So. I’m not over it.
And I wonder if I’ll ever will be.
Will this bitterness, this pain, this anger, ever, really, truly go away?
It’s all surfacing again.
And I can’t help it. Ignoring, or suppressing it, just doesn’t work. It gets at me at the oddest, most inopportune moments. I find myself telling a story and then wonder – why the hell did I just share that? What relevance did that have to the conversation?
None. But a word, a feeling – something reminded me of something and I needed to tell my story.
The grief. The hurt. They’re all still there. They’re less, of course. They’ve been blunted by time and space, but they haven’t gone away.
At any given moment, given half a chance, I may burst into tears. I am afraid I may act on impulse and do something I will regret in the next hour.
I’m angry with myself for still feeling this way. It’s been nearly 8 years, for fuck’s sake! Get over it!
How can I still be so messed up by what happened?
My psychologist would ask me – how long did the situation last? I would answer – 18 years.
And there is the perspective.
8 years to get over 18 years of abuse and 18 more months of lies, deceit and more abuse while the separation was prolonged.
Each time this comes back, it’s easier, less sharp, more distant. Easier to put in perspective, easier to pat back into slumber.
I will deal with it next time I see my therapist and she will ask me the questions and we will diminish the beast yet again. And then next time it comes back it will be smaller and less powerful.
I guess it will always be a part of me. Hopefully, one day, it will be a part of me that no longer hurts.