Chapter 3: Watering a Garden of Thorns
Following my failed first attempt at romance, for a long time, I disconnected from things around me.
Following my failed first attempt at romance, for a long time, I disconnected from things around me. It is deeply ironic to me that the mental health issues I struggled with in high school - anxiety, depression, & low self-esteem - all started after my brief experience with what passed for mental health services in rural Minnesota. I withdrew socially, distancing myself from situations where I might make new friends or interact with new people, becoming less talkative around the friends I had, getting lost more & more in my head each day.
It was an off-hand comment written in my yearbook that sparked my re-invention... a beautiful, popular young woman in my class who wrote, "You should ask me out sometime," alongside her phone number. Sadly, I never worked up the courage... the next year, I found out she was dating one of the most popular guys in school (who was also a bit of a class clown) and I foolishly assumed that meant she was completely out of my league. When they broke up, she didn't seem interested in bringing up what she had written to me, and I did not have her in any of my classes. Later, when I heard through the grapevine that she had been date-raped by this clown, and that was the reason for their break-up and her social withdrawal, my fury, sadness, & regret were overwhelming. It was the first time I had fantasies about harming someone. I wondered what might have happened if I had been brave enough to ask her out, and she had started dating me instead of him... I knew she never would have experienced such a violation at my hands. I did not go so far as to think it was my fault, but I did feel somewhat responsible, in that I could have "saved" her from that experience... (this over-willingness to take responsibility for the hardships of others was a trait I would not recognize as unhealthy until much later in my life; at the time, I believed it to be a normal expression of compassion & empathy).
So many of my female friends had terrible stories they shared with me surrounding their sexual experiences; it filled me with shame to even be a member of the male gender. I could not fathom how it was possible for men to act in such a cruel & callous manner, dismissing the serious and long-lasting emotional trauma they caused to another human being through their actions, nor could I see how sex with a non-consensual partner could even be enjoyable. The fact that this lovely, outgoing, & generous woman, who inadvertently inspired me with her comment and helped me to realize I did not want to be a "loner" for the rest of my life, endured this horrible experience… “tragic” and “heart-breaking” seem insufficient to describe the feelings it evokes. Wherever she is today, I pray she has found happiness & healing. I will always remember her kindness, and be grateful for how her comment inspired me to change my self-image.
If I wanted to have a chance at meeting the woman of my dreams, I needed to put myself out there... and that meant overcoming my introverted nature. When I had turned 15, my father had given me a copy of a book called "Psychocybernetics," by Maxwell Maltz MD. Dr. Maltz was a plastic surgeon who noticed that sometimes, after a procedure, his patients would emerge with entirely different personalities and their self-esteem would sky-rocket; other times, there was essentially no difference in how they saw themselves, even when the cosmetic difference and the change in how others perceived them was significant. He realized that the mind essentially cannot tell the difference between real experiences & imagined experiences, and referenced a famous study where college students improved their free-throw skills in basketball almost as much simply by imagining themselves shooting baskets when compared to another group that actually practiced.
Applying the concepts in this book, I began imagining myself acting like more of an extrovert, expanding my circle of friends, and meeting new people - particularly females. Each night, lying in bed, I would visualize myself in various social situations, radiating charm & poise, and engaging others in animated conversations. Slowly, gradually, I stopped seeing myself as a loner and became more comfortable meeting new people. My social network grew, although I remained single and agonized about it in my journal (which I wrote mainly by hand, and survives to this day). I became very competent at acting self-assured, engaging in small talk, feigning interest & engagement, and projecting an image of confidence & charm… but, truth be told, the effort of maintaining the charade left me feeling drained & even more disconnected. I had more friends, I was getting invited to parties, and was certainly more confident in social situations... but the authentic connections I craved were still absent from my life.
For years, I viewed my inability to connect with my male friends on a deeper level and the lack of interest in me displayed by the opposite sex as evidence of some inadequacy within myself or some unidentified flaw, rather than understanding how our society’s gender roles inhibit men from being open & authentic in expressing their emotions… and without emotional vulnerability, achieving true intimacy and establishing meaningful friendships are both all but impossible. In addition, I was blind to the nature of attraction, and the tendency we have to pursue romantic relationships that mirror the wounds of our childhood. Only in hindsight, reading through the journal I kept as a teenager twenty years later, did I realize how I unknowingly self-sabotaged my own efforts by forming attractions to women who were emotionally unavailable… it was what felt familiar to me. When women with mature, well-developed emotional identities expressed an interest in me, I dismissed them due to a “lack of chemistry,” or “spark”… never realizing that real love takes time to grow, and often begins with a friendship. I recognize now how I missed out on some incredible opportunities to be with some truly amazing women, simply because I did not give that spark the chance to ignite the flames.
Every now and then, I would find the courage to overcome the risk of rejection, but I still didn't believe in myself or see myself as desirable, and I have no doubt that on some level this could be sensed. I kept a list of what I considered my "failures" - times I had made an effort & been turned down or for whatever reason nothing had materialized - and by the time it had reached two dozen names, I was convinced that everyone had a type, and I was simply not anyone's type. After achieving my goal of expanding my social network, I felt at a loss for what to do next. At this point, I felt I had no romantic options - every potential candidate was either a friend, in a relationship with someone else, or uninterested.
Eventually, I stopped trying to make new friends, and for the rest of my high school career, I skipped lunch and went down to the choir room - alone, most days, but every now and then I would be joined by a friend (including the only woman from high school with whom I would still consider myself close friends, one of the kindest & most brilliant souls I've ever had the privilege to know). There I would compose potential song lyrics (they weren't poems to me, anymore) with names like, "What Might Have Been," "Pass Me By," and "Bittersweet," and work out the vocal melody and the piano accompaniment. The finished products, I rarely deemed worthy of exhibition to others, however - I was my own harshest critic.
My parents did not take much interest in my compositions, and although I had some friends who complimented & encouraged me, I always felt I did not have much natural talent in music performance. Nothing came easily (other than memorizing the lyrics), and though I would never get anxious, my self-doubt would get the better of me whenever I had the opportunity to perform a solo or in a small group, whether the audience was a single close friend or an auditorium filled with strangers. My performance was inevitably disappointing to me - less "triumphant," and more "tired elephant" - though I relentlessly tried out for every baritone solo and participated in every talent show I could. Even though I had been playing for nearly ten years and occasionally would be called upon to learn a song here & there to perform along with the choir or a quartet, I did not feel particularly competent with my skills on the piano, and I felt my vocal talents were mediocre at best.
I played flute in middle school, and took up the guitar when I was 16, teaching myself how to play with the aid of a poster showing the finger positions for various chords, but my self-image of "adequate but not great" had been well-reinforced by what I perceived as a lack of interest, encouragement, & enthusiasm from most of the people around me, and whether I truly had only mediocre talent or simply lacked the self-awareness to challenge this belief & the self-discipline to practice when it was no longer fun, I could not seem to excel in any of my performances.
It was for this reason that I gravitated towards music composition, which allowed me the emotional outlet and the creative expression, without the pressure of being in the spotlight. My early compositions were rather good, if a touch melodramatic, and after learning guitar, I found that instrument much more conducive to my songwriting preferences (which I would describe as a cross between Passenger & Ben Harper).
In the beginning of my senior year, I took on my most ambitious project yet - a four part choral arrangement accompanied by piano & flute, titled, "Never Forgotten," which ended up being chosen as the senior song for our graduating class. At our graduation ceremony, I was given the honor of conducting it, although sadly, I never had the chance to hear it performed afterwards... my parents had forgotten to charge the battery for the video recorder, and I was never able to track down a copy from anyone else in my class.
I have always believed that emotional pain is every bit as significant as physical pain, and I sincerely believe that the human race is doomed unless we learn to show the same level of respect & consideration to the spiritual & emotional aspects of our existence as we do for the physical & intellectual aspects. Emotional trauma is responsible for just as much loss & is just as capable of ruining as many lives as physical trauma; an un-enlightened soul prevents the achievement of wisdom and stops the light of truth from being seen as surely as an uneducated mind. I learned this lesson at a young age, as a senior in high school, on April 20th, 1999, when I came the closest to dying I’ve ever done in my life, over a joke that no one found funny.
I had recently begun working as a server at a local restaurant on the evenings & weekends. My friend worked there as a line cook, and his girlfriend was also employed as a server. His girlfriend was friends with another young lady who was engaged in an off-again, on-again romance with the kitchen manager. This particular young lady was quite attractive, and a bit of a flirt. Ignorant of their history, when she employed her charms on me, I was delighted to reciprocate, and we arranged for the four of us to go see a movie at the theater together - “Runaway Bride,” if my memory serves. At the last minute, my friend & his girlfriend had to cancel, and I ended up attending the showing with the young woman alone. We had a wonderful time, and engaged in a bit of flirting which I viewed as harmless fun. I had no intention of pursuing things further; although I did not know the kitchen manager well at the time, my friend had cautioned me not to come between them, and I respected his advice. After going to the movies with her, the kitchen manager pulled me aside at work and we came to a mutual understanding (which later, surprisingly, grew into a solid friendship).
Meanwhile, I was searching for a date for my senior prom... I had failed to find a date for every other high school dance up to this point, and I was determined not to let this final chance slip away. After a string of rejections, my self-esteem & emotional resilience were both hanging on by a thread. I forget the exact circumstances behind it, but somehow this young lady implied to me that she would love to be my date (during an "off" time, when she was not dating the kitchen manager). On the afternoon of April 20th, 1999, we spoke on the phone, and that was when she told me she was only joking when she said that. It was the straw which broke my spirit, and sent me sprinting out the door. I jumped behind the wheel of my Pontiac Sunbird and began accelerating out of my parents' driveway and down the long country road which connected to the county road that ran along the east bank of the Mississippi River, appropriately named the River Road. I turned left, continuing to accelerate, driven by reckless, raw emotion.
A moment of lucidity hit me: what I was doing was incredibly dangerous. But my emotions would not be soothed; enraged & uncaring, I screamed back at the little voice, if this is dangerous, so what? What does it matter, what does any of this pain even matter?!?" and began jerking the steering wheel left and right. My tire caught the edge of the dirt, and suddenly my world exploded into fragments of steel and glass. I came to hanging upside-down, and dug my mobile phone out of the glovebox. With fumbling, bloody fingers, I dialed my parents' number, and told my mother I had crashed. A nearby neighbor had also heard the crash and called emergency services... apparently I had flipped the car four-and-a-half times, missing a telephone pole by inches, and landed upside down in a nearby field. The highest point in the crumpled roof of my vehicle was directly above the driver's seat where my head had come to rest... the remainder of the vehicle had been crushed down to the seats.
The fact that I survived the crash with only some scrapes and bruises (as well as an injury to my left alar ligament that resulted in seven years' of chronic headaches whenever I went longer than two weeks without receiving a chiropractic adjustment, until my father developed a new adjustment in the winter of 2006 that resolved them permanently) was nothing short of miraculous. I even went to school the next day... I remember quite well, walking down the hall and marveling at the banality of the day following what came so close to being my last day on Earth. Physical trauma would have been listed as the cause of my death, but I knew the truth... it was the emotional pain that inspired the circumstances. From that day forward, I never doubted the power of emotions to destroy a life. People’s lives are changed - and ended - because of emotions, every day.
I never told the young lady about the effects her little joke had upon me, nor anyone else. I believe I shared it with my wife, once, but no one else knew the whole story - at least, not until I chose to share it with the world here. At the time, I let everyone believe it was typical adolescent recklessness and speed which had caused the accident... the last thing I wanted was the shame of being placed on suicide watch again. I have always been a terrible liar, even when it comes to simple lies of omission, so to avoid the discomfort of answering questions without my usual full & honest disclose, I did my best not to mention what had happened to anyone. Only those closest to me even knew of the accident, let alone how close my life came to ending before I even graduated high school.
Was it honestly a suicide attempt? No; I had no desire nor was it my intention to end my life. It was simply an overload of emotion that no one had taught me how to process in a healthy way. Men are seldom allowed the opportunity to demonstrate weakness, vulnerability, or hurt feelings without being shamed, scorned, or belittled. The only acceptable "safe harbor" for men to let down their guard is in a relationship... which, despite my best efforts, remained unattainable for me. It might seem like my reaction was a sign of mental health issues, but in truth, I believe it was the normal reaction of a normal person subjected to normal stresses, and given no outlet to express them.
I graduated with honors in May of 1999. New Year's Eve has always been my favorite holiday, ever since I was a young boy celebrating the New Year with my family & my friends at Bluefin Bay in Grand Marais, along the shores of Lake Superior, and in New Year's Eve of 1998, my two closest friends & I, along with my friend's girlfriend at the time, made the resolution that next year for the new millennium, we would celebrate together in France. My friend & his girlfriend ended up breaking up, and my other friend ended up backing out, but I had saved all the money I made that year in preparation for the trip. My friend had permission from his parents to go, but had not saved the full amount that we had estimated the trip would cost each of us. I ended up loaning him the money (which he eventually did pay back in full) so that I would not have to choose between going alone or cancelling. Our trip was amazing in so many ways, but there are certain events that I remember quite vividly, even today:
- Hearing voices speaking English while we waited for the countdown in front of the Eiffel Tower, we introduced ourselves to a group of college students, only to find that one of them was from our own backyard - a member of the rowing team at Saint Cloud State University
- Being kissed by a lovely little French woman after the fireworks ringing in the New Year, about the same age as me, who ran up to me out of nowhere, planted a kiss on my lips, giggled at my expression, then dashed away in a flash
- Going off a cliff on Mount Fierst while snowboarding at Interlochen in the Swiss Alps, catching myself on the edge with my elbows... then, after my friend was unable to pull me up, leaning forward to unbuckle my boot from the snowboard, while staring down at a straight, six-hundred foot drop
- Walking along the White Cliffs of Dover at midnight after taking the last ferry across the English Canal... there were no buses or taxis available at the late hour, so we had no choice but to hoof it several miles into town with our backpacks & suitcases in tow, until we arrived at a train station, where we slept on benches until we could board a train to London
- Visiting a delightfully cozy, friendly, & well-decorated coffeeshop in Amsterdam named "Freeland" - I never knew fruit juices could taste so good! Or that joints could be rolled the size of traffic cones...
My PSAT & SAT scores had earned me the distinction of a National Merit Scholarship, for which I was offered a full-ride scholarship at the local state university. I did not see it as a positive, however; I envisioned myself getting out of the state, with my first choice being Berklee College of Music in Massachusetts, and this offer of a scholarship to me was a sand trap that would keep me in a place I did not belong. My parents implored me to take advantage of it, however, seeing it as an incredible opportunity for me to emerge with a college degree and no student debt.
I have always felt a strong sense of obligation and filial responsibility towards my parents, and I loved, respected, & trusted them as much back then as I do today, which ultimately led me to follow their advice. I could not find the words to express my longing to escape the small-town mentality, to finally feel free to express myself amongst peers who shared my passion for a richer, more meaningful existence, and whose life experiences & dreams were as adventurous & as poignant as my own. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to denying my own desires to make those around me happy, to the point where it was almost second-nature... and one's nature does not suddenly change spontaneously simply because one reaches the age of eighteen.
I found that, once I had accepted the scholarship, I disappeared into the student body and - with a few exceptions - I could not connect with most of my professors on any meaningful level. Some classes were simply too large; others, the professor held no interest in learning each student's name, let alone understanding more about them, and in others, the professor's ego was the greatest barrier. The resident professor in Music Theory & Composition was on a sabbatical when I first toured the university, and I remember admiring his name plate... a Doctor of Music Theory of Composition! At the time, unfamiliar with the basics of academia, I had no idea that one could achieve a doctorate in subjects unrelated to healthcare. I immediately saw the achievement of such a degree as a way of equaling my father's success, but in a field that allowed for more expression of my emotions & creative energies. I imagined meeting this professor, impressing him, and developing a meaningful connection that would last for decades as my talents & skills in composition grew under his mentorship. Reality, however, turned out to be something quite different.
In my first music theory classes with him, I found his explanations of the material unnecessarily complex and yet at the same time exceptionally vague... he was a master of saying nothing with as many words as possible. I found it almost beyond belief that he could not play the piano, or any instrument, and that his compositions - while intriguing and memorable - were composed & performed primarily on a computer. Being a fan of Nine Inch Nails, I did not dismiss electronic music as requiring less skill or talent than more classical methods, but his pedantic, arrogant teaching style made it impossible for me to hold him in very high regard.
More than once, when he left the classroom, frustrated over his students' apparent inability to comprehend material that he explained like Helen Keller describing a Pink Floyd concert, I was unable to resist taking over the position he left behind, explaining the same material in a much more easily comprehendible format (to the delight & appreciation of my classmates). When he returned in the middle of one of my impromptu lectures, however, I could tell from the look he shot me that it was not appreciated... after that, I dared not overstep my place in his classroom again, and resented him for bring threatened by, rather than appreciative of, my abilities.
My first serious relationship began the summer after my graduation from high school. I'm ashamed to admit it, but the young woman was originally dating one of my friends. There were three of us in my close friends group at the time, myself a recent graduate and two of my friends, now seniors, and one member of our group began dating a young woman from a nearby school, who had two close friends to whom she introduced us. I lacked the confidence to take the initiative, whereas my other friend had no hesitation in asking one of the two out. As we continued hanging out, however, she became less interested in him, and focused more of her time & attention upon me. When she broke up with him and started dating me, I was too eager to fully consider the consequences, and despite making an effort to smooth things over, ended up losing his friendship. I am sure that my introduction to marijuana through my coworkers at the restaurant and subsequent decision to begin using it regularly also played a factor in his decision not to maintain our friendship (while my first experience was motivated by peer pressure, I became a habitual user because it allowed me to focus my thoughts and relieved the constant feeling I had of not being productive enough, allowing me to relax & simply “be“… it never affected my motivation, memory, or decision-making, nor did it lead to any desire to try other drugs - far from the false reality fed to me by anti-drug propaganda).
She & I dated for about ten months, and things went well until we introduced sex into the relationship. We were both virgins, and although we had initially discussed it & agreed upon waiting until marriage, all her friends were having sex, and she felt an unspoken social pressure and a personal desire to experience it. One morning, she let herself into my apartment (I had given her a key specifically so she could sneak away before she went to work and wake me up in the mornings), and while we were kissing in bed together, she asked me if I wanted to have sex. I told her that she knew my feelings on it, but that I loved her, and if she asked me again, I would say yes. She asked me again, and so we did (although neither of us climaxed). In all honesty, I remember feeling a bit underwhelmed by the experience.
Shortly after, she moved three hours away to attend college, and so I began driving up on the weekends to spend time with her. The new environment provided her with new opportunities to grow as well as new challenges to her sense of identity, and we had not developed a deep sense of intimacy or connection in our relationship by being truly vulnerable with one another. I remember one time, when I drove up and found her in tears, and attempted to lift her spirits... it was the most heartfelt & emotional conversation I had ever had with her, but afterwards, I had no idea if anything I said made any difference, or if I was completely off-target.
It was likely due to this lack of intimacy that - although I never admitted it - sex with her always felt awkward to me. I still carried a strong sense of shame & guilt for breaking my promise to myself to wait until marriage - as she most likely did as well, with her strong Catholic background - but I think we both subconsciously believed, on some level, that sex would resolve this lack of true intimacy between us. One night, after I had driven up to see her over the weekend while her roommate was out of town, we were having sex, and I finally began to relax & enjoy myself enough to reach climax. As we slowly moved away from one another, she looked down and realized the condom had broken. She reacted with terror... although she never told me, I believe she was terrified by the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy; since her faith forbid abortion, getting pregnant would derail all of her plans for the future. Young and naïve — just like me — she didn’t know how to express this to me, and simply pushed me out of her dorm room once we had gotten dressed, locked the door, and ignored my pleas to let me back in, to talk to me, and to explain what was happening.
I drove to a nearby rest stop, where I spent the night. When I returned home, I reacted poorly, sending her an angry & bitter email in which I accused her of using me for sex just so she could be like her friends. She never replied, and though I emailed again to apologize, called, & left messages with her parents (these were the days before everyone had a cell phone, as hard as it is to remember or imagine), I never heard from her again.
The experience hurt me deeply and left me bitter, angry, & jaded, and I poured my feelings into a small blank journal given to me by a good friend in college for my birthday. In a sense, I felt I had lost my way, and needed time to rediscover myself, who I was, and what I truly wanted. For nearly a year afterwards, when opportunities for a new relationship presented themselves, I turned them down. One of these, I handled rather poorly, which resulted in me being ostracized from the small group of close friends I had made in choir. Around the same time, my two closest friends in the area both made the decision to join the military together, and left town to begin basic training at Fort Leavenworth, Missouri.
With my social network completely disrupted and little interest in establishing new friendships, I was barely able to drag myself through each day... I had lost my passion for music, there was no potential for any romantic relationship in my future to inspire & motivate me to get out of bed, and I had no close friends remaining in the area. Ultimately, it could have been any number of different events that prompted my decision to drop out of college... subconsciously, I believe I was looking for any excuse to make a change. As it happened, it was my music theory professor's assignment of a composition for a solo trombone - when he knew my desire to compose complex, grand, orchestral symphonies that included numerous instrumental & vocal parts - that ultimately served as the tipping point for my decision to withdraw from my studies at the college: I turned in the piece, walked out, and never went back to his classroom again. I was beyond the withdrawal point for many of my classes, meaning I would receive an "F" rather than a no credit - but I was also beyond the point of caring about my GPA.
I made the decision to follow my friends to Fayetteville, North Carolina, once they graduated from basic training. And for a proper send-off, I decided to throw the first (and last) party I would ever throw at my parents’ house while they were out of town... little did I suspect at the time how that decision would affect the course of my entire life. For it was at that party that I met the woman who filled me with more happiness & confidence than I had ever known before, who would give me the three most beautiful, wonderful gifts anyone has ever given me, the woman who inspired me to believe that dreams can come true... and who would then break my spirits in the cruelest way imaginable, inflict upon me something worse than my greatest fear, and bring to life something worse than my worst nightmare. She inspired me to the heights of greatness, then drug me through the depths of hell. She took me from a rising star to a pariah, and then took away almost everything that I loved.