Under My F#$%ing Skin

So I came back from living in the same game with my first wife to living the original game with my abuser, which I just put together right this minute and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my fucking skin.

So, to pick up from where we left off

Until (name redacted) started picking up her toys, I never realized how much she and my first wife resembled each other. They didn’t look anything physically alike, but they’d both been mentally groomed by an abuser to do all sorts of things that broke their psyches. In some ways, it was such a relief to figure that out, because any trickle of “what if” in my mind was no longer. Of course I’ve wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t moved at just the right time. What human wouldn’t? Seeing my first wife as having similar characteristics allowed me to see the full spectrum of what I would have taken on, and in some respects, already had. In my relationship with (name redacted), I had already given her so much, and in running post-mortem on my first marriage, I realized that  the what-if said this: I would have given <name redacted> more, and more and more and more and it still wouldn’t have been enough. Even when I change the circumstances, the resolution looks the same. In every case, the cognitive dissonance between her words and her actions leaves us at an absolute impasse.

It’s comforting to me there is no way that I can change the order of what happened, the timing, the age gap. It sounds counter-intuitive, but the more I realize things like this, I just become more Zen, rather than when I first met (name redacted) and called God a punk ass bitch to God’s face because I was so angry that God had put this woman in my path and made me too short to love her (well, I’m still short, but you know what I mean). Oh, God and I have gone 65,000 rounds on this one, because I can emotionally kick the shit out of God when I want to. I have somehow always known that in the silence is where God lives, and that even if I am kicking the shit out of air, there’s still resistance.

I had to pray through the realization yesterday that I married a pattern and not a person. I had to breathe, sit with it. Marrying my first wife was years and years ago, so I know that I’ve grown so much since then. But that doesn’t mean that realizing who I was isn’t triggering me into who I am. It’s like going back to college for the basics after 20 years, and then you get there and you realize you haven’t forgotten anything.

2 thoughts on “Under My F#$%ing Skin

  1. Pingback: The Day Robin Williams Died | Stories That Are All True

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