toxic relationship

A new day dawns

dawn 12-03-2016

Early morning sunrise from my balcony

There came a desperate point last night where I gave myself a choice – die, or live. Anyhoooo, I have decided to give living another whirl. I am not happy about it, but as I mentioned in a previous post, I was not born to go down quietly. And besides, the statistics of a successful suicide do not fall in our favour. So for now, I will die trying to live.

i didn't come this far

A quick wrap up of what has brought me to this point:
The past 6 months have been tough, beginning with the diagnosis of early psychosis in October 2015, and followed by the experimentation with various anti-psychotics, none of which I could tolerate. November brought a horrible hospitalisation, lock up ward and suicide watch. December, the dreaded dreadful withdrawal from venlafaxine. In amongst all this, I met Lover, the conman, the alcoholic, the thief, who exploited me at my most vulnerable. And to add insult to injury, my doc believes I’m still in the process of withdrawal, and postponed the trial and error of anti-convulsants until April. So I remain inadequately medicated, lithium my only stablilizer.

But I’m tired of crying over spilled milk. It’s time to turn this shit around. Fall down, get back up, dust myself off.  See the doc on Monday, and hopefully get some nice, new drugs to make me smile again.


Eroding away at reality

For me the scariest thing about finding out Lover the Loser was an alcoholic was…………… that he was an alcoholic. Distressing to learn he was the second alcoholic I had allowed to enter my life. And now in retrospect, appalled to discover he was emotionally abusing me from the very outset.

emotional abuse

In the beginning while we were dating, he listened very carefully to me. And how easy it was – I’m an open book and wear my heart on my sleeve. He took advantage of that information and designed a persona he knew I would find desireable. But once we moved in together, he could no longer hide his alcoholic secret. And that is when I realised I was living with a stranger. I was frightened of him because I didn’t actually know him at all. Life as I knew it was suddenly over. The dream was dead.

heart on sleeve

He was a compulsive liar. The way in which he presented himself was the polar opposite of who he truly was. I am to take everything he ever said, turn it on it’s head, and take the opposite as the truth. It’s all chaotic and confusing. A mindfuck, if you will. Shocking to find the reality I knew, was nothing more than vapour from his breath.

And even more shocked to discover this twisting of the truth, this distortion of my reality, is a form of mental/emotional abuse called Gaslighting. Looking back, I can identify 17 years worth of this abuse by my Alcoholic Ex-husband. He beat me with lies, cunning and confusion to the point where I was dead inside. He defined my reality until nothing was real. I was easy pickings for a predator like Lover the Loser. Bipolar and medications have damaged my memory, so there was never any arguing against anything he said……. because I couldn’t remember. I had to trust him. Even when things did seem questionable, I had no choice but to believe him.


So to be honest, I don’t know who the real Slim Shady is. Too many lies have unfolded since he left, calling his character into question. What I do know, is that he has skillfully manipulated every truth to bend and fall in his favour, and I feel immensely stupid and gullible to have fallen for his alcoholic ways.  Especially after my experience with my Alcoholic Ex-husband.  Stupid… Stupid… Stupid!

I have worth so hear me roar

I had made every single mistake
That you could ever possibly make
I took and I took and I took what you gave
But you never noticed that I was in pain
I knew what I wanted; I went in and got it
Alive by Sia

Lover phoned on Tuesday. I heard – I’m truly sorry, I needed this time to sort myself out, I really fucked up this time, I’m embarassed. There were declarations of undying love – I miss you, I think of you all the time, I just want to be with you, I still love you and hope to see you soon. But what I didn’t hear was geniune remorse, shame or any acknowledgement of my own pain. It’s all about HIM.

Don't ever let me go gy burger man - deviantart

I battle to let go of a failed relationship, no matter how abusive and unhealthy. This is a real challenge for me (pic)

When it comes to men, I battle to let go. It’s an embedded, repeating pattern of mine. I become extraordinarily and intensely attached in a short space of time. No matter how poorly I’m treated, I grip tight like cement, holding on, refusing to let go, in the hopes of being loved, of being wanted. Hoping, hoping, hoping. Making bad choices over and over again.

So I have spent the past few days in agony, flip-flopping between chasing him away and wanting him back. My head and my heart have been behind closed doors, in intense negotiations, asking tough questions – what is your self-worth? What is your value? What is your price tag? What do you deserve?

winner - quotesgram-com

I said right in the beginning I was going to live this experience differently. And so far I have. So after much debate, the verdict was in – I believe in my worth, that I have value, I deserve better and Lover has to go. Forever. This is part of what I texted, minus all the expressive language:

“You lost the option to have me the day you drank. You lost the right to choose me the day you lost your job to alcohol and left me for Cape Town. These were choices you made. The consequences are, you’ve lost me. I will never choose YOU again because you don’t value me. I choose MYSELF because I am worth so much more than you.”

It all sounds so neatly packaged and in control. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m a dribbling idiot of a fine mess right now. Disillusioned with life and people, still wanting him back despite all the sound logic and reason, with a beating heartache so great I feel I will never smile again. I barely make it through work, fighting tears all day, then go straight to bed as soon as I get home. Ain’t life grand…….fake it ’til I make it?  And breathe.


I fell apart, but got back up again

I’m feeling a bit better. The physical pain has gone. The pain of feeling my chest constrict, unable to take in a breath, my body going cold with each thought of him. That has disappeared. Now, it’s all about the emotional aspect. I still weep, while trying to tell myself ‘it’s not personal’. I am waging a war against feeling unwanted – the logic is there but the feeling…..? Nah, just not getting it.

Time is the only salve for this wound. That, and music. So I turn to my tried and trusted favourite of all favourites, the one song in the world that does it for me, that gets me back up on my feet over, and over, and over again, and keeps me fighting until my very last breath…….