You Don't Own Me

I sat with my therapist this morning just feeling sad...talking about my STBX and feeling sad, like I hadn't in months. Talking about the words he had texted me and feeling sad. Talking about his bold disrespect for my boundaries this morning, and just feeling sad...on the verge of tears.

But when I left his office, I wanted to write...but not at home. For the first time since I left my husband, I did not feel safe in my home...and it made me angry. It's not that I felt he would break in or anything, but I felt that he could come by and ring the bell and want to come in. I would not have to let him in, but I would have to deal with him emotionally. My writing would be interrupted and I may or may not be able to return my focus to where I had left off.

So I came to a coffee shop like I used to do when we were still together, and I wanted a private place to write. A place that he would not frequent and that is completely devoid of any reminders of him.

Sometimes it's like that. I simply need to erase him. It's like that now. His words were so vile that I just want to erase him and anything that reminds me of him from my memory. Why does he think he can still touch me? I want to spit flames from my body when he comes near me. I wish I had flames to burn him whenever he touches me.

There is nothing that I can say or do to make him understand that he doesn't own me, but I've been told this is not where I need to expend my energy. I need to continue to set up my wall...but it's fucking exhausting. I mean, how do you make a man understand that he cannot just touch you at will? At what point does a woman just file a restraining order?

You don't own me
I'm not just one of your many toys
From You Don't Own Me, Lesley Gore

The Power of Words

Sometimes the power of words can linger even if I don't want it to. Sometimes, I remind myself over and over that there is no truth in those words...and I am fine, I am strong, I believe my truth.

Other times, the words sneak up on me, and I wonder which part of them may be true...the sharpness of their knife cutting me the way they were intended.

Say Thanks, and Write On!

Sometimes I don't write because I don't have the time or the energy (that happens a lot). Sometimes it's because I don't want to deal with what it is I need to write about. Other times I just don't want to remember. Today, I know it's not the first reason. Today I know I need to thank reasons two or three for their good work in trying to protect me, and I need to just write.

Recently, I have been basking in the pleasure of busy yet light and upbeat days. Meanwhile, I have been looking back on the shadow of my depression throughout the last Christmas season and feel like I have risen through that. In other words, I know that I am OK because I am far from feeling the way I felt then.

And then I started reading a memoir again...another story of abuse and courage. And I feel my mood is slipping. Cognitively, I think I should just stop reading this stuff...but emotionally, I feel like I want to remember. I read other people's stories in order to remember my own. But is it necessary? Do I need to remember everything? I don't know. I know that I don't want to fall back into depression again.