Living out LOUD

Good morning ALL. I’m awake and well-rested. I don’t have a massive essay this morning, but a few thoughts are rolling around in my noggin…so I’m taking the time to jot them down. Mike is on the road to see the Florida kiddos, so I’m aware of just how alone I am. That’s a good thing. It’s probably good for him and good for me to have times like these.

I told him last night on the phone that I have to put pillows in his place in the bed when he’s gone. It’s kind of a safety thing, I think. I like to feel encompassed in…girth, so as to not feel so vulnerable at night. I don’t know what that means, really, but probably “something”. I just worried that I would go to sleep fearful for writing yesterday’s blog. But that didn’t happen. I had a rather peaceful night, so I rise this morning by myself. Mostly unafraid. And very, very aware of the support system I am lucky to have.

In my first writing about addiction, it was an acknowledgement of sorts.  I decided that liberating myself from the notion of not “speaking of such things” would move ME forward and would also be a careful nudge for those close to me.  Permission, in a sense.  Those supporters in my life might not have felt the desire to “open up” about the past, but by my public admission, I certainly opened the door for them to do so. 

For those individuals, I hoped that the honesty in the writing freed them to acknowledge their own struggles, and even acknowledge the confusion that I may have caused them when I drank abusively.  I hope that makes sense.  I suppose I say this, so you understand the many considerations that go into writing in this way.  It certainly isn’t just for or about ME.  Often, it’s meant as support for others, even if I don’t know who THEY are.  By writing publicly, I acknowledged that I had been hurting myself and those I loved.  It was a public admission of that reality and also…a release from the confines of anonymity.

Fuck that, man.  I just don’t feel that’s helpful in some ways.  I realize that group therapy is useful and needs to have parameters, but those of us who are WILLING to be publicly accountable for our sobriety…hopefully help to reduce the shame for OTHERS.  That’s how I see it.  So, if my temporary discomfort and embarrassment helps others, then it’s worth it, right?  Oh Jesus.  I hope so.

So, when I consider covering a subject or a particular personal experience, I consider how it may affect my loved ones, how it could help you, and how it directly affects myself.  All of it.  And I weigh the risks. 

Mike calls it “considering the risk to reward ratio”.  Who will benefit?  And what are the possible positive and negative consequences?

Therefore, I’m still a little fearful about what I wrote yesterday.  I hope and pray that I’ve been able to help others.  And I hope that the writing demonstrates the importance of knowledge, understanding and courage.   I suppose my fear is a normal response.  If you, yourself, haven’t experienced psychological abuse, then it’s likely that you have no idea how consuming the thoughts and emotions surrounding it have been.  I’m not sure that I can explain it.  And to do so, would likely be embarrassing anyway.  In my case, the prolonged nature and intensity caused such questioning of myself and my own perceptions, that it rendered me more dependent than I would like to admit.

So, there’s been this strange shift in mentality…in the KNOWING.  It’s probably more appropriate to say…in the UNDERSTANDING.  If I say that I now KNOW what happened to me, then it may sound like I have proof.  Yeah, well.  Victims like me don’t GET that.  We don’t have records.  Usually, the perpetrators are quite skilled in what they do and how they do it.  We’re so dejected that we don’t have the energy or strength to fight back, so we just pull away from anyone and everything.

As I look back, there WERE supportive people.  There was even advice and urging to “fight back” or to stand up for myself.  But along with that, I believe those people underestimated JUST what all had occurred.  There were some appropriate terms used, like Narcissist, but it was said rather dismissively.  Kind of like saying…”Oh…maybe they don’t know what they are doing”. Or, “That’s just them.” Or, “Oh, they are just an asshole.”  Um…yeah, that may have been true, but it’s much more than that, people.  I call the person-who-tails-me-too-closely-on-the-highway an “asshole”.  So, that word, in and of itself, does not do the perpetrator justice.  Nor does it empower the victim to claim their truth.  If you explain away what’s happening, you make excuses for the Abuser’s behavior, and that can sometimes indirectly cause more trauma for the victim and perpetuate the abuse. 

And even an expectation to “meet the abuser where they are” is terribly difficult for someone like me.  I mean, I didn’t want to BE like them.  I didn’t deserve to have to FIGHT.  So throughout the years, I was counseled by friends and family to do just that…try to have records and fight back in a formal way.  There were even a few times that others tried to help me by trying to have a conversation with the abuser.  But usually, the abuse got more intense during that time of support, so I “called off the dogs”, you could say.  I always questioned if it would do any good anyway, so I went back into my hole of isolation and safety.  Yeah, I had constructed some sturdy and solid walls there, but don’t worry…there was a well-stocked wine cellar that was larger than my living quarters, so I did have nourishment.  Ugh…

It took acceptance and education to ever begin to fight.  Unfortunately, with psychological abuse, that tends to take a tremendous amount of time.  Years can be spent in the “questioning”, so if anyone actually stands up for themselves, please assume that what they have endured is likely MUCH MORE than you will ever know or understand.

I hope that stepping into my own realizations of my strengths and weaknesses, has made me a better person…one who is unapologetic about what I may or may not know.  What I may or may not understand.  Who I may or may not BE.

I’m glad Mike is tolerant.  He seems to acknowledge and support this more empowered Jen.  This new and bolder persona has spawned a lot of “things said out loud” and even more EXPLORATION, so that affects my friends, family, and especially, Mike. He’s so supportive that he even openly encouraged me shaving my head a few months ago.  That makes me laugh now.  Nah…I didn’t shave it down to the scalp, but I DID buzz it.  It was the beginning of the shutdown, I work from home, and I figured it would be quite some time before I had to present myself in a typically social way, so I just went for it.  And I figured that I could just put on a baseball cap when necessary.  I’ve had short hair for over 20 years, so it wasn’t as extreme as it sounds. 

It was just one of many experiments on this road to recovery.  I wondered how I would FEEL to shave my head.  I wondered how people would TREAT ME because I shaved my head. And the comical side of me wants to do it now, JUST so that Mike and I can retake a picture like the one above…both of us BALD. Yep, I wanna. That would be awesome. But it’s all very interesting, I mainly wanted to see if my lack of hair would reveal yet another truth, since I seemed to be shedding so many OLD ideas and constructs.

Oooooh, we’re getting DEEP now, aren’t we?  I’m smiling a bit as I write this.  But yeah, that’s how I think.  I’m telling you, it’s even a revelation to know that THAT’S how my brain thinks.  And to recognize that I get a little rush out of merely writing these words.   

I’m so grateful to my partner in life for being patient, kind and supportive.  He has endured more than I will ever know, for my realizations have not come without struggle. And that has directly affected him.  At my absolute lowest, he had to check to see if I was breathing a few times.  During the breakdown, I was consuming so much wine nightly, that he would rise in the morning…wondering if I was still alive.  I don’t write that to sound dramatic.  That’s the truth.  If he was ever willing, I know family and loved ones of addicts could benefit from reading his words or hearing him speak.  He’s a warrior of notable valor, for he always tried to help me fight the disease, but never tried to conquer ME.

Mike read my post during one of his breaks from the road yesterday. He kind of knew that I had been working on it for some time, but he did not know that I was going to post it. I made that decision on my own, and I felt it important to do it in that way…for a reason. But when he called it my “magnum opus”, when we were on the phone last night, he confirmed the importance of the writing for me, personally. In his words, I find acceptance, but more importantly…understanding. I didn’t have to say what I felt. He knew.

So, this is GI Jen, signing off for the day.  I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to check for a pulse today.  I’m good. 

I’m alive and present.  I’m sober and grateful.  And I’m choosing to live life…

OUT LOUD.