Deception Ebook EPUB 3-17-2014 (11 page)

Chapter 42

November 1987

Peter,

I do love you and I do not think I was looking for excuses when I said, “Maybe I am not good enough for you.” Really, if our relationship does not turn out the way you wanted or expected, why stay and suffer? I am not suggesting anything, but I feel that if I do not meet your expectations, I have failed.

Heaven knows, I tried to share everything, but it’s so hard. I’m struggling with my inner feelings about everything. At times, I feel defeated and it is as if my efforts do not count and that I just can’t do anything right.

Concerning my being incapable of sharing everything, I honestly do not think you understand. How can I suddenly change everything in a few months? Can you, a future counselor, answer that? I grew up accepting things and calmly blaming myself for everything. I shut my mouth when I disagreed. When I was hurt, I pretended it never happened. I never got the opportunity (or at least I never learned how) to do what I wanted or tell what I felt. Instead, I placed everyone else first. I never knew how to express myself except on paper, because no one cared enough to ask (when they did, they criticized my feelings). So, I kept everything to myself and it was as if I never knew how to get mad or let anger surface.

You came, and as much as I wanted you, I knew I had to force myself to change. I improved a little and told you how I felt. It was more than I thought I was capable of doing. I tried to believe you that what I have to say is important. But my doubts would return when you were not attentive to what I had to say, especially when there were distractions, such as the TV, in the background. I believe that my talk is so-so when I share about school, basketball, and my grades. I would appreciate it if you give me your full attention. What bothers me is that you demand to know every detail when you notice something bothering me. What about my general, daily talk? Aren’t they equally important?

I guess I have a lot of things I need to change. There, as usual, I always end up blaming myself. So be it. I am hurting for myself and for both of us. It is hard, knowing that my life is all messed up. I keep on telling myself something good will come out of it and I know I’m good, but if you don’t have any patience left, just go and leave me alone. I have survived, and I will survive.

I love you but I want you to be happy.

Love,

Deb

* * *

November 30, 1987

Deb,

So much that I want to tell you. I was afraid that if I tried to remember it all, I’d mess it up. Thus the letter.

I thought long and hard this afternoon about what you said, what I did, etc. You really did a brave thing by telling me that “This is me; if you don’t like it, leave!” I know these weren’t your exact words. It does not matter. I really respect you for taking such a chance and “putting it on the line” with me. It showed me that you have your way of being you, and that I should let you do just that: be you. So what if you don’t tell me everything you’re thinking and feeling. When, in fact, you do: in your own way. So what if you don’t handle things the way I handle things. The point is, you do, but in your own way. I guess I’m trying to say that you have a right to live your life and be you. I am so very sorry for ever expecting anything other than that. You really opened my eyes today as to just how many of your qualities I respect and admire; and you opened my eyes as to how self-centered I was being.

Thank you for being patient with me. You haven’t failed at all. You’ve succeeded in getting it through my thick skull that I can’t create a person or a relationship, only participate and do my best with me. A valuable lesson!

Again, I apologize for not being attentive to your needs. To think that I haven’t been paying attention to you hurts. The truth hurts though. I will sincerely try to do better. I am easily distracted and have been since I can remember, especially when I’m tired. It’s especially noticeable with you and me because we sign. No excuses. I am sorry. You’re right; I, too, feel that
everything
you say is important. I need to show it, and I’ll try.

I love you, Deb. You make me the
happiest
guy on earth. I could not and will not go and leave you alone. You’re stuck with me. Besides, I’d be a real mess without my sweetie by my side.

Yours
always,

Peter

* * *

Peter,

I came by the dorm at 10:55 p.m. and waited for you. It’s now 12:10 a.m. and I
really
wanted to see you, but I don’t know what time you’ll be back, so I might as well write. The strange thing is that I don’t want to write because I want to talk. Just need to get out whatever is inside so that I can sleep peacefully for a few hours tonight.

Please believe me that letting you go is the last thing I would want to do. But, don’t you see? I was in a situation where I was more than miserable, and he knew that yet he never let me go. It is something that I suffered and I always wished he could at least agree on letting me go. I was weak because I thought I loved him; in fact, I couldn’t tolerate the thought of not having him around. So, I stayed. And look at me – I ended up, suffering just the same.

Now, with you, I hurt to know that it’s
me
who caused these problems. What is **** wrong with me? I fight against myself. I fight, trying to change. It’s hard. Now, it even hurts more to know that you were miserable all along when you said you were happy. So, naturally, I understood and I felt I had to let you go, because if I don’t, later in your life you’ll resent me for not doing so. You’re wonderful, and God knows how much I love you.

I’m scared to have you out of my life. You’re a big part of my life but I’ll survive. I’ve learned that no matter how much I cry or suffer, it won’t kill me. So, I’m willing to suffer if it means freedom for you from me. So what if I suffer? I may deserve it, for I’m not being me when I am with you here at Gallaudet. It’s what our problem is all about, isn’t it?

It really hurts. If you chose to doubt that, I don’t care. I’m the only one who knows exactly how I feel. I care, but what I mean is that people are entitled to their own feelings and opinions.

I struggle to be normal; I thought I succeeded in the beginning, but for some reason, I don’t know, it went down the drain. I’ve told you before we came that I hate it here. It’s hard to go on when it’s as if everything is pushing me down, smashing me into pieces. How do I get up and smile?

At first, when you told me what you were feeling, I panicked. I thought I lost you for good. Then you said you didn’t know what you wanted to do. Relief washed over me and I felt optimistic. But then you said you couldn’t handle my unhappiness. What was I supposed to say? “Don’t worry I’ll try to be happy next semester?” It would have been an enormous lie. I can’t guarantee I’ll ever change when I’m here. So, it’s
unfair
to you if I want us to work at it. You know, deep inside your heart, that I have failed. So, what other options do I have than letting you go and helping you get rid of my incapability to be the real me?

I want us to stick together and work at it, but how do I know you’ll be able to bear it if you said you couldn’t? How can you say that I’m not trying too hard? I’m afraid that if I’m selfish and beg you to stay and help me work at it, you’ll look back to our months together as a total waste. Your happiness means a lot to me.

It’s now 12:55 a.m. Are you sure you’ll feel OK if I go with you to Texas? I love you and God knows how much you mean to me.

Deb

* * *

Deb,

Thanks for the note. I was hoping that you would have written. Today’s been rough. In between tears, I managed to complete my test (I feel confident) and take care of a few errands (bike box, car light, etc.). I’m really hurting inside; you mean so much to me, and yet the idea of ending our relationship is there – big as day.

I don’t know, maybe you aren’t really wanting this to work out. Last night and this morning I felt that you were letting go too fast. If that’s the case, it wasn’t worth the fight. Or, maybe I never knew what exactly I wanted from you or the relationship because I had no idea that I could place demands on you and it. That’s my right as a partner, and yet I don’t even know how. How can you give me what I want if you don’t know what it is that I want?

I am learning to stop focusing on other people and take care of myself. To find out what I want, to be selfish, for a change. It’s scary. I’m scared! It’s gonna take a while. (Hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Ha!) I don’t know if I’m making any sense. If you want to let me go, then remember that I’ll still be your best friend. You and I started that way, remember? That will never change. I could never let you drop out of my life totally. You’re always in my heart. So, I don’t have a quick solution for us. If you can’t handle the uncertainty, I understand. Meanwhile, I’ll be learning those “new tricks.” I love you Deb.

Peter

Chapter 43

Spring 1988

D
espite our commotion in November and December, Peter had decided I was worth the fight. He chose to remain by my side. Apparently, he could see through the ugliness that was my life and had faith in whatever good he saw in me. Years later, he would describe what he saw in me as emotional intelligence and compelling inner beauty.

Although Peter professed his love for me daily, I found myself being on guard, questioning his authenticity. When he asked me about my day, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was really interested. His life seemed so much more exciting than mine. The more he talked about himself, the more I resented him. I thought I had adjusted to not having friends, but that wasn’t so. While I encouraged him to develop friendships, his going out at night hit me the hardest.

I wanted so badly to graduate alongside Peter. I wasn’t sure if we’d still be romantically involved, but the idea of being on campus without him, alone again, was terrifying. I met with my academic advisor to see if I could somehow graduate on time, and I was granted permission to take classes beyond the standard eighteen credits.

On the outside, I appeared to be doing very well. With my twenty-credit course load, I made it to the Dean’s List for a second semester in a row. To my surprise, my basketball coaches named me the Most Valuable Player though I had only started in a few games. On the inside, however, I was still a mess. Halfway through the semester, I wrote to Peter: “What I’m going through is scary. More than anything, I want to be helped. I’m a little afraid that you will get tired of me and my problems, and won’t want anything to do with me.” Some days, I found myself crying over the most trivial things. At times, I was able to make connections between whatever happened that day and my tears, but, there were days I simply couldn’t.

May came, and once again, I had survived another year at Gallaudet. Although I hated the thought of leaving Peter, I accepted a ten-week summer internship in Columbus, Ohio, working with Deaf foster kids. I had declared psychology as my major, and I felt I needed some experience in the field. When Peter and I parted, I had a sense of calm – we’d be OK. We wrote letters to each other often, and with Columbus only a half-day’s drive, Peter visited me several weekends.

After a few weeks, Peter wrote:

People always say that when you meet the right person, you’ll know. Well, I guess that I realize more and more every day that you are the right person for me. My life is complete with you. Therefore, I want you to be my wife! I hope I didn’t scare you off. If so, I am sorry. I love you so much and don’t ever want to be without you. Having you as my wife, friend, lover, companion is and will be the greatest thing ever to happen to me. I just don’t want to wait longer than I need to.

Peter hadn’t scared me off, but I had felt some pressure from our relationship. I realized I had needed some time to take care of myself first, just like he had. But at the same time, I was afraid I would lose him if I kept him waiting. I’d never forgiven myself for having the affair with
him,
and I knew that feelings can change. That scared me. But I had dreamed often of being Peter’s wife, so I responded: “There are things I don’t know about myself yet, and I need to take some time to learn them. I love you, and I believe you love me. I have to admit, I like the thought of being your wife. You are the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with. You are my best friend.”

But when would I be ready? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I had to take care of myself before I could consider marrying Peter.

Chapter 44

August 1988

P
eter was about to kiss me when I turned my head slightly, just in time for his lips to land on my cheek.

“You don’t want me to kiss you,” Peter said – more of a statement than a question.

“I’m sorry,” I said. What else could I say?

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked. By now, he must have noticed I’d been avoiding his kisses deliberately.

“It’s not you,” I told him. “At least I don’t think so.” I could tell how crushed Peter was. I felt so guilty. What was happening? Something was very wrong; I knew that much, but beyond that, I wasn’t sure.

I had arrived home from my summer internship, and Peter spent the weekend visiting me and my family. Now, thanks to me, he had left, feeling hurt and confused. I wrote him a letter shortly after, assuring him of my love for him.

I also wrote, “I guess there is a lot that is going on inside me, and as of right now, I just need you as a friend. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been one. What I mean is that I find myself not wanting to do anything with you physically. I don’t know why, but I just want to be held, that’s all. Whatever I said must have hurt you. I beg you to understand that it is also hard on me.” I ended the letter with a request that he help me find a good counselor as soon as I returned to DC for my final year at Gallaudet.

Once back at school, I had my intake appointment with a therapist in a private practice who knew ASL. When I learned how much the sessions would cost, I was hesitant. I was never good at spending money on myself, and the thought of paying sixty dollars for a fifty-minute session seemed outrageous. Come to think of it, the therapist would be charging me a dollar per minute! I was not happy, but knew I needed help. My dilemma: How was I going to pay $240 each month?

I had to find a part-time job fast. So, at 5:30 on weekday mornings, I would begin my days rolling out freshly made dough at a T.J. Cinnamons bakery in downtown DC. Through the window, people’s faces slowly became visible as daylight arrived. They stood in a line, waiting eagerly for the shop to open, so that they could purchase a cinnamon roll or two on their way to work. After the morning rush, several dozen rolls later, I would leave to attend my morning classes.

I was determined to graduate alongside Peter. I completed twenty-one credits in the first semester, and I ended the spring semester having completed nineteen. I almost quit playing basketball because I wasn’t sure I could do it all. But after speaking to my coach, Kitty, she helped me figure out a way to remain on the team. On the days I had to fulfill my class projects, she allowed me to arrive for practice late or to leave early.

Along with everything happening in my life, I was having a rough time with my therapy sessions. Because I had to pay every dollar out of my pocket, I was determined to make the most of my sessions. I showed up ready to tackle my issues, often bringing along notes. In between sessions, I would jot down all the feelings that had surfaced, the arguments between Peter and I, the irrational thoughts that filled my mind, and just about anything I thought might be relevant or worth sharing. I
forced
myself to talk, and I was attentive to what the therapist had to say.

And, I cried
a lot.
Often, my tears continued throughout the day and into the night. My tears would return, as fresh as ever, when Peter and I talked about what had taken place during my sessions. Where did all the tears come from? They fell like a spring rain, hard and without warning.