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Dear James,
Two years ago, desperately lonely, I became involved in the first serious relationship of my life. It began when the woman I was into pressured me into sexting her. I was sexually inexperienced and uncomfortable with the idea, and when I told her this, she accused me of “sex shaming” and bombarded me with a bunch of angry texts. Eventually, I gave in, mostly because I thought this was my only chance to be with someone.
Things got worse from there. I was struggling with mental-health issues; she was an alcoholic. She was also dating and living with another guy and saw me only in secret. She promised me the moon, however, and swore that I was the love of her life. After years of intense loneliness and self-loathing, I felt validated in ways I’d never felt before.
We soon went through a cycle in which she would get upset and begin attacking my character. I would try to break up with her, she would call me crazy and harass me with texts, and I would eventually call her names in hopes that it would make her stop. It didn’t work, and eventually I would give in, trying to reconcile until the cycle repeated.
Then she got pregnant. But she kept drinking and seeing her other boyfriend. I said this was unacceptable. We planned to terminate the pregnancy and had one last horrible fight, where she called me evil and pathetic and made it clear that other than paying the bill, she didn’t want me involved in the abortion. I didn’t hear from her after that.
Months later, I still didn’t know whether she’d gone through with the abortion, so I got in touch to find out. I learned that she had ended the pregnancy and was getting serious with someone new. She didn’t apologize for anything. I couldn’t handle this, and to my great shame and guilt, I began sending her unwanted texts (with more name-calling). She accused me of harassment. I apologized and vowed to leave her alone.
We’ve now gone two years without contact. I’m in a relationship with a kind, healthy woman, and I haven’t repeated any of the bad behaviors that I engaged in with my ex. I’ve had therapy, but I struggle to sit with the complexity and guilt of having participated in a pattern of mutual verbal abuse. Everyone I confide in tells me that I’m not defined by this relationship, and that I need to forgive myself. But the guilt remains unbearable. I never thought I could be so cruel, and I don’t know how to put this behind me, or even whether I should. Any advice?
Dear Reader,
The philosopher Georges Bataille, not a man whose body of work I’d necessarily recommend to souls in jeopardy, nevertheless gifted us one very helpful phrase: unemployed negativity. What he meant by it, I’m not sure. But I know exactly what I mean by it.
Guilt, remorse, mortification, scrupulosity—pull out your thesaurus and we can binge on words for shame, each with its own flavor, its own particular sting. Self-obloquy: How about that? We do things in this life, we do things to other people, and some of them are terrible. The spasms of our conscience, promptly or not so promptly, alert us to the terrible things. We show contrition for them, we endeavor to understand them (so as not to repeat them), and we do our best to fix them. And that’s it. That’s all we can do. Whatever darkness or pain is left over from this process, whatever tormenting residue remains, whatever carries on messing with us—that’s what I call unemployed negativity. In other words, it’s no good; it serves nobody; it is literally without utility. All it does is ruin us.
In your situation, it sounds like the good part of shame—the accountability, the desire to improve one’s behavior—has been naturally consumed or burned off in its alchemical reaction with your heart. What you’re left with now, even though your heart has been altered, is a quantity of tar, of bitumen, of the inkiest and stickiest stuff. It doesn’t want to let go of you. So you must let go of it.
No doubt your ex-girlfriend has her own version of events. No doubt it diverges significantly from yours. But you took responsibility for your actions, you apologized to her, you got yourself some therapy, and you’ve kept your promise to leave her alone. Whether she has done or will ever do any of this doesn’t matter; that’s her business. Your business is to carry the weight of who you are and how you behaved, and—from where I’m sitting—you’ve done it.
Now it’s time to climb out of all this. Shrug off the familiar shadow, the well-known specter, and show up fully for the person you’re with today. Show up for reality. Get out of the “nest of salt” that Kurt Cobain sang about. It’s a challenge, a proper one. You risk learning even more about yourself, perhaps (most strangely and terrifyingly) some good stuff. Are you big enough for it?
Betting that you are,
James
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