All of the oughts and supposedtos are telling me that this should be coming out of my hand, pen and ink in the journal and all and I can go back afterwards and post it in the interthereals but I don't want to do it longhand. I don't want to, dammit. I want to tip tap clack on the keyboard fast as fuck so I can get this shit out and still be able to read what I wrote when I'm done.
It's not a shit day. It's a beautiful day, most of which has been spent outdoors with crows and earning the trust of Bravely enough for her to eat from my hand which isn't so hard because her parents are busy with the nest and she's lonely and I should really be giving myself more credit for this but I'm not because I know crows and I don't like to give myself credit for anything.
I'm working on that.
It's not a shit day but I feel like shit. Period started because periods still start because thank fucking god I'm not as old as my age and even though I'm all mixed up about whether or not I want to have children (still probably leaning towards don't) the click tic toc clock of biology makes me feel funny about knowing the fertility window will be closing soon. Part of me wants to scream and cry. Part of me does scream and cry, sometimes. All of me does, too, on occasion. Other parts of me frequently thank the same fucking abovementioned god that I don't actually believe in that I got my tubes tied when I was with the abusive ex because I can't and won't imagine what life would be like if we'd made a baby.
That ex has been on my mind a lot lately. Even popped up in a dream, we were together again, but I kept my back to him most of the time. Wouldn't look at him. Was only with him because I had no other option. A consensual trap. I guess I used to believe that. Believe that I didn't deserve better than name-calling and erratic violent behavior and constant mind-fucks that I was pretty sure were mind-fucks but didn't have any sense of self-defense to defend myself from them. They say people stay with their abusers because they don't know their own worth. Because it's familiar. I denied all of that. I said I was doing it because he was broken and the good parts of him deserved to have someone love him and that I was going to be the one who did it. But all that shit they say? About the familiarity and the poor self-esteem? It's true.
I hate that it's true. I hate that my worldview kept me in trapped in heartbreaking relationships my whole life. Hate has never before held residency in my daily emotional vocabulary, but hate is something I have been feeling. Toward him.
When you learn to understand the shortcomings of a person, the reasons why they have personality defects, it makes it easier to accept that their behavior is not your fault. It makes it easier to understand that you cannot change them. You can only change yourself, and sometimes that means walking away. Sometimes this understanding even lets you forgive them.
I did all that forgiving during the 8+ years we were together. Now, finally, four years later, I am letting myself feel the rage.
He left me in the desert, once. Driving down a dirt road while he vented in his sickly hot I'm-not-yelling voice about something benign I had said that had triggered him into crazy accusations that I wanted to leave him so I could go be a lesbian. The car stopped for some reason. Maybe I asked him to stop it, I don't remember. I just remember needing to get out. And then suddenly he was a dust cloud rambling down a road in the middle of the Mojave Desert. I stood there in disbelief. I remember laughing. He disappeared over a ridge half a mile down the road. I sat down for a bit, thinking he might come back. He didn't. I started walking. When I made it to the ridge there was the car on the other side, parked, idling with the AC on, waiting for me to come crawling back. It was the desert. High noon. I had no water. I didn't have any choice but to succumb to his manipulation.
He ruined every trip we took. His favorite revenge when he was angry was to drive erratically on highways and winding roads to scare me. I endured it. And I stayed with him. Why did I stay with him?? I think of the me I was then and I just want to hold her, cry with her, beg her to see who she is, beg her to leave him. She wouldn't, though. Not for many more years. She wasn't ready to acknowledge the strength that she hid under a blanket of endurance.
I am so sad for her.
Now the days roll by, easy, simple, solitary days of work, crows, travel, adventure, and a little dog. It gets lonely. It does get very lonely. Some days I want to do something about that. Other days I breath in my freedom and feel such fucking relief. Relief that, by comparison in the processing of the past, feels like genuine contentment.
I know I won't make the same mistakes again. No more abuse, I said in couples therapy when I finally broke up with him. I've stayed true to that. I know I can make good choices and find good people. I know I am ready to go out and forge various new types of relationships. I'm not sure that I want to. Maybe I just want to be alone for a while longer. Maybe I want a part-time boyfriend that lives at least 50 miles away. Maybe I want to go meet people on a hiking club hike that doesn't start at fuckyou6am. I'm not sure what I want. WHAT THE FUCK DO I WANT?
Maybe I don't want anything and that's fine.
All pictures and words copyright Anna Horvitz (me) and cannot be used without my consent.
