Stages of Grief

I am mourning my marriage, I acknowledge that. As that popular animated film K-pop Demon Hunters song "Free" said, "We can't fix it if we never face it". So here I am, facing my shame, defeat, and failure. 

Except the survivor in me is protesting those emotions. Why should I feel shame? Why should I claim defeat and failure? I did nothing wrong. I did everything right. I was supportive. I faced my partner's issues. I begged him to fix it. I asked him to heal himself. I left so he wouldn't have to stress about taking care of me (and also because his silence and his ignoring me were becoming unbearable. It was emotional abuse, and he didn't know any better. I left because this was a deal breaker for me.) 

Anyway, I even gave him the tools he needed to heal, d@mn it! I wasn't the spoiled wife we liked to show in public at all. I was slowly teaching him the tools to help him feel more secure and handle adversities on his own. I made him feel secure. I was the least troublesome wife there was. I humored him, kept things interesting, tried not to be too demanding (except for food and the number of hugs he had to give daily). I even got him a dog, despite my allergies. 

If this feels like a rant post, it probably is. It just feels so unfair to do almost everything right and still fail spectacularly. So, after 3 years of crying and heartache, I'm on the anger stage. My weirdness really comes out in the strangest times. This emotion usually comes in the beginning stages of grief, not at the tail end. Maybe it's because things have been in limbo for so long my patience has worn thin. And as more people are aware of my situation, the injustice of it all is making me feel annoyed and mad at him for being so slow in the uptake. Like why do I have to suffer his emotional incompetence? He's not the only one with childhood trauma in this relationship. I handled my shit long before he came to the scene. I deserve the same courtesy.  

 

Random Rants 1

I was having a nice week so far some time ago when one my Facebook notices almost had me spiralling out of control. A cousin who had molested me as a child wanted to join my network as a friend.

What the hell? He ruined my life decades ago and now he wants to connect with me? Is he out of his mind? I so wanted to hunt him down right then and there and slash him to ribbons without any regrets. I spent years distrusting the opposite sex. I ended relationships in my head long before they had any chance of blooming just because I was afraid they'd discover I wasn't lily-white. I grew up feeling bad about knowing about the birds and bees long before I should have discovered about it naturally. I made so many mistakes I shouldn't have. I grew up feeling dirty and guilty. And it wasn't my fault.

I studied human behavior because I wanted to understand myself and maybe learn how to heal. As a teenager, I flinched at almost every contact with the opposite sex. I shrugged off friendly arms on my shoulders. I stood stiffly at every hug. I even squirmed away from a non-threatening affectionate gesture from our community priest because he was a male. In my mind, I knew they meant me no harm but childhood trauma teaches you otherwise. I had male friends, sure, but I kept them at a distance. After a while, I realized I was not going anywhere with anyone unless I fixed myself. I needed to learn how to trust again.

Unfortunately, not a lot of people knew about my problem. I think only my mother, my aunt and that wastrel son of hers knew about it. My mother thought I was this normal kid trying to make good (it didn't help I was known for winning most of the competitions I joined in grade school and high school). I couldn't tell her my problems.

Fortunately, solitude, time, learning and a lot of understanding from friends have a good way of helping one heal. After years of silence, I finally told my closest friends about my secret. Thankfully, they accepted me the same way and they never changed their view of me. I think some of them promptly forgot about that fact soon after because they figured it didn't matter anyway. I am grateful for that. I just wish it was easier for me to forget as well. Unfortunately, it isn't easy because it still drives my behavior towards men.

The funny thing about being a victim is the feeling of guilt. As much as well-meaning counselors, family, friends and significant others tell you it's going to be alright, it never quite feels so. Because if it was going to be alright, why did it happen in the first place? Being molested, or whatever traumatic event that happened in one's life, even if one wasn't physically hurt, gives you this message that you are not safe. All your innocence or the things that made you secure, are suddenly wrenched away from you. No amount of showering and scrubbing yourself would ever rid you of that ugly feeling.

No matter how one looks so put-together, it takes a lot of effort not to shatter. If my experience is any indication, it can take a lifetime of assurances and love to heal. I don't know how I survived except I knew I wanted to live and to do so, I had to fix myself. Even if I did heal so haphazardly with a lot of glue and duct tape and help friends who didn't mind I was this flawed being, the thing was I still lived. And still living and loving.