Old Feelings

Since I left the shelter I have sometimes found myself consumed with anger towards my ex-husband. Not unusual, you would think. But this is not my abuser that I have been raging at in my mind, it is the husband I had before I partnered up with my abuser.

I just read through some advice on Aish.com (I am not plugging the site, this is where I found it) on six steps to get rid of anger.

I think the reason this has been happening, this focus on what I lost and how angry I am at him for his deceptions is because I am blaming him.

I am blaming him for setting me loose, to be found fair game by my abuser.
I am blaming him for being kind to me, the last partner to be so. As if I am mourning the best treatment I had in a relationship. Which was not stellar, but humane. Humane I did not have before him, nor have I had it since. I am pretty sure that I am mourning relationships altogether, because I cannot see myself ever having another.

I am blaming him for setting me back years financially. Had I known there was no future with him, I would not have put him and his siblings though college, I would have put myself through, and saved myself a lot of current worries about finances as a single parent of three.

I am blaming him because I had assumed that I would always have a relationship with his family, and to be cast out by them still rankles. I loved them to pieces. I thought they were my own family, forever.

I blamed myself, berated myself, ate myself up with guilt and had years of sleepless nights over the mistakes in my life. Over having children with a monster and not spotting the signs of madness. So I do not know if blaming my ex husband is progress or a setback. I am not comfortable with blaming anyone for anything, even if it be unintentional, unconscious. I meet with the therapist tomorrow. I don’t know if I can fix this, but I sense this is a good first step.

I Cry For Other Things

I cry when I see pictures of babies. I cry when I see babies sleeping. I cry at weddings.
I cry when I read about horrific things done to other people.
I cried for a long time when ISIL first captured the Yezdi on the mountain, when the activists with flowers died in Egypt, and when a soldier dies or is injured, I cry.
I cry when children suffer.

I don’t cry for myself. I think it is abnormal, and that I should. I cry for myself maybe twice a year, out of frustration usually. I can see him hitting me in my mind’s eye and I do not cry. I do not cry when I remember him hitting any of us, and I do not cry when I remember the things he said to us. I feel a heavy weight when I think of those things, and I feel as if I need to get to work, to get us to therapies and treatments that will lessen those memories and make them powerless. I suppose it does motivate me, I bury it all with work. But I don’t talk to anyone about it. I never tell anyone what happened.

I wish I had normal reactions, where I would sob and be comforted and it would ease the weight, the ache. But I am not the weepy type. When things go wrong, when things get hard, I get to work. This is why I have PTSD. I am not processing properly.

I try to model all emotions and appropriate coping in front of my children. I let them see when I am sad, when I am angry, and I tell them why. I do not swear or stomp around, and if I do raise my voice I apologize. One son never cries, either, and the other son cries all the time, readily. My daughter cries as is appropriate for her age, and she has not hit the age of logic yet.

I have always reacted to small things and not big things. I am fantastic in emergencies and a bumbling idiot for mishaps.

I nearly cried once, in therapy, and instead of using that obvious cue to guide my therapy further into the topic, I changed the subject and my gears and kept the tears away.

I think it is too late to change these things about myself.