A couple of months ago I had emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. I’d been feeling discomfort for some time, but put it down to what I was eating, or simply the fact there was a lot of flu going around. And then, one Saturday morning I awoke to excruciating pain in my abdomen. I’d been having little mini-attacks off and on since Christmas, but they had only lasted a few minutes and once gone, could be ignored and even forgotten. But that last attack simply would not stop. My daughter called an ambulance and once in the hospital they told me I needed to have my gallbladder removed immediately.
After the surgery, I still wasn’t feeling up to par. I was constantly nauseous and tired. I told myself, it’s just the after-effect of the surgery. My body is ridding itself of the anesthesia and the gas they used to aid in the surgery. And then, one week after the surgery, I had another attack, this time, without a gallbladder to cause the pain.
Back in hospital, they told me there were still stones in my digestive track. Through another procedure, they divested me of as many stones as possible, and to ensure any remaining stones left my body without getting stuck in a duct, they inserted two stents at the opening to my pancreas.
I thought I’d feel better immediately, but I still felt lousy. Nauseous. Uncomfortable. Tired. After three weeks, they removed the stents and one day after the surgery, I awoke and it was like magic. I felt energized. Like my old self again!
I mention that process because it was so like what happened to me while I was with the sociopath. At first, I didn’t notice the little anxiety attacks that kept undermining my peace of mind. I didn’t notice the ebbing out of my energy, the sucking away of my calm.
As the relationship progressed from its early beginnings of ”˜perfect love’ into the terror and horror of that imperfect lie in the name of love, I began to feel continuously out of sorts. Constantly tired, and sore. At one point, every muscle in my body ached, every joint pained me. Getting out of bed in the morning was a process of rolling slowly onto my side, easing my aching body over the edge of the bed and onto the floor so that I could slowly, painfully straighten up and begin a careful walk towards the bathroom. When I walked with my dog, my fists were clenched by my sides and no amount of concentration would keep them unclenched. In my chest, there was a constant, knife-like pain that wouldn’t ebb. Breathing deeply was next to impossible, and breathing freely a distant memory long forgotten.
I told myself, it’s just a flu-bug. It’s part of ageing. It’s stress. It’s anything but a reaction to the excruciating horror of living with his evil machinations undermining my well-being.
To cope, to keep myself sane within the context of that relationship, I began to amputate more and more of my emotional self. No matter what feeling I let go of, however, errant wafts of pain would trouble my mind like phantom limbs reminding an amputee of all he’d lost. As I tumbled further and further into hell, I thought my body was rejecting me, not because of the sociopath, but rather, because I was not ‘doing it right’, not ‘being enough’ for him. If only I could be more perfect. Be more flexible. More loving. More caring. Furiously I attempted to amputate everything about me until I had left to cling to was the lie of the ”˜love’ he fed me through every weave and warp of his deceit. Without relief from the constant diet of terror that was my life with him, I began to feel like my entire being was being eaten away, cell by cell, by some mysterious, unknown disease.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t dare go to a doctor. He’d told me any attempt to seek medical help would only make the mess I’d created in his life greater. Hearing only his voice roaring in my head, I lost my ability to discern between what made sense and what was sheer stupidity. I needed help but didn’t dare reach out for it, except through him.
I never once connected my unease to his discord. I never once acknowledged that he was the cancer eating away at my peace of mind. That was a truth that was too terrifying to face and so I turned inward, futilely attempting to cauterize the continuous bleeding away of my life-force by stilling the voice of reason buried deep within my mind.
And then he was removed by the police and I awoke to the devastation of my life.
At first, I didn’t want to look at what had happened to me. I wanted to hide my head in shame and sorrow, to chastise myself for having been so stupid, so blind, so naïve. But heaping self-denigration and blame upon myself would only have continued his abuse. Just as trying to make sense of his nonsense would only have kept his abuse alive in my life, I had to learn to turn up for me in all my wounded parts without judging myself for falling to pieces. I had to begin the process of putting my humpty, dumpty self together again with tender loving care.
I had to face the truth. I had been abused. Duped. Lied to. Deceived. Manipulated. Destroyed by the man who had promised to love me ”˜til death do us part, and who had then proceeded to spin the deadly web of his deceit into my demise.
I had to learn to love myself, exactly as I was. Tto ease my pain and sorrow, woundedness and terror, I had to learn to be at peace with where I was, to accept what I had done, and to forgive myself for having gone so far from where I’d meant to be.
In acknowledging that in loving him I had given up on me, I began to heal. Within two days of his arrest, my joints quit hurting. When I walked, my hands hung comfortably by my sides. The pain in my chest evaporated. In facing the horrible truth of what had happened to me, I began to claim the emotions I had so furiously amputated in my desperate desire to pretend that what he was doing was all about love.
What he did had nothing to do with love. And what I was doing while with him had nothing to do with love either. It had everything to do with abuse.
Since being freed from that relationship almost five years ago, I have learned to turn up for me, no matter where I am, or how I’m feeling. I have learned to love myself, warts and all and to embrace the truth of who I am, even when I feel like hiding from myself.
Today I know the truth and celebrate it every moment of every day. I am a woman of worth. A woman worthy of loving herself for all she’s worth, with all she’s got. In loving myself, no matter my condition, I have given myself the gift I’ve always searched for, unconditional love.
alohatraveler:
Meant to catch up with you on another thread just to say “hullo” and yummy on the meatloaf — come over and cook for me too, please?
Free:
I recently made the decision to tell my professors what was going on in my personal life. Some of my papers were late and I hadn’t completed some assignments because he kicked me out and I had to move everything out in a rush. They were enormously supportive and even gave me extra time to complete my work. People surprise you when you least expect it.
Right now, I am dealing with another mini-crisis … my current housemate decided to move in with her boyfriend (they got engaged, rather hurridly, I might add). She was also my friend and rock, and I was looking forward to her being here for me. The past month-and-a-half has been bearable because she’s been here. She is a very spiritual, uplifting person. Now I have to find someone new to move in, worry about the financials. It always seems to be one thing after another, doesn’t it?
neverneverland,
My meatloaf turned out the best this time. Finally, I didn’t overcook it. Here’s the recipe I use.
http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/107599
I use Portabellos, Marinara or tomato sauce, and I make my break crumbs out of AKMAK Crackers.
If I could, I would cook for all of you!
Aloha,
I wish you were here to cook for me, too. I’ve lost so much weight lately … haven’t felt much like eating this past month and a half. Less so now. The ex called, with confusing messages. He wants to give me some of the money he owes me. I think it’s a trick to get back into my good graces. Wants to get together, not a good idea. My heart is too tender right now for any contact with him; I don’t even want to see his face or form. It’s that bad. And now I can’t stop crying … roommmate is gone, and I’m alone, and ex has called, and everything feels so screwed, I don’t even know what to do.
I think I’m going to pull myself out of bed and go buy a ficus …
I’ve been sitting here on this beautiful saturday afternoon crying my eyes out reading all these posts! I have been feeling very much like it’s just not worth it to go on sometimes, also. Then I read all of these beautiful things all of you are writing and it truly gives me hope in the goodness of people and the kindness of strangers.
Most people really are good in the world. We have just run into that small percentage of P’s out there that take a piece of our soul and crush it. My P has told me to just move on, get over it, as though it was the flu, as someone had mentioned. Not a big deal for him.
He’s even over his own children. This was a man that appeared to be Mr. Wonderful Father, Mr. Wonderful Handsome Husband. And now, he’s much more interested in spending time with whoever it is he is sleeping with than with his own children. He was researching what kind of new car to buy instead of wanting to be with his children. I’ve been told this is what happens with a P – once they are no longer viewed as a god in their children’s eyes, they are done with them. Just as when they are done with us. I was disposed of so easily. It’s as though I don’t exist to him. But, really, I never existed to him, as a human being anyways… only as an object for him to use and abuse as he wished.
LivingLovingMe:
One day at a time. It will get better. Even though I still have very low days, I also now have really good days. It will take time. Utilize as much of the support around you as you can. Every one of us deserves to be happy and treated kindly… no one deserves to be abused.
Almost_free wrote:
“Most people really are good in the world. We have just run into that small percentage of P’s out there that take a piece of our soul and crush it. My P has told me to just move on, get over it, as though it was the flu, as someone had mentioned. Not a big deal for him.”
All it takes is that one person to make you question everything and everyone. I had dinner last night with a very good friend — a man I grew up with. He’s been through something similar. We’re two of the most paranoid people you’ll ever see in a diner booth, and we are admittedly sad, sad people.
Move on, get over it. Heard the same thing. I guess it would make sense if this were a year down the road. But to hear this spoken to me a WEEK after he kicked me out of OUR home, had to rehome OUR cat, and transport my concert grand all the way to my mother’s house in another city, was simply untenable. Who says things like that, AF? Who? I’ve broken up with people … I’ve done so for various reasons, but I’ve always made an honest effort at the relationship and I have never once spoken those words. That would be a disgrace.
It feels awful to be done with, after investing so much. I like to think that the ex will regret it, but in my heart, I know that he won’t. He might regret not having some of the benefits of having me in his life (money, attention, rides everywhere, etc.), but he won’t ever regret not having *me.* That’s a tough reality to deal with … for all of us … we’re interchangeable to these men.
:'(
neverneverland,
Yes… buy yourself a ficus os something that grows quickly or a goldfish. Pretend you are on an island and unreachable by that man.
Stay away from him. If he REALLY wants to pay you back money, he can send you a cashiers check. Oweing you money is a way to keep you connected to him and tempted to continue to deal with him. I don’t know how much he owes you but is it possible to let it go?
You need to go NO CONTACT. It worked for me! It worked for all of us that are doing it. Be commited to your recovery! The longer you avoid it, the more time you will waste on a Bad Man.
“He’s even over his own children. This was a man that appeared to be Mr. Wonderful Father,”
Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? Same thing, here. Just found out last year that when the girls were small and their dad (not the Wolf, but a mess just the same) was suddenly trying for “joint custody” (a joke – he had open visitation and only ever wanted to exercise the every other weekend thing) he started reading to the girls, spending time with them instead of being in the garage.
It was the only time he ever told our youngest he loved her.
When he finally dropped the case – over the issue of $$, of course – he never again did ANY of those things with his kids. Never said ‘I love you’ again to our youngest. Within a few years he stopped seeing them except birthdays and Christmas. A few more years, he is only seeing them for a few hours around Christmas.
After her 19th birthday, our oldest called him because she had a new number. That was February. He hasn’t called back.
Whatever damaged part of me thought this man capable of love and then thought the S was capable of love is not genetically transferable: last night, our youngest made clear that her dad is a failure in her eyes and that I did a great job NEVER saying bad things about him to her, letting her figure it all out on her own. She did, and is smart enough not to take it personally.
It made me so happy to hear. She will not be likely to fall for an N or S, probably, because she’s got a healthy sense not to internalize other’s failures.
They cannot love. Fortunately, it doesn’t poison everyone around them – just most of us.
LilOrphan,
So nice to hear that your youngest has figured out her dad is a failure. At the beginning of all this mess, I was saying things about their dad, but after some therapy sessions, I realized I needed to stop. They are now realizing on their own, by being disappointed by his actions and uncaring attitude towards them, so I don’t need to say anything at all.
He has blamed me for his children not wanting to spend time with him. But I don’t even let that get to me anymore, because it is so ridiculous. He is a sick man with no hope for living a decent life, and that is all I need to know.
neverneverland,
Same thing with my p – it was about a week after he moved out where he said “just move on and be happy”. I said to him “what is wrong with you?” No answer there, just blankness, because that is all there is to these p’s – nothingness.
I have been told that it could be possible that some of these p’s are so traumatized at an early age that they get stuck emotionally at that age. I feel that is so true with my p. I only recently discovered a fraction of what went on during his childhood. If I treat him like an 8 year old, I feel I can handle his craziness a little better.
almost_free:
“At the beginning of all this mess, I was saying things about their dad, but after some therapy sessions, I realized I needed to stop.
Am so proud of you for that! It takes enormous self-restraint on an almost daily basis when you first split-up, or when they do something just crappy.
Will never forget the day he told them in the driveway as they were getting ready to leave for his house that he’d basically “see them around”
As much as they didn’t like spending whole weekends there, the feelings of abandonment were right there on their faces. I happened to be on the couch reading and looked outside as this was going down. When they came in, I acted all nonchalant about it, because it was such a big, sad moment in reality. They could tell he was giving them up totally and so could I. Later I let myself cry for them, when they’d gone to bed and it was safe they would not see.
For years since I’ve told him to try and make repairs with those relationships, for their sake but even for his. He refuses. Says that they are “women” and he can’t relate to them because of this.
What kind of human being is that?
Realize now I have a tendency to fall in love with men who just can’t reciprocate. Me, who loves so fiercely and believes in loyalty utterly, who wants to stick it out through thick and thin, picks partners who don’t seem to even begin to fathom the word.
As to blaming you – he will continue. Forever. The youngest and I discussed that last night. She plans eventually to tell him what a shmuck he is and said “he will blame you for how I feel, but I will tell him exactly what he did when we were little that caused it and that you never said or did anything except encourage us to love him.”
Go her. Let him blame you; everyone else knows better. He can’t look inside. He won’t look inside. You have the unenviable position of having that problem foisted upon your shoulders, by him. Maybe because you are strong and good enough to carry it.
Neverneverland,
Was it you that said one of my post made you cry? I don’t want to make anyone cry! I assume that it was because my words hit home or rubbed against the raw places that a Sociopath has left you with.
I don’t cry about the Bad Man at all anymore. Strangely, I didn’t cry a lot when I was with BM. I would have occassional hysterical outburts. This came out when I tried to expose him to people because I was so upset.
We occassionally attended a Church where he got a lot of attention when we went there. One time, I tried getting in touch with the Pastor but I sounded like a hysterical psycho… oh those were the days! I also burst into tears about other thigns back then. I was holding in a lot with BM. Mostly, I was in shock all the time because his words were so vicious and shocking to me.
Anyway, I hope your tears were healing tears.
Meatloaf at my house!!