Content warning: suicidal ideation
Two and a half years ago, I felt backed into a corner. I was insecure, lost, lonely. I felt ugly and stupid. I did not know what to do and I was wholly unqualified to do anything substantial. I felt like my world was collapsing around me and that I might die from pressure and isolation. I now have the gift of hindsight.
Much of how I felt about my situation then was histrionic, single minded, and incorrect. But the accuracy of my feelings does not matter, what matters is that the feelings were very real and—because of how I felt—I began acting out. I punched and kicked and clawed and swore. One directional in my pursuit of ‘safety’ and ‘freedom.’ I took no prisoners and did not care at all how my actions affected other people. In fact, it seemed impossible to me that any of my behavior would ever have any effect on anyone who was not me. Fight or flight. I picked both.
And I did not stop fighting or flying for more than a year. When the dust settled I had changed, fundamentally, as a person. I had the knowledge of the destruction I am capable of causing when I feel trapped. I yearned and cried for the age of innocence—when I was still foolish and optimistic enough to believe that I was above very bad behavior, above selfishness, above causing others pain. I did not know how to live while acquainted with the darkness that exists inside me. It’s a terrible burden, knowing what you’re capable of.
At the end of our marriage, I treated my ex-husband horribly. Our marriage was bad. Our communication was non-existent. I was incredibly hurt. And none of that excuses any of my behavior. I broke many promises to a man I loved and I betrayed my constitution. How does one fold their laundry and walk by the water and answer emails while carrying the guilt of the horrible things they have done?