The other night was….ptsd.
It was straight up PTSD mixed with alcohol and fear. I fucked it up, I was actual hot shit, I was a disaster.
That’s just what this shit will do to you.
The other was rough and it was brutal. It was the manifestation of all of the suppressed thoughts and feelings that I’ve been having for too long now.
A year ago…a night like last night would have ended more tragically.
A year or 2 ago…my husband and I were not always doing the best. He hurt me. He hurt me a lot. And he knows this. I think we were both the worst versions of ourselves during that time period where things were bad.
But the difference was…I only aimed to hurt myself. His aim was also to hurt me.
I know I deserved it, and I know things are 100% better now…but it hurts. And it makes me trust him less when my own headspace turns self destructive.
Last night was the pure manifestation of fear and horror for what was. For what I went through when things were awful.
He did nothing wrong. He fell asleep, and he left me alone. And my fear of facing the night alone took over.
He woke up shortly after to me being upset. Sitting in the bathroom, drinking, writing, wanting to die.
And as soon as that started, as soon as he woke up and saw me sitting there…it triggered so many bad memories.
I was sure he’d never love me again. I was sure he hated me.
Shit, I was sure I’d kill myself. I didn’t mean to drink that much, I don’t even think I meant to cut. But, I suppose there’s always a certain degree of intent when you’re holding sharp objects while upset.
Even though I knew that he didn’t really do anything wrong, even though the logical side of me still existed and was compelling me to listen to reason…I couldn’t.
That’s PTSD. It felt too familiar. I knew I was wrong, but the fear was too much. It was like I was stuck in a situation I couldn’t get out of, and I was sure that my life was ruined. I was sure that he hated me, that I ruined everything, that things were terrible again and that they always would be.
But here’s the thing…that didn’t happen. He stayed with me, he calmed me down and reassured me that he loved me, and he was there.
And the next day, when in the past things were so, so, bad…he loved me then too.
I have a pretty valid reason to fear the past. He didn’t do anything wrong, he’s never cheated or hurt me physically in any way, so don’t get that impression. But the emotional wounds are significant.
But by waking up the next day and making the choice to love me…that goes a long way in me trusting him again when situations like that come up.
It was a bad night. But if the end result was that we had very familiarly bad night…but one that ended differently? Better? …good? That’s an outcome I’m happy with. Because that is probably the only remedy.
The only thing to help heal the memories of the past is by replacing them with better ones. That consistency will help me trust him again when I feel so afraid like that. It will take time. But really, that’s all I need. I needed him to show me that my fears weren’t going to come true.
I always say it…when my relationships with the important people in my life are bad, EVERYTHING is bad. Having relationships on rocky ground is probably the single most detrimental thing to me. If things ever got bad again like that between my husband and I…I wouldn’t survive it. It’s too much pain, and I couldn’t do it again. Which is why I was so scared the other night.
The fear of the past becoming the present is terrifying. But, at least this time, and hopefully every time going forward…he showed me that that wasn’t the case.
I guess, at the end of the day…we’re all just doing our best. If we just choose love…we really can’t go wrong.
Love is that simple answer to so many of our hardest questions.