I've officially been out of my house (and essentially out of my relationship for two weeks).
This is not how I imagined my life.
Five years and nine days (and now two weeks) later here I am.
And it's fascinating the things you find out after someone leaves your life. Like your friends who knew something was wrong for the past year or so. Or that your friends didn't like how he spoke to me.
I have a friend's significant other (that doesn't make this person gay or unmarried, I am just protecting the innocent, so everyone will be referred to as a significant other) that told me that I never looked like I was bothered by him. Of course, someone else told me that I always rolled by eyes when he said something that bothered me. I remember the eye-rolling more than the not being bothered.
What I'm learning is that I was living in a vacuum. I thought that I was the only one who knew that he was saying insulting things to me. I didn't see that our relationship was contaminating the outside world. I didn't think people could hear us or see us or that they knew what I was experiencing. The same friend's S.O. said that I handled myself with Grace when he was around and didn't let him feel embarrassed for making a fool out of himself.
They say love is blind. It's also deaf. And mute. Love is like Helen Keller. I should start a t-shirt line.
I thought I was protecting him. From what? From himself? Was I trying to protect myself?
I decided that I wouldn't bash him in this blog. See? I'm still protecting him.
What I'm finding out as I'm going through this process of putting my life together again (two weeks in--staying strong) is that it was so obvious to everyone that something was wrong. And we would--
SORRY, need to interrupt. He just sent me a cancelled appointment over Microsoft Outlook for something we were supposed to do over Thanksgiving weekend. I just clicked "Remove From Calendar." This is how we communicate now. We haven't spoken this entire time. Just a lot of angry texts and emails. But more on that soon enough.
So we would do this thing where we fancied ourselves characters in a Noel Coward play where we would quip back and forth. So sophisticated and literate, hurling bon mots back and forth. One thing I said to him early on in our relationship was that we would not become George and Martha. Not Washington, but from the play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf." Bon mots.
I didn't want the fighting to get ugly or the insults to start hurling. And eventually we went from Coward to Albee. I also knew that if my anger got deep enough, I'd tear him down. If you knew who he was and asked him, he would laugh. He didn't think I had it in me. But I wasn't interested in that. Even post-breakup I'm trying to be graceful. Or protective. Oh, who the hell knows the difference anymore?
What else am I noticing, now that I've got some distance? I'm noticing a lot of people are telling me that they're proud of me. I'm also noticing that a lot of people I know have been through the same thing. And I never knew it. I only thought that the members of the support group I used to visit had my problems. Now I know that other people I know share the same experience.
I'm coming out all over again.
The people who tell me they are proud of me are the ones who have been there. These words, "I'm proud of you", were first met by shock. As in, "What did I do to make you proud?" Or, "It's not that big a deal." I do that a lot. Diminish myself.
That reminds me, need to call my therapist and get back into therapy.
But that's what I do. I think or pretend that my accomplishments are no big deal. Like anyone could get a full ride to a graduate writing program at NYU. Or anyone could decide that they've had enough of an emotionally abusive relationship. Wait, my relationship was emotionally abusive? What? Again, deaf. It's only through the process of opening up and starting to talk and share stories that I'm having new kinds of shock.
Those shocking moments are getting filed under the heading: "Wait, you mean that I'm NOT crazy?" No, buddy, there's a whole history of people who you could actually learn from if you just opened your mouth and shared your pain and confusion. Instead of swallowing it whole. Time to stop ignoring that gag reflex. Choke on it a little bit. That gag reflex is trying to tell you something.
Stop deep throating your pain. Not a phrase you're going to hear from a therapist, trust me. Although, it would be awesome if that was a piece of advice.
Listen, you need to pay attention when you experience resistance. If your eyes are watering or you're choking, there's something wrong. If you feel discomfort, that's a sign.
Stop deep throating your pain.
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