Day 133 + 134

Technically, I’m hijacking this post to clarify.  Not for the reader, but for me, to hopefully help me work through or help us work through the shit…

9AM:

The vulnerabilities of me are hidden.  Originally by choice, don’t get me wrong (when she needed me to be strong for her, when she had her new job, I was; when I needed her to be strong for me, when my job fought me and my family fucked up on me, she strayed emotionally and physically = so to survive and keep standing up straight, I went inside).  But then we made a choice to be the opposite.  To be better.  To build a home.

However, not all the best laid plans…

Since then, over the last while (pretty much since my brother’s relapse, another thing that caused me to stand up straight, ignore my own shit and put my faith in her to take care of me when I took care of the rest of the world), the internal (eating disorder voice, which has been brutalizing about my stomach and bloat and weight gain for three weeks) and external world (the feeling like my workplace needs to be survived, not enjoyed or thrived in) has driven me inside again.  I find myself insular, and this, mind you, is not by choice.  This is by necessity.  This is by survival. This is because my family is dealing with my brother, work is shitting on me and my disbeliever (more on that later) wife is making mistakes on me (instead of checking her frustrations and gut-reactions with love, understanding that my vulnerability is a symptom and not a cause, she gets hijacked and thrown into attack mode).  Being entirely honest with my feelings, I am vulnerable.  I am sick and tired and battered.  Bruised and battered.  The slightest cut feels overwhelming.  It takes all my energy to just exist.

What I’m finding now is that these vulnerabilities are sneaking out, as a consequence of being battered.  The anger and sadness and fatigue are creeping out of me slowly, sporadically, unexpectedly.  I don’t want them to.  I want to look up, but I’m too far down right now, too lost in the darkness.

I want my wife to be the direction for it (not the sole participant in the support system, but the one she promised me she would be = the strength for me when I couldn’t be strong for myself ).  She can be.  I believe she can be, even if she has lost the ability to see that when her darkness appears (when she gets hijacked by work stress or her own version of blackness).  She is beautiful, she is strong, she has the capacity for immense caring and love.  She needs to believe.  Until she does, I won’t find peace or love or a home.

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