Thursday, 16 March 2017

And ... I'm Back!

Thursday, March 16, 2017

It has taken two months, countless calories from sugar and chocolate, countless minutes and hours flopped on the couch playing Candy Crush and other such games on the iPad, a few meltdowns complete with tears and anguish, not enough fresh air and exercise, and too much blubber added on to my hips, waist, thighs and arms.

But ...

I did it!

I have jumped over the stile, seen the light at the end of the tunnel, climbed the highest mountain, forded the stream, and have successfully lifted the weight off my shoulders.

Yahoooooo!

This afternoon, I sat myself in front of my laptop and began to type.

What was written was a hypothetical letter to my former husband.  Let me explain.

During the one, and only, session with a particular therapist (I later went to see a different lady therapist which proved much more successful), she recommended the following exercise:  Write a letter to your (then) husband which will never be sent to him.  Write whatever you want, say whatever want, express whatever want.  It will be a letter that he will never read.  Then, once complete, destroy it.  Burn it.  Tear it up.  Ceremoniously get rid of it.  Accomplish some form of closure.  Write more than one letter, if necessary.  Write as many letters as you wish.

I wrote a letter.

Two other letters have actually been written over the past couple of years.  Interestingly enough, each of those two letters took completely different angles.  The first was gracious; the second was angry!

Today's letter produced thirteen, yes, 13, pages (single-spaced!).

Man, did it work well.  I feel FANTASTIC!

In usual form, it started declaring certain points, then fluidly rolled into other points.

There was even a significant Ah-Ha moment, when everything suddenly took on an entirely different perspective.  A perspective, I might add, that had me in the power seat rather than my former husband.

Wow.

What an evolution.

Not an epiphany, but definitely an evolution.

I recognized something...which is what an epiphany seems to represent.

Then it went further.

That recognition then evolved into an entirely new way of seeing the situation and had me changing, forever, how I now look upon my entire raison d'etre regarding my former husband's abusive behaviour.

Mind blowing.

Evolutionary.

And, once again, it has come about in its own way, in its own time, and in its own perspective.

I feel so much better about myself right now (except for those pesky additional pounds).

My back is straighter.  My head feels clearer.  My motivation has been jump-started.

I also realized, perhaps egotistically, that I have something valuable to share with others.  That these various life experiences which I have experienced, have produced a pool of knowledge and insight from which others might be able to relate.  Experiences from which others can learn.  Experiences from which their own lives can be effected (dare I say, improved or even fulfilled?).

My self-confidence has been greatly strengthened.

I have successfully turned the tables on my abuser, and still stand firmly on my own ground with my head held high.




I'm back.

And can't wait to dive into my manuscript and see what I can produce.

Does anyone know a good book editor out there?!

Happy Thursday, Everyone.



Tuesday, 14 March 2017

Rock Bottom

March 14, 2017


I feel as if I have hit rock bottom


I have zero energy, zero focus, zero desire to do anything, zero desire to step outside into the world.


I took myself to the gym yesterday; spent an hour or so on the elliptical and then did some floor work.  


Katy Perry’s “Roar” was playing as I stretched on the mat.  (That song had a big impact on me back in 2013/14.)


One hour was all I could handle.  I had to get back home.  That was enough of the world for that day.


Today, I initially got dressed to return to the gym.  Then the dark cloud descended, and I chose to stay home.  Lacklustre exercises on the living room rug.  


Tonight I am supposed to be meeting a girlfriend in the city for dinner.  She is in town for work.  While I was in the shower, again the dark cloud descended.  The weight of the outside world pressing down on me, suffocating me.


I could not do this.  I could not go out into the world today.  It was going to be too much.


I emailed and texted my girlfriend.  I lied to her.  I said I had been up in the night with an upset tummy.  Not feeling great.  Don’t think I can make it this evening.  Going back to bed.


I need to rectify that situation.  I cannot let that lie remain out there.


I have to admit to her that I am simply not up to facing the world right now, even with a world full of amazing girlfriends who will understand and offer a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen and wisdom to share at the end of it all.


But I was in absolute tears.  I was a mess.  I'm uninspired. I’ve gained weight and now clothes are tight and uncomfortable.  The light has gone out of my eyes at present.  


Why am I feeling so closed in?  Why has my strength abandoned me?


I know the answer to those questions.  


I have allowed myself enough of a break from a regime of responsibility.  My doctor has expertly given me medical instructions to not be working at present.  In her own words last week, “you’ve handled everything like a rockstar”.  It is now time to take care of me, fully and properly.  It is now time to face the demons that haunt me.  Time to look those demons in the eye and react the way I need to react.  To think about it as I need to think about.  To cry.  To groan.  To scream.  To have no time constraints or limits on how quickly I need to come up with the answers in order to pack it away properly.


I have been existing on a treadmill for so many years.  Being on survival mode is exhausting.  Right now, I am not on survival mode.  I have shelter.  I have food.  I have wonderfully caring people in my life.  


I am SAFE.


With safety, comes the ability to actually feel those raw emotions that have festered inside me for too many years.   Well before July 18, 2014, my feelings have been locked down.  It is not just these past 3 years, since making the decision to leave my marriage, have I locked down the emotions.


Since the first instance of abuse I have locked down my emotions.  I have locked away my reactions, my questions, my tears, my fears, my questions for close to 15 years.  Fifteen.  15.  That’s a lot of pressure that builds up over such a time span.  Like a glacier growing with each new snow crystal that lands upon it, and gets compacted by the weight of the next snow crystal.  This is how my angst has grown over the years.  


Leaving my marriage was an immense relief.  It was.  My world instantly changed for the better.  My world was brighter, and happier, and lighter.  


There was, however, still the darkness inside to be dealt with.  Darkness that continues to bubble to the surface when I am going about my typical days.


Now, with the relaxed daily schedule and medically-approved absence from employment, this darkness no longer needs to be kept at bay.  Now is the time to let it rise fully to the surface and fully come into view.  It is time for me to recognize and acknowledge and process just what has happened to me, just what my husband did to me, just how my husband made me feel with every unprovoked strike of his hand, fist, foot.


My lack of energy for everyday matters comes from no longer needing to push down the darkness.  Keeping that darkness at bay has taken everything out of me.  Temporarily, mind you.  I know I will get my focus and drive back.  But right now, I am completely devoid of enthusiasm.  I have pushed it down for so long.  Now that I have stopped pushing, the darkness was not sure if it should come out of hiding.  It has taken a few test runs at me, and now it knows that I will not resist.  In a way, I welcome its appearance so that I can properly feel everything, no matter how deeply those feelings will run.


I have no more resistance.  There is no longer a need to resist.  I don’t have to be at an office 5 days per week.  I don’t have to take care of my children every day.  I have no demands on my time and schedule right now.


Come on Darkness.  Out you come.


Come show me what you have for me.  Let me feel it.  Let me cry out in agony for all that I was not able to feel for all those years.  


Come out, come out, wherever you are.


I’m ready for it now.


So what if I’ve gained weight.  So what if I’ve temporarily misplaced my focus and drive.  So what.


So, bloody, what.


I deserve this time.  I deserve this time to put everything on the table.  To be honest about how everything has made me feel.  I will not make excuses. And then I will be able to move back into that wonderful world of sunshine and smiles and laughter. I will get there. I know I will.


My doctor states that I need this time for me.


My girlfriend has been sent an apology and an explanation.  Truth, once again, prevails.  I hope she’ll forgive me.


I feel another chapter coming on.

Saturday, 11 March 2017

For Me



Saturday, March 11, 2017

What am I feeling right now?

What has been stirred up inside me over the past several days as I describe a significantly dramatic portion of my life to anonymous readers?

Right now, I am feeling wiped out.

I feel as if I am some battered piece of flotsam, or jetsam, washed up onto an exposed, steep rocky beach with waves crashing all about me.  Somehow, surrounded by all this turmoil, a small piece of solitude has been located.  The storm rages all around me, but for now I have a small island of peace.  At some point, I will be swept back up into the tempest and forced to face the demons again.  I know this.  My story has only begun to unfold.  In order for me to write from the heart, to say what I truly want to say to anonymous readers, to share the small amounts of wisdom I have gained, I must step  back into that storm and describe it on paper.

I struggle with details.  Specifically, how many details to include and how specific those details should be.

Privacy is another matter I struggle with.  Specifically, my children's privacy.

I have no problem, from my perspective, putting my experiences out there.  My goal is that my experiences may help another human being to keep moving forward.  From a selfish position, I can happily be as specific as I choose to be.

But those details could indirectly, or even directly, impact the right of privacy for my children.  Is it fair of me to have them innocently swept up into my tale of self-discovery?

To be perfectly clear:  My experiences that I write about are not those of my children.

Our goals, as parents, my former husband and I, were to provide to our children with a childhood that would offer a sense of freedom, independence, confidence, capability, self-reliance, insight, and an appreciation of the world at large.  I believe that goal was successfully accomplished.  Regardless of how much, or how little, input I had in this decision, the success of it is not in question.

My children have had an amazing childhood, and have grown into well-adjusted, insightful, fun loving and mature individuals with good hearts and minds.   What more could a parent ask for?

I do not wish for my stories and my experiences to reflect badly upon my children.  They have their own stories and experiences which reflect the people they have become.  Considering how they each are confidently going about their lives today, one can only surmise that they have been offered a stable and secure foundation from which to launch their own adventures.

My children are not scarred.  My children are not dysfunctional.  My children are healthy members of their own social societies and participate willingly in their lives.

They are happy and content and inquisitive and keen to discover what the world has to offer.  They love to laugh.

As for me, especially today, I feel quite vulnerable.  I feel limp and washed out and lacking energy and lacking the capability to process any more thoughts.

Earlier this morning, I was a complete mess.  I had camping gear spread out over the living room rug in preparation of an overnight alpine trip with a few ladies.  I was in tears at the thought of pulling myself together for this trip.  I could not do it.  It was simply too much for me to handle.

The mountains may be calling, but I may just have to let the call go unanswered.

I know there are more details for me to write out.  There is another episode in particular that I need to explore as I have done with this previous episode.  It may not be included as part of my book, but I do think it is an exercise in which I should participate.  It would be good for me to face yet another demon and exorcise it properly.

It is time to push away the distractions and really feel what I need to feel, and think what I need to think, and cry as much as I need to cry.

For me.

Friday, 10 March 2017

Writing Can Be ...

Friday, March 10, 2017

Writing can be either completely therapeutic or gruelling.
Or both.

I have spent the entire day, at my dining room table, completing the chapter that had to be completed first.  It is not necessarily Chapter One of the book, but it is the chapter that needed to be written first.  From this chapter, all the more positive topics will flow.

Once again, I am pooped.

Mentally fried.

Emotionally numb.

Completely lacking in energy.

Yet also feel a renewed vigour to continue.



Perhaps the hardest part is over.

Revision will be necessary, that is part of the process.  It is hard to get it right the first time around.

For now, it is time to take a break.  The weekend is here.  The mountains are calling.  The ladies are gearing up for another alpine adventure.

Happy Weekend, Everyone.

Have fun.  You deserve it.



Thursday, 9 March 2017

Today Is A Better Day




Thursday, March 9, 2017

After yesterday's self-imposed, energy-zapping writing exercise, today I had to go for a long walk by the river.

More pretty pictures.

Enjoy.



Yesterday Was A Tough Day

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Yesterday Was A Tough Day

Yesterday I concentrated on writing about a very specific event, a very specific topic.

The emotions that were churned up left me completely devoid of fortitude.

Yesterday, vulnerability reigned supreme.

There were tears while I sat alone in my vehicle overlooking the great body of water on which my home town is located.  Snow-covered mountains in the background.  There were sobs from deep down inside me.

I had always been keenly aware of how this specific topic makes me feel.  I had, however, never really delved into the emotional details of it.  I have never tried to explicitly describe it before with written words.

The correct and descriptive words found traction on the document.

That particular chapter of my book still requires completing.  Today's task now lays before me.

I must say, though, that in usual fashion when I am feeling wobbly, my children are the first people I choose to contact.  And all three rose, once again, in typical fashion to the occasion.  Declarations of love from all four us filled the wires.  

Yesterday was a tough day, but my children made it bearable.

Happy Thursday.

 

Saturday, 4 March 2017

A Pretty Picture




Saturday, March 4, 2017

A Pretty Picture

Today, I took myself out for a lovely, long walk in the forest.  My camera accompanied me.

The local trails are shared by those on two feet, those on four feet, and those on two wheels (and sometimes just one wheel!).  

Today, it was very evident that the mountain bikers are back on the trails!  Shoulder-checking begins.

Nothing heavy to write about, although my mind did work through several different topics.  One topic, in particular, had me fussing a bit.  That will be divulged tomorrow.

I will not spoil the tranquil mood that the above photograph creates. 

It is simply too pretty.

I hope you enjoy it.

Happy Saturday!


Friday, 3 March 2017

That's A Wrap

Friday, March 3, 2017

That's A Wrap!


#1 - #42 of previous posts are the re-caps of what was written previously.

We are now back in the present, and continue moving forward.

Happy Friday!

Time for a glass of wine.

#42: Coming To Terms / Seeing Everything For What It Was and Is

Saturday, May 7, 2016

In the past three or four weeks I have taken giant steps forward on my pathway to recovery.

Actually, the steps have been quite earth-shattering for me:

a)  For someone who has consistently continued to cloak the real reasons for the ending of her marriage in hazy terms of mental illness, a bold step has been to completely remove that term from the entire scenario.

b) I have undertaken an act of complete and utter selflessness.  The enormity of which staggers me.

c)  I have firmly placed the blame for the failure of my marriage right where it belongs.

d)  Despite being divorced, the role of Father still exists.

e)  That I am wiped out given a, b, c and d.


Okay, first to explain (a).  From the moment I began discovering reasons and clinical explanations for why my husband (former husband now, thank you very much!) was interpreting, reacting, behaving the way he was in an endless cycle of repetitiveness, I put myself under the illusion that "it wasn't his fault".  And, "that there was no blame".  He didn't ask for his neurotransmitters to start firing the way they were firing.  He did nothing to deliberately bring about this change in his personality.  And for that simple reason, there was no blame for his actions.  Nor any blame for me leaving him, nor for our marriage ending.  It was sad, but no one's fault.

And I have steadfastly held to this rationale for more than two years.  Two years of excusing my ex of his, at times, utterly appalling behaviour and, at times, absolutely horrific behaviour.  Two years of excusing him from causing me harm.  Let's just say that recently, the gloves came off.  My gloves, that is.

Everything in the list above is intricately connected, yet each step stands firmly in its own tracks.  So please excuse me for jumping around throughout my explanation.

For the past year, I have been diligently saving money from every pay cheque in order to send my children on holiday.  Not just any holiday.  Rather than the four of us heading off on a surfing adventure in Hawaii, I voluntarily sent my children to spend time with their grandparents.  Grandparents being the parents of my former husband and father of my children.

For me, the reasons for doing this (and please note that this is the explanation for (b) above), to me, are extremely straightforward and uncomplicated.  My former in-laws are extraordinary people.  They have played an incredibly important and valuable role in my marriage.  They have played an incredibly important role in my children's lives.  The relationship and bond between my children and their grand-parents should not be affected just because I am no longer married to their son.  The children are still grand-children.  Grand-parents are still grand-parents.  Divorce does not remove these roles nor the importance of these roles from everyone's lives.

My selfless gift to the children acknowledges how important the children are to my former in-laws, and how important my former husband's parents are to my children.  I have never had any intention whatsoever to keep the children from their father's family.  Never.  As travel is becoming more difficult due to age, it made complete sense that the children should travel to see their grandparents.  The gift wraps up Graduations, Birthdays and Christmas.  It is all-inclusive and with the memories, never-ending.  The children are old enough now to spend dedicated time enjoying their grand-parents on an adult level.  To travel on their own and to spread their wings in this grand world of ours.

The trip also serves as a heart-felt Thank You, from me, to this particular couple.  I have always felt very privileged to be part of this family.  I highly respect them both.  It also serves as a gesture which reinforces the fact that their grandchildren are highly accessible to them.  That I have not cut anyone off from the children.

This is the selfless act that I have performed.  Rather than indulging in pettiness, and being obstructive when it comes to the relationships my children have with their father's family, I have been extraordinarily generous, gracious, accommodating and conciliatory.  I am not denying the role they play in my children's lives.  Nor vice versa.  A terribly mature outlook to be sure.  The fact that I have offered this to my former in-laws I personally find staggering.  That I committed my own efforts and resources to make this happen for the sheer enjoyment and fulfillment of my husband's family, I honestly find quite extraordinary.  It actually takes my breath away at times when I think of it.

That after all that I have been through (terribly cliche), or rather, after all my former husband put me through, and after all the horrific treatment I suffered by his hands (and feet, and other anatomical parts), that I would even consider doing something that benefited his family is utterly astonishing.  Truly.  That I didn't simply turn my back on that entire side of my history (and my children's heritage) and carry on as if they no longer existed, is where the full impact of my actions lie.

My children will be home in two days.  48 hours from now I will be at the airport picking them up.

And this leads to my next revelation:  That my children are utterly priceless to me and that I would do anything for them.  Now, I know that every single mother out there would admit the same thing in a heartbeat.  I know that.   But what I have realized about my own life, while examining the past years, and not being able to fully answer and understand just why I returned to my husband and children when I ran away for a couple of days back in 2008, is that it has always been about the children.

I returned after running away in the middle of the night, not because of my husband, but because of my children.  I have never been able to quantify that until just recently.  For all the times that I felt utterly inept as a mother, I must say that my Mama Bear instincts are alive and well and ready to leap to my children's assistance in a millisecond.  I may not have fully realized that before, although there were definite inklings over the past two years.  But I certainly realize it today.

I came back because of my children.  I refused to ever leave again because of my children.  I put up with the hellish environment my husband produced because of my children.  And I suppose that two years ago, the time had run out on that particular way of life.  I suppose I no longer needed to put up with it for the sake of the children.  I found it in me to admit I could not live with this anymore.  That neither me nor the children needed to have this in our lives anymore.  That I was now capable of walking away from him and knowing I could support the children.  Yes, that's it exactly.  Any time prior to July 2014 and I would have not been able at all to handle being a single mother.  All that time of putting up with the punishments and the blame was served as a means to build me up, or simply wait for the right time to make the move.  And I admit it all went quite smoothly and successfully.  Back to the point though:  It has always been about the children for me.  I may not have seen that fully until just a couple of weeks ago, but I now see that that is exactly why I have done everything I have done.  For the children.

Gosh, it feels really good to finally, FINALLY, get to this place of understanding.  Friends have all asked me "what made you do it at that particular point in time?"  The universal question of what made me see the light at long last?  And I haven't had an answer for that.  Until now.

And the holiday is for the children.  My gift to them.  Because they deserve it.  Because I know how important it is.  Because it was simply the right thing to do.

Once the tickets were booked, then it was discussed that their Dad should know about this trip.  It is his parents, after all, that the children are going to see.  After a bit of a kerfuffle, it was decided that at the very least an invitation should be extended to him to join everyone.  This put me through great turmoil and great angst.  The very notion of him benefiting from all my planning and saving and good intentions made me absolutely livid.  There was no bloody way I wanted him to ride in on my coat-tails and maximize this opportunity when he wasn't even putting in the effort to see them here at home.  Hell, he only lives an hour away and still can't see any of the children on a regular basis.  I may have walked away from him, but he has chosen to walk away from his children.

In the end, he did not join them.  I think much to everyone's relief!  I know that the atmosphere and mood would have been completely different if he were there.  Much more stressful with no natural flow.  Fortunately, it all turned out as planned in the end.

But the turmoil of emotions that I went through helped to crystalize my thoughts reflected in (d) above.

As I was adamant that he was not to benefit from my logistics and my financial commitment to this holiday, and that it was ME who came up with the idea, and it was ME who saved, and it was ME who saw the children safely through airport security, and that it was ME who deliberately worded the divorce documents so that financial support would not be imposed on him, and that he has benefited from my vehicles/gas/insurance/inconvenience while being with the children only TWICE in the past 21 months, that I no longer will facilitate/encourage/do anything regarding the relationship between Father and Children.  I am taking care of EVERYTHING for me and the children.  I removed all responsibilities from my husband EXCEPT the responsibility of being a Father.  He is still fully accountable to the children for being a father.  He must make the effort to be included and involved in his children's lives.  It is not the children's responsibility to involve their father,  nor make arrangements to see him, nor plan to get together.  That is all up to him, the father, the elder in the relationship.  And if this father chooses to not be involved with his children, then he only has himself to blame.  No one else is at fault.  I will not be encouraging the children to invite Dad to Graduation.  I will not be encouraging the children to ensure they see or contact Dad during the Christmas holidays.  If he calls the children, and makes the first move, then I won't discourage it.  But I am not pushing the children do to anything with regards to their father.  This is not my role.  This is not the children's role.  This is solely the Father's role.

And with this responsibility, comes blame if he does not see it through.  Blame is the thread that connects to (c) and (a).  With removing mental illness from my list of excuses for his behaviour, I can now firmly and unequivocally place blame on my husband's shoulders for the destruction of our marriage, and for the destruction of our family.

Mental illness or not, his actions and his intent to harm me, cannot be entirely rooted in mental illness.  Misfiring transmitters could not entirely remove his cognitive abilities to know that he was meaning to cause me harm and then actually did cause me harm.  I can no longer excuse his abuse on the "suffering from mental illness" bullshit.  He knew he wanted to hurt me.  He then decided to hurt me.  He then decided to hurt me again and again and again.  No form of abuse, I'm sure, can be completely and entirely attributable to mental illness.  No one looses their faculties completely.  Amnesia was never an issue.  Because at some level, he was fully aware of what he was doing, I can now fully blame him for deliberately harming me over and over and over again.  I can now fully blame him for driving me away.  I can now fully blame him for our marriage ending and for our family being destroyed.

I have never done anything to warrant the behaviour/the wrath/the punishment that he inflicted upon me.  That he inflicted upon me for YEARS.  I am not perfect.  But no one deserves what I was subjected to.  He scarred me, physically and emotionally.  And he is fully responsible for that.

And oh, how I wish I could have the opportunity to tell him this to his face.

That he is fully responsible for the relationship between him and his children.

That he is fully responsible for pushing me away.

That he is fully responsible for the intentional harm he caused me.

No more mental illness.  No more excuses.

Seeing Everything For What It Is.

And with all these revelations, comes exhaustion!  Breaking through emotional walls is ... emotional.  It is draining.  It is an opportunity to see just how much of myself I have given to so many people around me.  I have given to my former in-laws.  I have given to my former husband.  I have given, somewhat, to myself.  And I have most definitely given to my children.  The loves of my life.  The reason for me doing everything I do.

I have two nights left in a quiet apartment before the liveliness returns.  I can hardly wait.

In these next 48 hours I plan to revel in the fresh mountain air with a girlfriend for Mother's Day (tomorrow), hopefully exploring a new trail leading to a mountain lake.  I will also spend some time in the kitchen revving up the food-preparations.  I will also take the time to slump and take big breaths.  I am tired.  I am frazzled.  I am running on empty and eating too many cookies!

It is time to totally step back.  The holiday is done.  That task is complete.  My time with my former husband's family has come to a close.  I have no more energy at present to put into that.  I pass that torch onto the children.

I think it is now time to start thinking about my second annual pilgrimage to The Rockies this summer!

50 And Feeling Like A Tired Puppy!


#41: Day Off Monday

Monday, March 21, 2016

Day Off Monday

In a rare event, I have a two-day weekend!!  I am revelling with having two consecutive days off to unwind even more so than usual.

Yesterday, I took myself for a lovely 8km walk through the forest on the local trails.  It started out as a gentle jog, but as my leg muscles were still feeling the effects of hiking up to the First Peak of The Chief on Friday, I slowed it down to a brisk walk.

This morning, I packed up and headed off to the gondola to do the Shannon Basin Loop (about 10km), with plans to afterwards hit the restaurant and open up the laptop.  Good intentions faded quickly.  It is raining at the top, the snow is mushy.  I forgot to pack my spikes and gators.  My lower back, which I could begin to feel last evening, does not wish to trudge around in slippery snow with a backpack.  After cursing myself for not being properly prepared, and thinking that I always like to get the hike in first before the writing begins, I find myself at the restaurant, a cup of tea beside me.  Sounds of a group float in from the other section, but unfettered solitary roominess are to be found in this section.  It is a cloudy, grey day.  Misty rather than cloudy.  The tops of the mountains on the opposite side of Howe Sound are barely visible.  The snow is patchy and melting.  I will simply have to go for my forest exercise after I write.  I suppose it is good to  mix things up a bit!!

In the past 48 hours, I have discovered two different elements with my emotions.

First off, as I was talking out loud in the shower (actually, pretending I was a guest speaker at a women’s conference concentrating on women surviving mental illness...I know, terribly egotistical and childish), and describing how I embarked on this voyage of complete and utter personal change, a wave of realization struck me.  My pursuit to learn about side-effects of marijuana, namely what is the connection between smoking marijuana and paranoia, rapidly evolved into the study of symptoms of mental illness.  It was not side effects after all.  It was symptoms that I was dealing, that WE were, dealing with.

I started out wondering just how much of an impact marijuana had on the brain.  How much marijuana had to be smoked in order for the brain to be impacted.  How much marijuana had to be smoked, how often, how consistently, in order for the brain to begin to view the world in a more off-kilter perspective?  It is not as if marijuana was smoked every day, week after week, year after year.  It was totally cyclical.  Just how much was needed to cause a permanent effect though?  And in my initial searching, I was looking for clinical answers with direct connections between the two.  Looking for the definitive statement:  Marijuana unequivocally causes long-term paranoia.

I did not find that statement.  What I did find was a door that opened onto a world that I knew nothing about.  A world that was completely unknown to me.  A world that, upon discover, suddenly made sense of everything.  Revelation after revelation struck as waves against the shore.  Endless knowledge pouring in which divulged the depths and intricacies of my ex-husband’s mental state.

What is interesting is that the more I discovered the more likely explanations of “why” my husband had the perspectives he did, and “why” he behaved the way he did, and “why” he reacted the way he did, the less and less concerned I was with discovering “what” caused these perspectives, “what” caused the behaviours, and “what” caused those particularly predictable reactions.  It didn’t matter what brought this all on in the first place.  Whether it was effects fro two concussions in university (rugby), or spurred on by casual marijuana use throughout school and the early years of marriage, or other drug use later in life, or a biological reason attributed exclusively to his unique genetic make up.  None of that mattered.  All that mattered was that this is what I/we are dealing with right now.  What got us to this point is irrelevant.  All the focus and energy was put towards determining what we do next, both short-term and long-term.

I began reading of other people’s experiences.  How living with a partner with mental illness affected them.  What daily life consisted of when living with a partner with mental illness.  Examples of life with less extreme symptoms and examples of life with more extreme symptoms.  Reading about living long-term with someone whose personality will only become more and more extreme as the years wear on.  It was at this stage that my internal light went on.  That I admitted to myself, without hesitation, that I could not do this anymore.  Now that I had an explanation for “why” everything was the way that it was, and why my (ex) husband was the way that he was (and still is, and most likely will still be), I knew with complete certainty that I had already been living with mental illness for years.  YEARS.  And that I was not going to live with mental illness ANYMORE.

That miniature me who I turned to in the darkest of moments (typically while curled up fetal position on the floor), began to stand up and push out her shoulders.  In hindsight, while I sit here looking out over the misty mountains, it was a Jean and the Beanstalk effect.  Just as the magic seeds sprouted into a magnificent stalk leading up and away, that miniature me began sprouting.  Even with meltdowns, even with tears of frustration and sheer emotional exhaustion, I kept going knowing that at the top of that stalk my release would be found.  For lack of a better word:  my salvation.  Freedom from this oppressive regime under which I had been living for years.  YEARS.

I read articles that weighed both the pros and the cons for leaving someone with mental illness.  The comparison was made to cancer.  Would you leave someone who was just diagnosed with cancer?

That argument did not phase me in the slightest.

I was leaving.  It was as simple as that.

I had been subjected to the emotionally turbulent extremes of unquestionable love and devotion, and undisguised hatred and horror.  For years.  Now that I knew what I was dealing with, there way no way in Hell that I was going to stay.  Even with an illness, nothing was going to make me remain in a relationship which, bit by bit, strove to peck away at me until there was nothing left.  A relationship in which one moment I was the reason for our excellence, and the next the brunt of all blame for our misfortunes.  A relationship that, I can now admit, had me suffer phsyical and emotional consequences for someone else’s perspective.  I no longer have bruises, or scratches, or welt on my anatomical structure.  But, I have those memories; those invisible yet ever-present scars.  And although I fully admit that I am far from perfect, the creation of those particular memories rests solely on the shoulders (and in the fists) of my ex-husband.

I now had an escape valve.  I now had this opportunity to say Enough.  I now had the chance to get my life back.  To rescue myself.  To live a life that no longer incorporated cyclical emotional upheaval, mixed in with physical retaliation.

As I type this out, I think about the second discovery that I wish to divulge.  Now I wonder about its validity.  I’ll explain:

Yesterday, as I walked along in the forest, it struck me that the reason I was not getting angry and bitter towards him, is that I simply did not want to hate him.  For me, leaving him was all that was needed for my world to move in a 180-degree trajectory.  When he turned and walked the other way, my stress was gone.  The vice-grip released its grip.  Instantly.  I could breathe again.  I could live again.  I could smile again.  I could be myself, again.  And because of that incredibly basic change, one day living with my husband and the other day not, there was no need to channel any energy into blaming him.  It wasn’t a part of my life anymore so why spend time thinking about it?

Funnily enough, other people wanted me to be angry.  Wanted me to curse and swear and shout and release any and all pent-up negative emotions.  Yet, I did not.  I was too busy enjoying all the amazing things in life to waste my energy and new-found time on dealing with “him” who no longer was part of my daily life.  I wanted to focus on all the amazing things that my life consisted of now.

But, I now realize, that after years and years of abuse, there most definitely are buried emotions.  Yes, there is still incredibly fond and cherished memories of our life together.  There always will be.  I will never discount the goodness of our marriage and our love.  That did exist.  I know that.

I suppose that even admitting that I have these emotions is a step in the right direction.  I do not feel unworthy.  I do not feel inadequate.  Hell, I am made of STEEL.  I know this.  There is no lack of self-confidence here (at times, yes, there is a lapse but as a general rule of thumb my confidence level is pretty darn high!).  I am not a wounded victim, paralyzed by trauma.  My therapist clearly stated last week that I most definitely am not suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!  I could have told her that about 18 months ago!

I still do not want to hate him.  I don’t.  He didn’t ask for his brain to start firing this way.  No matter what caused it, the effect on him is unintentional from his perspective.  He did not deliberately do something in his life so that this would happen.  I know this.  Which is why there is no blame for our marriage breaking up.  Other people won’t understand this.  I know that.  But that does not matter to me.  It is how I understand it, and my children, that matters.

I do feel an increasing need, however, to stand up to him at some point.  To stand my ground on some issue that he cannot refute.  That he cannot argue about.  That he cannot cause me harm because he sees it, or interprets it, differently.

During the past two Christmas seasons, the children have gone to spend time with their father.  Time together which I encouraged and facilitated by lending my vehicle.  After the first visit, days later, I learned that he had been not just in my vehicle (and the girlfriend, too), but actually driving it.  I gave the children no reaction to this news.  I took it in stride.  But, while walking in the forest with a girlfriend (funnily enough, the one person who truly wants to see me get angry!), I cursed and spouted and tore vocal strips off the coniferous trees.  I was f---ing angry.  Could not believe it.  The gaul.  The sheer gaul of him driving my vehicle.

Anyway, when this past Christmas rolled around, the kids were gearing up to go see their father, and my vehicle was volunteered for them to use.  I politely told the kids that, even though they might think me mean and selfish, and that even though I was allowing them to use my vehicle to get together with their father (as far as I am concerned he should be taking care of all of those logistics...not me), and given that I have taken a stand on my own independence and am paying for my vehicle with my own hard-earned money, that I did not want their father IN my vehicle.

The first reaction was prompt:  “You don’t even want dad IN the car?”.

“No.  I do not.”

Silence.

Then the subject was changed.

Again, days later while we were having