Therapy Homework

Take 2, this was tasked to me last week and I successfully shifted it to the back burner of avoiding.  Therapy is a weekly occurrence, homework undone gets reassigned.sleeping woof

I’m supposed to write, hash out the possible reasons.  It isn’t right or wrong, black or white.  I don’t know the answer, but I’ll attempt my homework and perhaps it will be yet another stepping stone to peel back layers of who exists underneath the chaos my life has been.

I haven’t had time to write anything in a while, our annual camping trip and my sister’s wedding took a huge chunk of July.  The story of my sisters is worthy of its own blog post, as is my sister’s wedding…

For now, I’ll do my ‘homework’, it consists of why I feel the safest in the arms the very last person I should.  A gluten for punishment, a perpetual victim, lack of substantial boundaries, stupidity, reality or disillusion?  Yes and no to all in some degree… probably.

The short of it, my marriage mirrors my childhood.  Because nothing with me is ever simple, my marriage is someone from my childhood, a piece of my childhood that was always good.

I married a man I love to this day.  A man I don’t think I will ever not love and getting to the point where I am ok to verbalize I do still love him to the world took work, a lot of work.  I carried shame that I loved someone like that, when the world can judge him on a newspaper article- it’s easy to see the bad part that way.  Everyone can so quickly and so easily pat me on the back and give me a treat for my noble deed of pressing charges when he was strung out and tried to shove me out a closed second story window.

I’m strong.  If I have to hear that one more time…

Is that the answer I’m supposed to be mulling around?  Is that why?

If given a chance to fall asleep in his arms, if I could catch a pocket of time when he isn’t drinking or on something that I would take it in a heartbeat…

Am I still profoundly connected even though I’m profoundly not?

Is there an answer to why I feel safest with the person who has hurt me the most, hurt me more than my family of origin?

This is the man who could have done more damage to me than I think I’ve reconciled on an emotional level.  No need to delve into feelings when I can skim on the surface, falsely maintaining a sense of control by staying analytical.

I, too, see what everyone else does.  I’ve read the same newspaper article over and over, I’ve filled in what the reporter missed in my head countless times.  I get it.

Why would I still happily curl up beside him, fall asleep on him given a chance if he were clean…?  Why would I be stupid enough to love him, or want that when he ripped my life apart?  When all of this destroyed a marriage and we have both moved on?

Am I clear cut case of a domestic abuse victim?  Possibly, it checks more boxes than it doesn’t.

Or does it run deeper on a subconscious level?  He was a treasured piece of my childhood, my childhood memories of him run deep and good.

I didn’t just marry who he was on 10/19, although 10/19 took so much and 10/19 was the defining moment I wish I could erase from existence.  I can’t.

That day started a cascade of change, a hell that took more than I ever thought I had to climb out of.

A violent thrust back to the chaos eerily close to my childhood.  Just like my childhood riddled with alcoholics, I had no choice but to survive it.

Rivaling the pieces of me that love all of who he was before Oct is anger at him for not having the fight one would need to not let it destroy him and his marriage.  Both feelings I’m at peace with, for the most part.

That day took away the one person who didn’t see me for having come out of my childhood well enough to blend into the appearance of socially acceptable normalcy.

He was a kid, just like me.  We played, went to the movies, had ice cream at Dairy Queen and saw the Red Sox play at Fenway.

I didn’t have to be strong with him.  I could be me.

Maybe that is why I say the safest place I’ve felt was in the very moments where one is lulled between awake and asleep, those are the moments where I didn’t have to keep up what everyone else sees, where I wasn’t a mother, an employee, a friend… I was weak, vulnerable and able to non-verbally say I need to be held because he was the only one who knew the child in me, because he was a good piece of a childhood.

Those were the moments it was ok to be weak.

I’m 10 months in, those nights are not my everyday life anymore.  I fall asleep with my dog, I don’t know where he falls asleep each night.

This is my life now, can you love and hate, live in a dichotomy at its purest?  Does living in a contradiction negate the one for the other?  I don’t know.

My homework is done.  I miss what was lost and I should have people in my life that can stand beside me at a window and not throw me out it.

Substance abuse sucks.  That’s the moral of my story, that is not a dichotomy – it’s reality.




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