protect Michele from any threat real or imagined with a need to allow her to have her own life. I never wanted to take care of myself by “forcing” her to be a certain way. So I stayed out of her relationship struggles with her parents and brother, just as she stayed out of my own relationship with my family. She was fully capable of taking care of her self. However, now she can only speak to those people who knew her true heart, so I have added my comments to Lee’s posting on her site.
Having taken this step has released a large bolus of anger inside of me, I feel lighter and more centered than I have for a while. I guess I didn’t realize just how upset I was by the revisionist recollections put on her site by someone she was afraid of, and by someone she wanted out of her life.
Michele, I know that I may have built karma with Lee by calling him on his posting, but it took care of me to do so. I will gladly pay this debt when it come due.