N is for Night

I waited to have sex until I was married. That does not, however, mean that Ex never spent the night with me. He did quite often. We would fool around and he would whisper all of the "terrible" things he was going to do to me once we were married. When we slept, he kept me wrapped up tightly in his arms.

At first, I couldn't sleep like that. I was used to sleeping alone and frequently moved around. But with Ex, I couldn't move without disturbing him. I didn't want to do that, so I would stay still until I fell asleep again.
                     
But I wasn't lying there suffering, wishing I could move - no, I was wrapped up in my man's arms. My man who loved me so much he was willing to wait for marriage. My man who expressed his love with actions, such as those times I was held in his arms. I would lie there feeling more loved than I ever have before.

If Ex woke up and saw I was awake, he might ask if I was alright or just smile at me. He loved me. I knew it. I loved him with all of me. Not all of my heart. All of me. Everything I was went into loving him.
                     
Regular readers know that things did not work out as planned. Regular readers know of the nightmare that began on our wedding day. But let's all just pretend that I didn't hand him everything I was. Let's all pretend he didn't stomp all over me. Let's all pretend.

M is for Mountain

Ex invited me and my mom to go visit his mom, who lived in an area with mountains. Not Colorado. Anyway, I didn't know why he had invited my mom, also, but she was into it, so I was happy. Then Ex proposed and it all made sense; he wanted our moms to meet before our wedding. What a kind and thoughtful thing to do.
                                      
Our moms got along splendidly and I thoroughly enjoyed our visit. We did all of the touristy things like going to the nearby national park, art museums, botanical gardens, and ate out a lot. Ex was so nice to me, so polite and thoughtful to both of our moms. I fell even more in love with him on that trip.
                                

On one of our last days there, he wanted to climb a mountain that was just a few minutes from his mom's house. We all went, but it proved to be a bit too challenging for our moms. They encouraged us to go on, and they went back down to sit and rest.

Ex and I made it all the way to the peak of the mountain. The view was incredible. Ex and I sat at the top for about ten minutes, just enjoying the view and each other's company. We had some trail mix and Ex happily chomped it as we sat there. He thanked me for bringing it and held his hand out to help me up.

                
That is the one time I had a good time at his mom's house. Every other time was after we were married and he always threw a huge temper tantrum and told me how much he hated me and what a terrible person I was. Crying, red-faced, shouting that I didn't love him. He was so wrong.

L is for Listen

Ex was a wonderful listener. We went out to play pool on our first date, but we didn't end up playing many games. I think we played two games and then we just stood there, leaning on our pool cues, talking and talking. I don't usually talk a whole lot, and rarely opened up to anyone. Ex was different. He was easy to talk to. He listened. He shared. He cared.
                     
A few weeks after that first date, Ex came over and handed me a book. "Atlas Shrugged" is a book I had always wanted to read, and I had mentioned it to Ex in one of our lengthy conversations. I didn't make a big deal about it; we were just talking about books we had read and I happened to mention wanting to read it. From that insignificant conversation snippet, he not only remembered, but he went to the bookstore and bought me a copy.
                                         
Making things even more meaningful was the fact that he went to the used bookstore. This was another thing I had mentioned to him. I like thrift stores, used book stores, and reusing things rather than throwing them away and buying new things. Ex really understood me.

I still have that book. It hurts to look at now, because it is a reminder that Ex was hiding his true nature before we got married. I just wonder why, since he had already faked it for two years, he couldn't just continue to be nice. Or at least not mean. I was married for life; I didn't even require him to be nice. Just decent enough to live with. He couldn't even do that for me.

*Side note: this is harder to think about than all of the rotten things Ex did during our marriage. I miss the man Ex was before we got married.

K is for Kill

I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was just trying to calm the panic crashing over my head in overwhelming waves of grief, sorrow, shame, hopelessness...
                       
I took one Ambien and two Xanax. They did not work. So I added three Clonazepam, two more Ambien, and three more Xanax. The enveloping panic would not go away, so I took even more. I don't know what I took. I think I just took one more cocktail and then realized that I had taken a frighteningly large amount of medication in a very short amount of time.
                                    
My psychiatrist answered her phone at 10:30 at night and pushed me to find a nearby friend to drive me to the hospital. It was find a friend or she would call 911. I tried to think of a way to get out of both, but 1) I was afraid I might accidentally kill myself, and 2) My brain wasn't working very well. So I called my most loyal friend (I'm sorry you have to keep saving me) and she came to pick me up.
                     
Then I woke up on my couch at 1:42 the next afternoon.

I have no idea what happened in between. I did go to the hospital, I had no traces of charcoal, and my friend told me that they kept me for observation but believed her when she relayed to them what I had told her - that I wasn't trying to kill myself. The stupid things I do...

J is for Justify

I don't have to justify my actions. My business is my business. I was talking to someone I considered a friend (oops) and she told me I need to get over things and move on and not get stuck in therapy.

Excuse me? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! This woman is in her sixties, has been in therapy for over five years, and all the stuff she is working on is from her childhood. I would never dream of telling her to "get over it", even though she has been in therapy WAY longer than I have, her trauma was WAY longer ago than mine was, and she hasn't moved on, either.
                                       
My trauma in a nutshell: sexual and emotional abuse by father, allowed by mother. Met and married a wonderful man; he turned out to be a sociopath. Older sister got mad because she thought I said something mean and stopped talking to me for over a year, in which I was also not allowed to see my nephews. Then got kicked out of house by sociopathic ex, got divorced, flunked out of dental school, appealed, got back in, flunked out AGAIN.
                                      
My friend (a real friend, not the one mentioned above) had been to the dentist recently and she brought her x-rays for a second opinion. From me. She didn't tell me what the dentist said because she didn't want me to be swayed by his diagnosis. I told her what I thought and she said "Damn. That's exactly what the dentist said."
                      
I am so good at diagnosing from x-rays, making things in lab, etc. My old classmates would work in the lab for hours upon hours and still fail the practical. I would do it three or four times and pass with flying colors.

And then I flushed it all down the toilet. I don't have to justify my depression to anyone. Anyone who thinks I should just "get over it" is an idiot and doesn't deserve to be in my life. See ya!

I is for Instead

This blog, in case you haven't noticed, is mainly about rotten things that Ex did during our marriage. I started writing them down to get them out and try to start healing. It does help, and I know I'm in a better place than when I first started writing. But the focus has been on the negative stuff.
                     
I was talking to a friend and telling her the story about pecan pie (watch for P to come back around). She looked straight at me and said, "Why did you marry him?"

"Because he was a wonderful boyfriend. I didn't know he was a sociopath until we were married and it was too late."
                  
Instead of focusing on the negative, I'm going to tell stories about before we got married. So you won't think I'm a fool for marrying him. I was, but not as much as it seems. Sociopaths tend to play nice and wear the nice guy mask until they don't need to anymore. I had good reasons to fall in love and marry the man I thought I knew. He kept the charade up for two years and tricked me into loving a lie.

  

 So instead of telling you the bad, I'm going to write the good. For just a bit. "P" may be a good place to switch back. We'll have to wait and see...

H is for Hill

Ex taught me how to snowboard. He was working in Colorado at the time, and there were mountains everywhere, but I started out on the Bunny Hill. I was having a good time sliding down the hill while Ex went on the higher slopes. Towards the middle of the day, I ventured out and we rode the ski lift up to the lowest spot on the mountain.

I managed it quite well, so Ex decided to take me with him to the top. I didn't want to go, but Ex was adamant and I didn't want to make him mad again. He had stopped speaking to me for three days and I didn't want a repeat of that, so I got back on the ski lift with a fake smile plastered on my face.

                                  

I'm scared of heights. Being on the ski lift and going up the whole mountain was terrifying, especially since Ex kept looking behind us and rocking the seat. We finally made it to the top. It was beautiful. We were up so high that we were in the clouds but could still see for miles. I am glad that I went up there; the problem was getting back down.

 

The snow up there was practically untouched and very soft. It was a thin ledge, too, so if I went too far to the right, I would fall off of a cliff, and if I went too far to the left, I would, well, fall off of a cliff. After sliding every which way and irritating Ex, I finally just took the snowboard off and started walking. Ex left me, of course.

 

When we met up at the bottom, Ex told me to go back to the Bunny Hill and we agreed to meet up in thirty minutes to ride the ski lift to the lowest point again. So I went back to the Bunny Hill, got my courage back up, and went to the meeting point. No Ex. I waited for 45 minutes. At that point, I was really tired (falling and getting back up takes a lot of energy!), so I didn't really mind standing around. However, I was beginning to worry about Ex when he finally slid up. He said he had been waiting for me at the top of the lift.

 

And went down three times. And avoided me, standing there at the bottom in my hard-to-miss lime green jacket and blue gloves. He was so passive-aggressive. Why do I still miss him? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?

G is for Goof

I goofed. Big time. I accidentally went on a date today. How, you might be wondering, does a fairly intelligent person "accidentally" go on a date? Well, because only slightly bright person puts an ad on craigslist, makes plans to meet this random dude on a Friday night, and then homeboy's grandpa gets sick and has to go to the hospital.
            
So dude reschedules for the next afternoon and we met for coffee and then walked around the neighborhood talking, and then we parted ways with a hug. Date. Total date. When it was supposed to be a random hookup. I don't get involved anymore. I don't date. Well, I didn't. Damn it.

What a goof-up.

F is for Fear

I had a really bad dream last night. It was Christmas day, and my whole family was in my mom's old house. I went downstairs and saw Ex sitting at the kitchen table with my relatives. A cold knot of fear formed in my stomach.
                                       
I only remember bits and pieces of the dream. I remember that my little sister (who, in the dream, was a child again) had let Ex in because she didn't know what else to do. I remember asking my mom for permission to ask Ex to leave. I remember the fear freezing my insides as I waited for her to tell me that no, I couldn't tell him to go. But she said okay.
                         
I remember telling Ex that he was not welcome in our home, and the cold feeling of fear from just talking to him again. I remember wondering if he knew what my path had been since leaving him, and felt embarrassed that I had fallen so far. I remember hiding in fear as Ex waited for his ride, which turned out to be a family (not his relatives) in a pontoon boat.  
                         
Will I ever talk to Ex again? Will I run into him at a relative's house? I'm afraid that my family would welcome him in. I really think they would. The holidays are coming up and I am afraid.

E is for Envy

It seems as if everywhere I look, there are people holding hands and looking googly-eyed at each other. Married, dating; who knows. Who cares. They are in love.
                         
I thought I had that for almost two years. Ex was such a nice boyfriend and, even though he slipped a few times when we were engaged, he kept up the charade of loving me until we got married. I hate seeing happy people together.

Don't get me wrong here - I'm happy for those people who have someone to love and who have someone to love them. I'm just envious because I never really had that. I mean, I was married. Shouldn't there have been love there somewhere?
                          
My therapist asked me if I had ever had sex in a loving relationship. Um, no? Because I was a virgin when I married Ex and that was most certainly not a loving relationship, and everything after that is just recreational activity. There's no love in my life. Never has been. Signs point to never will be.