And there’s more people than you’d think out there, quite damaged in one way or another; those who would never admit it, and secretly strive to overcome the adversity, trauma, grief or disillusionment; those who’d never admit it and fight against any kind of change in themselves for the better (hello CEF), and those who will admit abandonment and trauma, and do try to overcome the scars that this leaves etched into their lives and the lives of those they love. Whether or not they are ever able to, I’m not sure.
I know that I am damaged by the shock of my husband, who never looked at another woman, putting me through what he did, ruining our lives when we were just at the stage of having some time to ourselves, those holidays and cruises that were on the horizon – which he then spent with another lady- but more than anything, the loss of our family unit.
And then CEF.
Say no more.
But I will…
I am damaged because when he says something just slightly narky, I now want to smash him, really. No, it’s been a while now since he would come into my bedroom and scream and spit abuse, night and morning, day after day, week after week. But the hurt and disbelief at that will never go away. It’s there always.
Reasons for less aggression?
1. I never talk. I just answer. I would never ask him to do anything.
2. He has alienated everyone I love, so he doesn’t have to even think about them calling in – ever. Job done.
3. He drinks later in the day. If this changed, he’d be back to screaming abuse every night at 7 o’clock.
4. I no longer even bother about the grounds, or put in a garden or heaven forbid, a tree.
5. He’s drunk most nights, but I go to bed in the other room, so there is no chance that I might ask him if he’d mind turning down the tv a little bit – a sure fire request that used to cause a tirade of abuse.
But mostly, it’s just about him going to bed before the craziness starts. When he had the milk run he’d be home at 11 each day – drinking after lunch and abusive at 7pm on the dot.
The damaged me now though, goes from half normal to extreme hatred in about 10 seconds. A snort from him when I said I’d been busy – that’s all it takes and I want to bash him. Throttle him for all that I’m missing out on, and all that he’s put me through.
A little while back at work, a ball crashed through a window, everyone at the staffroom table jumped violently. Except me. They laughed about it. I did too. “You didn’t even flinch!” “That’s me. Bomb proof,” I said.
Thats not good though.
Even the ex. Now, that good man has not bothered to contact me after his lovely suggestion that we spend the night together. Just sex. Nothing else, he assured me that weird day.
Yep, just a little more damage there, thanks very much.
Oh, I’ll still talk to him, of course. Bomb proof, remember.
But damaged all the same.
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