Little Voices in My Head

Affronted, annoyed, antagonized, bitter, chafed, choleric, convulsed, cross, displeased, enraged, exacerbated, exasperated, ferocious, fierce, fiery, fuming, furious, galled, hateful, heated, hot, huffy, ill-tempered, impassioned, incensed, indignant, inflamed, infuriated, irascible, irate, ireful, irritable, irritated, maddened, nettled, offended, outraged, piqued, provoked, raging, resentful, riled, sore, splenetic, storming, sulky, sullen, tumultuous, turbulent, uptight, vexed, wrathful…All results from thesaurus.com to attempt to explain JUST how ANGRY I am at this moment.

The true problem is that I am not angry at an entity outside myself, I am angry at my…self.

Tonight, during what should have been a happy moment, I had a flashback. (Think Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, without the singular event or ‘trauma’ that inflicts said disorder. More like years of psychological abuse.) It scared me so much that I actually thought I was going to piss myself, and I had to come home to spend yet another night awake and crying. The event that triggered the flashback was me falling. Or rather, someone unintentionally rolling me out of a bed, and I fell. (no, I’m not injured, thanks for asking) Just my ego and my self-worth are bruised.

You see, it’s been almost two years since EED (El ExDouchebag) has been out of my life, and yet I still fear. For just a few seconds tonight, I had no control of my own body weight, my center of gravity or my equilibrium. (a roller-coaster, bungee jumping, hell, even swings I LOVE, but being out of control in that weightless moment scares the shit out of me) The only thing holding me up was my rapid response of putting a leg on the floor. The EED knew I hated being lifted up, or falling, and he would often exploit that fear when I displeased him. Often lifting me up only to deliberately let me fall. Tonight, when I fell out of the bed, I flashed back to a particularly heinous night when I woke up because I was being kicked (literally) out of bed by the EED and landed on the floor. I had bruises and abrasions for over a week, he kicked me so hard, and I landed on a very unforgiving nightstand.

I know, in my rational brain, that one of my Boys didn’t MEAN to make me fall. He was just answering his phone…which happened to be more out of reach than he thought. I even knew while having the flashback that it wasn’t happening now and that I was safe. Yet…my stupid, fearful self couldn’t disengage from the prior events. And THAT makes me angry. I’m not angry at the EED for causing this…ugly little head trauma. I’m angry at myself for allowing it to happen. I’m sitting here now almost two years after the split with him, and I can still feel bile rising to the back of my throat, and my heart rate is over 130bpm. All because I’m still scared of him. I should be stronger than that. I’m still afraid to go to a movie theatre alone. I shouldn’t have to avoid Reese’s Peanut Butter cups like the plague because they smell like him. I shouldn’t refuse to play RummyKube with my family because I’m too busy thinking about all the times he told me I was stupid for not winning, or getting angry at me because I DID. I shouldn’t be afraid to tell someone “I love you” now, because HIS reply was often “Fuck off”. I shouldn’t jump, scared out of my wits when blond men with a crew cut and moustache walk by. I shouldn’t have to be afraid of him killing me, or hurting my family, like he always said he would, simply because I finally got the balls to divorce him. I shouldn’t scream at my mother “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO HANG MY PANTS!” because I’m thinking about how many hours of ‘instruction’ I received in how to do his laundry…and the days he would ignore me afterwards for doing it wrong. I should be STRONGER than the fear. My own reactions ANGER me.

It’s taken almost two years, some support group visits, and a LOAD of self examining to say I was a victim of abuse. It was rarely physical, and somehow, I feel…less worthy to say so because so many have suffered SO much more. I never had a broken bone, a single cut, never even a black eye caused by his hands. The thought that I was still so beaten down, so…worthless…angers me even more. I know I am a better person than he ever thought I could be. I know that even if I did fall tonight, completely on my ass, it would have been OK, because it wasn’t done on purpose or out of anger. I KNOW without a doubt that someday, I’ll eat a Reese’s and not even think about him. I’m just pissed off because that day isn’t today, and I can’t MAKE it be today.

Carissa the Enraged