Wednesday, 30 April 2025

It's finally gone.
After fantasizing since 2022 about carving the tattoo that was a lie out of my skin, I was able to get it removed via surgical excision.

I don't know how I feel.

I know a couple days before the procedure (which took place on April 28th), I was second guessing myself.  But having confirmed the appointment as well as paying for it (the cost might have been more painful than the procedure) helped me stay the course.  It wasn't as bad as I was expecting; the worst parts were the buildup to the procedure (thanks anxiety), and then the side effects of being repeatedly injected with lidocaine (sudden and extreme nausea, and breaking out into a cold sweat).  Other than that, though, the procedure was swift, and I was in and out in less than two hours.  The pain after wasn't even as bad as I was expecting, so I ended up not needing to take any pain meds of any kind to help ease the pain.  I'm also pretty sure things are healing quickly, as I'm experiencing the itching that comes with healing wounds, but can't confirm as there is protective tape over the wound/stitches that won't come off until the follow up appointment in a couple weeks.  (But from prior historical wound recovery, my wounds heal quickly/rapidly, so it's not surprising.)

I don't know if the fact it's gone will set in until the tape is removed and I see the absence of the tattoo.  Maybe once I see it, the change will hit me, and then I'll be able to process.  Then again, my uncle died over a year ago, and I haven't processed his death yet, because everything is just kind of numb and I'm shut off from trying to process things, so who knows.

My therapist asked me a while ago in one of our sessions how I would know if I'm over the man I used to be married to.  I don't think I answered her, because I don't have an answer.  I truly do not know if I will ever be over him.
As someone who had commitment issues before (those issues have grown exponentially), giving my (very fragile, very tender) heart over to a man who couldn't cut it when difficult times came along, was a risk the first time.  Supposedly the "formula" for grief is 3 months to every year spent together.  We were together from 2017 to 2022.  Although not even together consistently, given him being away for training often, and then deployment.  Unless you want to count when the marriage officially ended (thanks to the judge and his divorce lawyer, both of whom should burn in the hot fiery place - yeah I said it), then we were "together" from 2017-2023.  That's 18 months of grieving.  At the end of next month, it will have been 18 months.  I am nowhere near being "over" it. 
Not him though.  He quickly and easily moved on, proving all those times of telling me I was the love of his life (which he later confirmed, that no, I wasn't actually the love of his life), telling me he didn't know what he would do if he ever lost me (he willingly walked away...turns out he knew exactly what he would do, which was get over it easily), some other girl comes along and catches his eye...for someone who said he realised he just wanted to be alone, what he really meant was "I don't want to be with you."

How can you heal from that kind of betrayal and trauma?
How can you get over having given your heart to someone, giving all of your self to that person, thinking they saw you and loved you for who you were, only for them to criticise you and tell you they didn't like being around you and for them to think it was okay to separate when there was no good reason to?

My heart is still so raw.
And I honestly don't know if I will be over him, or be able to move on.
For all the things I remember that make me feel sick to my stomach, that provide ample evidence that he truly doesn't know how marriage works, that maybe he's even incapable of actually loving someone, that doesn't change the fact that I still chose him.  Even if I didn't feel loved or wanted by him, even if so early on things were toxic and there were red flags, I still saw him and loved him.

I still do.

I can say my heart is closed for reconstruction, but it may very well be permanently closed.  To have had trust issues before, only to have trust betrayed in one of the worst possible ways, is not easy to heal or move on from.  Especially from a lifetime of having trust issues and being terrified of the risk of love, only to take that risk and be burned in such devastating ways.

And having been with someone who knew I lived with pretty severe depression, only for that person to say "I don't like being around you when you're like this" - "this" meaning sad/depressed, which is kind of my natural state - that just showed me that no one really wants to be with someone like me.  No one wants to spend a life time with someone who is depressed.  No one wants to be around someone who is sad all the time.  At least he was able to escape.  I can't escape my own self, which isn't fair, but I'm not going to subject others to my miserable existence if I can help it.

I'm tired.  My heart aches.  Life still feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from.  Maybe someday I'll process this, but today is not that day.

Sunday, 20 April 2025

 I don't know if it's being an over thinker, or if it's just having a very analytical brain, but I still remember and think about and process these different moments from when I was married.  I'm more inclined to say it's the analytical part of my brain, because perhaps subconsciously I believe if I analyze every moment from every angle, maybe I can figure out what went wrong, where it went went wrong, and avoid it in the future.  Learning from my mistakes so I don't repeat the same thing again.  That's not over thinking, right?  That's wanting to learn and do better and not repeat the same pain and hurt and misunderstandings.  I cannot comprehend how people don't want to approach life like that, and who just repeat the same mistakes over and over and over again, without caring that they're doing so.  Or maybe they don't care.  I don't know.

Anyway.

I realised a few weeks ago the gravity of my actions and how I behaved and how I treated the person I was previously married to.  I was a monster.  Not intentionally, but that doesn't excuse my actions and behaviour.  As with any relationship that involves two individuals, there are factors that play into things from BOTH sides.  Yes, there were things he did (or didn't do), things he said, the ways he acted...and yes I allowed that to impact me (he was my husband, why wouldn't it have impacted me?), and it hurt me, and hurting people hurt people.  I never thought I was perfect or that he was lucky to be married to me (what a joke), but I am now aware I thought I was doing better than I actually was.  (Of course, if someone doesn't know how to communicate and express how your words and actions make them feel, you cannot correct course, because they aren't telling you one way or the other if you are making them feel good or bad.)  There were things I let bother me, things I was annoyed with, that maybe truly didn't matter in the long run.  And maybe there's a dichotomy of feelings there; two opposing things can be true at once.  All I know is that I was an absolute monster and it's no wonder he felt like shit and didn't want to be married to me anymore.

But it goes both ways.

Not to say he was a monster, but my therapist has alluded to emotional abuse from what has been relayed to her.  Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't.  There's not really a point to delve into all that, because the marriage doesn't exist anymore.  No point in spending time on something there's no hope of repairing or fixing.

I don't know what it is.  I don't feel lonely.  At times I have felt lonely for him, specifically, because when you give yourself to someone, and they become your person, how could you not miss them?  A metaphorical limb was torn away from me.  The phantom pains of that missing limb still exist.  They weren't there, at first, but in the past couple of months I don't know why it's come up now.  Missing his presence next to me in bed.  Being absent from the couch.  Not sitting in the passenger's seat in the car when driving places; no hand to hold while driving.

I think people who meet me - or even know me - get the sense that I'm not big on body contact.  I imagine I probably give off the vibe of not wanting to be touched.  Which is quite funny, because the opposite (with the right person, that is) is true.
I don't remember a lot of my childhood, but I remember my mom hugging me.  I think we got hugs and kisses from her at bedtime?  Maybe hugs from dad, although he is more reserved and stoic and isn't emotional or super affectionate by nature.  I didn't like my mom much growing up, though, so her hugs didn't mean a lot to me.  But children need physical touch and affection.  There are studies that show that babies will die if they are not held.  People, no matter what their age, need physical affection.  We were created and wired for connection.

When we were first dating, we took the love langue quiz, and his top result was physical touch.  I didn't provide a lot of that for him; didn't initiate the non-intimate kind of touch very much.  I've been thinking about why I didn't do that these past couple of weeks.  I think I've been able to determine why.

Taking me as I am now, if I had someone I felt safe with, comfortable with, someone who showed they valued me, wanted me around, genuinely enjoyed my presence, I could imagine wanting to be connected to them as much as possible.  Such as hugging them for several minutes, holding hands when walking places, resting my leg on their thigh when sitting on a couch together, etc.  I felt that way with him, but - apart from when we were first dating - I never really initiated that kind of thing.  And I think the reason is, is because I didn't feel safe.
Don't misunderstand me, I didn't think he would hit me or anything.  More so emotionally safe.  To this point in my life, he has been the one person I was the most myself with, shared things I haven't shared with my own family members, allowed myself to be me, and at the time, I felt accepted and seen and loved for being me.  He wasn't judgemental of me being weird, he was comfortable with all the things I feel awkward about (probably due to upbringing) like normal body functions/noises/etc., which in turn made me feel better and more comfortable, and he was pretty much equally as weird, so he felt like home.

He was my home.

But.  Even from early on in dating, he was critical of me.  Told me I said no too much (I was, at the time, learning the freedom in being able to say no, and thought he was safe to practice that with), told me everything had to have a condition with me (pretty sure I'm on the spectrum and I've just learned to implement strategies in my life to make existing a little easier, which means conditions, and he didn't like that), he didn't like how upset I would get if we made plans and he would change his mind or we would be running behind (I don't like change, I find structure to be helpful, and having things not go according to plan would throw me so off kilter, I would respond poorly and he didn't know how to handle that, and neither did I)...a lot of things.
I think subconsciously, I took his criticisms, and tried to change.  Tried to be who he made it seem like he wanted me to be based off his criticisms, so he wouldn't criticise me as much, and he would like me more.  Maybe that was my downfall.  Because eventually he didn't want to be with me anymore.  I remember, shortly after we separated and he stopped here on his way to where he was moving to, I told him (and looking back this was harsh and I should have kept my mouth shut), "you're not who I thought you were."  He responded with "same.  You're not who I thought I married." 
Of course not.  I had changed over time due to his words and actions towards me.  Hurt and rejection shaped me.  Hurt shaped him too, but even more so, being back in a toxic military environment changed him in all the worst kinds of ways, and he didn't even realise it.  And in a marriage, if you are not actively tending to the relationship, nurturing it, caring for it and for each other, you grow apart, and it's like you don't even know the person anymore.  And that's what happened.  Dear God, I hope I did my best (I don't think I did) to try to care for it, but it has to be a joint effort, and it wasn't.  He made it very clear our marriage was not his priority; both by words, and by actions.

I digress, though.  In how he treated me, even early on, I think my body knew and felt that he wasn't truly safe.  Was he someone I was more open with than anyone else in my life, including family?  Yes.  But was he also unkind and critical at times, and made me feel like he didn't actually like me for me?  Also yes.  And when that happens, walls go up.
I think on some level I wasn't aware of at the time, all those small interactions and carelessly thought words spoken to me, made me withdraw.  I used to be silly and goofy with him, but over the years that stopped.  I would crave to be around him, be with him, hold his hand, sit next to him, but the constant rejections made it so I wouldn't initiate.  I wouldn't sit next to him, I wouldn't reach for his hand much, I even stopped sleeping in the same room and bed as him in the last few months.  I think it's stupid when women fight with their husbands and make them sleep on the couch.  If you're the one with the issue, YOU sleep on the couch.  I didn't want to be in the same bed with someone I didn't feel wanted or desired by.  It hurt too much.  (Looking back, I wish I would have ignored my hurt.  In giving in to it, I was ignoring him, ignoring his feelings and needs, and he would so often ask me to come to bed.  He liked sleeping next to me, it helped him sleep better, and I couldn't even give in to his small request, because I was so selfish and lost in my own hurt, so I failed to keep loving him in spite of it all.)

I don't know if I will ever stop analysing everything that happened.  I think my brain is just on high alert/panic mode, needing to turn things over every which way, figure them out, know what not to do again in the future, don't mess it up again.  Which is hilarious.  As if I would ever be able to trust another human that much in my life; the betrayal and trauma is real.  Even if someone else came along, there would still be this small part in the back of my mind telling me I can't trust them, not fully, not ever, because the fact that they are their own person with free will means at any point in time they, too, could up and leave.  And that is too great of a risk.

My brain is tired.  I can't even rest on my weekends, because it's spent not being distracted by work, so it then takes up the free time to think about things and analyse them and reflect and makes me feel more exhausted because it just doesn't. let. up.  And the wounds stay open, because that's what they are.  Gaping, weeping, torn over and over for every shared memory.

I wish he would have been safe.  He wasn't.  As kind and soft and thoughtful as he was at first, he wasn't as much later on.  And I don't know if that's a puzzle my brain will ever be able to piece together.

Kindness is safe.  So is thoughtfulness, and patience, and giving space when space is needed.  But boy, does "safe" feel unsafe and like a trigger, because it's so unfamiliar, especially for a nervous system used to not safe things.  Eventually safe is supposed to be healing, but we'll see if that ever happens.