Living Room

This is my pretty blog. It's like my mom's living room. Kept in good shape, ready for guests, and the debris of my life tucked safely out of view.

The problem that I've realized is that a living room does not a house make. Nope, what makes a house is the bedroom (though some would probably say that kitchen trumps bedroom, I disagree.) If you are one of those neat and tidy people maybe your bedroom looks just like your living room (clean) with the exception that there is a bed in it instead of a couch and love seat set.

I am not one of those people. My bedroom looks nothing like my mom's living room. Sometime the mess gets to even me and I spend a few hours getting it clean enough that I can start getting it properly dirty again, but most of the time my room is in a delightful state of chaos.

But I'm okay with that. My bedroom is mine. It's the place where I can run and shut myself in when life gets overwhelming (all too often), and the place where I can lounge in my underwear if I so choose without inflicting that sight on anyone else in the world.

This blog is not like that. This blog is like the living room, for the guest, not for me. My facebook is also for the guest instead of for me (although thankfully, unlike my facebook pag, my parents haven't found this so they can let me know whenever anything that I post or write might be inappropriate or offensive in any way shape or form to anyone.) I don't post controversial things, I try not to yank any chains, or post passive aggressive comments, or depressing song lyrics with no context which will make people think I want to kill myself.

I have a wonderful friend who recently showed me their blog, and it was a bedroom, no question about it. Reposts of stills and gifs from a favorite tv show, short spur of the moment posts, and rants with language that would make a sailor blush.

I'm jealous. I have lots of rants and tonight in particular it would be satisfying to let fly. But I'm not going to, because this isn't a bedroom.

Instead you get a tidied up pseudo-philosophical stream of consciousness about internet bedrooms.

@%&# it.

Divorce

Apparently, it's been a year and some change since I've last posted anything to this blog, and longer than that since I've posted anything of substance. It looks like my last real post was along the lines of looking for the motivation that would allow myself to to support myself and my wife as we started a family.

Oh how much can change in a year.

Divorce.

It's an ugly word, especially to Mormons that believe that if they do everything according "to plan" that a happy successful family is guaranteed and insured by God. I certainly felt that way; I got baptized, got the priesthood, went on a mission, and got married in the temple. Then, I got a divorce.

"Excuse me God but I'd like for you to review this certificate of authenticity..."
...
"Exactly, I knew that there must be some mistake so can you please get on that immediately."
...
"Okay, I'll go see Gabriel in customer service and we'll get that straightened out."

Sadly, it was not to be and the reality is divorce.

We Mormons have an interesting relationship with divorce. As I was beginning this terrible process and moving home my social life became nearly non-existant. I'd been married for two years so I didn't have too many single friends and I didn't see the married friends that I'd spent the most times with because I was too busy being a broken recluse living in my parents house. When I did see them though we'd have our brief conversations that were awkward and ended quickly, and I would be haunted by the look in their eyes that practically screamed "You are a living embodiment of the worst failure I fear in this life."


I felt judged, all the time. I felt like a failure in more ways than one. After all, we have these wonderful gospel gems like this one to provide support and reassurance to us in these trying times.

"No other success can compensate for failure in the home."

         - David O. McKay

I do not want to beat a dead horse, and I couldn't begin to describe this to the point of understanding without giving the appearance of beating said dead horse so allow me to just say: The emotional, spiritual, psychological, and even physical trauma of divorce is more pain than I ever thought I would be called on to bear, and more pain than I thought myself capable of bearing.

My lowest point came one evening a couple of weeks after the separation. I was taking a shower and behind the safety of the locked door and under cover of the sound of the running water I let myself cry. I was crying a lot over these months , all the time actually, so I really ought to say I let myself sob. So I am standing in the shower sobbing my guts out and I am so emotionally exhausted that I am physically overwhelmed and collapse into a sobbing heap on the floor of the bathtub. I lie there as the hot water runs out and I'm being sprayed with icy cold water and don't give a damn. In fact, as I think back, beyond somehow cerebrally knowing that the water was cold and probably uncomfortable I was too numb and lost in my pain to care.

Now, I suppose some of you (if there are any of you) reading this may be wondering why I'm telling you this. Maybe it's because I think that divorce is a reality that is conveniently ignored (for the most part) in the church and thus the people unfortunate enough to have to go through it are left relatively lost and unsupported in what is very possibly their time of greatest need. Maybe it's because I've heard some of the rumors about me, and the speculation on the underlying reasons for my divorce. Without exception, the rumors and speculation were wildly off base and hurtful. Another reason is that this is part of me trying to come to terms with an event that has impacted my life permanent way.

More thoughts later, maybe in another year.