NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue

Paradise Gone

I remember talking with my sister Ann, and how it didn't sit quite right when she described us—our family—as simple. She didn't mean it as criticism, and in a way, she was right. Not that I'd describe myself or the others as simplistic. For myself, I'd say I'm more complicated than I'd prefer. Still, there's no doubt I'm at my best when life is simple. I only need a few important things to be straight, and I'm good.

I didn't handle well how complicated life became after leaving my marriage.

By then, I had my own apartment, and Nina would stay over when the girls were with their father. Suspicious behavior had begun to surface. One night, I stumbled over a night bag she'd placed on the closet floor. To my surprise, I found several cans of beer stowed beneath it. I left the beers alone and didn't mention them to her. Not discussing it may seem strange, but hints of a soon-to-be-revealed disorder were becoming apparent. Despite my suspicions, I didn't want to risk ruining the night.

At first well-hidden, Nina suffered from a mental affliction she attributed to her inability to forget, later diagnosed as borderline personality disorder (BPD).

The next morning, after she'd left, I found the empty beer cans hidden at the bottom of my trash. My first thought was alcoholism—was she literally a closet drinker? I quickly dismissed the idea, thinking how seldom we'd overindulged during the six months we'd been together. It soon became apparent that Nina used alcohol to help stave off the effects of her illness.

Our paths crossed two years after her failed marriage and shortly before another relationship had ended. I remember overhearing a conversation in class between her and another woman. Nina shared a picture of her then-boyfriend, and the other woman remarked that he looked like a young Robert Redford. Not long after, "Mr. Redford" broke up with her, and I consoled her. Through tears, she described the abusive end to her previous relationship with her ex-volleyball coach-boyfriend. It was a red flag I chose to ignore.

We started as friends. I became her confidant, then her lover, and months later, after I had my own place, we moved in together with our children.

Most people eventually let go of hurtful events, allowing those memories to fade into the past. Not Nina. For her, the pain was always just below the surface. If triggered, no matter how much time had passed, she reacted as if freshly wounded. Bad experiences would accumulate and loop in her mind until they reached a boiling point. When that happened, what spilled out was an unleashed stream of abuse, delivered relentlessly.

She didn't want to forget. I found handwritten notes in our bedroom nightstand where she had painstakingly compiled, in chronological order, hurtful events involving my family.

Her words reflected both her pain and inability to let go of perceived slights. At one point, motivated by an argument, she compiled her notes and emailed to me. Here are some excerpts:

"Halloween 2010: You all went to Samantha's and ate dinner together and trick-or-treated together. I was not there. Your family got mad when you left for 10 minutes to let your girlfriend into your apartment. I was alone. You were with them. With Samantha. Your dad compared Samantha and me to dogs fighting."

"Christmas 2011: After telling your family since February that you wouldn't attend any event if Samantha was invited, they invited her anyway. And you went. Your mom blamed me again. She got mad when you disagreed with her and refused to speak to you for weeks. But she kept inviting Samantha, knowing how much it hurt me."

"June 9, 2012: Once again, Samantha was invited. You promised you wouldn't attend if she was there, but you went anyway. You forgot the promises you made to me over and over."

    "ALL OF THIS TIME -I have never spoken to anyone, said an unkind word to anyone, emailed, texted, even looked at anyone in your family....that I could have possibly done anything to any of them. I never defended myself through all of the bullshit they said and did. I never told them they were wrong and cruel and mean....I was quiet for the entire year of 2012 and since October of 2011. "

[Even now, years later and far removed from that moment, I can still feel the hurt.]

If taken as gospel, Nina's account painted everyone as monsters, and herself as the sole victim. The truth was far more complicated. While her feelings were valid, her interpretation of events left no room for nuance or the pain others were also enduring.

Without context, we were all monsters, and she was the victim. The truth, however, is more complicated. There were other victims, and at times, other monsters too.

We are a close family, and my actions caused a rift. Everyone was hurt. That's the part she failed to comprehend. We—all of us—were dealing with hurt and acting out of emotion. Her descriptions weren't entirely inaccurate, and though I take exception to her claim of having "remained quiet...since October 2011," her feelings were valid. She lacked the ability, though, to see the situation from any perspective other than her own, with herself at the center as the recipient of all hurt and wrongdoing.

By then, Nina and I had enlisted the help of a therapist. Nina underwent various treatments, and at times, we went together to work on our relationship. After receiving her email, I forwarded a copy to our therapist, along with my own reflections:

"This roller coaster is killing me. I don't think the treatment she is undertaking with you will do any good as long as she has me to remind her of all the hurt. "

Nina's disorder likely stemmed from early trauma she experienced as a child when she was sexually molested by an older cousin. Left alone at home with him, she was assaulted.

[I've since wondered if Nina relived the assault through her fantasies where, with the benefit of adulthood, 'the girl' could regain control.]

It's easy to judge Nina's parents harshly for not taking direct action after the alleged abuse. Perhaps, because a family member was involved, they dismissed the allegations and attributed them to her imagination. I struggle to understand how a parent could accept such a conclusion. They attempted to move on and likely hoped she would too.

[From my view decades later, I know this was not the case.]

Nina's relationship with her mother, Joan—a schoolteacher whom she saw as controlling and a perfectionist—was strained. Despite being a National Merit Scholar in high school and later graduating summa cum laude from UMASS, Nina never felt her accomplishments were good enough to satisfy her mother.

During Nina's mid-twenties, her father, Philip, died after falling off the roof of her childhood home. Once an athletic man who enjoyed the notoriety of being a college quarterback, Philip was close to Nina. She proudly called herself a daddy's girl, and they enjoyed running together on the trails of Mount Monadnock. His death, though ruled an accident, was believed by those close to him to have been a suicide, as he had been severely depressed.

At times, I had sessions on my own with our therapist. The stress of trying to pacify everyone was immense, and Louanne helped put things into perspective. All of us were suffering because of my actions. I felt like I was failing on all fronts. Most discouraging was the knowledge that this relationship, for which I had risked so much, was not working.

The stress took its toll. As much as I tried to convince everyone that I was still the same person, I started to have doubts myself.