I love Russ so much, but sometimes, he can be the most exasperating person I know. Things have been such lately in our lives that tension and pressure have built to the breaking point.

We just had the mother of all fights. And the ironic thing is, I don't even know what initially provoked it; but so much other crap has come into it, because we're both tired and hurting and the most convenient thing is to lash out at each other. In our whole relationship, we've only had a couple of incidences like this one, and I hate it. But I've had enough. His mercurial moods have finally gotten to me; and god knows I'm moody enough as well, and I can't stand it anymore. I love him dearly; and of course, I cherish our relationship and our marriage and want to stay in it, but I simply cannot stay here with him for the time being the way things are right now.

So I tell him I'm leaving. I need time and space to work things through, and I'm still so furious at him. I can barely find the words to tell him this, in fact; I'm so angry right now. The look on his face is at first disbelieving; and then he's absolutely thunderous.

"You're not fucking leaving me."

God, he is the most stubborn, arrogant son of a bitch I've ever known at this point. "I'm not asking your permission to do anything; I'm telling you how it's going to be. I'm sick of all of the crap you keep pulling; sick of trying to stand here and watch you make an idiot out of yourself, and act like I'm supportive and understanding, when, really, I'm as fed up as the rest of the world at your shit you insist on doing. And then, when you fall apart, I'm supposed to be the sweet one there to help you pick up the pieces and hold your goddamn hand when it was your own fault in the first place. I'm not going to do it."

"So, you're running away." Of course he would see it that way. He only sees how it affects him, and that's one of the things that have brought us to this new low level.

"I'm not running from anything." I am so pissed off at this point that I can't even focus on him, can't see straight. "I look at it as getting out because I can't help you and I can't stand by and helplessly watch as you destroy yourself. You're the one that has to want to change and want to help yourself; I can't do it for you, although god only knows I've tried over and over again. I've rationalized all of your bullshit, tried to figure it out, even blamed myself for it. Now, I realize, it's not my fault!! It never was! And I told you once before, I am not allowing you to drag me under with you. If you're going down, you're going down alone. I'm not letting you do that to me." My voice cracks as I tell him, feeling the confidence swell inside me at the same time that I feel my heart breaking in two, "I am too strong of a person to allow you to hurt me anymore. You need help. Help that I can't give you. And I can't force you to accept it, but I can't sit here and watch you ruin yourself and piss away your whole career, either. I'm not going to be the crutch you lean on to get by anymore. I'm tired of being your support and not having anyone there to support ME."

"Do you want a fucking goddamn divorce, then?" The words are quiet and hang oppressively in the air between us. 

"God, listen to yourself! All you care about is how everything affects YOU! You didn't even hear anything I just said, did you?" Behind the anger, I can see so very clearly his pain. Despite me, despite our relationship and the fact that I've been with him loving him freely and unconditionally, somewhere deep down inside of him, he has inherent problems. There's always been the drinking and brawling, the temper and the excessive mood swings. They happened so infamously played out on the public stage over and over again before I came into the picture; since me, they've quieted and been fewer apart, but they've still been there. I suspect he suffers from clinical depression or some type of mental imbalance like that; but you tell that to someone as forceful as he is, someone who played John Nash's descent into unreality and madness with chilling perfection. And no matter how much I love him, my love will never be enough to rescue him. He has to realize what he's doing and reach out first. It breaks my heart to realize this; that despite anything I can do, it will never be enough.

He's so desperately needy; somehow he's got this irrational fear that everyone he loves will leave him, that he needs to cling to them with all he's got. This, of course, includes me. My leaving him now is a big risk. I will either push him completely, irreversibly over the edge with this; or I will force him to see what he's doing to himself, and hopefully make him want to seek help to come out of it.

Just as softly, I tell him, "I don't want a divorce. I don't want to end this. I love you, and I will always love you. That is something that I can't change, and I wouldn't want to. I love you so damn much that it hurts. But the thing is...it shouldn't hurt me so much. It shouldn't hurt me, over and over and over again, to love you. I think we need to separate. We both need to regain our strength back, and you need to sort a lot of shit out. Without me. I don't see any other way it can be."

"You could stay by my side and attempt to talk this through..." he's accusatory again, turning it on me. I suspect that is his defense mechanism, the only way he can cope.

"We've talked about this before. We fought about this before, and you promised me things would change and everything would be all right. They did, for awhile, and then they slid back into being what they are. I don't want empty talk about how wonderful you promise it'll be. I don't want comforting with sex and kisses and sweet words to make me forget that there's still a problem here. I want you to see the problem exists. I want you to admit the problem exists. And then, I want you to want to do something about it." My voice wavers, but I steel myself and grow strong as I state, plain out, "I want a trial separation. I want us to both think things through and then, try to reach something higher and fuller of understanding together." My heart begins pounding as I whisper, "Do YOU want a divorce?"

"No." He's so adamant about that one that I feel relief, however slight and temporary, flood my body. "But I don't want you leaving, either." 

"I don't see another way for us. We've tried and we buried all the problems, thinking if we ignored them, they'd go away. They won't go away. Now it's time to deal with them. And I think if we're away from each other, I can try to find myself again, and you can learn to deal with things without me. You HAVE to deal with things by yourself, Russ. I hate to say this, but right now, you're the biggest source of it all, and you need to realize that. I can't do it for you." I am hovering on the edge of tears as I tell him, "I need to remember why I love you. I need to know why you love me. I need to find that all over again. And I think you do, too." I look into his eyes, which was a huge mistake; because they're so full of intense suffering that I nearly break down, give in to him as I usually do. But I can't do that. Because of my love for him it has to be this way. I have to love him enough to allow him to do this alone.

"I'm still so angry, and there are things that I want to say, but they won't help either one of us and I don't want to make this any worse. I want us both to start over, clean and new, and I think we'll both find that in different ways. I need time to deal with it in my own way, and I know you do, too. I really hope you're able to find that, baby. I'm not shutting you out. But I can't stay and watch you destroy everything we've worked towards for so long." And with those final words, I turn and go, head off to pack and leave. I want this to be quick; it has to be sudden. If I linger, it'll only make things more difficult. I don't even have a plan fully formulated in my head yet, but even as my heart is wrenching in the worst kind of devastation imaginable, I feel my self-confidence start to slowly bud. Whatever happens next, I know that this entire thing will have made me stronger.

But what will it do to him?

 

I feel bad leaving like this. His side of the family has taken me in, loved me as one of them, and I absolutely feel horrible just disappearing like this without a word to any of them. I don't know what their reaction will be when they hear. They'll only hear his side of things, and they could end up hating me, for all I know.

And I'm going to be sorry when the press finds out, for, they inevitably always do. I've learned over all my time with Russell that one needs to let most of it roll off; that no matter what, they will always spin their version of things. But the thing with him is, he can't let it go. That's one of the problems. I pray to God that there aren't any 'incidents', and that he won't act out, it will only make things worse. I honestly don't know how long this separation will last, but I desperately hope this will be the way back for both of us.

I head back to the States as soon as I can arrange it. Home, where I can regroup and cope and learn to start anew. He didn't ask where I was going, and I didn't offer to tell him, but he'll know where to find me if needs be. I left him once like this, before we were married, when the pressure started getting to me and I knew I still wanted to become his wife, but needed time to refresh. That was only for a month, and I know how hard it was then on both of us. That time he willingly let me go; now I'm leaving in turmoil, and our situation is so uncertain. But I can't go back to him until I'm sure things will be different.

I settle into our house that we built here, so we could spend some time close to my family every year. I don't know where else to go. My loved ones are sympathetic and supportive and are willing to give me the space I need, but I can't impose my problems and my worries on them. But this house is full of memories, even though we haven't spent a whole lot of time here. The first night I'm there the silence is cavernous and heartwrenching, the bed lonely and empty and cold. I'm alone with my grief and pain, lost in my own world.

I decide to take one day at a time, wondering how long it will be before he tries contacting me. It's nearly been a week that we've been apart, when one morning the phone rings and I pick it up.

"Lissy...there you are...how are ya, baby?" There is something not right about him, I realize immediately. He sounds too falsely cheerful for someone whom I appeared to emotionally devastate just days ago.

"What...what are you doing?" Fear grips me as I start to have a sneaking suspicion. 

"Can't a bloke call his fucking wife without the entire world questioning it?" Now he's getting nasty, choosing his words and enunciating so carefully that my worries are confirmed.

"Russell, you're drunk." My hands are trembling holding the phone, tears coming into my eyes, but I make sure my tone is strong and firm. "I don't think we should be talking right now."

"You never want to talk...too busy running out on me..." He's not slurry or anything, but coldly angry. Bitterly, painfully angry. My god. 

"I'll talk to you when you're good and sober...where are you? Please, please don't do anything foolish." 

"Why the fuck would you care? You're there and I'm here and you won't come back." Someone's with him; he suddenly barks, "Damn it, I'm talking to Lissy! Go away and leave me the fuck alone. Everyone always leaves me the fuck alone." His attention comes back to me as he adds, "You sure as hell did."

I close my eyes, silently count to ten, the tears streaming freely now. "Please don't do this. Not now, sweetheart. Who's there with you?" It's so quiet in the background I know he's not out at a nightclub or a pub somewhere. Quickly calculating, I add, astonished, "It's three in the morning there. Where are you, baby?"

"Can tell time even though you're halfway around the world..." 

"Goddamn it, Russell, just tell me where you are so I know you'll be all right." 

"So you can hang up on me." 

"I AM going to hang up on you if you don't stop doing this. If you don't stop treating me this way." 

"Like you treated me? Hurts, don't it, baby?? Now you know how I fucking feel. Not that you give a shit about that."

"I care about you. I love you. Please stop, now." Rationalizing with him isn't working. I SHOULD just hang up, but I'm so afraid to leave him in the state he's in. His attention wavers again and he says, "Damn it, I'm not hanging up the fucking phone, not while she's still speaking to me."

Getting very upset and angry myself, I cry, "WHO'S THERE WITH YOU, RUSSELL???"

"Thinking it's another woman, Liss? Does that bother you?" I highly doubt that's the case. When he's like this, there aren't a whole lot of people who'd want to be around him. And I know I've wounded him immeasurably, but honestly, I believe he'll stay faithful to me, even through all this. Maybe I'm delusional, though. He's so unpredictable when he drinks, and I know he's got this mindset right now that he wants to hurt me as much as I've hurt him.

"You know, at this point I don't care. You're drunk and you're cruel and you don't know what you're doing right now. When you sober up I hope you'll regret all that you're saying to me right now." There's a catch in my voice; but he's so far gone I don't think he can hear it.

"What about you, Lissy? Fucking other men while I sit here pining for you?" God, he is truly hateful. But I don't hate HIM; I only feel an overwhelming sadness that he's gone this low.

I can't help the sob that comes over the line. "I am not justifying that with any kind of answer. I think you know the truth." 

"Tell me the truth, Liss. Since you have all the answers. All the fucking answers." My hand hovers over the disconnect button. But I sigh and say, "All right. I'll play along. What do you want to know?"

"Do you hate me?"

"Russ..." I sigh again, so weary now. "I don't hate you. I hate you the way you are right now. I hate the things you're saying to me and the sick way you're making me feel. But I don't hate you. I love you and I wish you would realize that. Now, please, baby...tell me where you are and who you're with so I know you're going to be okay there."

There's a pause and sounds of a somewhat scuffle. I'm panicked and about to start screaming into the phone again, when a terse, tense voice says, "Lisa?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Dean." 

Relief rushes through me as fresh tears start up all over again. "Where's Russ?" 

"He's here. He's out."

"He passed out?"

A kind of humorless laugh, then, "With a little help. He wouldn't give up the damn phone and he took a swing at me, so I took one back. And I didn't mean to connect, but I did." He sighs himself now and adds, "I'm sorry he did that to you. I told him not to call you until he'd sobered up, but he wouldn't listen. You know how he gets, right, love?"

Sorrowfully, I have to agree. "Yes, I know how he gets." Then, "Dean, don't take this wrong, but...how could you let him do this to himself?" 

"I wasn't with him when it happened, Liss. He went out by himself apparently and then just showed up here a couple of hours ago." 

"Oh, god..." I can't hold back my sobs any longer. He lets me go for a few, then asks, "Are you all right?"

"He...he was so mean..."

"I'm sorry. I heard part of it. He's really hurting here, Lisa. He wants you back and he can't cope with it." 

"I know. But I can't..." 

"I don't want to interfere, but..." Suddenly, I can't help choking out, "That's the problem. No one's interfered. No one."

"What are you...?" 

"He's got problems, Dean. Deep rooted problems that he's carried around inside of him for so long. And you know how he is..." I let out a strangled, near hysterical laugh. "'You know how he is...' that's probably what everyone says, right? 'That's just Russell, that's how he gets.' He's too stubborn to admit he's got problems and too proud to ask anyone to help him. I think he's suffering from depression, I know it probably sounds crazy to all of you, but he's had these mood swings and emotional crises over and over and he copes with them by anger and lashing out. Don't you see? And I can't make him get the help he needs but I can't go on like this. It's been good since we married..." the good times have been plentiful, that's for certain, far outweighing the bad... "But he still gets like...this...and I don't know why. I used to blame myself, or the pressures of being him. Maybe it's that, maybe something else. But I don't think he can help what he does and I really think he wants it not to be this way, but he doesn't know how to make it quit." I can't believe I've just unburdened myself to one of my husband's best friends several thousand miles away. There's a long moment of contemplative silence while Dean muses this over.

"And you want him to be able to realize he needs help on his own." 

Crying softly again, I agree, "This is the only way I could think of to make him see." 

"Christ, Leece, you might end up killing him." It was meant as a joke, but when I let out a gasp, Dean adds, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. He's not going to do that, I swear."

"But I've pushed him so hard..."

"He'll get by." He explains, "I don't mean that to sound so simple. It's not. But I think he's pretty much near the fucking bottom now and there's only one way to go, up, right?"

I laugh, but it comes out as more of a wheeze. "You can't make him do this, either." 

"No." A thoughtful pause, then, "But when he comes around, you want me to talk to him, maybe point him in the right direction and hope he heads off that way?"

"It can't hurt...I just don't want him to hurt himself, or anyone else."

"I think when he comes back round; he's going to regret this whole thing and not want to do this again anytime soon."

"He hates me." Now I sound as sad as Russ, but I can't help but feel I've killed his love for me completely.

"He loves you, Leece. More than you realize, I reckon. And I know you still love him. I heard that last bit you told him." 

"Did...did he? Hear it, I mean." 

"Yeah." Quietly, Dean adds, "He had tears in his eyes...just before I hit him. So see, he's coming around already." When I let out just a tiny laugh at that, he says, "So, are you gonna be okay if I let you off now?"

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry...it's late and I..."

"No worries, love." I can hear the concern in his tone as he adds, "Call if you need anything. I'll take care of him and make sure he's sobered up before I let him out of here. Take care, Liss, okay?"

"Thanks." And with that, the harrowing call is over, on a more subdued note. 

And this was just the first week...how can either of us make it for as long as it takes?

 

It's several hours later, in the evening, when the phone rings again. Icy dread settles in the pit of my stomach before I pick up. "Hello?"

There's a deep, husky, tired sigh and then silence. But the line's not dead and I know immediately who's there. "Russell?" I whisper, hesitantly. 

Another long moment pregnant with choking quiet. I sit there, waiting, tears coming into my eyes once more---with everything over the last little while, my eyes are going to swell shut.

And then he says, softly, "Yeah." 

I stifle a cry of pain---I can see him so clearly in my mind's eye, this big, gruff, solid bear of a husband of mine, defeated and wallowing in misery. And I wonder, yet again, if I've done the right thing. If truly, I really am going to push him over the edge and lose him forever. My voice wavers but I try to maintain my composure as I ask cautiously, "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

He laughs; a sarcastic sound devoid of humor, then says, "No." 

"Are you...are you...I mean, have you..."

"I'm not drunk, Lissy. I swear it." 

I nod, realize he can't see me, and say, "That's good." Then, "Are you still at Dean's?"

"No. I'm at home." 

"Home, as 'the farm' home, or Sydney?"

"Sydney." 

This conversation, for all its banality, is wrought with suffering. On both our parts. I don't know what to say, so I just wait again. Finally, he says, so quietly I can barely hear him, "I'm sorry."

"Russ...I can't keep going on like this. I just can't. You cannot do that to me again. The things you said..."

"I didn't mean them, Liss. Honest to god, I..." 

"I know. You were drinking. When you do that, you have no control over yourself anymore." I'm choosing what I say very, very carefully. I don't want to accuse, don't want to lay blame, because that won't solve anything. I don't want to lessen his sense of self-worth, as a person, as a man, as my husband, even though earlier, with his hateful diatribe, he was doing a fine number on me. But I want him to see that I was wounded, too, that he does that over and over again. "Do you remember a single thing you said to me early this morning?"

"Some." He sounds so ashamed and I know, honestly, that when things like this happen, it somehow is out of his hands. He becomes someone else, someone I don't know and someone I could so easily resent. He needs help, desperately. Please, god, let him realize this before it's too late for either of us. "Baby, you were rude and profane and just plain hateful. Vindictive and cruel. I know I've hurt you, but I didn't deserve that. I don't deserve you accusing me of sleeping with other men. I don't deserve being cursed at and taunted. If you're going to be this way, I don't want to speak to you any more."

"It's not going to be that way anymore."

"Sweetie...you can't heal yourself. You just can't. I've been trying to make you see that all along. I think you need some sort of counseling, some sort of therapy. If you do that, I'll come along and help you, I will. Please..."

"Lissy, I don't need fucking therapy." We're back to square one. 

"Then I don't think we have anything more to say that we didn't say already." I'm about to hang up on him when he says, pleading, "Wait." 

"What do you want, Russ? What do you want from me?"

"Is that what it'll take? Going to some goddamn fucking shrink? Look, I'll do it if you'll come back. Please, Liss..." There's the defensiveness coming out once more.

"Russell, I don't want you to do it for me. I want you to do it because you'll realize it'll help you. Until then, I can't come back. I can't." I'm in tears now, shamelessly sobbing into the phone. "There's nothing wrong with going to therapy...I'm doing it myself..." I've scheduled a series of appointments with a psychiatrist, hoping to make sense of all of this.

"So I've driven you to seeing a shrink now? Shit." 

"Don't start this again, Russ. Please, I'm begging you, don't." I warn, "I'm hanging up now." But I can't. I stay on the line, holding my breath.

"Lissy..." Now it's my turn for silence, making him wonder, making him wait. He whispers, "Do you love me?"

He so needs reassurance. He's desperate for love and I can hear him crying out for it in every word, even the angry, bitter ones. Tears course down my cheeks as I just sit there still, unable to answer. Then I'm afraid he'll hang up so I respond, very, very softly, letting it flow into my own voice, "Yes. I love you."

"I love you, too." Before I can say anything else, he disconnects. I just sit there with the phone buzzing in my ear for several long moments before setting it down.

I love him so much I can hardly bear it. But will it be enough? Will it honestly, truly be enough to start hope and healing between the two of us?

 

The rumors start to fly. He never makes an official statement; whether it's because he's ashamed to admit that we've separated or it's out of respect for me, I can't honestly say. I worry constantly that I'm going to hear reports of more bad behavior, brawls or drunken rages, but there's nothing. I suspect he's gone into seclusion, probably back at the farm. Ironically, I remain fairly undisturbed where I am, probably because I'm not the big name. Why follow the unknown wife when you can get a scoop on the big star's emotional upheaval, right? Which makes me feel even worse for Russ; it'd be hard enough trying to cope as a 'normal' human being---whatever the hell that truly means---but a zillion times more difficult when the collective world is holding its breath trying to see if you'll destroy yourself.

I want to try to contact him, but decide that it's best to let him make all the moves. That way he can still feel like he's got some semblance of control. I begin therapy sessions, counseling. We discuss me, we discuss him. The dynamics of our relationship and the unique pressures of fame and life lived in the spotlight. And I come to the realization that it truly isn't my fault. I'm not completely blameless, but I came into the middle of a situation that already was set up as it was. And I learn that I shouldn't feel guilty for leaving, for the anger that sometimes comes out in ME towards him. I feel like Alicia Nash in "A Beautiful Mind", where she says she forces herself to see the man that she married, even through all the rage and despair. And she sees that man and she's transformed into someone that loves him. Because despite it all, my love for him is as strong and deep as ever. Talk about life imitating art.

I'm told it's okay to have a sense of mourning---because the Russell that I love has turned into someone else. Our relationship, for better or worse, has now irreversibly changed. It will never be what it was; it can never be the same again. But I'm given the hope that out of those ashes, something different, but just as precious, can be born. If only he agrees he needs to seek help, if only he will allow himself to ask for it.

There are the phone calls from our friends, and his family, wanting to know what's going on, and I'm very discreet in revealing too much. I don't want to blame anyone for letting this go on as it has; we've all been guilty of explaining away the darkness in his life, and now we all need to be united in helping him. I'm relieved that no one blames me; maybe they realize deep down what's been going on. When I talk to his parents, they confirm that he's indeed there and he's trying to cope with things the best way he knows how. That fierce stubbornness and pride he's had forever, they're holding him back now, but they're also qualities I love about him. In it all, I can still see so clearly the man I fell in love with. He's complex and contradictory, driven and a fighter, and I hope he doesn't lose any of it. I just want him to be able to channel all of that into something good.

About a week after the phone calls, I get a bouquet of a dozen red roses at the house. There's a card; but all it says is "I love you---R". Over the course of the next couple of weeks, every other day or so, there's something in the mail, sweet but nonrevealing about where he's at emotionally; a greeting card, a stuffed animal, a trinket here and there. He's trying to court me all over again, it seems; as nice as it is and as touched as I am, it still doesn't address the immediate issues at hand. I cherish each gift, but as much as I want to, I still force myself not to contact him.

Then it's been just over a month we've been separated when one day the bell rings and there's a Federal Express delivery person on the doorstep. He hands me an envelope to sign for, which I see is postmarked from Australia. I sign for it, walk slowly into the house, turning the big packet over and over in my hands, terrified to open it. What if it's divorce papers, or something like that? My reasonable mind tells me no; my heart thuds with dread. Russ is still so unpredictable; as far as I know, he still refuses help, and for all I know, he's back to drinking and irrational behavior.

I open the envelope to find another sealed packet inside and a note, written in Russell's bold, familiar hand:

 

 

I had forgotten my beloved horse was scheduled to deliver soon. Now I feel terrible I wasn't home for that; she's my pride and joy and both of us were looking forward to this for such a long time. I open the other packet to find dozens of photos; he carefully documented every step of it for me. The foal is indeed beautiful; silvery pale just like Sugar, with huge dark eyes and a curious, sweet expression. I long for the life I left behind so much. Every picture of Sugar he's taken has her looking right at the camera; as if to plead for my return.

One photo apparently taken right after the baby's birth shows Russ himself, down in the straw beside my horse, with the new foal still wet and shaky in his lap. This is the first time I've seen him since I left him. He looks exhausted, worn, but there's a light in his eyes that I've missed, and then, when I look again, I can see the pain he's trying to cover up, despite his obvious jubilation at the birth. My heart goes out to him, having to share this with me from afar. My fingertips touch his image, again and again, trying to remember the feel of him. Then, for some unknown reason, I turn the photo over, sensing something there, and read the words he's written across the back. Just three, hastily written, as if the courage to do so was rapidly leaving him at the time. I love you.

I close my eyes. "I love you too," I say aloud, to an answering empty silence. 

A sentence he wrote in his note lingers to haunt me: I think she was scared, but I stayed with her and helped her through it. 

"I'm scared, too." I whisper, again to no one. 

I wonder if he is, so very far away. 

"Stay with me, Russ," I tell him, my vision turning inward to recall once more the man I love. "I'll help you through it...if you'll let me. Please let me." 

 

A couple of days later, my phone rings again. Somehow, with that sixth sense that comes between couples, I know it's him, even before I pick up. "Hello?"

"Hi." He sounds more like himself, so different from the last time we spoke on the telephone, although I can sense his hesitation. 

"How are you...are you okay?" Of course he's not. But I have to ask, because it's one of those inane things people say. 

"I'm...I'm hanging on. Trying to get by." There's another pregnant pause, as if he's trying to maintain his composure, and then he asks politely, "How are you, Liss?"

"I'm...okay. The same as you, I guess." 

"I'm sorry I called...I didn't mean to bother..."

"Russ...sweetheart...you're not bothering me. Of course you can call...I never said you couldn't." I mentally figure the time difference; it's once again very late there. But I know what that's like. I try to fill my days so I don't dwell on my sorrow; the nights are the worst. You have time to think; even worse, you have all this dark solitude while the rest of the world sleeps obliviously.

"The last time you left you didn't want me to call you." 

"Sweetie...that was different." 

"It WAS different. I knew how long you'd be gone before you came back to me." 

"Please don't..."

"I'm sorry." 

I sigh, so very tired of it all. "Please stop apologizing, too." 

"I'm sor..." he breaks off, and then goes, "How much can I apologize for, Lissy? Tell me and I'll do it." 

"We've been over this a thousand times, Russell. I honestly don't want to go over it right now." 

"How can we work this out if we don't talk?" Good point. But we HAVE done it, tried talking, over and over. 

"Baby...you need help healing yourself. I told you, I'm willing to help you...it's all I want for you...but you have to take that step. I don't want you to resent me by feeling like I've forced you into anything. That's why I'm here, that's why I left. To allow you to find that on your own."

He suddenly changes tactics as if the conversation's going somewhere he can't handle. My heart sinks but I realize he's got to get there by himself. "Did you get my stuff?"

"I did. Thank you." 

"All of it? Did you see the pictures?"

I figure he's in a place he can deal with so I go along. "Yeah. She's adorable. How's Sugar?"

"She's taken to being a mum readily enough. She misses you." His tone grows husky as he adds, "I miss you." 

"I miss you, too." 

Handily, he pulls himself right back up and says, a bit too cheerily, "How's...what was it? Therapy? How's that coming along?"

"It's good. It's helped me work out a lot of things about myself, and about us." Deliberately keeping my voice neutral and gentle, I suggest, "Maybe you should try it. We could do it together...you wouldn't have to be alone..."

"Maybe." My heart gives a tiny little hopeful leap at this. This is the first time, THE FIRST TIME he's even come close to having an open mind about this. But I don't want to push and I certainly don't want to scare him away from the possibility, so this time I'm the one to change the subject, back to Sugar's new baby. As he tells me about it, as we talk just as a husband and wife would, about real, average, everyday things, it begins to feel as it was when things were good. Maintaining the 'pleasant fiction' might be unhealthy in the long run, but for now, with the way things have been since I left, we're both clinging to normal and mundane with all we've got.

This is the first reasonable, civilized conversation we've had since separating. As long as I don't press issues anymore, and don't steer him in that direction, I can sense him relaxing and beginning to sound like his old self. But I'm not so apart from him, so immune that I can't hear the loneliness and the abject hurt beneath his tone. I know him too well not to notice that. And I'm sure he can hear it in mine.

The call lasts for nearly an hour, during which time we don't discuss anything unpleasant. But it's good to talk to him. That was one thing we did a lot when we first met, just talked and got to know one another. He's keenly intelligent and witty and charming...when he wants to be. He has a way with words, I suppose that's the actor, the songwriter/musician within him---and is always able to express himself beautifully. Except now, when I need him to search deep inside himself and come up with the truth. But all our other times on the telephone have been so fraught with anger and agony that I don't begrudge him this now.

From what I manage to glean out of our conversation, he's been throwing himself into days filled with hard physical work on the farm, more, I suspect, to hold the demons at bay than because it's necessary. I'm glad he's not drinking, not raging about; but eventually he'll have to leave the sanctuary of our home and go back out into the public eye. I'm hoping by that time, he'll have sought the assistance he needs, and I'm able to come back to him to help him; but if I haven't, I worry about him sinking into an even deeper, darker depression than that which I strongly surmise has been haunting him for some time.

Once again I'm reminded of "A Beautiful Mind" and that line, "I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible." I need to believe, I need to have hope. I can still feel the love that's bound us so closely to each other, and because I can, I know our dreams haven't yet died.

Finally, reluctantly, I tell him he should probably get some sleep. He has to agree, because I can hear the weariness in his voice. 

"Lissy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You don't mind if I call you like this again, do you? If we just talked like we have been? It's been good." 

"It HAS been good. No, I don't mind." I smile, even though he can't see it, trying, as I did before, to convey my love for him through a phone line, by the sound of my voice. "I'm here if you need me."

"But you won't come home yet." I pinch the bridge of my nose, shut my eyes, then realize he just can't help it, and take a deep breath. "Not yet." I'm relieved when the arguments don't begin again, and he simply says, "Okay."

"I do love you, Russell. With all my heart, I love you. I hope you know that." 

"I do. I love you too, angel." 

"Well, good night, then." But I don't disconnect, and neither does he. Then I somehow sense the mood shifting once more, and it's like that time he called me after his drunken fit. I hear his tired sigh and actually wonder if he's close to crying.

"Russ...are you okay?" He takes a deep shuddering breath and lets it out, very slowly. I start to get scared again. "Honey, please, answer me." 

"Lissy...I..." he breaks off and I wait, patiently, even though my whole body's paralyzed with worry and fear. He tries again. "Lissy..."

"I'm here. What is it? Just tell me." 

"Liss...I need..." his voice trails off and then he says abruptly, "Nothing. Everything's okay here." 

I'm not sure what he wanted to ask me, what he was trying to say, but I get the feeling he's lying. But I ask, "You sure?"

"I'm fine, love. Good night. I love you." 

"I love you..." He hangs up first. Somehow, I sense that we were either on the verge of a major breakthrough, or the edge of a major setback. I don't know. I just don't know.

 

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, we talk to each other pretty regularly. It becomes somewhat of a routine; about the same time during the day, which is either very late at night or very early in the morning in Australia. Everything is civil, sane and calm; primarily because we are both so careful not to talk about our problems. I realize this is for the most part not a good thing, but, selfishly, I tell myself, I'd rather have Russell speaking to me like this than not at all or with bitterness bordering on hatred.

He never asks me anymore when I am going to return home, and I don't force the therapy issue on him. Every so often, he asks what I've learned, and I'll give him a tidbit here and there. He still seems to think that what he calls 'the shrink thing' is unnecessary and ridiculous; I try to explain, subtly, that there's no shame in talking to someone about your problems. That sometimes things are beyond your control and that all they're trained to do is listen and help you work things out for yourself. That's when he usually changes the subject and goes on to other less threatening topics.

And then suddenly, I don't hear from him. The calls stop. I wonder if I should call, once more fearful for his well-being, but then I tell myself that for whatever reason he's doing this, something's happened, and I have to let whatever it is run its course, for better or worse. He's my husband and I want---no, need---to support him and remain by his side, but I wait to find out what path he's chosen for the two of us.  But as the days turn into a week, then two, then another month comes to an end, I worry that it's bad. That next, I'll get sucker-punched when he files for divorce. I try to remember the last things we talked about, the mood he seemed to be in. He was quiet and reflective, reminiscing about things we'd done together, but there was nothing negative or even remote about any of it.

I go to my counseling sessions with a vengeance, trying to maintain my own sense of well-being and focus, but it's hard when I realize that I came to depend on HIM being there for ME. Now I'm the one feeling isolated, knowing finally exactly what I did to him and how I made him feel. I wonder if he's doing this on purpose, to get back at me, but nothing in the way our relationship seemed to be the last time we spoke seemed to indicate his anger or need for revenge. However, it's one of the complexities that make up him, abrupt mood changes and swings in his personality, so it's a possibility I have to consider. There's still nothing in the press to indicate he's gone downhill, which I thank God for constantly. But I wonder. And wait.

I decide that whatever it is, I can't let it drag me down, and I spend more time with my family and my friends, surrounding myself with people who love me. Still, I have those moments, deep in the night usually, where I just lie there and cry. I didn't bring any photos of us when I left, anything that would have made this so much harder, but there are photos of us together all over the house; also I do have the one picture he sent me of him with Sugar and her newborn baby, and I pull it out and look at him, silently pleading with him to come back to me.

One afternoon, while out with my sister, I boldly decide to take a drastic plunge and cut my hair. It was long; past my shoulders, Russ loved it, but I need less hassle and it's also symbolic, of a new beginning. Because now I'm beginning to fear that's what I'll have to make, a new start without Russell. I get it cut short and sleek, close to my head in a pixyish style that makes me feel different and free. I feel I'm starting over, with a newfound image and a newfound sense of who I am.

When I arrive home, there's a strange car in the driveway, and I'm filled with apprehension and doubt. But my heart begins to soar, as I wonder...I slowly open the door, shutting it behind me carefully, set my things down, and go into the living room.

He's there, sitting on the couch, waiting for me, as if we hadn't seen each other in mere hours instead of literally a few months. My eyes meet his and at first I see the surprise flash in them, when he sees my new appearance. Then, he blinks, his gaze traveling hungrily over me, as if he can't believe it's really me and he's starved for the sight of me. I have to admit, I stare at him too, nights of gazing at his photo never enough. I've been so very lonely without him. I long to go to him, run into his arms, but the long separation, all that stands between us yet, the things we said and the things we left unspoken hold me back. And yes, I'm irrationally angry at HIM for leaving me wondering, confused and frightened, over the last little while. So I just stay where I'm at, safely across the room from him. He realizes belatedly that I'm not eagerly rushing to him, and his joy at seeing me slips, visibly, before he contains himself and just stays where he is as well.

"What are you doing here, Russell?" I try, oh so hard, but I can't keep the hurt out of my tone. 

"I'm sorry I just let myself in...I didn't know where you'd gone..." He looks so good, despite everything. He rakes his hand through his hair, begins playing with his beard the way he does when he gets defensive or uncertain. He doesn't look at me now, and I fear that I've finally killed his spirit and his fire.

"This is your home, too. I'm not going to call the police for breaking and entering." My voice gets a bit calmer. "Why...why are you here?"

"You're so beautiful, Lissy." He's not trying to change the subject, more or less musing out loud, as his eyes, that stunning mixture of green and blue, swing up to look at me again. He smiles, tentatively. "I like that..." he waves a hand around, gesturing to my hair. "It's..."

"...Short." I admit, smiling a small smile myself, as I finger it self-consciously. He lets out a brief laugh. "Yeah. Short. " There's a flicker of light in his eyes as he gently teases, "Are you my wife?"

My expression turns solemn as I slant my head, looking him square in the face. "I don't know. AM I your wife, Russell?"

His gaze wavers for a split second; he's thrown off guard. Then he says simply, "Yes."

All the roller coaster emotions of the last while, all the turmoil and the fear, the acrimony and grief, come rushing back now. It's probably the wrong time for this, but I simply can't be strong any more. "Why did you marry me, Russ?"

"What?" He's confused at my apparent turning on him. I don't know if he was expecting to show up and get hugs and kisses and happily ever after, but it's not that simple. We've still got a lot of issues to deal with here.

"Why did you marry me? Was it because I was naïve and I trusted you, because I was willing to go anywhere with you and do anything you wanted? Was it because your male biological clock was ticking and you needed someone to provide you with an heir to your throne? What? Why? I'm a bit hazy on that, so you need to help me out here."

I'm expecting rage, a returning volley of fire back at me. Instead he says, his gaze dropping from mine, his voice breaking and rough, "I deserve that, I reckon."

Covering my face with both hands, I can feel the sorrow and regret rush through me as I murmur, "I'm sorry. No, you didn't deserve that. WE don't deserve that. But I need to know the truth. Why DID you marry me?"

"Because I loved you, Lissy." His expression is pleading with me to understand. "Because I still love you." Tears flood my eyes as he continues, very softly, "You looked almost like that the first time I ever saw you." He means my outfit, which I do now remember as being nearly identical to what I was wearing the day we met. I can see it so clearly as if it just happened. "Other than the hair." He smiles and it's like a ray of sunlight piercing my soul. "You were standing there and you were so lovely it damn near took my fucking breath away. I fell in love with you right at that moment, I realize now. I didn't even know your name. I didn't know who you were. But there was something about you that made me love you instantly." I reach up, used to pushing my hair back, my fingers running through the much shorter strands now, and he observes, "And that's exactly what you did as I watched. I couldn't even see your face clearly. You were too far away for me to hear you speaking. Christ, you didn't even know I was there." His look grows distant, remembering.

"You're wrong." I sniffle, attempting a smile through my tears. "I knew damn good and well you were sitting there." 

"You did?" When I nod, he grins, then he adds, "Well, I didn't know you were even aware I existed."

"You're kinda hard to forget." 

His grin grows even more at this, then he looks serious again as he goes on, "And then you laughed. God, Liss, it was the most beautiful sound, so pure and clear and free. It came right out of your heart. And I remember thinking to myself, How would it feel to just feel joy like that? To just be completely, utterly happy like that?  Because I didn't know what that was like. Until I met you. Until I found you and I got to know you and love you. There was an empty fucking space inside me I didn't really realize I had, until you were there to fill it up. And now it's threatening to be empty again, and I don't know what the hell to do, Lissy. I'm scared."

His own eyes are shiny with tears. I have never heard him admit to being scared before. I've rarely seen him cry, other than times like our wedding, when he proposed, and the first time I told him I loved him. He's got this image, larger than life, tough as nails. But I know that's not really him. And I love him, flaws and all. He's only human, just a man, with real doubts and fears, demons and emotional baggage. I realize now just what I do mean to him. What he means to me. And just how far down to the bottom he's truly gone, and how he's trying so hard to lift himself back up. Because I can see, in his face, the struggle he's going through to find himself again. It hurts me to see this proud, strong, brave individual fighting so fiercely to make his way back.

"I need help, Lissy." He speaks the words that I've been praying to hear from him. "I need help. Please. I can't do this alone." 

I'm elated even as the desperation in his expression slices at my heart, makes me cry out for him. This is a huge, revealing moment for him, for the both of us, and I don't want to ruin the precarious, fragile bond that's between us now, don't want to emphasize his vulnerability and uncertainty, so I just tell him softly, "No one should have to. You don't have to do it alone." I cross the room, come to sit on the low coffee table directly in front of him. Our knees are nearly touching as I reach for him and wrap both my hands around his. "I'm here for you, baby." He looks at me, and I try another shaky smile, reassuring. "We'll do it together, I promise you. We'll work it out, together, the way we always have. I'll help you, sweetheart. It's going to be okay." I lift my fingers, slowly trace his face, brush his hair back, stroke his beard, touching him, always touching him. I've really missed that. "We'll get someone to talk to...the person I've been seeing is great, when we go back home maybe she can recommend someone who..."

"My doctor said there's such a thing as couples' counseling, maybe we could try that." I nod, and then something he just said strikes me. "What doctor?"

He looks a little sheepish. "The one I've been going to already." 

My eyes get wide. "You've...you've been going to therapy?"

He nods. "Some in Coffs, then he got me someone in Sydney and I've been there for awhile sorting things out." 

I still can't believe what he's telling me. "Coffs Harbour? Sydney?"

Reaching out to me, he can't resist running one big hand over my newly clipped hair. "Yeah." 

"Australia?" I ask stupidly.

He laughs, the first real-sounding laugh I've heard from him in quite some time. "No. Mexico. Yes, love, Australia...last time I checked, that was where it was at...although I've been nonstop on planes for the past day or so, so it's kinda hard to tell where I'm at anymore."

"You're here with me, at home." 

His smile this time is warm and tender. "Yeah, I'm here with you." 

I'm astonished and so proud of him right now. "This is the second time you came halfway around the world for me," I remind him, remembering the other time I left him, just before we were married, and he came after me.

He leans forward and rests his forehead against mine, looking deep into my eyes. "Yeah, and don't ever make me do it again, damn it." 

I laugh myself, and he grins. "I love the sound of your laughter, Liss." 

"I just love you," I whisper.

"Do you?" 

"I never stopped, Russell. Never. You're stubborn to a fault, you can be abrasive sometimes, you try my patience like no other...but I love you, and I'll always love you."

"I'll always love you, too." Hooking his arms around my waist, he tugs me onto his lap, and then he's just holding me tightly to him. My voice muffled because my face is pressed against his neck, I accuse, "You didn't call and I got scared."

He lifts me enough from him so he can see my face. "I'm sorry about that, sweetheart. I wanted so much to tell you...but I wanted to make sure this shrink thing was gonna work for me before I disappointed you. I..."

"You don't disappoint me, baby. Never." I'm quick to assure him of that. "A lot of things you've done have disappointed me...but never you. I'm proud of you. You're smart and you're very brave...it takes a lot of courage to admit you need help, you know. A lot of courage to tackle things head on. And I'm so immensely proud of you for that. Is...Is it helping?"

Nodding, he admits, "It's seeming to. But it's going to take some time. And I don't think it's going to be particularly easy. I've got...a lot...of issues." 

I smile. "Who doesn't?"

"But mine are...pretty huge. And I've got a lot of things to sort out...I need to learn to deal with my moods and cope with shit better...become a better person, a better husband to you..."

Cradling his face in between my hands, I tell him, "I don't think you need any help with that last part. But I'll definitely help you with all the rest. And you can help me, and we'll work things out, Russ. I promise."

"I haven't been drinking since that time I called you." 

I let out a half sob, half laugh. "I'm glad to hear it." 

"We're not perfect, Lissy." He warns, "I'M not perfect." 

"No!!! You??" But I hug him. "Know what we are?"

"What?"

"We're only human, honey. Just human beings. Trying to work things out in a lot of chaos, in a not perfect world. And that's okay. We have each other to lean on, and that's a good thing. You know what the most powerful weapon we have is?"

He just looks at me and I gently press my lips to his face, all over, teasing, feathery-soft butterfly kisses. "Our love." 

Nodding, he finds my mouth with his, and then he's kissing me as I'd longed for, as I've dreamed about for so long. Tender and sweet, not an act of desperation, but of healing and commitment. Of renewal, both of ourselves as people, and as a renewal of us as a couple, of our love for one another.

This isn't a fairytale happily-ever-after for us. I know it's going to be a struggle, and may continue to be one for years, for the rest of our lives, perhaps. I've always said life with him is a great unknown adventure. Loving him is complicated. It definitely hasn't always been easy, that's for sure. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love him too much for that. I don't know what the future holds for the two of us but I look forward to the good that I hope it will bring. We'll face the bad head-on, together, like I've promised him. It's going to be an ongoing thing that we both need to work on.

It's a beginning. 

 

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