The House That J. Built

And then after Lars and I began our long, arduous, bitterly fought, acrimonious divorce, I went on a few pathetic dates with Mack, got my heart a little dinged, went on a ripping good vacation with The Girls, got my Girl on, came home, slipped into deep depression, got myself some happy pills, got too happy, dialed back the dose of happy pills and then met J.

No wonder my judgment was off.

But J. had been exactly what I'd needed at the time, or so it seemed. In retrospect (the unemployed can be very retrospective) some of what seemed like exactly the right stuff may have actually been bad stuff that just seemed like good stuff compared to all the swill I'd been slogging through in my marriage.

I was invisible to Lars. To J. I was the sun in the sky.

I had been a terrible homemaker and cook according to Lars. J. thought I should write a book about doing it all to perfection and working a full time job, too.

Lars had filled my head with doubt about myself as a mother. J.'s saw me as warm and nurturing and wanted me in his children's lives.

Lars criticized the way I dressed, my hair, my weight.  J. thought I was beautiful, even as I rolled out of bed.

But all of this worship may have really been just an act.  He fell in love too fast. It was not natural, but it seemed magical. He seemed so solid. A good foundation. A good family.

And over time I realized:

He smoked when he said he didn't. Mouthwash was his accomplice.
He liked the way I looked and dressed so long as no other man noticed. Then there was trouble.
He wanted me involved in his children's lives simply to keep up an illusion of a happy family. They could easily blow his cover.  And he knew I'd feel responsible to them and that would make it hard to leave.
His job was not what it seemed and he was not what he claimed to be.
His family was more akin to a coven of witches. And I had the Ruby Slippers, evidently.
His feelings for me were more possession and desperation than love and adoration.

And it is hard to tell which came first: Did his life unravel and allow insanity and alcoholism to get a foothold? Or did insanity and alcoholism finally sink in their talons and his life unraveled as a result? 

It doesn't actually matter. The result is the same no matter the path. Complete and utter destruction.

Based on what I've learned since his death, from his daughters, from his former wife, and from gaps that have been filled in over the passage of time, I can surmise this:  He was genuinely happy to have me in his life and came out of the starting gate with the best of intentions.  But he was who he was and all the pretending in the world would never change that. And the charade would never stand the test of time. So when the years rolled on, time took its toll and the foundation crumbled. And with it went the house of cards.

Lesson learned. Or so I'd thought.