I Have to Process The Surgery
Last night Treun and I were laying in bed relaxing after having a very nice time. I love nothing more than laying naked beside him, snuggling and touching and coming down off the shared high of love making. I’d gotten up to get something and hopped back up on the bed and walked across it toward him on my knees. As I was moving toward him he said, “I’ve put some weight on you, Hopey. It looks really good. You were getting too skinny.” He said this with great pride in himself. He sees it as him taking care of me.
Somehow, though, all that registered in my head was that I was fat. I know it was the Ghost of Abuses Past coming to attack again. It was the years of subtle digs by Bubba that had me diving under the covers and telling Treun that I felt self-conscious and never wanted to be naked in front of him again. The Ghost whispered that I was fat and ugly and that no one would ever love me. The only one who could ever see past my “grossness” had always been Bubba. He’d make sure to say it in such a way that I could never put my finger on it. It was so insidious and he was so good at it that it is hard to describe how I could feel that way all those years. Now here I was, being complimented by the man who genuinely loves me and I was freaking out.
It wasn’t until after I got home and starting chatting with Endellion that my brain began its path of twists and turns to get from Treun telling me I’d put on some weight to realizing that I need to process the surgery and what happened to me.
The truth is that I’ve very effectively buried thinking about the surgery and what it meant. I told Endellion that I wished for death, even knowing what it meant for the kids. I have so much guilt over that. My death would mean the kids going to live with Bubba – exactly what I fought so hard against during the divorce. Yet, there I was ready to ship them off to him if someone would’ve just offered me an end. I would’ve gladly signed them over to Bubba, done whatever it took to simply be done with the pain.
Endellion argues that it was the pain talking – not me. She said that pain changes our brain chemistry and that it wasn’t ME who wanted to die, it was the pain. I know how much pain I was in and I know what I was willing to do to not be in it anymore. I told Endellion that I don’t know how to work through this. I don’t know where to start. Even having her tell me this does NOT make the guilt go away. Usually Endellion can logic cannon me and show me my faulty thinking. It isn’t working this time. The guilt is there as big as ever.
And now that I’m writing it out I think it stems from the fact that I was very, very close to actually dying. I was literally digesting my own organs. I still could have life-long repercussions from that bile leak that I may not discover for years. I simply don’t know. I do know that I came very close to dying. It is twisted in my head that I was only a small step away from getting what I wanted – the release of death. How I asked for it, longed for it, begged for it is something that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life; knowing that I came so close to getting what I asked for is something that I don’t want to deal with.
I just know that I do have to deal with it. I know that burying this is manifesting itself in physical symptoms that I haven’t had to deal with since before I left Bubba. My eczema is out of control like it hasn’t been since before I left. I’m not sleeping well. I’m exhausted all the time. I have no energy. This may all be caused by other health problems so I’m going to have some blood work done today to check everything since I haven’t had anything checked since before my surgery. I want to rule that out if I can. I just know that what I’m experiencing is beyond what my blood work could possibly show. I know the physical consequences of burying stress. I lived with them for years. I’m starting to live with them again.
This is unacceptable to me. Burying things is not the person I am now. I have to deal with this but frankly, I don’t know how. Once again, I know that it is important for me to get back into counseling. I just don’t know how I’m going to find the time to do it. I have one evening a week that I could fit it in.
Today I start my search for a counselor. I’m not looking forward to it. I’m not looking forward to opening this up. I just know I have to do it. The one consolation in this is that, hopefully, I can go forward with counseling without opening up the past. I don’t want to revisit the past with a new counselor. I don’t want to get into the huge background of stuff that has me recounting my years in an abusive marriage. I just want to deal with the surgery and get it worked out.
I hope that it is possible. I hope that I can find a counselor who can work with my weird schedule. Either that or I need to figure this out on my own.
I just know that I won’t know until I try.