X Rubicon: Foreward, Or The Vanguard

"Each and every life is pronounced and accented by suffering. Some suffering is so delirious and fraught with evil it is unfathomable."

by Julie

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foreward: (ˈfɔːˌwɔːd); n (Military) a vanguard; vb (tr) (Military) to guard (something) in front

“foreward, often spelled with an “a” instead of an “o,” is an introductory section of a book or document that is written by someone other than the author. This individual, typically an expert or notable figure in the field, provides insights, context, or commentary on the subject matter at hand.” — Grammar Beast

People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.

Psychology and Alchemy – Carl Jung

Each and every life is pronounced and accented by suffering. Some suffering is so delirious and fraught with evil it is unfathomable. We turn away from it whether it be our own torment or that of another. Is there really any ‘other’? Suffering is as varied and variegated as every human who has or will ever walk this earth. Regardless of the package in which our suffering is wrapped, we all experience pain, guilt, shame, fear, abandonment, loss. Underneath our individual agony there lies a shared innate desire to understand what has caused our suffering and the suffering we experience in others especially those whom we love. I have been on a very intimate journey of suffering with Rubicon, my husband, my Beloved.

Humans don’t like pain, it hurts us. We have become very adept at avoiding it, denying it, medicating it, cloistering it from ourselves and from others. An experience so very human in its commonality (which genuinely connects us so intimately) has grown into a thick tangle of deceit which only compounds our suffering by separating us from one another. As I write this Foreward, anxiety disorder with debilitating panic attacks, and depression with suicidal ideation are on an ever increasing rampage worldwide. Their mission is to convince us of the treacherous thought that our suffering is unique unto us individually. Yet in no other time have we as a species been so connected in our human brokenness and suffering.

This book is laden with suffering. So why read it? Simply because one human’s suffering is all of our suffering. There is no separation. When one of us suffers we all suffer. When we can arrive at a place of acceptance of this basic truth, if allowed to be acknowledged, felt, released, expressed, and integrated, suffering is an extremely wise teacher. By suffering consciously, we are given the freedom to be complete human beings; to stay grounded in humanity despite the yuckiness it contains. I am by no means a tormentor, nor a victim of suffering for suffering’s sake. However, something as ubiquitous in human beings, as suffering is, has the power to be experienced in a conscious way and lead us to a deeper understanding of what it means to be a human being and to bring greater healing individually and thus to the whole of humanity. Working through our aversion of suffering and befriending it, accepting its transformational power and wisdom, is essential to any life worth living. The paradox of something so excruciating becoming a portal to peace, compassion, deserves to be examined in all its complexity.

Consideration and contemplation of things, especially atrocious things, is a helpful albeit challenging process. Step one is to acknowledge the truth that something has gone terribly wrong and correction needs to be sought. It requires contrast and choices, pondering events which we have experienced, deciphering how this painful thing has affected us. In contemplation we can start to separate our true selves from the atrocity and come to a beautiful space where we realize the pain/depression/anxiety – is not who we are but rather what we are witnessing within our human form. Step two is to feel the atrocity; truly feel it as it arises. Do not shrink from it. Do not deny its power to transform you from the inside out. Do not abandon yourself. This work can be excruciating but is nonetheless necessary. There is a sweet spot where we chew things over, examine how we got where we are without falling into the abyss of rumination and self doubt or self hatred. This journey is craggy terrain and most of us have not been given a map; we are not taught how to cope and heal from suffering. As is pointed out by Rubicon’s experience in the following pages, the journey becomes even more mountainous and steep, twisty and circuitous when the suffering is compounded by being the perpetrator of pain. Suffering will either lead us to be a victim or a creator of healing and to becoming a wiser, more compassionate human being. It brings me no end of joy to declare that my Beloved Rubicon has been led to be the latter.

I am a witness to Rubicon’s journey through devastating suffering. I have witnessed the darkness that has imprisoned him for most of his life. He was stuck in a vortex of extreme pain and felt no freedom to share it with anyone. The mere thought of how very alone he felt, fearfully believing I would bolt if he told me what he did in the military or the truth of his sexuality, breaks my heart. He was so full of self loathing. He was suffocating from suffering; poisoning himself on misconceptions of who he was. I would be lying beside him in our bed talking to him, touching him and know he was not there in his body. His mind, crowded with memories, had captured him and kidnapped him far away from my presence. I was totally lost to how to reach him. How I would have loved to have a Fulton Recovery System to extract him from those haunting memories, experiences of which at the time, I had no knowledge! How I yearned to retrieve him from whatever it was that took his presence away! His pain was palpable, visual, I referred to it as the light-less mask of depression; I could taste its bitterness and it felt ever so cruel.

For the longest time I thought his bouts of despair and complete anguish were caused by the neglect he experienced as a child, being brought up by an alcoholic father and an emotionally inaccessible mother. He was physically abused by one of his older brothers, who would punch him into unconsciousness. This trauma surely was enough to cause continued pain. And yet, I felt there were other causes he was hiding from me. I am an extremely curious creature by nature, and I asked many questions only to be blocked by cagey answers and anger if I pried too forcibly. Knowing what I know now, I realize how unpleasant and daunting my questions must have felt to him. Rubicon has often shared with me his mantra: “Keep your fuckin mouth shut”. How very isolating. How very poignant that he was able to find his voice and write this book.

I would wonder if I was the cause of his dismal melancholy and rage. I would get hit with a lightning bolt of his hot white fury and be left wondering what I did to elicit such overkill. Afterward he would become riddled with guilt. All the while I felt his deep love and devotion for me. Rubicon is my best friend.

The melancholy I had observed in Rubicon from the very first day I met him, would wax and wane like the passages of the moon. Back and forth, up and down the emotion would fluctuate. He has a wicked sense of humor. His laugh is inviting and contagious. We shared laughter. We shared singing. We shared running highs. We shared literature. As our love for one another was declared we shared every inch of our physical form with each other in ecstasy. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he would dive so deep into the muck of hopelessness and crippling fear, I was bewildered as to how to pull him back up to the surface to breathe fresh air.

As the melancholy locked him into full blown suicidal ideation prison, I became very fearful of losing him. I was hypervigilant. I hid knives, ropes, his antidepressants, his antipsychotics. I prayed and prayed for protection for him and for relief from his overwhelming pain. I did Reiki on him. I did tonglen meditation. I did these things without his knowledge because it angered him. I would watch him finally succumb to sheer exhaustion and find fitful sleep. I thankfully listened to each breath he took. I would hold him all night on high alert in case he got out of bed. On the nights he didn’t come to bed because his mind was choking him with devastating thoughts and fear, I would sleep with one eye open as a mother sleeps lightly listening for her newborn’s cry. I would hear him go to the coffeepot at 2:30 am as he evaded the nightmares (I had no idea of their torture at the time) I would strain my ears in case he tried to leave the house.

When I had to leave him alone, I made him promise me he would be breathing when I came back. I was in panic mode anytime I was away from him. I made my trips as short as possible. I timed how long I could be gone before an overdose may kick in if he found his pills or walked to the store down the street for alcohol and sleeping pills. I checked and double checked all possible means of death in the house. Razor blades were stashed out of sight (or so I hoped which wasn’t the case one awful day). Sometimes I left our oldest son who was 8-10 years old at the time with him as a guardian. This made me feel extremely guilty and frightened, but I had to work to bring money in and I trusted Rubicon with our son. I trusted he would never leave our son with the responsibility of saving him nor the memory of watching his daddy die. And he never attempted suicide when our son was with him. I am incredibly thankful for Rubicon’s love of our children which often was his only thin thread to life.

As you will read in the coming pages, making love has been an essential connection for Rubicon (isn’t it for us all?). It has kept him grounded when he was totally unconnected to life itself. During these depressive episodes his libido was adversely affected first by the depression then the psychological drugs which were necessary to keep him alive. This was a very challenging time for both of us. When he was able to make love to me, I often cried afterward wondering if it would be the last time we ever would. Would he be alive tomorrow? While this was a huge challenge at the time, it taught me to stay very present. My sense perceptions were acutely tuned in to him. We were together. I felt the warmth of his body alive. I felt his heart beating. I felt his breath hasten and his life force as it joined mine.

I so desperately wanted to talk to someone about what this experience was like for me, for our little son, for my Beloved. During this time I witnessed how uncomfortable and uneasy mental illness, especially attempted suicide, makes humans. My friends would bring us food while Rubicon was hospitalized several times. They brought me gas cards to travel to and from the hospital which was 45 miles away, they said they were praying for us, but they would recoil if I tried to share with them the tortuous existence in which we found ourselves. I tried to be very candid with them at first because I felt it honored Rubicon and I wanted to eradicate the fucking false stigma of mental illness. I do not blame them for their fear. They helped me very much in practical ways. I am still very thankful for their aid. But I really needed someone to listen and show us pure understanding and compassion. My husband was/is a beautiful human being who was in excruciating pain. He was/is NOT something to be feared, but uplifted by LOVE. I am still grieving the emotional isolation in which we tried to survive. That was 23 years ago.

A low point came for me one day after Rubicon had returned home from being hospitalized following his second suicide attempt (there were 3 during these dark years). He was feeling better and I was so very, very thankful to have him home. We were at the grocery store. I saw one of my friends there and we approached her to say hi. She had brought us food. She had kept us in her thoughts and prayers during Rubicon’s hospitalization. I walked up to her and greeted her with a smile. She froze. When she saw my husband behind me, she actually backed away in horror. I tried to down play her reaction to protect my Beloved from her extremely unchristian treatment. When we got home I went in the bathroom and wept bitter tears.

There was/is never any doubt that my husband would/will always protect me and care for me. Nevertheless, the torment inside of him often saw me as a threat and I became the target of his rage. He was helpless to protect me from his own pain, fear, and rage. How could it be otherwise? He was helpless to protect himself from his own buried pain, fear, and rage. He was reminded nightly of the atrocities he had caused. I would awaken in the middle of the night to his punching me or kicking me as he was engulfed in a nightmarish flashback. I would block his blows and yell at him to wake up. He would never tell me the content nor cause of these nightmares. I asked repeatedly for him to please tell me. Not until 20 months ago, did I know the extent of his anguish. I did not know why, but I did know his suffering became my suffering.

The voice of this narrative is ferocious. It is also prophetic in its plea to open our eyes to the harsh reality of the military, repentance, and redeeming ourselves. Just as I had to block Rubicon’s nightmare attacks and shout at him to stop, the author representing my Beloved’s voice, shouts at us to wake up and stop the needless killing of our imaginary enemies, the veterans we disrespectively send to slaughter, and the families who then are left to cope with the chaos. Sean’s voice is as sharp as Rubicon’s experience is cutting. Rubicon is a very passionate and intense person, as you will see as you read on. Sean matches this passion and intensity beautifully. In order to face the intensity of this suffering, we need a very ferocious voice to beckon us swiftly and forcibly to the truth of what is happening. We need this because we have been entangled sooo very long in the deceit and there is so much at stake.

As I continue to process the suffering my Beloved has caused and the suffering he has endured, it is like walking through a raging inferno. Fire has two capacities. Fire can just burn and destroy leaving only destruction and ashes. Fire can also purify and open a space for new life to thrive. For 40 years Rubicon has been engulfed within an inextinguishable fiery hell. It is only by Grace and fortitude that it did not leave him as a pile of ashes. In allowing himself to become vulnerable enough to tell me the truth of his experience, purification began. Working on this book has given him a double dose of vulnerability. He has had to relive each mission and heartbreak again as he retells his story. This book is raw in its honesty and vulnerability. Please treat it with the same honesty and openness in which it is offered to you. You will be transformed in your understanding of humanity. Respect it and invite it to burn up any resistance in you which obstructs you from receiving its truth to purify you.

Can we honor the suffering? Can we honor the despair? Can we honor truth? Can we honor forgiveness? Can we cast aside our judgment and our desperate attempts to freeze and back away? TRUTH and LOVE are our only hope. To be completely truthful - it is our only hope, yes? – I would feel angry at my husband for his hopelessness and despair. My anger did nothing whatsoever to help. I tried to use my anger as motivation to remedy the depression. Nope. It only came across as cold heartedness and self-righteousness. Frustration would arise in me. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I help him out of this unrelenting negativity and sadness? I’m pissed. It’s not supposed to be like this. I am very sorry I got caught up in this loop. I have to forgive myself for placing more pain upon him. I don’t need to forgive him for anything. Acceptance is the golden practice here.

I had to accept Rubicon’s suffering. When I did I could look past the external challenges. I clearly see the incredibly strong and vital man I love beyond measure.

A very amazing event I witnessed in my Beloved was his release (for himself and ultimately for our children) from alcoholism. His father was raised by an alcoholic mother. His mother was the classic enabler and many of her siblings were alcoholics. All of Rubicon’s siblings are alcoholic to this day. Rubicon went with what he was taught. He binged on alcohol when the demons of his past became too raucous. This frightened me very much. I knew how much destructive damage this had caused my husband and I did not want this perpetuated onto my children. I was an enabler I confess. Then I woke up and had to act.

Rubicon was in the middle of Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). His diagnosis of Treatment Resistant Depression was true to its name and his depression was proving to be very stubborn. Initially the kind and gentle psychiatrist who performed the therapy said Rubicon would undergo 4, possibly 6 sessions. It took 17 before the effect stuck with him. This experience in itself caused frustration and pain. He usually had 2 sessions a week. Sometimes the depression was so pronounced I had to physically coax him into the car to make the 45 minute drive to the hospital. He fought me physically. He yelled at me to leave him the fuck alone! “Just let me die!” he screamed in my face. He would be defiant and angry with me the whole time while the nurses prepared him for the procedure. He would not look me in the eye. He barely answered the nurses questions. I would fill the gap. I would tell the nurses this was not really what he was like with my eyes swelling with tears. After the therapy, it was like night and day. The nurses would invite me back to sit with him as he recovered. He would look at me and whisper a sweet ‘Hi’. He would hold my hand. While he often refused to wear his seat belt on the way to the hospital (no matter how much I begged – at this point I had to pick my battles), on our return drive home he would buckle up without a word.

Rubicon has little to no memory of this savage time. I am thankful he does not. But I do remember it and I share with you here to help you better understand the drowning effects of PTSD. We must not freeze and back away from suffering. We must befriend it and build bridges to cross it.

In the following days between the sessions the depression would creep back up and pull him back down into the abyss. And so he began to drink more. After the 9^th ECT session, it was a Friday, we were invited to a party at one of his good time buddies. (I cannot call him a friend to Rubicon because he never was in my opinion.) Rubicon was advised after every single ECT session not to consume alcohol for 24 hours after the procedure. He did not follow theses instructions. On the night of the party he got plastered. I was so worried he was screwing up his mind. Our son went with us to the party (we take our kids with us everywhere). I abhorred him seeing his daddy so drunk. He had to help me get him to the car. Rubicon collapsed in the front yard and we couldn’t get him up. I asked one of the guys to help me get him in the car. When we got home, we got him as far as the couch, and I gave him a bucket to throw up in and got our son to bed. I apologized to our son for what he had been exposed to and told him it would NOT continue. I slept very little that night, arising several times to make sure Rubicon was okay.

Something very egregious was happening within our family and I knew I had to take action. The next day after he had recovered from the hangover, while he was out in the garage, I went out to talk to him. I told him I would stand by him through the psychological challenges, through poverty, through pretty much anything that was thrown on our path together, but I could not abide with alcoholism. While I do believe it is a very strong addiction, I knew he was stronger. I told him when he picked up a bottle of Jameson’s or several beers at a sitting, he was making a choice. He would have to decide if he wanted to continue choosing alcohol or me. I strongly felt I needed to protect our son from what his daddy had experienced growing up in an alcoholic family. And I believed Rubicon would make the same decision had it been me using alcohol to self medicate. He was not pleased with me, but I can’t remember if it was that same day or the following day, he took down the Jameson whiskey bottle and emptied it down the sink. He told me he would stop drinking. He has kept his promise. This was not easy for him. I know the emotional pain he was feeling was intense and he was often overwrought, but he didn’t reach for alcohol to numb himself again. The pride I feel for his resolve and strength is very profound. He has changed the course of our children and our grandchildren by deep self examination and being very honest with his own suffering. He suffered consciously so that he would not perpetuate the dysfunction of alcoholism onto our family. I am ever so thankful for his resolve and his love and devotion to us.

I have had to make room for Rubicon’s ghosts and his past sexual partners. They are still roaming around within him. In all honesty, I felt threatened by how very present they have remained for him. While I was in the here and now trying to find him and anchor him in the present with me, he was reliving a lifetime packed into less that 3 years. As we continue to share the traumas we have both experienced, our understanding for one another broadens and expands. Trauma is contracting and stifling. As we open to one another and bathe each other in grace, our vulnerability cracks our protective shells, gentle expansion occurs.

Just as suffering is a very human experience, so is sexuality. You may find the following descriptions of Rubicon’s sexual experiences intense. Again, I ask you to dispense judgment and not get trapped in your own opinions of what is right or wrong about sexuality. I hope you don’t miss the beautiful vulnerability Rubicon expresses and how sex was about the only connection he had with life rather than death. I dare say it kept my Beloved alive when everything else was warring against him. Sean gives you graphic images of sex in this work. Without sex there is no life. Humanity would cease to exist. It is one of the strongest human desires. We have done a great disservice to ourselves and our progeny by not honoring it and celebrating it because of religious baggage. If you have an understanding of a Divine Creator, then you cannot deny that that Creator created this very pleasurable experience for us. We need to stop living small when it comes to this most precious gift. Objectification of another for the sake of power or lustful gratification is not acceptable. But the very human experience of sex is vital to our conversation as a species. I hope we will do better. “Thinking is difficult, that’s why most people judge.” (Carl Jung)

I invite you, the reader, not to get trapped in the intensity and overwhelming nature of this narrative. If you get snared in personal shock, judgments, and opinions, you will miss the truth of the message which ultimately can bring about understanding, and radical change. This writing has the potential to shake you to your core and inspire you to open your heart and find compassion. Please allow it to touch you deeply and do its healing work. We are all in this together. You WILL be shocked. This experience is extremely shocking. Some of you will be shocked, because you won’t want to believe such evil demands were placed on a young man at the tender age of 18 years and that he did such evil deeds in the name of “freedom and liberty”. And you won’t want to even entertain the notion that this is not just one veteran’s story. There are thousands of stories akin to this one.

I understand this shock. When Rubicon first opened up to me I was incredulous to what he had done. It did not affect my love for him in the least, but it utterly shattered my heart. I am still grieving all the dark lost years of torment it caused him – us. But grief is an essential path to complete healing. We are on our way. The two of us. Through reading this book you are also with us on this journey of truth.

Julie

May 2022

Enigma - Gravity Of Love

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