Pissed With A Capital P

I was angry last night. Hours after posting last, I got some news that Pissed me off, yes, with a capital P and all. I got another confirmation, another peice of evidence, pointing to the doubt that lingered constantly around me like bad perfume. That I am not worthy of being cared about. That is what it all comes down to, I feel like I am not worthy of love.

So when he gave me that extra peice, that tip of the pile of reasons, I got mad. More angry than I had been in my entire life. EVER. If you would have seen me in my marriage, you would know why that anger is so extreme and overwhelming. I was so angry, I literally wanted to build nuclear weapons and bomb any country that he liked. I was so upset, I wanted to ram any car off the road that had certain letters spelling his name in it. Like I said, I have never been so furious. **Clarification-I WANTED to do those things but never would. Im much too sane to actually do anything like that. Just like Im too sane to paint my entire naked body to fade into a wall, I want to, but never ever would.

You want to know what he said that was so appauling to me? That after waiting a whole day AND another night while he talked to everyone but me, I would have to wait a whole other day and possibly night before he would talk to me about our relationship.

He has his reasons, excuses, and justifications. Frankly, he did what works for him. And SURPRISE, it didnt work for me. Yet, I know its the reason that it didnt work for me that matters.

He got things his way again, and I never get things mine. There is no compromise in the relationship. When I never get it my way, my ego-mind jumps in and says "HA! TOLD YOU TOLD YOU TOLD YOU! You arent worthy of love, you arent even worth enough to have things the way you want even ONCE!" I felt despair, pity, and desperation. And I dont like feeling that way.

So I turned to a very common avoidance technique I use-ANGER. If Im angry at him, then I dont have to feel all the bad built up feelings. And if Im angry at him, then he is bad, sick, and WRONG and I am the poor, poor victim again. I knew that I was coping and avoiding when I was angry. I knew it right away. But I knew that I wouldnt be able to shift out of that anger if I saw him and he kept denying me the conversation about our relationship that I deserve. I was afraid I would yell nasty things at him or that me being closed off would cause another fight. Neither of those options were a healthy choice, so I chose to not see him instead. Which pissed him off again. SIGH. He is always mad at me for something or the other.

But I felt healthy for the first time in a long time taking the space I deserved. I am so proud of myself for recognizing the potential emotional danger I would be putting myself in by allowing myself to be in contact with him.

I absolutely continued that feeling of being healthy the next night. SURPRISE, he was angry again, and I felt myself being transported back into that basement room I spent so many teenage years in crying. I was the little girl, being demanded to give exact details and report to my father who was a few inches from my face, yelling spitting and threatening me. It was a game my dad played often, and when he started playing it, I recognized it. I will say that again, in caps, because it was that huge for me: I RECOGNIZED IT. I recognized the space I was in. I recognized that I was the one who created that comparision. I do not blame him at all for it.

BUT I RECOGNIZED IT! and I knew that if I were to play the game with him, just as I had done with my dad, I would treat him as if he were my dad, which is not fair to either of us. So I chose to not be in that game. I asked for time and patience so that I could clear myself and get back to a positive space to be able to speak with him. I was BEING HEALTHY! (I am still doing a joyous dance to celebrate my success) I took that space that I deserved, and instead of him respecting my wishes, I got harassment instead. I was threatened because I took time to myself to be healthy.

That night was a terror. I have never felt so scared and belittled in my entire life. Yes, scared. Terrified. Horrified. I pulled the couch in front of the door when we finally went home and to sleep. I closed the blinds, stuck hangers in the window so they could not be opened, and slept on the floor in the least accessable room in the place, phone ready to dial 911. I was terrified. The venom and hatred in the voice on the other end of the phone seared to my deepest core. And when I heard "Shut the Fuck Up!" it quite literally knocked the air out of my entire body. So I again chose to be healthy and not hear those things said to me.

I get that I am sensitive. Frankly, I have come to just accept that about myself. I am so tired of keeping up the facade that nothing can hurt me. Those things do hurt, and they do scare me, and Im finished pretending they dont. I am working on LOVING my sensitivity as a genuine, beautiful thing about me. As I do, I FEEL HEALTHY! And I love feeling that way.