Drama, drama, drama
Once upon a time, I might have been in what people call a “happy” marriage. Having been in one, I suppose I’d be more inclined to call it a prison for the soul.
Attached, until death, my spouse was much like a lethal parasite. Teeth embedded in the “independence” section of my brain, he paralysed my thoughts and drained me of the everything there was to feel happy about in life.
The emotionally draining, suffocating we-ness of everything a subtle attempt to become some kind of lifeless unit of sickening mush.
Any strong, independent woman could still find herself trapped in a world of goofy love names and awkward play dates.
My spouse didn’t die, but my soul nearly did.
In some kind of miraculous awakening, I was revived to become fully aware of what a monstrosity I had become. At 22, in my original plan, I should have completed my university studies and be well on the way to becoming.. something marvellous. To becoming someone powerful, someone I would be proud of. Instead, I was overweight, stuck in some dead end job with no education, and with a husband I couldn’t even respect, let alone love.
Naturally most of that was my fault, but how did I become so dead to what I was doing to myself? Lack of self-awareness. A silent killer.
Well, no more. Here is my awareness.