Winds of Change

Change means doing things differently… Einstein said “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result”. I confess I change slowly and with an incredible amount of resistance… I only discovered this small gigantic flip of the switch when I started really moving deeply into the dark side of my neuron connections. I had to find myself becoming an emotional brain surgeon. It did not sit well with me I can assure you. Anarchy is where I find my thrills.

My usual line of business – which I am exceptionally good at, is trying to change other people and circumstances. It’s how I used to control life (trauma) around me, but that didn’t work out too well for me in the long run – accepting life on life’s terms is a large bitter pill which I did not want to partake of in a sacrament-like ritual, however when one is crawling of pain on your belly what choices are left?

Since I have applied the ”change” I have been sorely tested on whether it has actually shifted even a small iota of my thinking and acting by a couple of momentous events this year, so far. On mother’s day this year my very ex mother in-law (with her signature on my divorce papers to prove it) texted me to request nothing else but change – I had to change the mind of my son by using my influence as his mother, that I needed to change the trauma and hurt we have lived and so on. I was astounded by how selfish the demands for change were, that by no means was there an ounce of acknowledgement for what we had been through… it was minimised and wiped clean off the table and all that was lying on the table was her and ‘he who must not be named’ bleeding hearts. I was filled with anger and self-justification and wanted to defend our raw life lived without food at times and ask where the fuck were they… I desperately wanted to retaliate!

In that moment had to decide whether I would bite. This was the moment of change… My Lady Gandalf’s words came screaming into my muscle fibres… STOP!!!! Observe, and Steer (very fucking carefully). I stepped onto the rocks which had cut me to shreds before – I replied after a couple of minutes of breathing, that I am no longer in the business of changing anyone or anything but myself, that I cannot control or engage again in such emotional chaos that for my emotional sobriety I am not able to fill her demands. The onslaught did not stop there (it only does in the movies…) she proceeded to say that my recovery is to the detriment of her family and my children… The manipulation were like neon labels attached to her words. I held my ground, my boundaries with conviction and I was not mean or nasty in doing so – just strong.

Looking back I recognise her desperateness and I have compassion for it as I was filled with that exact desperateness not so long ago – I had to change that, I had to form a different path in my brain and heart to change my behaviour.  Addiction is largely a behavioural disease that envelopes families, everyone eventually gets some form of it, like the flu. I did not expect her to thank me for being such a well behaved bunny and for keeping firstly myself safe and by default everyone else safe, including her. She thinks I don’t understand when in fact I do… I just disagree now, and I choose to change bad chaotic behaviour which causes upset and drama.

Pixling schnarfs… change won’t bring praise but will bring results, just a thought.


Un – Code -pending Thoughts

“The chemically dependent partner numbs the feelings and the non-abuser is doubled over in pain – relieved only by anger and occasional fantasies,” – Janet Geringer Woititz

As I read this sentence today I felt like I was side swiped by the biggest (eco-friendly of course) light bulb… It keeps bringing me to my knees this discovery of co-dependency.  Needless to say the rest of the chapter was as mind blowing, but this sentence rewound me to a time where all I was convinced of ever feeling was complete and utter brain melting anger.  It took me almost 2 years after separating from the thankfully now ‘ex’ to start feeling other emotions.  I honestly thought that the angry star I was already born under was a screaming comet destined to supply electricity to the darkest Mordor ever known to man or myth… Oh, and the fantasies referred to in the sentence were not good ones… they usually entailed a fork and an eye.

Turns out I was using… jip, intravenous anger and adrenaline to survive from one day to the next, tripping balls on the chemically, off the planet dependent… and I was using every day.

I remember thinking so often… “I wish I was as fucking  numb as you are… feeling absolutely nothing whilst I am reliving my own Hara-kiri like a reoccurring nightmare…”

It did occur to me (not as often as it should have, but often enough) that “I can change this…”, but it felt like I (and my insides) was cemented into this spiral for all eternity and that I could see no clear way of getting out of this without completely destroying myself  – How magnificently wrong I was.  It took an extremely strong therapist to say to me “when you are ready to take yourself seriously then so will I, until then… I wish I had one of you in my life. You’ll keep supplying me with money, clean up my mess and make excuses for my bad behaviour etc.”

The finely honed victim in me was devastated, whining and crying crocodile tears about the whole world being against me, including a paid professional! But it hit home. There was still a droplet of sanity in me to water the seed she had planted. It saved my life. After 6 months with her I finally plucked up the smallest quivering bit of courage to leave. Weak and crawling on my belly yet I still managed to move.

Pixling thinks…. Un-coding is a beautiful discovery!

The Nature of the Monster

Open heart surgery, I think, would have been so much more easier than going through this – not that I am undermining open heart surgery, please don’t get me wrong, but this is an ever evolving monster with no meds to cure it or the symptoms.   The complete obliteration of the super fantasy in my head of the ‘happy family’ and spoken lies, from not so long ago, of  “you have stolen my heart, and I want to grow old with you” have haunted me, was sold to me.  Thoughts like:

  • years after the marriage, the addiction, the struggles, the broken promises, the affair and finally  ‘The Event’, this story will be remembered by my children, deeply, retold to their children, my grandchildren.
  • ‘family’ visits will always be a juggle for my children and for me.  Who sees who when? Not to forget the side order of emotional crap to go with that – for the rest of this lifetime.
  • Sharing room space and important events with a person who I completely disrespect, weddings, births, funerals…… moments which may be important to my children. Those will always be plagued with this legacy.  That is why (my therapist says is more than normal) “death” would be so much easier for many people to endure…. far less shit to contend with.
I am still married and in the midst of divorce proceedings.  The waste of money makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach.  We separated under the conditions of staying true to our marital oaths and that after a year apart we would sit down and see where we both were at, where our children were at, after all we were married for almost 20 years.  But true to 20 years of destructive patterns he as plagued this process too with a third party forcibly thrown into the mix – no doubt twisting his tale into one of  ‘poor me’. I am convinced there is a handbook out there written and followed by many on how to be the perfect victim. Hindsight they say is always 20/20 vision and clearly this fuckwit has never really had anything other than his own “happiness” (I use this term loosely) in mind (I was going to use the word heart, but that would indicate he has one… therefore changed).
Now I look to me and how naive I was to have trusted his empty words and broken promises.  This blog will be a Eulogy of all I have been through told as honestly and soberly as I can – It is my wish that others post their stories because alone in this I am not and neither should anyone else be going through this.
Pixling signs…over and out.