The anger therapist said he could see how we ended up together.
Yeah, I already got that. I saw how we could make a good fit together when we shared life stories, at least, as far as any realityof what he bothered to share. That was one reason I thought we had a chance. We had similar enough backgrounds to relate with each other, to have compassion for each other, to accept each other.
What a joke.
Ha ha haha ha.
I’m crying inside.
He had lost weight for himself. He was living independently. He had friends. He understood counseling. How fidelity was so important, and exactly why it was important. How relationships needed communication. How he was interested in spirituality. What a load of shit. As soon as he ‘got the girl’, he dumped all that and ran straight back to lust and addiction. Those pretty words had served their purpose. That facade had done its work. That was all he really cared about. Words were easy. Truth was impossible. When the fear came, when someone reached for him, he caved, and pulled away, and just pretended, left his stand in like a shadow while he pulled into his lust and food and thrill of fear and hate. His gaining weight just as SOON as we started dating should have been a huge red flag, but I didn’t understand. His smoking should have been a red flag, but I have been able to quit, and so have other people, and he seemed in control of his life. He seemed like he had found a place for himself in the world where he was accepted and had learned to accept himself. Just a facade. Just a lie to cover up the self hate, the blaming, the judging, the hatred of other people, the hatred of women, his deep pain from his mother and father, his hatred of the man he had to see in the mirror, the rage he refused to face.
What I do not ‘get’, what I do not accept, is someone who can so readily delude and lie. If his brain is truly so broken, head brain, heart brain, body brain, so incapable of talking himself out of acts which not only damage himself, but deeply damage others, than nothing changes. Brains can change. Brains must WANT to change. Desparate desparate like electric shock therapy change. I don’t think they can be changed in these little bitty increments of talk therapy and meetings and crying. Too little, far too late.
Am I merely trying to rationalize having chosen this fate? Am I just trying to explain away choosing someone with a deep cruel streak that I chose to accept, and all the potential consequences therein? Am I trying to claim innocence in believing that someone with that depth of self hatred that I surely sensed would actually ever be really, truly NICE to me? That I played a dangerous game, and lost?
Ok, I get some of that. A small piece of me was willing to take that chance. A small piece may have wanted to be hurt. YET – everyone has darkness. To not acknowledge that is to be stupid. I do believe that I really did believe that he wouldn’t act out so cruelly on his darkness. That he wouldn’t beat me up behind my back. That vast majority of me really did think a life with him would be a good one. A together one.
That he loved me.
Three days alone in a cave. Womb home. Brain straining and screaming for lack of input, all the ghosts coming home, all the wounds draining, all the patterns unraveling. Reset. Reboot. Restart. Rebirth.
I want that, so much. I wish he wanted that, so he could find real brain change.
I wonder what I need to change.
I feel very disconnected right now. That new person perhaps trying to unfold. She isn’t fully realized yet. She hasn’t taken over any functions except for day to day, trying to have compassion in the face of unrelenting fear, and not stressing over the fact that she is dealing with a dry drunk, an active addict, day after day after day. It hurts. But she can say she is sorry for lashing out and have a baseline of real compassion behind it rather than just words she is forcing herself to say. She will be a tricky puzzle to piece together, a feat of mind bending proportions. I am a pretty good mental contortionist, however. Somewhere I created a sense of safety for myself. Somewhere I learned how to bond, if not really appropriately, I learned how to care for someone else and mean it. I look back on my childhood and see the damage, but don’t really see the big deal. Everyone is damaged. Born in a manger. Raised by wolves. Thrown into the sea. Not an excuse to beat up other people just because someone else beat you up.
I ‘get’ the trauma. I ‘get’ the dissociation. I ‘get’ the stuck in a developmental stage. I’ get’ the brain damage from years of abuse during critical developmental periods of self. None of that excuses or can rationalize or can justify acts which beat someone else up. So, leave, if you can’t be faithful. Leave, if you know what you are doing hurts the other person. Have those eternal internal battles of ‘this is the last time, really the last!’ alone, without dragging other people through hell. But no, just selfish children, too damaged to give a damn about another human being, too incomplete to play in the shit all alone.
His brain is broken. His heart is broken. His soul is broken. His perception is broken. Broke, broker, broken.
Robot. Broken record. Computer programming stuck in a loop. Garbage in, garbage out. And more garbage in. And more garbage. And more! Never enough garbage to fill the void! Round and round and round. Too unaware to even interrupt the flow, too heartless to even care enough to try. Just a loop. Don’t listen to that voice that says stop!, just do it anyway. Loopdeloop. Round and round. What EVER. Zombiebot. Humans have been trying to break each other’s spirits for thousand of years to create the perfect automaton, do as I say, feel nothing, ask nothing. Wars. Abuse. Parents upon children. Slaves. Men upon women. Power. Resources. I take mine from you, you take yours from them, pass the pain on down the line….
I guess that sums it up, too. If someone is willing to put another person through that kind of hell, they are incapable of loving that person. Need, consume, depend upon, sure. Love? No way. Love really is about how you treat another person, not what you want from them. Love is wanting that person’s best interests, even if you have to leave the picture because you ain’t it. Love is giving up something that is damaging to that other person because you deeply care about their well being.
I have compassion, and I have terror. That I believed someone that empty, that zombied out by life. That broken that they don’t really give a damn about anyone or anything. Wow. That is so sad. Now, STOP using that pity to manipulate me! Damn you! So sorry, the little boy act always works, gets that positive feedback, gets them off the back, looking away, leave me alone, I didn’t just do that, you didn’t see that, you are all just out to get me, I’m the good sad little boy, now get off my back…. Loopdeloop.
I wonder what emotional stages I am stuck in? As a teacher, as a synthesis mind teacher, I learned about all these stages years ago. I grew up knowing most of them. I was aware of where I might be stuck, what issues I was dealing with. I know I need to take a deeper look, again, write it up, although I do worry that may miss some elements and lock in place others, make some too real and neglect equally critical aspects. Better to do than not, I suppose.
I just don’t understand how I ended up with this level of cruelty, addiction, self hate and insanity.
No, no, no, not ME. I didn’t DO that! You’re the liar! Cause I SAID so! So THERE!
I really thought he was so much more than he is.
I don’t know who he is.
Fooled me good….
Fool me once…..
Shame on you…
Well, I don’t know who I am anymore either. If you can’t join ’em, destroy ’em. If the counselor tries to pull the codependency shit I will blow a gasket. I know when I am feeling defensive and need to listen up to what the other person is saying. I know when I am being insulted and dismissed. I know when to stand up for myself, and this codependency crap is one of those places. Trauma? Sure. Trauma bonding? Done that. Needing some addict drama and promises and covering up and pretending nothing is wrong? Not, didn’t do that, not doing that,don’t want to do that. Gloss over the level of uncertainty? Yep. Thought that was part of the sacrifices in a relationship, a marriage. Cover up, try to control him, wrap my life around his problems? No. I didn’t.
Why I chose him, at least, who I thought he was? Sure. No problem. Why he turned out to be a broken sex addict? NOT!
He only feels safe when he is completely alone.
I wonder how I used to feel safe?
Robot girl for a robot boy.
Which child felt safe?
Which child is he?
Which child am I?