I Do Love Him

My name is Cristina D. Johnson

So today in session, I was frustrated because I told Michelle (my therapist) that I am frustrated because I want to work on me. Me. I'm tired of being enmeshed and consumed by the grief and pain I feel over my break-up with "him."

"You act like you're supposed to be over it by now," she said casually.

"I feel like I should because I have more important things to do. I want to move on - like he has."

"It's only been two weeks," she said compassionately. "You're in pain."

This made me weep. I use the word "weep" intentionally - because to me, weeping is crying from someplace inside untouched...a tender place of utter pain.

I wept and cried and sobbed. I feel so confused and so devastated and betrayed. There simply are no words. And for all these weeks - until recently - I've kept it all in, kept it to myself, so terrified over the things "he" told me he'd said to others.

Tonight one of his friends told me that "he" is hurting, too, which I just cannot fathom because of the things he's said, done and threatened.

This "friend" also said I look like an ass for "airing dirty laundry" and I need to clarify.....

I'm not trying to air any dirty laundry. I am defending myself when - for weeks - I was stuck in a basement with no friends and nobody who cared with a man who was - according to him -  telling everyone my personal business (some of which I know because I saw it on his FB).

I'm not trying to make him look bad, nor make myself look good. I am trying to heal.

When I was a very, very little girl - as far back as I remember - I wrote. I had no voice. My voice was taken. But the paper and pen were my friends and I could write whatever I wanted. Sometimes I would sit with paper and pen and just transcribe conversations my grandparents were having, just so I could write. Sometimes I would simply practice changing handwriting, making my "Y's" or "J's" different (eventually I learned calligraphy).

I write my feelings. It's both a curse and a blessing.

I think - at this point, given his friend's perspective - I should point out that I loved him - and still do - so much. I tried. Oh God I tried...I tried to be important. I tried to be what he expected as, also, I was raised to be. I went into my relationship with him intellectually - as did he - and somewhere in the middle of it, we decided to go deeper and we did.

I did, anyway. I can't speak for him.

I opened up like I never have before. I shared more than I have ever shared with anyone. I was terrified.

But this place - this man - was the wrong place, wrong man. Wrong venue. Wrong everything.

Things like I've gone through don't happen in pretty white houses with blue shutters and picket fences so sharing my truth, my experiences, my pain and my disorders was too much for him. On some level I get that. In fact, on some level...in some part of me, I kind of expected it. Nobody, I suppose (or, at least, nobody like him) should be expected to understand what I was going through.

Still, I hoped. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

I'm not "over it" and won't be for a long time. Sharing such deep, hidden wounds with someone for the first time, only to go through what I went through with him, caused some serious damage to me.

But I love him still. I miss his scent. I miss how he (almost) always woke up in a good mood. I miss how he misspeaks words because of his Italian heritage. I miss his hands.

I miss him.

My intention in sharing my story is not to trash him or anyone. I hope this comes across loud and clear.

I sometimes have angry blogs, yes, but I am human and writing is my venue. I don't know how to speak - yet.

But I will one day.

And I'm sure one day, I will look back on this whole thing and be able to pluck from it, things I've learned...things I can take away from it. But for now, I am beyond hurt. Just crushed. Promises are important to me and many, many promises were broken. A lot of trust was betrayed.

I've never claimed to be an angel and I've publicly aired my own transgressions. I just never posted them on FB but they're there. For example, My Current Truth is my blog about how horrible I felt.....what a monster I felt like as he was doing "his thing."

I felt like a monster, an outcast, some kind of ....trash as he told me the things he told me he was telling others. Nothing and nobody could hurt me more than myself, beating myself up.

Even today, I had a "friend" beat me up over an incident that happened during this time.

It's my hope that in the end, I'll be able to show my face again and not be afraid. But as for love....as for relationships.... I understand I must first heal myself.

My blog is one piece of that.

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.