Art Pillar: Case Study

I am incredibly sad. William Faulkner sad. Edgar Allan Poe sad. I really cannot tell you how deeply sorrowful I feel. A bit demented. A bit crazy. Just a hair shy of suicidal. It is all because of a girl. Hold on, before you judge, just remember that I too realize it’s all my fault. Perhaps it is my dependency, selfishness, and underdeveloped neediness that is to blame, but, I blame her. Let me also say that Susan did not do anything to me. She didn’t cheat on me. She didn’t blow all our money on designer clothing and rack up insurmountable credit card debit like the couples on Doctor Phil. She didn’t get hooked on drugs. She didn’t have an “emotional affair,” as Doctor Phil so eloquently puts it. She didn’t abuse me or our daughter. The sex was good and relatively frequent. So why do you ask am I leaving my wife of 15 years? Because I need her, that’s why. I need her and need her and need her. I do it to everybody. It’s a fear thing. No Doctor can help me. Yes, not even you. I already know what any doctor would say anyway. They will say “Art, you have to let go and allow these people to love you.” I’ll say, “No shit.” I fear they will leave. I fear that inevitability will take them away from me. Everyone is destined to lose interest. Picture this. Imagine you were staring at the coolest thing in the world. Imagine you were staring at a midget balancing an elephant on his pinky finger and you somehow knew it wasn’t a trick. It was real. Pretty amazing right? Now, imagine you were staring at it for hours, days, weeks, months, years. You have adequate food, shelter, you can get up and move around. It’s basically your job, to wake up, put on clothes, eat breakfast and come to work to sit and stare at the midget balancing the elephant and say, “Wow. Incredible.” repeatedly until the end of time. I’m not saying it’s a bad job, but the allure would wear off.
My problem Doc, is that I realize this and flip out that it might happen when I least expect it. I like to be well prepared for disappointment, if such a thing were possible. I’ve always been a giver. This is why it kills me to know that Susan is devastated at my leaving her. I hate to see people upset. It kills me. In fact, it’s some kind of weird disease I have where I feel other’s pain. Not like the Corsican Brothers movie but in a very real emotional way. Like twins but with everyone. My point is I didn’t know how to relax around Susan, so I left. Alright, I’m a dick. What else could I do? Did she want me around her whole life asking her, “Where were you? Who was that on the phone? Who are you texting? What are you writing? I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love,” every waking moment? The fucked up thing, is that I actually would love for someone to do that to me. Don’t laugh asshole, I’m serious. I need that mother figure. I need someone to ask me where I’ve been, who I was talking to, what my fucking intentions are. Sorry for cursing. If their need for me was that great it would allow me to relax knowing that they loved me and that someone else out there actually gave a shit as much as I give a shit. It’s never happened though. I have never met anyone that puts as much into a relationship of any kind as much as I do. Like I said I’m a giver. Friendships, family ties, girlfriends. They all have been privileged to my giving. I rub feet, I work on yards, help people move, fix air conditioners, give people rides at four in the morning, lend money, act polite in front of former boyfriends, let former boyfriends stay on my couch when they are in town and they “haven’t dated in years, so it’s cool.” Shit, Doctor, I once took care of a cat for a professor that gave me a D, for an entire summer while she and her boyfriend went to Cancun. Doctor, I’m allergic to cats! What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I be selfish like everybody else? Right now, you must be sitting there with your paper and your pen thinking, “This guy is fucked up. What a loser. I’m gunna give him some pills and maybe then he will shut the fuck up.” If I were you, I’d be thinking “This poor man. I better drive him home and offer my friendship.” That or I would run out of the building. Ok, I see I’m getting off topic. Susan. Me. Susan. Ok. Gosh it’s only been 5 hours since I told her I was never coming home again. Listen, I know it looks bad, but consider how we met. You don’t know this story? I could have sworn… Well, consider these circumstances.
We met at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. I was a big talker in those meetings. I would have run the whole damn thing if they had let me but I hadn’t been going very long and they seemed to be pretty annoyed by me. Susan began going after about a month and a half into my sobriety. I was all over that. Despite my constant horniness and confident and casual demeanor with the young, beautiful and vulnerable girls that came through there, I never could find it in me to hit on any of them. I was too nice. Always thinking of them, never wanting to take advantage of their fragile state. Truth be told, everybody knows that what they wanted was to feel wanted. That’s probably why they drank in the first place. Maybe a good fucking would have cured us all. Sorry, I keep digressing. So, Susan comes in there and stays quiet, never sharing her story even 3 months into attending the daily program. Me being me, I decided to take it upon myself to cure this girl and spend as much time with her outside of the program as possible. I wasn’t her sponsor by the way. They wouldn’t allow me to be anyone’s sponsor because I was, “creepy.” Anyway, she said that she had problems sleeping if she didn’t drink and that all she needed was a little company. So, I would go over to her apartment and watch TV with her, watch movies, eat popcorn, until she fell asleep at which point I would sit there on the couch and watch her sleep with one arm on her leg until I decided to go home. My insomnia allowed me to do this for hours but you already know about all that. By the way I stopped taking the Ambian again.
So after months of this TV, movie deal, I actually feel asleep in her lap one night and she woke up and walked me to her bedroom. A year later, we were married. I realize this is a very condensed version of the whole courting process but shit, you do charge by the hour. My point in bringing this up is, she was needy. Just like me. We were two people that both really needed to be needed. The problem is she’s healed. She’s better in every possible way Doc. She can go out with friends,-- men even, man friends, male card carrying pussy hunters with large elephant gun dicks (don’t think I don’t realize that I already said elephant twice and no it’s not some kind of weird obsession I have. It doesn’t mean anything so just drop it) in their pants staring at my girl’s amazing tits--and not drink, and come home never really giving fuck what the poor schmuck at home is doing. AND I KNOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY BEHAVIOR. Sorry for yelling. The thing is, I don’t really think I have a problem. I truly believe that the problem is everyone else. Everyone else has a “caring deficiency” and I’m the only Godly creature reaching my heart out to the world. Don’t you dare assume that I don’t know how stupid that sounds. But I do believe it.
I have to leave her Doc, I have to. If I don’t I’m gunna turn Cloey into a neurotic lunatic like her father. I mean what other alternative do I have. Tell me God dammit. I really do want an alternative. Doc! Are you listening asshole. Oh sorry, right. You’re not supposed to talk during the session. The whole transference thing. Well, that’s stupid.