I have no idea how I ever let things get as bad as they did. Or have. I've come up with excuses like: "Love", "Duties", "Marriage", "Friendship", and "Anger". I've told myself countless times that they're just words. Sometimes they're necessary. They allow you to become thick skinned. They usually mean nothing to me because the person's opinion, who spews the hurtful words at me, doesn't matter. Doesn't affect me. "No skin off my nose," I say. But sometimes it's a bit jarring when the words come from someone you care about. Someone who you trust with your heart. It can feel a lot like sticking your hands into iced water. Sometimes that hurt causes you to crack. You feel deserving of that treatment. Of those words. Because here stands a person who holds your trust, and they wouldn't be breaking you down like this if it wasn't deserved, would they? And each time it happens, each time something is said, it feels like you're running your heart over splinters.
If you've been here with me for awhile, you know that it's been one hell of a year. You know how devastated I was. How awful I felt about the state of my marriage. You know about what I went through. And I've even given a few examples of the colorful words I had yelled at me repeatedly before. Y'all know. So when I started counseling, and my counselor told me that it was a form of abuse I just brushed it off. "They're just words Drew," I would say when he'd suggest it. My husband didn't mean what he was saying. He was just angry. He was just lashing out. He wasn't himself. Then I wrote this post about taking responsibility for your actions, and how some people would weigh in on the matter by dismissing what he had done (physically) on the grounds that he was not sober. My response was usually along the lines of "Well, now wait, that still doesn't make it okay. Maybe easier to forgive, but not okay." So why in the world was I making excuses for the verbal insults? You see, what I didn't mention then is how that particular treatment never stopped. How even sober those words would still get used. Before the separation, and even after we decided to try working through things. Maybe it wasn't as frequent as before. Maybe there were apologies given afterwards. But it never fully stopped.
I can sit here, and make excuses until I'm blue in the face. I can sit here, and turn a blind eye like I've always done in the past. I can sit here, and proclaim love as the reason for why I tolerate it. Some would agree that I'm doing the right thing by working through this while others would want to shake me as they simultaneously tell me to run. "Go! Get away. Why would you put up with this?" And the honest to God truth is that I have no idea yet. Subconsciously, somewhere buried really fucking deep, is the answer. But I haven't dug far enough down to figure it out. I have no idea why I allow myself to stay rooted. I have no idea why the thought of ending my marriage left me so paralyzed with fear in the past. Or why I tell myself on the bad days that I'm trying for a reason: to make things work, and that won't happen overnight. I have no idea why I don't stand up for myself, or when I finally feel like I should raise my voice and yell "ENOUGH!" I bite my tongue instead. I bite down so hard in order to keep the words from spilling out, and I just let them sink into my bones. It's not because I wouldn't have a place to go, or a way to provide for myself and my daughter. I have both of those things. It's not because I feel that I deserve the treatment. I don't, and I know it. It's not because I view this as what love should be like. My parents taught me what love is supposed to be like, and it looks nothing like my relationship. So what then?
In my last session, my counselor told me it was a form of addiction. The way other people become addicted to drugs, alcohol, or pornography I've become attached to my spouse in the same way. I do not know how to separate him from me. For some reason my brain has rationalized that this is normal. I don't view it the same as physical abuse when it comes to my situation. That "thick skin" of mine allows me to dismiss what is being said just by rolling my eyes, and shoving it into a mental file box to be dealt with later. When it comes to others though it's a different story. In fact, I would be right there with everyone else telling the person in a similar situation as mine to "RUN. Go! Don't let them tear you apart like this!" But my blinders are on when it comes to myself. However, I've come to realize that my husband uses this behavior as a way to keep some form of power when he feels out of control. He uses this as a way to constantly remind me of my shortcomings so that he's not the only one to blame for things. When he says that I don't try enough, or do enough it's really about him. Not me. When he calls me names, or insults me it's about him needing to reassure himself that I am the problem. I am the person acting a certain way and if I would just stop he wouldn't have to call me names, or yell. Afterall, I should just be grateful that he came back right? Because I'm not enough for anyone else. Because I am difficult. I am boring. Because I don't "get over" things. Those are all the reasons I believe he chooses to look at in order to justify his need for me to be the submissive one. It wasn't until a few weeks ago when I was being called a "BITCH", and being told to "FUCK OFF" out of anger because I wasn't able to come up with a solution to a problem in time that it hit me.
I do not value myself.
I put everyone else, and their well-being before my own. When it came to my spouse I still viewed him as being more important. I think I've said it before that I tiptoe around him. I try not to set him off for fear that he'll relapse, or that he'll stray again. I watch what I say because I don't want him to be angry. I have this knee jerk reaction to protect him too. I accept blame for things that I shouldn't. I am constantly wanting to make his life easier. I put the responsibility of keeping him content before all. Even before my daughter if I'm being honest. I allow her to hear his insults. I allow her to see me bending over backwards for a man who may not always deserve it. I allow her to see his outburst, and my attempts to defuse them. And even though my brain tells me that it's not right. That she shouldn't see this as normal. That I don't want that for her. I stay with my feet planted in that house. Oh, how it drives me up the wall that I allow this! That I easily dismiss this kind of behavior because it doesn't happen often. I'm ashamed of that. I'm so angry with myself for feeling defenseless when I know damn well I have power. I can have control too. I could finally speak up, and say "THAT'S ENOUGH!" I could put my foot down, and tell him to start playing by the rules we agreed to in the first place, or he can get the fuck out. I could walk out that damn door right now with our daughter at my side, and we'd be okay. I could move on from this, and live a good life without him in it. I know all of this. I was on the verge of doing all of this. And yet...I don't. I sit there with my hands in my lap, eyes on the floor, and my tongue between my teeth. I allow it.
