Be the bigger person. Let it go, let the past be the past – these are some of the things I was taught when it came to the wrongs I suffered in the past… from classmates, lovers, family. Forgive, even if they don’t change.
In some ways I succeeded well at that, at least on the surface. I didn’t realize that scars go deeper than the skin until I had this last series of serious depressed cycles. Of course, it’s always easier to see that from the outside, and I’m stuck in here, in XianeLand. But getting the diagnosis of PTSD made some things so much clearer to me, and now the work that should have been done in the past is much easier for me to address.
See, the forgiveness thing? It’s important, yes. It really is, for healing and moving forward. But if you strive to forgive without dressing the wounds and massaging the scars with salve, you’ll just create a deeper pain, one that appears in phantom form when you least expect it. [at least, in my experience. All this, in the Experience of Xiane. Take with blue pill as needed.]
One of the things I didn’t address properly is the mental residue left behind from the epically abusive relationship that I had with AR. As much as I wrote about it, journaled it out, talked to friends and lovers that came after… there’s still painful baggage there, and there probably always will be.
I wanted it to work. Of course, making it work would have meant that one of us had a fundamental change in personality, and that would never have happened. We are both too stubborn and – at least for me – changing would have meant accepting treatment that I barely lived with as it was. I allowed him to treat me, talk to me, control me in ways that I never had with anyone else, and I never ever should have allowed. Inside, I still have anger at myself for this, and anger at him that he thought it was acceptable to treat me in this way.
Now he’s with the woman that he cheated on me with for at least a year if not more, and they have two pretty daughters. I avoided having children with him even though both of us loved kids, because I knew that would just be another way to control me – as well as knowing that I could never be sure that he wouldn’t treat them badly, too. His anger issues, his need to control some
thingone was too open to predict fully. I could not trust him to not use our children as pawns.
Yet there’s this part of me that aches when I see those kids, when I remember the good bits of the relationship. [of course there were good parts, because even monsters have hearts.] Now, especially, when I feel that I’m too old to have a child of my own, especially one with my beloved husband who would give a child of our making so many wonderful gifts of intellect and wit… yeah. You know what I’m saying here.
We’ll adopt if we can, and it will be hard but hopefully good enough for the child to thrive and prosper. And we’ll be thrilled to be parents to someone who needed us, even if it’s only the second best solution zie could get.
Heh. Another glimpse into the funhouse mirror mind that’s my brain, y’all. This is what I think about while I sit at the airport and wait for my amazing husband to arrive.
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