Jesus People at My Door

(I didn’t answer btw)

Today and the past few weeks have shown some normalization of life and how different a year later can move you through different stages.

I still struggle with the anxiety thanks to the ex-husband, depression has held on through some trying changes.  There is still work to undo the tangled up mess he left when he decided that being the person and living a life worthy of being forgiven wasn’t his cup  of crack…err..tea.

Another week, another Sunday.  A little less than a year ago I was manhandled by the therapist who was bringing me to join a softball team.  Fuck him.  I so wanted to play, I never thought I would and I was so angry in some misconstrued way that he facilitated it.  The whole concept of meeting new people and building a life separate and apart from the horrendous marriage I still had so wanted desperately to salvage at that time… I was chasing the image of the ghost of a man that probably never even existed.

In retrospect, I wasn’t accustomed to follow through and was still working on building relationships with healthy levels of trust.  It would have been easier if I was angry at him, vs. him letting me down and being left with those shitty feelings.

Fucking asshole.

As the therapist said shortly thereafter – you know, cause you’ve got to talk that shit out and ‘process..’ fuck off…  “Everyone that was supposed to protect me, didn’t, they hurt me”.

There is a deep level of truth there and that level of truth was being accepted as seeing the failing of my than husband, he failed at the most important adult relationship ones supposed to have.  He didn’t protect, he hurt.

Monday used to be my favorite day of the week, it was one of 3 days we’d have family based and Monday was always my most therapeutic.  I miss those Mondays… it was the day I’d throw the softball around with the therapist, or we’d go and have batting and fielding practice.  I lucked out because he was a good at the sport and had played as a pitcher.  He and I would talk and those Mondays were sacred to me.

I’m sure the therapist knew that, he knew I was an “asshole”, being a therapist and all…there is that.  It took me back to one of my most favorite things and one of the few happy childhood memories I had.  Playing ball.  We played ball but make no mistake, there was intense therapy going on.

Those mother fuckers pushed me well past my limits, my comfort zones and because, by sheer luck, we got them and not another team – Is why I believe to my core, that they we key factors that changed our family dynamic at the highest stress points we’d faced.

We’d have gotten here regardless, but the road would have been far bloodier on the way.

Today was not some big monumental thing, not a big hurdle to get over.  It was Sunday batting practice.  That I went to, with people I don’t really know.

Today, I got to know those people better.  I got to *feel* like a normal person doing something they enjoy.  No manhandling to force me to the other side of hard shit.

I went to batting practice bright and early at 8 AM. It wasn’t therapy, it wasn’t uncomfortable or forced.

It just was.



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