(no subject)
What was I thinking?
Why, oh why, did I get to talking about my relationship with my ex with Matty? He's become so fascinated, and he wants to write music about it. Which I'm interested in. I'd like to have some music that speaks to what happened to me.
But he wants to know so much, and I find I'm dredging up so many memories...this is good. I mean, I am writing a book about the whole thing. But I didn't expect to feel so shredded.
It's mostly the shame. Really, that's the block to my writing anyway. I'm so fucking ashamed of what he did to me. Of what he made me. Of what I believed. Because when I talk about the crazy, batshit, absurd, insane shit that I used to actually believe, I just want to curl up and hide. Not so deep down, I'm ashamed. I'm so embarassed.
Really. I hold my head up with pride and defiance when I talk about Andy, but in so many ways it's an act. I make jokes about how crazy he is--but I was just as bad.
Shared Psychosis is the actual diagnosis. That it's in the DSM-IV means I'm not the only one.
In my books about cult survivors, all of them mention shame over the beliefs of the cult.
But that doesn't capture it. Sure, Matty doesn't hold it against me--in fact, he's confided some stuff to me as well. Which I appreciate and respect (and of course will not share, so don't bother asking). And my other friends who know--especially those who met my ex--generally really do understand how I got sucked in. Deep down, I know I don't need to be ashamed.
But I am. Oh, I am so ashamed. And every time I write, I also writhe. Matty begs me to put some of my memories on paper. And I'm trying, ye gods I'm trying. Its so hard. It stifles every word. So that partway through I have to blog about it.
Damn him/her/it/them to hell. I try not to hold onto bitterness. I'm not bitter about Josh, my high school boyfriend who was very abusive. I'm not bitter abotu my ex husband, who was so neglectful that I went through a cutting phase just trying to get him to notice (he never did) and eventually went to Andy because my husband told me to find someone else to have sex with because he wasn't interested. I'm not bitter towards my father and his family, who have all but erased my existance. Meh. All of it--live and let live. It's over. It's in the past.
And Andy is just sick. Sick. So I really really shouldn't cherish hostility toward him. But I'm angry--dear God in heaven I'm angry. When I let myself feel it, I'm seething with rage and hurt and hate. I hate him for making me ashamed! I hate him for making me afraid! I hate him for depriving me of sleep, for keeping me in a state of constant panic, for driving me to the edge of sanity and a few steps over it.
I hate him! I don't forgive him! I'm so angry I could start screaming! And I can't get the words on paper to experess any of it! I can't capture any of it, I can't use words to capture his charisma! I can't explain how charming he can be, and how scarily compelling!
I hate him. I really do. I'm so angry.
Why, oh why, did I get to talking about my relationship with my ex with Matty? He's become so fascinated, and he wants to write music about it. Which I'm interested in. I'd like to have some music that speaks to what happened to me.
But he wants to know so much, and I find I'm dredging up so many memories...this is good. I mean, I am writing a book about the whole thing. But I didn't expect to feel so shredded.
It's mostly the shame. Really, that's the block to my writing anyway. I'm so fucking ashamed of what he did to me. Of what he made me. Of what I believed. Because when I talk about the crazy, batshit, absurd, insane shit that I used to actually believe, I just want to curl up and hide. Not so deep down, I'm ashamed. I'm so embarassed.
Really. I hold my head up with pride and defiance when I talk about Andy, but in so many ways it's an act. I make jokes about how crazy he is--but I was just as bad.
Shared Psychosis is the actual diagnosis. That it's in the DSM-IV means I'm not the only one.
In my books about cult survivors, all of them mention shame over the beliefs of the cult.
But that doesn't capture it. Sure, Matty doesn't hold it against me--in fact, he's confided some stuff to me as well. Which I appreciate and respect (and of course will not share, so don't bother asking). And my other friends who know--especially those who met my ex--generally really do understand how I got sucked in. Deep down, I know I don't need to be ashamed.
But I am. Oh, I am so ashamed. And every time I write, I also writhe. Matty begs me to put some of my memories on paper. And I'm trying, ye gods I'm trying. Its so hard. It stifles every word. So that partway through I have to blog about it.
Damn him/her/it/them to hell. I try not to hold onto bitterness. I'm not bitter about Josh, my high school boyfriend who was very abusive. I'm not bitter abotu my ex husband, who was so neglectful that I went through a cutting phase just trying to get him to notice (he never did) and eventually went to Andy because my husband told me to find someone else to have sex with because he wasn't interested. I'm not bitter towards my father and his family, who have all but erased my existance. Meh. All of it--live and let live. It's over. It's in the past.
And Andy is just sick. Sick. So I really really shouldn't cherish hostility toward him. But I'm angry--dear God in heaven I'm angry. When I let myself feel it, I'm seething with rage and hurt and hate. I hate him for making me ashamed! I hate him for making me afraid! I hate him for depriving me of sleep, for keeping me in a state of constant panic, for driving me to the edge of sanity and a few steps over it.
I hate him! I don't forgive him! I'm so angry I could start screaming! And I can't get the words on paper to experess any of it! I can't capture any of it, I can't use words to capture his charisma! I can't explain how charming he can be, and how scarily compelling!
I hate him. I really do. I'm so angry.