See my shadow changing
Stretching up and over me
Soften this old armor
Hoping I can clear the way
By stepping through my shadow
Coming out the other side
Step into the shadow
Forty six and two are just ahead of me.
The largest ongoing argument has finally paled and taken a back seat to something bigger than both of us. My hearing aids are in a drawer now. Sometimes I put them on and then within a couple hours they're right back in the drawer. Ben, who will be thrilled to know he can still cause problems for me without even being present, has provided to be the cause of the permanent end of commenting on this journal. I don't want to read what he has to write. And Cole, still wreaking havoc from hell, because I know he wouldn't have wanted it any other way where I and especially where Jake, is concerned. Here, honey, lap it up with a spoon.
What's come to pass is that I finally figured it out. My so-called princess complex isn't even remotely as invasive and unwelcome as Jacob's need to be my savior. His need for control of my well-being. Which is still only vaguely different and separate from whatever Cole would do that left him in control of me.
This weekend I got time off for good behavior. Because I, at this point, am fumbling for some screws of my own to twist. Jacob let me have the bottle and told me I was doing great and I should be fine to take the pills on my own. Because hey, we've already been struggling mightily with the parent/child thing and would like to put that to bed. So he gave up the pills in a show of good faith. He has faith. He's a good person.
And I promptly stopped taking them. Because, well, obviously I can be a child. Immature, petulant, whatever favorite description you've got for my misbehavior, put it here. Not so good of a person, struggling with faith. Hell, struggling with everything.
I didn't stop taking them to set myself back, or to be a brat. It's simple. He cannot see it.
I wanted my own damn control.
I'm going to take charge. So I'm going to heal via the time and space method. i.e. the more time and space I can put between myself and the bad things that have happened in the past six months, the better off I will be. No more pills, no more sessions, no more emotional barometer readings, no more bullshit disguised as help in the form of constant reminders. Every time I get somewhere I feel like I can't get it out, or worse, I heal over so very slightly and then the wounds are ripped open again and I'm forced back to the beginning.
I'm not a fucking mental patient. Hell, everyone's depressed, suffers from some sort of bullshit. Everyone's questioned their value, their sanity, their ability to navigate their life without hiding behind a label. I spent twenty years quashing that stupid depression label. It's not lost on me that that label is just about as old as my previous marriage.
Which speaks volumes. Loud ones.
I did it before without pills. Cole wouldn't let me take them. Hell, I tried to kill myself and then I smartened the fuck up and got over it. Jacob wants promises that I'll never do that again. I can promise him until I'm blue in the face, hiding behind the label that says I'm not so sure. Or I can step out and be accountable and let him off the hook for my emotional well-being.
And he can stop being the second control freak I've ever loved.
Someone once said You teach people how to treat you. Well, so far I've been teaching everyone I know how to destroy me. Where my weaknesses are, what my flaws are and how to expose them. How to tweak my fragility just enough to push me as far as I can be pushed.
They like me that way. I'm not stupid. Bridget does pain beautifully. Give her just a little more, please.
Claus said he would speak to me soon and he wished me well. Because he thinks I'm coming back eventually. My doctor told me not to stop taking my medication cold-turkey. There is no other way for me. Jacob is traveling a bumpy road between amusement, incredulity, pride, anger and disappointment, as he tries valiantly to extricate himself from settling into the role as my keeper and find his place as my husband. Him trying to live hands-off is like asking him to reach up and fish me a star out of a midnight sky.
I wonder who will last longer.
This morning I told him I think I loved him more when he had absolutely no say in my life and how I lived it but I knew he was there. Then I broke into a million pieces. Because I hurt him.
He didn't even try to fix that, he just turned and walked away.