Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Truth and Consequences


This only works if you're honest.

One of the reasons I've enjoyed putting this little blog together for so long is that it's allowed me the chance to write about a host of topics that I feel I need to write about -- whether it involves voicing my admittedly inconsequential opinions or simply working through my own personal traumas. I've always been as open and fearless as I know how, and that's what's made the nonsense here occasionally worth stopping by for (or so I'm told).

Lately, though, I've been covering up a lot. I've held back both professionally and personally because I feel like it would be prudent to actually concern myself with the potential negative consequences of continuing to put it all out there online. The reason I'm doing this now, as opposed to having done it a long time ago, is that for the first time since starting this site, there's very real instability in my life. A genuine sense of not knowing what the next day will bring on almost every front. The economy has stripped media jobs clean, making it tougher to nail down the kind of serious work that would support, say, an eight-month-old baby girl -- and I have no doubt that I've paid a certain price for some of the things I've said publicly and in spectacular fashion (which is not to say that I regret any of it; I don't). Meanwhile, the ongoing drama that has been my and my wife's relationship over the past few years has reached a point of critical mass.

Which is what led me to post a column yesterday morning at around 5:30AM called "Here's Where the Story Ends." (A good rule of thumb: Always react with trepidation to anything published in the wee hours, when the person writing it isn't in the best frame of mind.) Those who subscribe to this site's RSS feed received this piece, but found that it didn't actually exist on the main page. That's because within minutes of posting it I thought the better of my actions and took the thing down.

I did this because it just hurt too much to put feelings into words -- which for me generally makes the tenuous blur of thoughts within my own head into a concrete reality -- and because I wasn't ready for the readers of this site or the inevitable Facebook crowd to draw battle lines and offer opinions on a situation that's both painful and personal. I didn't want to create a maudlin and grotesque spectacle -- and I still don't.

But I've never held back or kept anything hidden, and I'm not sure I should start now.

I have to be honest.

So, beneath this post is the one I published yesterday and quickly removed.

The truth would've come out one way or the other anyway.

12 comments:

lakelady said...

Chez - may I offer my heartfelt wishes to all of you. There are no glib comments to make on this that can make it easier. I wish there were. All I have to offer is that the pain, like the story, will end....or at least fade. Until then be as gentle as you can with yourself and with each other.

Adrienne Saia said...

I'm glad you re-posted the story. One of the most difficult decisions for a writer. Wishing only the best for you and your family, in the meantime.

Thank you for writing.

Brianne said...

Chez~
While I don't often comment here, I feel compelled to offer my heartfelt (if ultimately irrelevant) wishes to you all. Thank you for your honesty in posting even the most difficult pieces. I sincerely hope that you and Jayne both find the peace that you deserve.

Chris said...

Chez, my deepest sympathies. As lakelady says, time is a great healer.
My thoughts are with all three of you.

Dan said...

I am glad you decided to re-post it. Reading it makes me sad for a number of reasons,not the least of which is understanding how painful this must be for you.

B8ovin said...

Chez,
I've been married for 26 years and every day feels like we're newlyweds. I have no empathic feelings to understand what this feels like, I simply don't know. Indeed, I will probably read the news feeds, get embroiled with passionate outrage and forget about you until my RSS feed delivers another short moment in the True Life Adventures of Chez, and I'll remember to be sympathetic, until the whole thing repeats. For what it's worth, my point is life- horrible and beautiful- goes on, and for the moment I feel sincerely sympathetic. And to offset Deacon Blue, I won't pray for you at all.

Tom said...

Damn :-(

You know, when I saw that post in my RSS feed yesterday, I couldn't stop myself from hoping that it was a draft of a particularly twisted April Fools joke that you had mistakenly published too soon.

I'm so sorry, hang in there.

blackbird said...

You're very brave.

Thanks for writing. You are helping people with your words...even if you have to write them b/c you HAVE TO WRITE THEM.

Thanks for your honesty.

Steve Saunders said...

I like your honesty, sir. To be quite honest, I love it.

I'm very sorry to hear about your current situation and what you're going though, man. I don't pray or anything like that, but if I did you would be one of the few near-complete strangers I'd offer some towards.

I wish all the best to you and your family during this dark time. Here's to it working out okay in the end.

- Steve

ian in hamburg said...

Though you don't need some anonymous commenter to tell you, remember that as long as you have that baby in your care, that's your focus. You'll get over this.

Julie said...

Oh Chez, I’m so sorry.

I’ve been trying to think of something to say ever since I read your posts. There are so many of us, I think, who feel as though we are your friends, even though we’ve never met, or spoken, or even posted. It’s so hard to know how to comfort you. We love you because you are so passionate, so sarcastic, so honest. You make us laugh, and you make us think. You are the friend who says what we need to hear, even if sometimes we don’t want to hear it.
I guess I just want to say that you are a wonderful part of our daily lives, and we care about you. Just as we cried for AlabamaPink and her family, we hurt because your heart is hurting. It’s hard to know how to help you now, but I can tell you that we are very good listeners. We will be here if you just want to talk.

Stephen said...

Anything I can do please let me know.