I choose for me.
He gets to choose for him.
He can do whatever he wants. He can say whatever he wants. He can act however he chooses. And I will decide, in the long term, if those are actions and decisions and words that I accept into my life. I evaluate and judge, for myself. I get to choose for me. Who he decides to become, who he is, that is his judgement. I do not judge his choices, only how they relate to my life, my values, my needs. He deeply misrepresented himself throughout this relationship to get his own way, to indulge whatever impulse came to his mind and justify those actions. I never wanted that in my life. Never. He knew that. He used that knowledge for his own selfish gain, to pretend he was someone else. Someone caring. Someone who shared my values. Someone I would want to bond my life with. But none of that was true. Dishonest. Selfish. Abusive. Broken. I, me, who I am, the person, I never mattered. I am just some sort of mirror for him to gaze upon the reflection of his false self and admire the golem of his handiwork.
And the destruction of himself. And that destroying himself wasn’t enough, not nearly good enough. Destroying others, now that shows just how mean your parents really were! See how bad I turned out! See how horrible I am and it is all someone else’s fault! Oh, my, gods.
I am arrogant. I am selfish. I am self centered. I must judge myself on how I bring those negatives into a relationship with an intimate partner. I am kind. I am generous. I am supportive. I must judge myself on these qualities as well. Which are strengths? Which are weaknesses? Which are weaknesses masquerading as strengths? Which are delusions? Which are solid? What is left of me?
Balance balance balance.
He is completely out of balance. He has thrown me completely off all balance. I fall. I die. I hurt. I cry. I trust no one. I can rely on no one. I am completely alone.
He so easily twists my words, his words, truth, actions, to fit whatever whim, whatever desire, whatever action he feels like taking. I twist reality to give him a break, to think better of him than his actions display, to give him benefit of doubt which he does not deserve. He only values that which he pays for dearly. Gifts are treated with disdain. I still see that, each time I offer something he swats it away. If he has to work like hell to get a hint of caring from someone, then he cherishes it. Poor boy who got so little love that he doesn’t know how to soak it in, only take snatches of good feeling on the run, then right back to the hate and fear. What’s that song? You take it on the run baby, if that’s the way you want it baby, then I don’t want you around. I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another you been messing around. Oh , my, gods. I cannot be who I am in this ‘relationship’, if I even know who that is. I cannot give him anything, yet I am supposed to offer him all this love and support and safety. But he only values that which is dearly bought.
I paid for his ‘recovery’, if that is anything beyond just another false front. I still pay. Every day. Every night. Every painful heartbeat.
I am not that generous.
I do not value lies. I do not value hypocrisy. I do not value rationalizations. I do not value secrecy. Is there anything I value which he has actually brought to this relationship? What does he really value? I mean, value as in truly live by it? Does he really value anything beyond his addictions and his frenetic highs and his massive lows and his drama and his self protection and his lies? Does he have any values that match with my values?
Does he even have a clue what values are beyond some word he read in a book?
I am being judgemental. Yes, I am. I allowed someone this selfish and cruel into my life. Into my heart. I must protect myself because he isn’t safe. I have compassion for my situation, for my pain, for my fear. Sometimes I can let it slide off. But I am losing so much sleep, still. I wake crying, still. I am so terribly lonely, deeply wounded, overwhelmingly afraid, still.
He asks how he can help, and I scream inside STOP LYING! TELL THE WHOLE TRUTH! STOP BLAMING AND DUMPING YOUR SHIT AND MAKING ME CARRY YOUR LOAD! STOP TAKING OUT YOUR SHIT ON OTHER PEOPLE SO YOU GET A MINUTE OF HIGH! STOP OBSESSING AND BEING AN ADDICT! Stop being him? Is that what I am really asking? Be the lie you pretended to be?
But he isn’t. He is just whatever he is. Whatever that is.
I don’t want to be him! I so didn’t want to be them! I so tried to change and be happier, freer, more joyful! I don’t want to accept his gift of cruelty! I don’t want to give back, pass on, practice, all the pain, all the abuse he chose to beat me up with!
His gifts were false. His ‘gifts’ came with a thousand strings attached. His gifts were smoke screens and distractions to keep anyone from seeing the lust filled, hateful, resentful, demanding, angry, out of control little child which refused to grow up. Doesn’t even know how to grow up. Doesn’t know what it means. Is so twisted that it doesn’t know any difference.
I noted that when he got angry with me, confrontational, I became calm. I became giving. Am I conditioned to give if someone lashes out at me? Or do I feel relief at seeing emotions coming out of him? Why would I become calmer and more open because he pulled an abusive style anger? Do I feel in control that now I can offer something to him, that I have a sense of reaching out? That I am familiar with that kind of lashing out and know how to respond? Misery loves company? Eh? I don’t understand. But I think it is important. I know I felt calmer after yelling with my son, not AT him, WITH him. Maybe it is that kind of reaction? An emotional release, and I was vicariously responding? Clearing the air? That is possible. Emotions out rather than bottling them up and boiling and sizzling inside. Honest expression of emotions. That is a gift I gave my son.
What gifts would I give myself?
Wisdom. Honesty. Hope. Love. Safety. A place to cry. Arms to wrap around me which really cared. A warm big bed to sleep and sleep and sleep and be healed when I awoke. A muse of my very own. Tears of joy.
This is the season for giving. But some see it as the season for getting. I get that. I am just so tired.