the vale of tears

I wrote this post last night, Sept. 15, at 8:10 PM. It's a loaded entry not open for comment. All you need know is that things have changed for the better since then, and I am fine now. This entry remains for archival purposes, so I can answer the question this journal is meant to meet, namely: "What was I thinking?"

~*~*~*

There are things one shouldn't have to go through in her lifetime. Abortion. Rape. Domestic abuse.

Having survived, you feel mangled, flawed somehow. Less than. Less than normal. And yet in a way you are also a little proud of yourself for having lived through it, knowing you see the world through different eyes.

Aliens broke into our apartment yesterday and took my husband. They left in his stead someone else. Someone who looked and sounded like Patrick, but I knew better. The quick temper, the explosive impatience, the aggressive driving....I recognized him right away.

Since then I found myself curling up in the corner and quietly crying, snatching moments here and there. I thought I was stronger than that. Where did that hellcat go, so proud to hold her own against him? What of the fight-or-flight instinct? I feared it was beaten out of me a long time ago.

He didn't realize I'd been crying until late this morning, when I thought he'd left and he found me sobbing on the floor. Reflexively, I dried my eyes and stood up, averting my eyes "Nothing, it's nothing."

Because I knew that crying only makes him angrier, Mr. Intolerant-of-stupid-helpless-pathetic-people. That's why I learned to cry quickly and quietly.

Patrick is back now. He is sleeping quietly in the bedroom. I know now why I could not move. He would never hit me, I know. Still, this man is capable of hurting me a thousand times more, without lifting a finger against me. Even when I mistook him for someone else, in my heart I knew who remained underneath it all, one who has more power over me than that man ever did. Because this man i love.