Too Bright Spotlight

I had my first real migraine yesterday.

What does that say about me?

I always figured that migraines were from suppressed emotions, despair, self loathing.  Pushing it down until the body fought back.  I now had a migraine.  Dancing bright lights, loss of vision, headache, nausea, the works.  Stress, stress, soul searing pain taking itself out on the body.  I am terrified there will be more.

I am trying to make a relationship work with someone who abused me.

What does that say about me?

I always figured that women who stayed with their abusers must have some deep need to be abused, that they were filled with despair, self loathing.  Pushing away their own self esteem in the hope that this person wasn’t the person they really were, but the person they kept saying they were despite all evidence written on the women’s damaged body.  My spirit is what is deeply damaged, my entire inner world.  He was just too careful and fearful to act out his inner hatred of women in more obvious ways.

I am feeling so weak and small when I spent my life trying to build my inner strength.

What does that say about me?

I always figured that people, all people, wore a mask at some level.  That they felt vulnerable and childlike in some way, somewhere, at some time, among at least some people.  How that wasn’t bad, or abnormal, or shameful, just how it was sometimes.  Now I feel weak and lost and fraudulent all the time.  I feel like I wear a ‘kick me’ sign around men, that they can smell my fear and my pain and dive in for the kill, like wolves on a wounded deer.  I haven’t the strength to go out into the world anymore.

I am clinging and panicky and helpless when I don’t know what he is doing.

What does that say about me?

I always figured that people should be able to take care of themselves, and just be better together, not more, not less.  I used to be independent.  I wanted him to be independent.  I wanted a close relationship where we could be successful and self reliant and individuals yet connected and bonded.  That our Us was a place where we could feel secure together and explore the world both together and apart, because we knew the other person was always our home base, our safe place, our beloved other.  Now I just feel less.  Less person, less alive, less everything.

I didn’t use to care what other people thought.  I cared what I thought.  I use to look in the mirror, and I might not like the way I looked, or didn’t always take care of myself, or didn’t always complete what I started, but I was proud of the person I was, how I had made myself more than I had been as a child.  I really liked myself, loved myself and enjoyed myself as a person.

I only cared what one other person, one single person on this planet really thought of me.  And that person turned out only to fear me, and dismiss me as a person, and target me as part of their abuse of all women. 

I never, never, never wanted to be one of those broken women who puts up with abuse and buries themself beneath the weight of their own pain.  I worked so hard to rise above, to understand, to accept and move beyond the pain of my family.

This is the worst pain I have ever endured, and rather than rise above and show my strength and survive with my dignity and my self love intact, instead I have broken.


I can’t find the pieces to put back together.  I can’t seem to create any semblance of the kind of person I can be proud of.  For this year I could barely look at my body, torture to actually have to touch it.  Now I can barely look at myself in the mirror, meet my eyes with anything like respect.  Only when I pull down the goddess and look through her eyes do I see someone with anything I care to look at.  But I, myself, ego/spirit/soul, feel nothing, because I fear I would hate myself for allowing, bringing myself to this place of pain.  Despite my convictions, despite my principles, despite my self work and at all expense of my sense of self worth.

What does that say about me?

Does it really matter?  Is it just the agony of ego when it realizes it failed, that all is useless, that there is nothing more?  Is that the point of letting go, because ‘that’s just life, get over it?’  That people choose to believe that nothing really matters in this life because it is too painful to stay truly connected, and a deliberate pulling away from our own emotions is the only way to survive without going insane?

That I can’t find any sweet in all this bitterness, yet I would tout myself a Taoist.  I don’t feel the sweetness.  I don’t feel anything.  If it weren’t for my son I really don’t think I would still be here, still be trying, still be existing on this plain.

What does that say about me, to me?


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