Eat Pray Everything.

It’s the biggest cliche ever written, but Eat Pray Love changed my life.

It was never a book I considered reading.  I avoided it for months, despite Oprah’s urging that I should read read read!
But then, it was made into a movie and I figured at some point I probably would stumble across the film, and I’d be damned if I hadn’t read the book first.

I’d been married for long time by the time I picked it up.  I was unhappy, desperately lonely and living a loveless lie.

So I found this book, with no expectation.  I read in the bath, night after night, and by the time I’d finished Pray my heart had been split wide open.

I wanted to be seen.  I wanted to by seen by my God.  And I wanted to be loved and to be happy.  I wanted to be embraced and welcomed.

I felt cracked in two, with no one to turn to.  My husband had long ago turned his back on me.  I was a hole to be fucked and a body to be blamed.

I had no safe space.

So this book asked me the question I needed to ask my entire adult life.

“What do you want?”

“I want to be happy.”

“Can you be happy continuing to do what you’ve been doing?  Can you be happy here?”

I cried.  I cried a lot.  Anguish poured out of me.

“No.”

And for the first time in endless attempts to leave, I felt supported entirely.

I’d leave.  And I’d be ok.

I’ve not picked that book up since I read the last page 8 years ago.  I’ve not needed to.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not cured or less neurotic.  I’m not even sure I’m any better at relationships than I was before I read it.
But I am free.  Freer.

So you married a narcissist…

If there’s one thing guaranteed to fuck you up mentally, it’s being in a emotionally abusive relationship.  And if like me, you’re someone who’d rather push your feelings down instead of feeling them, you could find yourself in a very dark, very dangerous place.
Narcissists are master manipulators.  They twist situations, memories and words to their advantage.  They lie without conscience and will sabotage even the most important of people for their own gains.  Narcs have no insight into their own behaviour, and no intention of ever changing, no matter how many crocodile tears they spill.

Narcissists are incapable of love.  They are cheaters and thieves of time.  They are two faced, inappropriate and have no regard for other people’s space or belongings.
Narcissists do this, narcs do that.  It’s a complicated personality disorder and one I’ve gone round and round in my head about.

You see, I was married to one.  For a very long time.  For so long I thought I might be losing my mind.

In fact the narcs abuse is what prompted this whole renewed blogging journey (I’ve blogged before you know).

Because whilst I can see how damaging he is (I’m triggered by notifications on my phone, and the mere thought of having to speak to him can have me panicked for days), it’s how easy it was for him to control me that is really most interesting.
Don’t get me wrong.  I hated that fucker.  I wanted to smash his stupid face in.  He was cruel and dismissive and abusive.  He treated me like a piece of meat.  A handy piece of meat who could do every little thing he ever wanted, but also was a stupid bitch.

But I wanted to be in a good and happy marriage. I wanted the dream.  I wanted to be married to the man I thought he was.
So maybe if I was good, and did his bidding, he would see me.  Maybe he could love me.
Personally I see a pattern here.  A pattern of always trying to be for everyone else.  And never giving me a chance to be me.
You see, as a kid growing up, being caught out being yourself was pretty much the most humiliating thing that could happen to a person.

So, you become an empty shell.  And if you’re really unlucky one day you meet someone who sees that emptiness as an opportunity.  An opportunity to swallow you whole.

And before you know it, you’ve well and truly vanished.

 

 

 

I’m a middle aged schizoid

I’ve started therapy.  Not for the first time either.

The first was with my ex-husband.  Marriage counselling they called it.  I like to refer to it as “that time I sat in a room and poured every drop of pain out of my aching heart to a complete stranger. Oh and also the counselor”  This lasted approximately 10 sessions and resulted in several guilt driven shopping sprees courtesy of my ex husband’s credit card.
I got a lotta pairs of boots.

The second was counselling on my own.  Maybe I could fix me while still being in a broken relationship.  That’s do-able right?   We tackled CBT and how I needed to be more vulnerable with my husband.  Oh yeah and also while we’re talking about doing insane stuff, why not stick your head right in the lion’s mouth!!

The third time was more marriage counselling, but this time with a different husband.  A better husband.   I was scared by now as I started to suspect that the problem really was me.  In fact I knew it was and I was terrified my husband was going to throw me under the bus big time.
He didn’t.  Instead he held my hand.

This time, I’m hoping to prevent my own self -immolation.  There just seems to be very little space in my head.  No space for activities.  It’s mostly a buzzing of worry and anxiety and an endless attempt to be a good person.

My therapist (lets call him Hippy RF) says I have problems with emotional regulation.
And that’s the truth.  Also I will kill that son of a bitch and burn his house down!!