Early in the morning, I write.
On Saturday I joined at least 10,000 unknown allies as we chanted and ranted our way through the Quarter. It was fucking beautiful. In a manner quite unlike myself, I did not take pictures. Well, not very many, and only on Snapchat, lol. I didn’t want the lens between myself and the river of righteousness. I needed that cleansing sweat down my neck. The buzz from the booze and the newfound friends, friends from college, friends from the time people called me “that feminist girl”; I was infused. The range of ages, gender, orientation, and religion that all, despite our massive numbers, feel alone and unsafe in our home.
I have been feeling unsafe in my home since I can remember. Even before things got physical, I fell asleep to the sounds of screams between my parents. Even as recently as last month, I was ejected from what was misrepresented as a home. WalMart is following through with their attendance policies like whoa, and homelessness is real.
If I’m anything, I’m my mother’s daughter. I have her quick wit, her compassion, and her lung capacity. I hope that I am always my own person, with a separate destiny from my mother. She carried me, and I hope I learn to carry myself at a pace that is improved. Does that make me cold or pragmatic?
How does a realist reconcile an unbalanced relationship? Marriage, by historical tradition, is a male-promoting (white, straight, cis, and usually wealthy males, specifically) institution. This is not to say that married women can’t be powerful. I know many who are. Nonetheless, the foundation of this institution is patriarchal bullshit. Can strong, motivated people make it work despite the system keepin’ us down? Yeah. But it sucks that we have to do that.
Since dumping my ex, I have benefited from life in the following ways:
-better eating habits for myself, not those who pretend to be vegan when it suits their menstrual cycle;
-an exchange of chores that does not involve me asking, begging, pleading, or just doing it all myself;
-regular, increasingly difficult exercise routines that empower me, not dedicated to guessing the physical needs of someone who doesn’t know in the first place;
-encouragement from friends in a variety of time zones;
-therapeutic confirmation that I, once again, did the right thing for me by shedding away a weak partner;
-grounding work to consider myself having a room of my own, a home in my own right, and the freedom to breathe easy there has begun;
-the mental clarity around my value of integrity, and the personal assurance that I do embody that, matched with the confirmation of allies;
-enforcement from people I feared losing that I am of value and bring concrete benefits to their lives, enough so that they want to keep me around;
-cleaner lungs and reprieve from the smokescreen that cloaks lies, plus whole days without smoking myself;
-reassurance that my limits with kink make perfect goddamn sense for me and I’m allowed to feel sexually safe at 30 years old;
-growth with both my stronger/remaining partners, which was long overdue and more rewarding than I’d imagined;
Since dumping my ex, I’ve gone freaking insane in the following ways:
-stalking her, if possible (it’s not easy)
-fantasizing about ways to harm her person (this is new, and I have so many others who deserved this before her)
-rephrasing the ways I would cut her down in haiku
-practicing the way I’ll greet her DaddyMike when I run into him fucking her in the club (so far: “No, I know who you are. I read up on partners, because ethics.” or “Don’t you have a Mistress? What the fuck does that mean to you?”)
-trying to remember all the shit I want back, because who knows what she may have already done (I didn’t think she would, and haven’t heard that she did, but I also didn’t think she’d lie like she did. All bets are off.)
-told all of our mutual friends that I am irrational with hatred for her, and even called her names (maybe the thing I dislike the most, because I’m breaking my own values)
-agonizing over why a man I’ve intimately known for three years knowingly fucks a girl who he knows lies to him
-pushing away my present and loving partners by drinking to access (something that makes me wonder how many steps I am from Crown Royal)
-explaining ageplay to all my vanilla friends
-setting new limits with safe people because safety has been shifted
She had my things moved without my permission, consent, or knowledge. Well, lol, she didn’t move them. She had Matt go move them. *sigh* So many reasons I should’ve left sooner.
Right after things ended, I remember HD telling me that I don’t need to think of it as time wasted, and I balked at the idea. Immediately lists of ways I grew, ways I learned about myself, about what safe fathers might look like, about how emotional abuse can look like physical abuse, how to care for someone who is physically weaker and how to care for someone who is mentally weaker, along with how to paint a room and how to scrape a deck. As time goes on, I do think I’m wasting my time here: being furious. My feels are valid and my anger is understandable, but it’s unproductive. I rage and get nowhere but sniffly. Sure, it’s nice to justify all the reasons I’m the bee’s knees and she sucks donkey dick, but why? What’s the purpose of doing all that personal growth/therapy work if I’m gonna be bitter anyway?
Besides the fact that I somehow think it makes me “win”.
I walked away with myself. What more do I need to win?