It’s a shitty day. I’m trying to convince myself that it isn’t and focus on the positive, but it is. I can’t eat and all I want to do is cry. I wish I could just lock myself in my room and cry, but I don’t want my son to see me upset. Nothing like trying to stay strong for our kids.
My boyfriend was talking about his hobbies the other day. I stated that I need to find some hobbies. He responded, “You have me.” Then he quickly backtracked.
However, I had to agree. “I do like to play with you.”
He grinned. Big. You know, one of those cute little boy grins on an adult man. The kind that just melt you.
Yeah, he’s a keeper.
I decided to start writing again so that I can write about my healing, but I’m not really sure that I want to expose myself that much, so now I’m undecided. However, I do think that my story might be able to help someone out there and for this reason, I write.
I was in a horribly abusive marriage. I got out quick, but the aftermath still continues to haunt me 12 years later. I thought I was pretty much healed and am proud of how I managed to pick up the pieces and come out shining, but then, it happened. I fell in love. Through love, I’ve discovered ghosts and demons that I didn’t realize still needed to be dealt with. The memories, the pain, none of that is new. I remember it. I still flashback to certain instances and my body has it’s reactions to it – I tense up. I feel the blood rushing. I become short of breath. I want to cry. I want to scream. I try to breathe deeply and remind myself that what I’m feeling is in the past. I’m safe now. I don’t have to be afraid. I’m not living that moment or reliving it. I can let it go.
I had a fight with my boyfriend the other day. As he sat there looking at me and wondering what the hell was going on, I began to realize that what I was feeling was completely irrational and that’s where I’m at today. Long story short, without saying anything, he headed off in a direction assuming that I was right behind him. Well I’ll be damned if I’m just going to blindly follow a man, and so I stayed where I was at and continued to watch him go. Our fight was something to the effect of “I’m not going to follow you just because I’m the woman and you’re the man!!! My days of doing whatever a man tells me to do are over!!!” There was yelling. Lots of it. Probably cussing, too, because I cuss a lot when I’m mad. He was tired, so he fought back. Normally he doesn’t which makes me mad. Do you see how this is unfolding? If he fights back, we have a nice fight. If he doesn’t fight, we have a fight because I’m pissed that he’s indifferent.
I suppose the good thing is that even while I’m yelling and being irrational, I can still hear him and process what he’s saying and I processed it, had what I like to call an “Oh Shit! Moment” and realized that I was completely off base. Of course, I didn’t stop being pissed or yelling, but I knew I was wrong. Nice.
It took me a good 24 hours to process all that had transpired. My poor man works on the basis that once it’s over, it’s over. Not me. I process. Then, I process some more and even more until I understand. I’ve tried the letting go, but that doesn’t work and now I’m realizing why. If I want to fix the broken me, letting go isn’t going to fix it. I must analyze it. So, this was my revolution. When I fight, I go into fight or flight mode. For the most part, my “flight mode” is gone these days and it becomes sheer fight mode.
I told my counselor about this revolution and she jumped all over it. “Yes! You go into fuck you! Fuck this! Fuck everyone and everything!” Oh yes, she nailed that. I am woman. I don’t need you or anyone, I can do it all on my own. Get out of my way.
So my job, as she so eloquently put it, is to teach the Warrior Me that she is no longer needed. I’m so afraid to let her go.
This post is similar to the one that I posted last night. I apologize for that and will try not to duplicate in the future. However, I felt the background of the Warrior was important to share. If you have a Warrior in you, I hope she fights long and hard until you are safe, and then I hope she steps aside and lets the real you live a safe, peaceful life.
January 2, 2010. That’s the date of my last blog. I haven’t read it. The title is trust, but I don’t know what it’s really about. Maybe I’ll scroll through the pages and see what was up over two years ago…or maybe I won’t.
I hate journalling. I don’t even know why I started a blog back then. I’m guessing it was because my friend who is passionate about writing convinced me that it was a good idea. I used to love to write, so I probably jumped on board with the idea, but then I became bored and probably didn’t have any followers, so I just stopped.
However, today, I’m back. Bet you didn’t even notice! 😉 Oh well. First of all, this is about me, so I may or may not worry about my formatting. I’ll try to be grammatically correct, but I may not care at times. Spelling, I’ll tend to do my best at just because that’s how I am.
So why am I here? I’m here because I need to heal. I need to close all of the doors to my past that have creeped back open. I need to move on. I need to accept my new life with open arms. I need to love my man truly and freely without pretense. I need to not lose track of reality.
I recently came to realize that I am in a constant fight or flight mode. I’ve been seeing a counselor today and I told her that. She instantly took it and ran with it…and nailed everything I’ve been thinking/feeling to a T. When I go into fight mode, I’m completely irrational and it’s “fuck you” to everyone and everything. I don’t need you in my life. I can do it on my own. I’m strong, I’m independent, so fuck off.
So now I have to come off that fuck you/fuck off fight mode and start learning to stop it before it starts. It takes hours if not days for me to come down from that, so why do I feel the need to go there? I know why. I understand it more than I even want to. However, I don’t need to fight like that. Not anymore. I’m safe. I’m safe in love. I’m safe in life. I need to trust my guy to keep me safe. For the first time ever, I have a man that wants to keep me safe and I’m afraid to let him. I desperately want him to, but I’m so terrified to relax and just be me.
This blog, at least for the next few writings, is about letting the Warrior Princess go. I don’t need a warrior in my life anymore.
Trust is a funny thing. I don’t know about other countries, but here in America where divorce rates are high and break up rates are even higher, many people will openly state that they have “trust issues”. Simply stated, they find it hard to trust people. Typically when one states that they have trust issues, they are referring to their lack of trust in the opposite sex. However, this isn’t always the case. Some people have over all trust issues in that it is hard for them to trust anyone.
I certainly fall into this last category. Through my life circumstances, I find it difficult to trust anyone. Ironically, I mentioned my lack of trust in my former article, Moving On. I have had some great things happen lately by the goodness of others and it was really starting to help me re-establish my trust in human kind. Then, just a few days later, the trust is broken once again. Among other things, I caught a close friend in a pretty substantial lie. She hasn’t spoken to me since I confronted her about it which simply makes me shake my head that much more.
I have been contemplating as to why it is that we lie to each other and I can not come up with an answer that justifies the lie. In the above mentioned circumstance, I know that my friend lied to me in order to not hurt my feelings. Truthfully, my feelings would not have been hurt if she had come out and told me the truth. I am puzzled as to why she felt that she needed to lie instead of just be honest. Is this an American culture or a human trait? Why do we feel the need to lie to each other instead of just being honest and telling it like it is? It is possible to tell the truth using tact, isn’t it?
The over-sized black dog is curled up in the corner, gently snoring on her fluffy, white bed while a black calico cat rests on the tattered quilt at the feet of the woman of the house. The gentle squeak of a computer chair is heard from the living room, the tap, tap of the ever busy keyboard, the hum of a computer monitor, and the soft singing of a young woman occupy the air. Another cat lets out its meek meow as it beckons for attention, hoping to find either its mother or the young woman at the computer. The turtle tank gurgles from a distant bedroom, an airplane rumbles by, and another dog barks in the distance.
These are the sounds of the night. Occasionally the house will creak or even pop causing momentary tension amongst the ladies, but for the most part, the night is serene. The blackness outside is kept at bay by the iridescent lights from within. Soon, it will change.
The young lady will grow weary and turn off the computer. Enervation will overcome the older woman. Lights will turn to darkness with a mere flip of a switch. As slumber overtakes the house guests, the noises will obliterate. It is at this time that the cats will remember that they are nocturnal creatures and with an abrupt burst through the house, they will leap onto the fireplace to begin their aeronautics. Mid-flight, an ornament will be procured so that fowl play may begin.
The felines run through the house, batting the ornament to and fro. This is easily accomplished on the wooden floors, as is sliding into walls and each other. With a moan, the woman wakes up and listens. She knows what awaits the night, but is optimistic that merely being awake will settle the cats. Of course, this is only false hope and she will reluctantly drag herself out of bed, a hunter on the prowl. The cats, suddenly feigning innocence, flop onto the floor in a humble position hoping the woman will pet them and head back to bed. She does stoop down to give each cat a rub and a gentle chide, but her mission is not diverted. She will find that ornament.
To the woman’s dismay, the small gray cat has placed herself upon the ornament in every attempt to hide her treasure. With a slight laugh, the woman reaches out and takes the ornament. She glances at the tree, the naked bottom half, stripped of its ornaments and Christmas joy, and knows placing the ornament back on the tree is senseless. She places it in a box instead. Inside that box are the other ornaments gathered throughout the season, treasures of the felines. With this, she turns off the hall light and heads back to her room, stopping to admire the tree once more. She notices that it is leaning to the right, slightly more than the day before, and slightly more than the day before that. If the tree isn’t straightened soon, it will fall over. Knowing this, the woman walks away with a smirk for these are the memories of the 2009 Christmas season.
As the new year begins, many of us find ourselves reflecting on the past year. I’m not one to make new year’s resolutions, but I am one to reflect. 2009 was a hard year and I am optimistic that 2010 will be much better. I struggled with depression last year in degrees that I have not dealt with since I left my physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive marriage in 2000. I saw myself as worthless and wondered why, instead of being the “miracle” that survived my health, I didn’t just die. I felt that my children didn’t really need me, nor did my job, nor anyone nor anything for that matter. I am not writing in hopes of getting your sympathy, I don’t want it. My life is what it is, the past, the present the future. I strongly believe that all things happen for a reason although we often do not know what that reason is. I write because writing is healing and I am healing.
I could tell you of all of the ups and downs of the past year, the trials, the tribulations, but in the end, it does not matter. What matters is that we survived it. I found myself feeling thankful during this Christmas season. Money is tight, I have hospital bills that I can not pay, collectors calling, most of the gifts that I gave this year were used and did not cost me anything, yet they looked new and my son did not know the difference. I have a home, I have heat, I have a steady job, and I have family and friends that have blessed me. One of these days, I might be able to fully trust those in my life and lean on them as I once did. I wonder why it is that once trust has been broken, it is so hard to re-establish. I am hard pressed to name two people in my life that I fully trust and I find that to be a sad thing. There is no reason for me not to trust others in my life, they have done nothing to cause the lack of trust that I suffer from and I know that, yet I still am unable to trust them. I wait for the day that they will sabotage our friendship and I know this is a pathetic truth. I also know why my trust issues run so deep and where they stem from. Perhaps that is a good thing, but sadly, it makes no difference.
My motto in life has become, “Fake it until you make it.” I’ve told a few people this and they look at me with a puzzled, quizzical smile upon their face. I don’t think they know whether or I am jesting or being genuine. I am genuine. I find that I have “faked” it through most of my life. I’ve put on that mask to disguise the real me. The mask that smiles, is optimistic and generally finds the good in things. The real me is cynical, doubtful, and constantly waiting for the bad to happen. I do love to smile, laugh and joke around, so one of these days I hope that the “fake it me” becomes the real me. I guess she’s in there under all of the baggage.
I did not mean for this post to be a negative one, just a reflective one. If you have made it this far, thanks for “listening”. Here’s to a year of healing!
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