Ancient History

Recently I was reminded that this year is an anniversary of several major personal events in my life that I've tried hard to forget, even though these were defining moments for my personality and overall outlook.  I've been told multiple times over the years that I need to "get over it" and "you shouldn't harp over stuff that happened that long ago" but it hasn't been that simple.   Healing proceeds at its own pace, no matter the cause of the trauma.

I took one step on January 1st, which was to permanently block the people involved from my social media feeds, even though I'd had very little contact with them anyway.  It felt good.  I speak about them frequently in various support groups, and I've touched on these events in blogs as well.  I don't mention names or give any defining characteristics, but it's likely not hard for people in the know to guess to whom I'm referring.

Now, long stories short:

In August it will have been 30 years since one of the best and the worst summers of my life.  I'd just finished a six-month stint at a community college in Ontario, I was preparing for university, and was head over heels in love with a man with whom I was strongly considering a more permanent relationship.  He went on a six-week vacation to Australia while I foolishly turned down an employment opportunity because I wanted to be available when he returned.

When he came back he threw himself into his work and wouldn't contact me.  After several weeks he finally got some time to take me out on a date, during which he dropped a bombshell: he had fallen in love and slept with another woman while he was in Australia.  He was now working three jobs in order to pay his debts and save enough money to move to Australia to be with her.

Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I felt, and this coupled with several other changes that summer caused me to lose trust in people and spiral down into depression.  The ensuing school year was fraught with difficulties and bad decisions stemming from this, leading to a "rebound" relationship with the man who ended up becoming my first husband.

Which brings me to the second story.  It will have been 20 years as of October since I left my ex-husband, who had turned out to be mentally abusive.  There are a few people out there whom I'm certain still believe that I was in the wrong for leaving.  But when I reread the post from yesterday, I am once again convinced that I did the right thing.

He expected me to be "perfect" but denigrated my efforts to be so.  He expected sex on a regular basis without regard for my comfort.  He rarely forgave mistakes.  My emotional needs were ignored.  I was called lazy, immature, prudish.  When I turned to his family for help and answers, they blamed me.

So I turned my back on them all, and I'm the better for it.

Even all these years later it's still a daily effort to deal with life through the dark cloud of depression that hangs around me, just waiting to be triggered.  Having a special needs child doesn't make it any easier but that also gives something to focus on other than my own issues.  Besides, isn't there a saying that "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger"?