I am having an interesting time with myself. I work for a few hours, and then I listen to a sad song and sob. I work for a few hours, and then I call a friend and tell my story. I work some more.
I'm ok, but nothing feels real. I'd hoped by getting away from my husband for a while, I'd start to be able to know what was real and what wasn't. The most hurtful thing for me in living with his addiction was the lying...and specifically the lying that was meant to twist my understanding of reality. When protecting his addiction is more important to my husband than my sanity, I have to retreat. I did the right thing.
But nothing feels real over here yet, either. It's not different from the before time, this after time. I'm still longing for him. I'm still in pain. I still don't know right and wrong, good and bad, up and down.
I want to be a super-villain. I kind of want to unleash my rage on the world, make everyone pay who ever made me wonder what was real. The super-villain I'd be would have knives for fingers, and I'd use those knives to shape the world the way I wanted it.
I want my husband. I don't know who he is. I want my mother, just not the woman who is my mother. I want to go home, but I don't know where I'd find it.
Sometimes, I feel so supported. I feel little bubbles coming up from deep inside me, buoying me against the heavy, heavy weight. It's my higher power, and each of you sending me kind words were riding on one of those little bursts. I couldn't keep moving without that feeling. Thank you.
Now playing: Duffy - Warwick Avenue