CONTENT WARNING: Some may find this piece highly disturbing, as it contains descriptions of how i have been abusive to my spouse.

Today, i’m angry. It’s been amping up over a few days, but i wasn’t completely aware of it until the other night. Here’s my story about how i figured it out. It’s brutally honest, and i don’t come off very well in it, but what use is this blog to me or you if i don’t tell the truth?

After my last session with my therapist i’ve felt different, but i wasn’t sure in what way. It’s been like feeling more capable and more vulnerable than ever at the same time. I’ve been drinking too much, using drugs, and not eating. I’ve been weepy and over-emotional. Over-emotional may be a bit vague, so an example would be when my son told me he liked supper and i got choked up, hugged him, and told him he’s a spectacular human being. Or when i was finally able to stand other people enough to go get my nails done (i was weeks overdue for a fill) and i talked animatedly, loudly enough for the entire salon to hear, for around 2hrs straight.
I know it’s not mania, because some other significant red flags are missing. I’m just… Different, somehow. A lot of “extra” type behaviour, but it’s not constant like when i’m manic, it just pops up in weird places.

I’m taking off my armour, and it’s made me a trifle pugnacious.

When i experienced my first full blown mania, i think it’s what opened the door for the people who live in my brain to come out more often, and more obviously. There were many who wanted to have a turn in the face – to be in control and have a look around as themselves and make themselves known. It was chaotic and frustrating and painful for everyone around me, but no one more so than my husband.

I’ve been hypervigilant my entire life. When i became manic and my switching became fast and frequent, i don’t know a word for more than hypervigilant, but i became that. I saw everyone as a threat, and i experienced every interaction with other human beings like i was walking a tightrope with a sea of e621s underneath me. Every touch from every person felt either sexual or painful, and sometimes, both. It didn’t matter how much i loved or trusted the person, it was torturous and it was constant.

My husband is my person. I have never liked, loved or trusted anyone as much as i do him. While i do not believe in souls, and therefore soulmates, i know deep down in my bones, in whatever it is that makes me who i am, that if i lose him, for whatever reason, there will never be another committed, monogamous relationship for me. I may have casuals, i may have semi-serious, but no one will be living with me, no one will have the level of intimacy with me that i have with him, and i will not be monogamous.

I share that to try to explain -not excuse- why he bore the brunt of my rage and terror. When i’m upset, angry, or scared, my impulse, my overwhelming drive, is to get away. Getawaygetawaygetaway. Anyone even remotely close to me can confirm that, as they’ve very likely experienced me being there with them 1 minute, and disappeared the next. My husband is the opposite. He wants to work it out. He wants to talk and touch.
I’m embarrassed and ashamed to tell you that all those years ago, when things first blew up, that this conflict in how we resolve conflicts, resulted in me attacking him on a number of occasions. If we fought, which happened often back then because i was so sick, he would come too close, or worse, touch me, and one of my angries or protectors would come out and push, hit, scratch, pull hair. There were times when i switched while in the car and i would try to jump out the door while he was driving. He would grab me to stop me, and i would claw or bite at his hand.

One day, while i was trying to walk down the road to go hitchhike into the city (getawaygetawaygetaway – GO HOME), he held me down to stop me and we rolled into the ditch. I headbutted him. He got right into my face and through a twisted mouth and clenched teeth he yelled at me to stop, and he restrained me so hard he actually hurt me, for the first time.
That was when i knew i had to get control, or i was going to ruin the most lovely and patient person i’ve ever known.
I vowed that day that i’d never get physical again, and i have not. It’s been over 12yrs now.

A couple of points before i continue:
– He would have been well within his rights to call the police,
– He would have been fully justified in leaving me the very first time it happened,
– There is no justification for me here, this is my story and that’s all.

A few nights ago, i was deep in trauma, feeling such sadness (ANGER!) over what had been done to me. I was feeling it physically in my body. I was drinking and drugging and i became churlish. My husband and i started arguing, and i began putting on my clothes to leave the house. He put his hands on me to stop me.
No, i didn’t get physical, but i have 1 weapon left that does far more damage.
My tongue.
It’s razor-sharp and dripping with acid. I can flay a person to ribbons with a sentence.
No one has experienced that more or worse, than he has. I felt myself receding and someone else come into the face. I wasn’t fully switched, just highly dissociated and unable to affect what was happening; i could only watch, and hear the hateful invective spilling out of me. She didn’t stop until she felt she had bested him.
I didn’t stop until i felt like i had bested him.
He looked so tired and sad. He looked beaten, although i’d not laid a finger on him.

The next morning, looking at his exhausted face, i vowed that i will never speak to him that way again.
It’s a vow i know i’ll keep, just as long and as well as i’ve kept the last one.
I have far more control over my system than i did all those years ago. I didn’t even have to work with them to make the decision that it was done. I say so, and that’s all that’s required.
All i had to do was look at him, and i was convicted of my wrongness in every cell of my being. Verbal abuse can be just as terrible as physical. Many say it’s worse. He’s told me he forgives me and i know it’s so. I’m so grateful, because regardless of the reason, there is no justification.

I’m operating on myself, cutting out the tumourous chunks of my mother that fester inside me. This was a big one, and although i still feel terrible (rightly so), i feel stronger and better. Better as in a higher quality human than i was a few nights ago.

My anger over my childhood is justified and correct.
How i dealt with it the other night was inexcusable.
I will never, ever, throw away the grace my husband has extended to me.
I have laid my last weapon down.
I don’t need them anymore.
I never did with him.

I have no idea how this post will be received, but to not tell this part of my story would be a lie by omission, and as much as in this particular case i dearly want to, i cannot and i won’t. I will continue to look at it all, and that doesn’t just mean what was done to me, it means to take a hard, long look at me, and what i’ve done.
I have many amends to make, and i intend to make any and all, wherever i may.

4 thoughts on “The Sharpest Sword

  1. Thank you so much for honesty and sharing. I grok. Fortunately and unfortunately. I’ve done some horrendous things; only a few, but made up for by the cold, sheer viciousness of them. That they came out of great wounds is irrelevant to me. Chances are I’ll never speak of them, but they’re there.

    I also went searching for “hypervigilant” synonyms, because yay! words and language! I’m keen on Argus-eyed. It was first used in 1603, and I’m not sure what the reference is, but it just sounds cool and so very, very smart. 😀

    *SKISH*

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hugs. I wrote a post a long time ago I forgot until now. It was about how abusers never said they were sorry – and they never let anyone else say *they* were sorry either. You were never allowed to change and grow, I’m guessing, in childhood. Everything you ever did was a forever weapon to justify why you “deserved” what was done to you. You were probably made to pay for your mistakes forever, while your abusers didn’t have to. That was then, and this is now. You are allowed to own your mistakes – including this one – and not have it define you. You are allowed to *break* the cycle of abuse, not never have accidentally started it. You are not behaving as someone who justifies hurting others just because you are hurt. You recognize what you did and are committed to doing the work to stop. And, thus, you don’t have to carry the self-loathing forever. You have the right now to say, “I’m sorry. I was hurtful and wrong” and – as long as you do the work to repair the hurt – have that apology accepted. Don’t let your mother’s voice tell you you are the same as her. *She* would never have put herself out there and owned her own mistakes that way. That you are is brave and different. Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

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