November 21st, 2021

All Aboard The Express Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold - built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.

It's something I strive for, hope for, and work for.  The problem is I just don't feel I'm there yet or not.

Today I got triggered by songs I love that I haven't heard this year after the divorce.  Once beloved lyrics now make me incredibly sad.

"But if you loved me
why'd you leave me?"

. . . . . . .

"I wish you
the best of
all this world could give

And I told you
when you left me
there's nothing to forgive

But I always thought you'd come back
tell me
all you found was
heartbreak and misery

It's hard for me to say
but I'm jealous of the way
you're happy without me

I'm at the point and have been for a while where I evaluate everything in my scope and measure how just insane and devastated and desperate like never in  my life, and what I've learned from this marriage and divorce.

I try not to be bitter, but I am.  I can understand falling out of love with someone and needing to go on without each other.  I get that.  I told him that while stammering through my tears the night he detonated the bomb as he was going to bed.  I said if this is what you really want, I won't stop you.  Before I had pleaded with him after he said those words and pretended he was concerned about what will happen to me.  He said that part was killing him, throwing his head back.  I cracked and splintered apart, went into deepest denial, and two days later almost killed myself.  Then was in a psych ward for a week, where I spent my 49th birthday.  It's when his cruelty began and only escalated for the year we were forced to live in the house together with the man I thought was the love of my life resenting my presence and calling me a waste of his resources.  Merciless gaslighting.

I'm not a very trusting person in that I don't believe in justice.  While I appear to be trusting I am not - because I'm incessantly questioning what the motive is.  This began many years ago, and probably began at age 5.  I don't have a lot of memory from the abuse, but enough to still give me nightmares or be easily triggered.  I say I'm not but I am.  Masking my pain has been a lifelong thing.  I grew up too fast emotionally and tended to gravitate towards adults I thought would watch out for me thinking as long as they were around, I would be safe.  Instead, I was taken to places I had never been with nowhere to go, no one around, having to just assume it was part of the game until it finally occurred to me was was really happening as it becan to escalate further and further each time.

My first memory of it was me was being fondled on his lap, sitting next to my Daddy.  Right there in the living room.  I thought it was just tickling and misfiring and thought it was funny.  I was five, I knew I grew up with this man in my life since birth, I loved him, I trusted him, and he was a fun uncle.  Always so sweet and kind and thoughtful.  Every time I saw him, and I never minded his hugs even though his smell and breath were dreadful.

Now on the heels of this divorce after almost 20 years with this man I'm still not sure who I am, what to do, or how to live fully.  It affects me on some level at least once a day.  Resisting it makes it worse.  I'm jaded and confused and not too keen on meeting new people even though I need to.  I just sort of fear it, and I don't like fearing anything.  But being brave has taxed me so much it's too much.  Enough is too much.

I'll figure it all out.  Does take time, that's true.  But time is very slow to come at present.  I'm still an optimist in spite of these past two years.  Open to a new experience, a new possibility or outcome.  That hasn't left me.  So, I take the materials I have and fashion it into something.