Disconnected

Completely disconnected yesterday, after it sunk in.

When he told me he was seeing someone else, I had a total breakdown. I cried - sobbed - sat in utter disbelief and was stunned for two days. Couldn't believe how cruel he was being. I couldn't wait to see my therapist and cry to her. There's no way he could have loved me. This hit me like a boulder to my stomach and I felt like such a fool...such a fool.

But then yesterday, I just completely shut down. I was emotionally disconnected from everything and I got to my appointment, and talked as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. I didn't feel any pain or worry or fear. Nothing. I was someone entirely different. I told her about his cruel words and how he was seeing someone else before we even split as if I were talking about someone else. Kind of shrugged my shoulders and said, "Whatever."

But the day before, a friend reached out to me on FB and said something like, "I saw a post that made me think I better check on you." which immediately made me fearful of what he's saying (again) because he clearly has no regard for what he says about (or to) me. Unbelievable. I am still just stunned. Two weeks ago he loved me.

I spent at least a full 24 hours thinking about how ugly I am and how terrible a person I am and how I didn't fit in anywhere and didn't belong anywhere and how I must be hideous because of him doing this....believing how stupid I am to think I could have had him love me. Right. Me? No way. I spent at least 24 hours, wondering how anyone could ever love me because clearly he didn't and if he didn't, nobody can. There are no words to describe the pain it put me in.


This morning I woke up gagging again. The pain is in there - I'm sure - eating me up inside, only I can't feel it. I also woke up with that somatic feeling of being in trouble again. It's such a wretched feeling - the feeling you get right before a beating, when you're a child.

The past week has been so difficult although I've had some help and been grateful for it. I have needed it.

I feel so lost - how am I going to do this? I am so afraid...so scared.

I see pictures of him partying on his boat on facebook and it just kills me how "perfect" he seems to everyone when I know the truth...I know the truth now; he was never the man I thought he was. I was so stupid. God I was stupid. And here I am, again, in a fucked up place because of a fucked up choice I made.

And I'm trying so hard to do the right things.All the right things but it seems like all the right things are just getting me deeper and deeper in a bind and I am afraid.

Someone Else

Writing from my phone again. He told me he's seeing someone else and has been since before the break up. "Not that I cheated," he said... But he was "choosing better." It's occurred to me that he was, again, putting me down, blaming me, being so cruel and insensitive... Yet I was telling him I love and miss him. So backwards. He blamed me for this emotional affair he's had, saying I left the relationship long ago. But that's so far from the truth. I was completely in it, trusting him to be there as I tried to climb this enormous, painful mountain. I definitely didn't leave the relationship. I needed him and I loved and trusted him. I've cried and panicked over this revelation ever since he told me... And not in the nicest way. I'm floored that he has everyone thinking I'm some kind of monster, when he's been doing all these cruel things to me. I'm stunned that people can't (or choose not to) see how blatantly he's just moving on, as if our five years together, never happened. I told him I couldn't even FATHOM a relationship... Because I'm still in love. So devastated. So hurt. Total disbelief. I feel like such a fool.

Five Years

Today is the fifth anniversary of my first date with Gary. I have mixed feelings about it. For most of those years, we were good. The first couple years were all about him - helping him through his healing process. The next two years were spent with each of us practicing emotional openness. It was awkward for both of us. Hard to get out of our heads but the last year, I spent a lot of time being emotionally vulnerable, and he tried to support that. But things got complicated and TOO emotional, I think, for him to handle. And finally, over the past several weeks, things fell apart completely. I fell apart completely. I've spent a lot of time criticizing myself but yesterday, in therapy, admitted with a strange and awkward fear, that I am angry at him. Angry at all the betrayal ;angry at the things he's said and done to me.... After five years. After sharing so much. Today hurts and angers me, but mostly, I just feel this horrible pain of never mattering enough. And empty... So empty and lost.

Sharing

Another phone entry. Had a major panic attack yesterday morning. Just too much happening at once. Plus I read over some texts between him and I and I think that was the clincher. He said some pretty hurtful things. I also had a session yesterday morning, which brought up a lot. I'm so tired. We talked about my choices in friends and partners and how I can't even trust myself. I never, ever imagined things being this way. It hurts so much to be labeled and criticized by people who have no idea. And the things I told him... Oh God... I cried about this in therapy. I shared so much and now I'm terrified because none of it is safe. It was the first time in my life I ever shared so much and now I.... I just wish I hadn't. God, what an idiot! He acts like these extremely important and intimate moments never happened, but they rest heavy on my heart. I was so honest, so open... Shared so much.

Asking for Help

Writing from my phone again, so sorry for any typos (auto-corrects) and lack of paragraph breaks. Today has been so hard. One blow after another. I reached out to a couple of friends.... Heard back from one. The other didn't respond. (incidentally, this is the friend that he told my financial business to, and who he took to the wedding). No surprise, I guess. He sent me some of the coldest text messages this morning. Cruel. I kinda knew he would adopt the "out of sight, out of mind" mentality.... Just hoped he wouldn't, you know? I cried when my friend - C-came over and left. I told her I love her. It's hard for me to do that, given the drama of the past few weeks. People think they're the only ones with pain... So blinded by their own, that they can't see others' pains. Today, I am in need of help, and there's nobody to ask. Gary has clearly moved on. This breaks what's left of the heart I gave to him I haven't felt this alone and afraid since I was living on the streets. I do have a couple of people who are helping all they can. I am grateful for that but asking for/needing help is not something that comes natural to me. My heart hurts... I just feel lost... So lost. I am terrified.

The Move

Writing from my phone again, so this post will lack proper paragraphs and possibly a few auto-corrects. Moved into my new apartment this weekend. Got a lot done, unpacked, out in place. Still struggling with a lot of it. The last of the move included large stuff so he had his friend come help (K) and K's girlfriend, S. It sucked. I mean, I was grateful for the help, but in the end, felt like I was being treated like I have a disease, undoubtedly because of the utter BULLSHIT he's told everyone. He had the nerve to tell a friend that I've alienated everyone. HUH?? HE alienated them from me! Made sure everyone knew his side of the story. Made me look like some crazed, psychotic, suicidal alcoholic. I was really crushed when this friend told me this because it means he hasn't changed even a little bit. Still the victim. And Me, the villain. So hurt... He won't change. Just wanted me out. I never truly mattered. He just won't own his part. No change.

Grieving A Break-Up

I suppose we all grieve differently.

I've been grieving for weeks over this break-up. Crying - sobbing. Avoiding. Numbing. Rage. Denying. Trying to change it.

And finally acceptance, but not without some strong feelings of betrayal and questions of why.

He says he has to go through the grieving process after I'm gone. I suppose... although I told him it just seems like he wants me to be gone...will be happy when I am out.

That's how it comes across, anyway.

Weeks of watching him go out and party and talk with friends...share my intimate details...while I sat here or at my sitting spot, grieving - even being chastised for it.

But I've grieved and I don't even think I'm done yet.

A friend asked me if she thought we would ever get back together and I said that I didn't know... the one thing I can't get past is the walking away when I needed him most. Giving up so quickly, saying and doing all the wrong things to someone (me) who needed so much patience and compassion.

Of course, I made my mistakes too, but my friends assure me (as does my therapist) that these "mistakes" are part of my healing process.

They say divorce is the second most stressful thing to go through in life; second only to someone dying. I disagree with that. I've been through divorce.

Going through the process of healing from incest and rape is by far the most painful thing I've ever done. Accepting my diagnoses; looking inside at myself; And even though I have friends that are helping me, I still feel this sense of alone-ness; like I can't burden them. It's kind of like, "Just let me do this work and you'll see the outcome...I'm afraid for anyone to see."

We  move - my son and I - this weekend, to our new place. I am petrified and excited; hurt and elated; nervous and confident; hopeful but so, so angry at myself for being a failure... for never being enough. For letting him down.

Blaming myself. Cursing myself for sharing so much - too much - of myself. I should have known better. I never should have let my guard down; never should have expected him to be able to handle the stress and pain that comes from this process. I cringe when I think of the secrets I've told him, knowing he's told so many people about so much of my personal life. I absolutely die inside, wishing I'd never uttered a word.

It's easy to blame the girl who cuts and suffers from suicide ideation who's in therapy and on medications. It's easy to blame the one with the obvious problems. And it's perfectly rational that she would grieve in the ways she does....right? No....not right. I grieved the loss of him with words of anger and betrayal. Utter disbelief. And even envy.

I blame myself for this... this guttural reaction to the pain I was going through. Oh God the agony of being so fucked up that he can't even love you... nobody can, especially now. Now that everyone knows. Everyone knows. I am so ashamed.

Is that part of grieving? Being ashamed?

My emotions are all over the place, although - because the move-in date is nearer - my energy is picking up and I'm feeling a little more hopeful, my emotions are still so crazy.

So much I wish I could change.

So much that I know will change.

Why Do Trauma Survivors Push People Away?

There's more than one answer to this question.

Sometimes it's self-protection...keeping people from seeing the "real you" - the "you" that you see yourself to be, which (particularly for incest and rape victims) is usually something bad, dirty and unworthy. They keep you at arm's length, to prevent you from leaving them. The more superficial and "chummy" they can keep it, the safer they are that you won't leave them. Often they'll do things for you, too, without expecting anything in return, to help fortify that you won't leave them.

Sometimes it's not pushing you away, but testing you. I test a lot. I test everyone, always. My friend recently pointed this out to me. I guess sometimes I push people away but usually those are the ones who fail my "tests" which can be very simple - tests of integrity and trustworthiness. And not just one test, but many, before I open the door a crack.

And sometimes it's to protect you - the friend, family member, partner or supporter - from seeing their reality. The reality of complex trauma is an ugly thing - very ugly. And once you (a trauma survivor) reach a point of vulnerability in a relationship, the concept of that person seeing the "real you" is terrifying and opens up all kinds of windows and doors - many that have been shut for their whole lifetime. This is an absolutely horrifying experience because you (the survivor) don't know if the supporter will (a) be able to handle it or (b) walk away and say they can't handle it so the best option is to just protect you from seeing it at all. Rejection after revealing such painful things, would be painful beyond words.

Pushing people away is almost a way of life for me, although most of the time I push those away that I am closest to, ironically. Everyone else I just keep on a superficial level. I don't do chit-chat which means my social life is pretty dull and solitary. I don't mind....but yet I do.

I envy those who can just go out and ...I don't know, fake it? I used to be able to do that. Put on a happy face, pretend my trauma never happened. But because of the nature of my five-year relationship, some doors were opened that I cannot close. It's like opening a closet door that's crammed full of stuff and once you crack it open, you can't push it back shut, and stuff just keeps coming out. Horrible, embarrassing, mortifying, terrifying stuff. Monsters. Memories. Rage. Pain.

Nothing within that closet I want to see, never mind wanting anyone else to see it.

So for me - in my opinion - these are some of the reasons trauma survivors push people away. I bet there's more, but in my experience, this has been it.

Just listen

I recently said in jest, that if I ever wrote a book for partners of incest survivors, I would entitle it "Bill"

Bill is a friend of mine. We've known each other over ten years.

He came to visit - just left about an hour ago, actually. He showed me a lot while he was here. I cried and cried and he listened. He hugged me, told me he understood and just...listened.

He didn't judge or offer advice; he didn't look at me funny or anything. He just listened. When I would gag (I gag a lot lately) he would ask me if I was okay. He wasn't pushy or arrogant; just concerned. Truly concerned.

He let met talk as long as I wanted to talk and then he validated me. He told me good things about myself - things I haven't heard in a long time, and things I need to hear.

For two nights, he let me stay with him (completely platonic, btw, because we are just friends) but even he saw the difference in me, when we neared this house, and as we drove away.

My nerves here are just shot. My heart broken and he listened to me pour it out... He never said a bad thing at all; just listened.

I realized it was the first time in years that I felt listened to and acknowledged. It was the first time in years that I felt I mattered - that I was important...that I'm worth someone's time. I'm worth someone's compassion.

He came for a couple of reasons but partly because he wanted to get a feel for what I need as I go through what I'm going through and I think, what he saw, was this crisis on top of a crisis. He calmed me down, told me he would help me... soothed me, promised me everything would be okay. He was honest - told me I didn't necessarily push people away, but that I definitely do test them. But he didn't say things like this in a condescending way, as if he knew some better way to be. It was a decade-long observation that he made, and that I accepted as true. Because it is true.

I didn't sleep too well those two nights, despite being away from the house, but I wasn't as sick as I have been, either. And I smiled. And I laughed, too.

I stuck my feet in the water at the dock...so did he. Something I haven't been able to do in years, without fear of ridicule or judgment.

We went today to see Cindy. She cut off all his hair (it'd been growing for three years - he had a ponytail!) so we went there and Cindy, too, echoed so many of the things that Bill had said.

It was ....something.

I can't describe it.

It was something indescribable to be sitting between two people who want me to heal. They want me to heal and not only that, but they want to help me through it. They don't want to leave me or run away. They want to understand as much as they can. They don't push or pull - they've been so gentle and so kind and I don't have any words. Just tears.

Mixed tears.

Tears of appreciation, and tears of longing.

Appreciation for what I have; longing for what I've missed all these years.

That ticker in my brain that keeps going, "You were never enough for him...." over and over.... it's all your fault, all your fault....

But now I have these people who are being authentic and kind and they're telling me they love me and they don't expect anything in return....just want me to heal.

This makes my heart ache. It makes me question everything I know and believe about myself. Everything I've always believed about myself.

It's not fair, what I'm going through.

And it's not fair that people gave up on me. I am worthy of being listened to until two in the morning if necessary. I am worthy.


Neither of them have shunned me for my suicide ideation or cutting; neither of them have chastised me for feeling so ashamed. Neither of them have put me down - not in the least. They lift me up. It is a little frightening, especially given the recent circumstances and how everyone just gave up.

They are helping me... sometimes just by listening.

Nervous

So much has gone on in the past 24 hours...my stomach is in knots, my nerves are so frayed...

Some good, some not so much.

My friend showed up at six this morning. Trevor and I stayed in a motel room. We were so glad to see him. But he has to leave again Tuesday and come back again next Saturday, which sucks because he's such a source of support and comfort.

Today, I (hopefully) go sign the lease for my new apartment. Moving is bittersweet... much of the things I think and feel, I have to keep to myself, which just chokes me.

I got sick again this morning; partly nerves, partly because I was brushing my teeth. Do you know how disgusting it is to get sick when you're brushing your teeth?

 I will probably blog again later - an addendum to this blog - to let people know how the lease-signing went.

Right now, just a bundle of nerves....

...but grateful for those in my life who are being so supportive right now.

-----------------------------------------
Addendum

Signed the lease. Part of me is so excited, part of me screams, "THERE, NOW YOU CAN HAVE YOUR LIFE BACK!" with a completely broken heart.

Took Trevor and my friend to see the apartment yesterday. He LOVED it! So much more room!!

Spent some time last night crying to my friend - what a great listener. Damn....I forgot what it was like to be listened to. Holy shit. It's like I've been living in the dark for five years, never mattering.  I cried and bawled and just let loose. It was painful - so painful - to come to some of my own realizations about my situation, about the reality of things, how they are and how they have been.

So this morning I sit here and I cry;  I cry for so many reasons, when I should be overjoyed...and part of me is.

Oh God I can't wait for all of this to be over. The nerves ....my nerves are just making me sicker and sicker.

So glad my son loved the apartment.

Warped Love

I talked with my therapist yesterday about love. About my warped sense of love. About how I don't understand it. How I can love others, but never believe anyone loves me. I don't think this is uncommon among incest survivors.

It came up because I was willing to do anything to make Gary love me - the same as with my father...and I did. As he molested me, I was making him love me, even if it hurt me.

I told her, during my many rapes, I would somehow fantasize that each man would look into my crying eyes and decide that he loved me. This only compounds my shame. Wanting to be loved by my rapists.

This was reinforced so many times, I cannot count.

So now, it's no wonder that I'll do, be, say, act and otherwise show anything I can, just to be loved.

And it's always aimed at men - always has been. Never women or friends; they can't "love" me like ...well, you know. I suppose this is because it started in my formative years with my father.

I know, intellectually, that I have to learn to love myself. This seems like such a monumental task. Huge.

I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to look myself in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful and I love you." I don't know how to think of myself in terms of self-love - how could someone who's done the things I've done, possibly love herself, whoever "herself" is?

So, instead of looking inside for that love, I've always looked outside which just leads to more reinforcement of how unlovable I am.

Gary's rejection; Her rejection; Everyone's rejection (because of Gary telling everyone about it) just reinforces how unlovable I am because there's no love inside myself for me.

Just this self-loathing. Disgust. Shame. Guilt.

Oh my God the shame - that word again. It creeps up almost every blog.

I suppose feeling it and being aware of it are steps towards healing but what a God-awful feeling. Like someone's ripped your bones right from your body and you're nothing but an empty, deflated shell.

The constant barrages of being put down or hurt by him, leads to those text messages I've blogged about. The betrayal I see, I don't know how to respond except in anger because he's telling me - again, in my language - that I don't matter and I am unlovable. I do get bitterly defensive and angry and say things I would normally never say. It's totally a defense mechanism. It's saying, "Fuck you! I won't let you have this power over me! I'm going to hurt you as bad as you're hurting me!!"

Yesterday my therapist explained that he is not the kind of person I need in my life right now. I need people who are understanding, patient, compassionate, loving and supportive. Not the kind of people who do the things that Gary is doing. Heartless things. Careless, reckless things.

She is right.

I deserve better. I deserve these things.

But where do I begin?

Rambling

Had a session yesterday; it was very interesting as always.

I told her I had quit drinking the day before - partly for myself, partly for the relationship - and about what happened. She empathized with me.

And as I sat there on her couch, crying because I just felt like there was never going to be anything about me he loved - how I wished I could be skinnier, tanner, smarter, prettier, etc...anything - she quietly listened.

Then I told her how I'd told him that I deserve better. I don't deserve all these constant bashings and put-downs. I don't deserve to have my mistakes constantly thrown up in my face and to have him act as if he played no role in this break-up.

I deserve compassion, kindness, dignity, respect, support and love.

"Wow," she said. "Where did that come from?"

"You," I responded.

But it's true. And she said suicide attempts are not things you forgive; they're things you understand. When a trauma survivor attempts suicide, they are at their lowest point. When I was at my lowest point, I was screamed at, mocked and put down. Then the last straw: I won't take you out anymore. (translation [for me]: I am ashamed of you).

So shame me, shame me some more, and then shame me some more.

And now, since I told him it was over (because of these incidents), he has shamed me even further and I don't deserve it at all. I haven't deserved it at all.

He did the same thing yesterday - sat outside with me, putting me down. Then again last night, after my session, slamming me again. I finally spoke up and said, "I have something to do."

And he kept going on and on about my mistakes - the mistakes of a traumatized person in crisis and mistakes that, yes, I did divulge to my therapist. I tell her everything. She said even though the actions may not be right, the feelings are what they are and you're feeling flooded with them right now. I am. Very much.

"Listen I don't have to listen to your abuse," I said.

"Then get the fuck out," he responded.

Translation (to me): either listen to me put you down, or get out.

I definitely deserve better than that.

He's like the song Hot n Cold all the time - just like one of my friends told me. Playing me like a puppet. Knowing I desperately want his love, and then yanking away any sign of reconciliation.

I told him yesterday that there was a sense of urgency as far as working towards reconciliation - for me - because of my son. I'm not going to move him to a new school, only to move him back.

"That's not a reason to work things out," he said.

I agreed. "That's not the reason, but that is the reason for the sense of urgency I feel."

The small changes are what's needed - the little steps and the support and showing you're doing something different, just as I had. I pointed out to him that he wasn't making any changes - was just doing the same things he always has.

But, I said, I am willing to forgive and try again, despite the things you've done to me.

He is not.

His loss.

Changes

Yesterday morning, we talked - had a good talk, actually, although - again - my issues were thrown in my face, he kept saying he wasn't trying to shame me. I cried and he cried. He even said the day I move out will be one of the hardest days of his life. We talked about not wanting the relationship to end, but he felt it must. Thought it was what was best for me.

As he got up to leave, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and went upstairs to go to work.

I was just sitting there, crying, thinking about everything that had been said, wondering why I am more willing to forgive than him.

I went to the store, bought a six-pack, and went to my sitting spot. I didn't even want to drink - not at all. Wasn't in the mood, was just hurting.

I texted him as much - told him I didn't want to drink. He said to pour it out and do something different. I asked him why we couldn't work it out...told him if we can't work through the tough times, how could we ever be a couple. Told him people who've been together for 50 and 60 years didn't quit during the hard times. Promised I would do things differently, if he would do the same. He was relatively amenable and I started to think a lot differently.

Started to think about the easy changes I could make - drinking being one of them. I don't need to drink, don't crave it, just drink to numb.

So I poured it out. I did something different. I came home, laid down and took a nap. When I awoke, I started dinner. He was in the shower.

I was excited, actually, because I thought we reached a different place; a place of reconciliation where we might be able to work through these issues we're both having.

I was also proud of myself for choosing something different. To me, it was like a small token of my commitment - a literal gift to show him how serious I was about working through it.

As I cooked dinner, he went upstairs. I could hear him up there. I wondered if he had an appointment with his therapist, but then noted the time - too late for that, so maybe he's just getting dressed.

Dinner was almost done when he came downstairs. Dressed to go out, cologne and all.

"I'm making dinner for you guys," I said to him, half-heartrboken, half-hopeful.

"I wish I'd known," he answered. "I ate at 4:30 and I'm not hungry."

I just looked at him.

He said: "I'm going down to the marina and then I'll probably go to [the bar] afterwards."

It sunk into my heart like a knife.

"So I guess I'm the only one who's supposed to do things differently?" I ask.

I began to cry. Chin-shaking, heart-aching cry. I had felt so good to do something different and so hopeful...
so hopeful....

"You just don't want me to have a life," he said to me at one point.

I could have just died.

I felt so rejected. So abandoned...again. Mocked. I was giving something - a small step, small token - only to have it thrown back in my face. I felt ridiculous, like a fool.

I cried out the door as he left, "You're wrong! You're so wrong!"

And then I sobbed and sobbed for awhile in my room.

I cleaned myself up, fed Trevor.

Grabbed my cooler and headed to my spot.

I sat there on the dock....so cool, so peaceful. I was so devastated that he wouldn't even try. Wouldn't even discuss trying.

I had my bottle of water with me, and I sat there drinking it. A kayaker went by, waved. I waved back.

Somehow it made me think - seeing this kayaker - that drinking isn't what I want to do, not at all. I had at least a six-pack with me and I could've but I just didn't want it.

I sat at my spot for about 30 minutes and then came home. Originally, I had texted him saying, "Well, I guess I'll just do the same thing you're doing, then." (something like that). But then I texted him and told him I wasn't going to drink tonight, that I don't want to and that I was merely telling him for the sheer joy of telling him.

Which is true - I didn't tell him to try and change his mind because I'd already decided - the moment he walked out the door - that I deserve better. I deserve to be treated fairly, instead of constantly put down and shamed. (I know there's one person that'll probably read this and be like, "Thank God!" because she wants nothing more than to see Gary and I stay split up).

Yeah, I told him almost to just rub it in his face....to say it's not for him, it's for me and he can have "his life" all he wants.

I came home, watched a movie (The Preacher's Wife....was good), and then a couple other t.v. shows. By midnight, I was tired and he still wasn't home. I knew where he was and who he was with, but I just didn't care.

I just don't care anymore.

Someone who wanted to work it out, would do something different than he did last night.

Just like I did.

I didn't drink at all... and it felt good.

Friends and Supporters

I've found, through the process of this break-up and the horribly humiliating behaviors I have exhibited, that I have friends and supporters who are there for me, no matter what. This is difficult to fathom, difficult to accept.

Especially when the ones you thought would be there, left so recently.

I struggle with this, yet I am grateful, too.

These people help me without expectation and they recognize my journey as my journey, not theirs. They allow me room to breathe; they let me call them at 2 a.m. with a nightmare; they don't judge me for doing whatever I can to get through this; they commend me for the work I am doing and have done; they encourage me because they see my potential and know I will, one day, have some great accomplishments.

One day, I will make a difference.

These supporters and friends have not bashed me when I was at my lowest, nor have they talked about me behind my back. They have honored my need for privacy - for now - until I am ready to divulge what I am and have been going through. And I will one day.

One of them recently told me: "You have to open up - even if just a little bit - and trust someone." and I know she's right...it's just so frightening to me, especially now. With the exception of my therapist, opening up and being honest and vulnerable is like standing on the edge of an extremely high cliff. Stomach in knots.

I don't know how to trust... mostly, I suppose, because I don't trust myself. I don't trust myself because of the rotten decisions and choices I have made. The intention was always good, but the result always just reinforces the abandonment I've always lived with.

So this blog is for my friends and supporters, to say thank you. To honor you for being such amazing human beings. For helping me and seeing me through this, for listening and for learning and for understanding. Thank you for not pushing your own agendas on me, knowing that I have a huge agenda already and a great big "to-do" list, all geared towards healing.

Thank you for picking up the slack, when I can't carry the weight.

It's not easy to watch someone you  care about, go through so much pain. I know this.

Thank you for being there through it all.

Possibilities

Right now, I hurt. Being here, in this place, on the birth of the U.S.A. alone in this God forsaken house while he goes out and hangs out with "friends" and has a grand ol' time and I am shunned, shamed...because he told so many people about my private business. I just cannot get over this.

It's absolutely horrible. I can't show my face anywhere. I even went out the back door yesterday to avoid seeing his son and wouldn't come home until they were gone. I'm that ashamed.

Yesterday I went to look at an apartment. It's absolutely lovely and I really, really hope I get it. The landlady was fantastic and the way she described the neighbor (it's a duplex), I would love her, too. It's in a small town where practically nobody lives (lol) and it's peaceful.

Peace.

I went to therapy yesterday. She told me I was..."different" - "Maybe it's the apartment," she said.

But this led to a discussion about me being dependent.

"I've been dependent my whole life," I confessed.

She nodded.

"I'm terrified. I don't know how to be independent."

"That will come."

I can look back at small points in my life where I was independent but they're all like straw houses. It felt good, but it was fake...wasn't really me.

I don't know what this means, really. I have visions in my mind...visions of just wanting to breathe. Just wanting to have the time to do whatever I have to do to get over this. She said it won't ever go away.

It won't ever go away.

I guess I'm afraid of myself, afraid of failing, afraid of everything. Afraid of people, especially now.

Moving out - the possibility - both excites me and saddens me. At least I will be alone, with my son, and won't have to worry about being hurt or mocked or stared at or talked about...well...I guess people will still talk, until the next tragedy comes along. I'll have my space...which I sorely need.

We came to the conclusion yesterday that Gary very likely is a narcissist - that's why he's done the things he's done without regard for the repercussions I would face. It hurts to know that I've known all along, but ignored it. I thought he would change. Still, I love him. Like a fool, I love him. But he's more concerned about his image than anything else.

I actually thought - truly believed - that by being vulnerable and open and letting him see my deepest wounds, he would gain some compassion and realize what empathy was. I believed it would change his perspective on the world and help him look at himself more honestly.

A lot of people around here are narcissists.

Not that I would ever claim  to be a saint - I have confessed all my sins and more, here on my blog and to my therapist. I've said "I"m Sorry" so many times, it's crazy. I've owned all my problems and outbursts - at least all the ones I can identify and I will continue to do so.

But I would never just go out and deliberately bash and trash someone to make myself look better. I'm a better person than that. I will never be that way. Not to anyone.

Thank God I have my integrity and I have my aspirations.

I told him (yesterday, I believe) that one day, when I am successful, he's going to look at me and go, "Wow, I used to date her." But by then, I will be a better, stronger person. And he will still be who he is today.

Reluctant Homework

In the book, Resurrection After Rape, (you can download a free pdf of this book by clicking the link) the author, assigns the following homework:

1) If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?
2) If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?

So I decided, reluctantly, to write it down.

If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?

It stole my sense of self
It stole my future, what I could have been
It stole my ability to have relationships
it stole my sexuality
it stole my trust
it stole my place in this world
it stole my sense of security
it stole my freedom
it stole my belief in authentic love
it stole my vulnerability
it stole my innocence
it stole my family and any sense of what "family" is
it stole my ability to feel emotions or share them appropriately
it stole my ability to just be myself
it stole my purity
it stole my tears
it stole my voice
it stole my childhood
it stole my happy memories, all my birthdays and Christmases.
It stole my virginity.
It stole my beauty and any sense of self-worth.
It stole my ability to look at myself in the mirror, to dress myself or to fit in anywhere.
It stole my privacy.


If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?

My incest and rapes did not take away my inner strength or determination.
It all strengthened my intuition.
My tenderness
My compassion.
My awareness and alertness.
Willingness to learn and to change.
Willingness to make the world better, somehow.
I am a good mother.
I have patience.
I love deeply and authentically, when I love.
My loyalty and my thoughts and ideas.
I still write, because nothing can take that away from me.
I am acutely empathic.
I am a good teacher and speaker.


So, with all that said, I know there's more. But it's a tender place to touch.

Today, as I was driving home from running errands, I got enraged. Just out of the blue, rageful - it was all aimed at Gary. Started shaking, almost pulled over to take a klonopin. But then I just started crying and the question that kept running through my mind, really applies to both Gary and my father: "Why?" and from there it went directly to my father. "Why did you do that to me? Why did you do this to me?"

The answer comes back to me in my mind, in Gary's voice: "I didn't do anything to you."

Everything is so mixed up... Everything and I just hurt. So confused. So hurt.

I feel alone because of him. I feel alone because, once again, someone couldn't love me. It's not fair to say nobody loves me because there are people who proclaim they do but when he said he didn't love me anymore, the alone-ness hit me like a brick to my stomach. It was like being raped again. Being told to trust, encouraged to heal, open up, do what you have to do...only to be abandoned when it gets ugly. To be judged for the ugly. Ridiculed publicly. Publicly humiliated. My privacy spread out like a billboard. My shame exposed to the entire world.

So my rage - this god awful rage - is aimed at him and those who believe him, when it should be aimed at the man who caused all of this to happen to me: my father. Daddy. And the many other men who used my body and beat me and threw me away.

I understand. I get it. But how do I do it? I feel so alone.

Compassion for Incest Survivors

Yesterday I went to my spot with the intention of getting some sun. It's by the water so you can sit on the dock, get a good breeze and get some sun. The back yard is like a jungle with no breeze - no way was I going out there.

I knew there was a possibility that Gary might go by on his boat, but I could handle it (at least that's what I told myself).

For weeks, we've had this argument about how my personal business is my business, and nobody else's unless I choose to tell them. He disagrees and has repeatedly said, "people are compassionate, they care...yada yada...." and has also said it's none of my goddamn business what he tells others.

So yesterday, I'm sitting at my spot, getting some sun and some of those "compassionate" people came and rafted up right in front of me. Three boats on which I used to party along with the rest of them (and usually cook something because that was my way of fitting in). Not one waved. Not one single person waved. Boaters wave at everyone. But not one of them waved to me, never mind said "Hi! How are you?"

I just sat there rocking and crying intermittently.

That's the damage that happens when people tell your private business - all the way down to "what is she going to do? [now that we're breaking up and I'm not working]" - which is nobody's business. It's my business to tell, not his, and the appropriate answer is "I don't want to talk about her."

Because he shouldn't. Not only because he shouldn't, but because he has no discretion at all and just tells everything.

People do not have compassion for survivors of incest. I talked with my therapist about this last Friday and she agreed - most people don't have the capacity to handle it. People in her professional field sometimes even have problems with it, although she did say most other incest survivors have compassion.

To me, it's common sense because I've experienced it my whole life - the looks, the awkward tension, the way they gradually back away as soon as they find out. And they definitely don't want to talk about it or hear about it. In this way, it is an us-vs.-them kind of world that he doesn't understand. Survivors of incest have certain things broken - often as very young children - that results in phobias and behaviors that others simply don't understand - can't understand.

Compassion would be finding out - asking questions and listening to the answers. It would be waving when you see one, instead of pretending they're not there and it would be getting their side of the story, instead of sitting in judgment and ridicule.

My problem is I tried living here - in this place, among these people. I believed I was making a better life for myself and for my son. I truly believed I was moving up in the world.

I was really just moving farther and farther away from my abuse. Hiding behind multiple masks doing, as my therapist said, whatever I could to be liked. Nobody here was really my friend, even though Gary has said for years that they were. It's quite obvious now, that they weren't and aren't.

All these years, I was trying to be something I'm not - faking it. Gary recently told me (in his defense of talking about me behind my back) "People see you no matter what mask you wear." and I wonder what he meant by that because during my last session I literally sobbed, wracking sobs, over my fear that people would see the ugly inside of me and she said, "Nobody knows but you."

That's not true anymore, though. Now it's true - my biggest, greatest fear, my greatest shame is now out there like a fucking newspaper for everyone to read, and he gets to be writer, editor and publisher.

So cruel, so heartless, so callous and careless.

I remember one time when he referred to a woman at the marina as a "Crack Whore" and I was astonished and I chewed him out for it. He admitted he was wrong to say such a thing but he did - he said it - which shows the level of compassion in this place where I was trying so hard to fit in.

It wasn't long ago that I ripped my necklace from my throat and threw it because I felt so stupid for "dressing up" - stupid, stupid, stupid, I kept telling myself. Who do you think you are, to try to fit in?? Everyone sees it! Everyone knows you're a fake! A FREAK! 

 I sat on the edge of the bed and cried, thinking all these horrible things about myself.


Gary got angry with me. No compassion, just anger.

That's how much compassion there is in this town...in this state...in this world.

Weakness Versus Strength

My "friend" said to me, "...I'm sick of your...woe is me" and "[Your] 'nobody gets it' is old."

This from someone who said "she gets it" for months, but after saying these - among other things - she clearly doesn't get it, and never did. I told her as much. Told her it was an insult to suggest she understood.

People in these little sheltered towns (and, I assume, all over the country and even the world) just think you're supposed to get up, get a job, get moving, move past it, get over it.

What that means is, put on the mask you've always worn, pretend it's okay, hush, hush, hush - nobody wants to hear your tale of woe.

This is the viciousness of the cycle of abuse. The taboo - the keep the secret. Don't tell anyone - act like everything is normal.

For me, nothing is normal - especially right now - and some would call me weak. I am weak. I am extremely weak right now. I can't focus on anything; I'm easily overwhelmed; easily triggered; can't sleep; feel exhausted; can't eat (get sick when I try to); just can't function. Can't even read a book - one of my favorite pastimes for years. Think this is fun? Being weak?

Or...

Is it being weak? Isn't being "weak" and being vulnerable, paradoxically strong?

Because I gotta tell you: Right now, I am the last person I ever wanted to be. I wanted to stay the way I was, with my happy face and my forward motion, fake though it may have been. If I could go back and just be in denial so everyone would like me, I would.

But to me, that is weak.

Pretending to be something you're not in order to hide the shame, the secret, the truth - that is weak. That is giving in to societal pressure. Pretending to be friends with people, pretending to be strong, pretending it didn't affect you.... that is weakness.

So, for my "friend" - and anyone else - who thinks I should just pick myself up by my bootstraps and get a job and move on, I say this: get educated and stop being fake.

Right now, in my life, I'm being as real and raw as it gets. I don't need peoples' advice who haven't been there and who do not know my history or the pain I am in. In fact, they don't even know the truth about my current situation....it's all one-sided. Solidly unfair, but it is, what it is.

I am being weak, yes, and it's about goddamn time. I've spent my whole life being strong, being whatever I thought others wanted me to be. Now I'm finding the real me - and that takes a hell of a lot of strength and courage. The nightmares, flashbacks, triggers, nausea - all constant. It's a horrifying experience.

And I'm doing it without those so-called "friends" - the ones who can't take the truth, who can't bear witness to my pain.

But at least I have real friends - the ones who know, who are willing to learn, who understand, who would never betray me. At least I have that and that's more real than every single fake friend in these towns.