I know I have a lot to be grateful for. Despite struggling with chronic Fibromyalgia pain and having built my daily life around that, I can still do a lot of stuff. I have my art and my writing, I have my cats and my son. I recently connected with quite a few kindred spirits and people I have come to know as friends, even though I never met them and chances are slim I ever will. But these people, these friends, have been helping me carry some of my heaviest burdens yet. Because this Fibromyalgia that has taken over much of the previous me, together with the now far less debilitating Colitis, is thought to be a result of the trauma I endured as a child, and that has continued its destruction through my choice of husband.
I know many people do not get me. And truth be told, there are times I do not even get me. Since my divorce, an escape out of a marriage that turned so scary and dark that my now therapist confirms I got out in the nick of time, I had a lot of questions, the most important one being WHY. I never understood why my husband turned on me the way he did. He changed so sneakily, first after we got married (and I recall myself asking him if his mask finally had fallen off), but then far more drastically after we got our son. It felt as if I had done what he had chosen me for: give him a child to prove both his manhood and his ability as a family man. It was all about him. He texted one of his exes, with a picture of him holding his newborn: "See I can do it?" It was one of the first things he did, after having his folks know they were grandparents anew.
I could write a book about the disastrous time following the birth of our son. Suffice to say I was discarded, neglected, abandoned while still married. No more hugging, no more kissing, no more quiet evenings together in the couch watching TV. He put himself out of the family system, turning to video games and secretive behaviour on his phone. He'd nearly push me off the stairs when I got down to prepare our baby's night feed, he'd systematically and physically put himself between me and my child, pretending it was out of care and concern for me - as I struggled really hard to recover both physically and mentally from the birth; it took me 2.5 years to finally heal body wise. It took me 4.5 years more to finally call the married life quits and get myself and my son, then nearly 7) into safety.
But during that period of trying to make things work, of tugging the dead horse, it hit me how much his behaviour resembled my mother's, especially the ignoring of needs, the stonewalling, the gaslighting - concepts I now know, but back then, I thought everything was my fault, just as he indicated, and just as the two couple counselors and my own (former) therapist insisted on telling me: I was the one that wanted too much, I expected too much, and besides, my husband was diagnosed with Autism (according to him, he did see the psychiatrist the GP referred him to, but I only have his word for that).
Anyhow, it got me thinking. Not at first, but later, after the divorce. I started doing research. I got in touch with people, now friends, who helped me see, the Out of the Fog, the dynamics of narcissism. Recently, my son - now almost 10 - confirmed his father is acting in ways that he recognizes, the ways he used to act with me. I am trying to teach my boy about the dynamics, and hand him the tools he can use to deal with the capriciousness of his father, the unpredictability and the emotional blackmailing. His father has been making himself wanted by not wanting to spend time with his son, so that now his son is asking, close to begging him for it. And then the "good man" suddenly mellows and states, of course we can do this together. It results in the boy preferring to do most outdoor events that are organised by school or sports club with his father, even on days he is with me. And though I understand, I really do, it hurts me like hell.
It also throws me back to my childhood, where my mother would beat me and scold me for never being good enough, being such a disappointment and so unlovable that one ought to be out of his mind to give me any attention. My mother used to compare me constantly, to my brother, to my classmates, to children of her friends and those of my father's colleagues. I never ever was good enough. The first time I got an 8/10 for a test in 3rd grade, I was so scared to go home - scared of the beatings, scared of the insults - I started crying in class. Teacher did not understand, visited my parents, and it was concluded I was a perfectionist.
And those memories, those flashbacks bring also the night terrors, the panic attacks, the anxiety that has a huge impact on both my personal as my social life, as I start to question EVERYTHING. It is frightening to be in the middle of it, see it happen, feel it burn, and not be able to do anything about it. It is scary to feel the urge to write messages to friends and give them an excuse to abandon the friendship. It is a trauma response, so deeply embedded, so intensely entwined with how I see myself, that it will take a very long time to re-learn, to heal. But my new therapist, specialized in trauma, who I have been seeing since May last year, has both great patience and trust in me. And the friends that will still have me, share that feeling. I should always remember that. I am not a lost case.
And those memories, those flashbacks bring also the night terrors, the panic attacks, the anxiety that has a huge impact on both my personal as my social life, as I start to question EVERYTHING. It is frightening to be in the middle of it, see it happen, feel it burn, and not be able to do anything about it. It is scary to feel the urge to write messages to friends and give them an excuse to abandon the friendship. It is a trauma response, so deeply embedded, so intensely entwined with how I see myself, that it will take a very long time to re-learn, to heal. But my new therapist, specialized in trauma, who I have been seeing since May last year, has both great patience and trust in me. And the friends that will still have me, share that feeling. I should always remember that. I am not a lost case.
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