My Life in Reverse (9 page)

In psychoanalytic theory, when an individual is unable to integrate difficult feelings, specific defenses are mobilized to overcome what the individual perceives as an unbearable situation. The defense that helps in this process is called splitting. Splitting is the tendency to view events or people as either all bad or all good.[1] When viewing people as all good, the individual is said to be using the defense mechanism idealization: a mental mechanism in which the person attributes exaggeratedly positive qualities to the self or others. When viewing people as all bad, the individual employs devaluation: attributing exaggeratedly negative qualities to the self or others.
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12 months ago…

The clock ticks down to our would-be six year wedding anniversary… It’s yet another battle for my freedom. An unspoken war we both fight.

I can tell he’s up to something. It pisses me off, because in fourteen years I can count the gifts I received from this man on one hand. Now he wants to do something? And because I know him, I know what he’s going to do.

The man hasn’t stopped his quest to get my rings back on my finger. He’s even gone so far as to say our youngest asked him why I don’t wear them—like a six year old cares! I know his plan. He’s going to get something I can wear that makes me his again…

Only I’m going to refuse it. That should be a fun fight.

Maybe I’m just being crazy. It’s not like he has money ever, even though he’s working. He says that he’s going to start giving me his checks—since I pay all of his bills again…with my money currently. I won’t exactly hold my breath, though.

No money can only mean no present. No present means no fighting about said present.

A girl can only hope…

The following week…

I can’t fucking believe this shit. A ring—of course it’s a damn ring. He’s so fucking desperate to label me as his again.

It may as well be a fucking handcuff.

A chain with no lock, welded shut.

My anxiety peaks. I know the fight that’ll ensue. This whole anniversary is a sham in my eyes. Why celebrate a year we spent mostly apart?

Especially when his actions remain the same as before…and his creepiness is at an all-time high.

I have to figure out how to avoid this confrontation.

Somehow.

The following week…

The UPS truck drives away and I know this is my only chance. The kids are at school, everyone else is gone—and the package from a jewelry store is in my possession.

So I do the only rational thing. I hide that fucker. I hide that fucker so well even I may not be able to find it again.

What ring?

What fight?

Crisis averted…hopefully.

A few days later…

“What the fuck?”

Oh, he’s mad. He’s really mad. Luckily, it’s not at me—it’s at UPS for saying the package has been delivered. Unfortunately, I’m most certainly stuck with the collateral damage of his rage. It’s a small price to pay for my actions and I’ll accept the bad karma as what it is, because some things are unavoidable.

Despite my best efforts, our anniversary looms near. There’s no avoiding it. Just like there’s no avoiding the internal shudder I feel every time he touches me, or the feelings of anxiety when he’s around since I never know what’ll set him off.

There’s no avoiding a lot, apparently.

I’ve never felt this stuck in my entire life—trapped, unable to escape, unable to scream, barely able to breathe…like I’m drowning slowly because someone has put weights on my ankles. No matter how hard I swim, I can barely keep my head above water.

Every mark I wake up with, every squeeze or shove that shouldn’t be, every second of being ignored or yelled at or put down—it all begins to take its toll.

It becomes just too much.

My insides scream at me to get out. That something is very wrong.

Only he’ll never let me leave.

Our “anniversary” (1 year ago)…

The day is typical (thank God) with everyone out and about. The kids spend time at the park with their friends while I do chores and work. I avoid speaking with him like the plague. He ignores me in person, but wants to text me every three seconds when he’s gone. Likely checking up on me. I’m over caring about it.

He continues his same social media activity.  In his never-ending quest for attention, he continues to do all the same shit. He’s never going to change. I realize this now.

I can’t say that it doesn’t hurt. It stings. I’ve never been enough for him. I suppose I’ll never be able to be, either. It’s a huge blow to my ego. My stupid ego that stays faithful for fourteen stupid fucking years.

I have to be the world’s biggest idiot—just have to be.

In my heart—in my gut—I’ve always known the truth; that things will never change. It’ll always be something with this man. Some excuse or another. I’m supposed to follow his words blindly, despite his actions. Despite the fact that
nothing ever changes
.

How long is too long? When is it enough when I can never be?

What possibly irks me the most is the fact that he won’t let me go. I can’t be enough to satisfy his desires, but he insists on keeping stuck in this hell. He seemingly hates me, criticizes my every move, belittles me, ignores me, yells at me and puts me down. Calls me names…

But refuses to leave me in peace.

If I’m so damn horrible, why does he want me still?

As the day progresses so does my anxiety. They say it’s calmest before the storm, but the anticipation of what’s to come is a tightness in my chest that becomes unbearable.

It’s inevitable that he’ll return home. It’s inevitable that he’ll make this harder than it has to be—just like always.

He goes right to the shower when he gets home. Nothing unusual there—so far so good. I begin to think maybe I’ve been making myself crazy over nothing.

Until he gets out of the shower and places a small box in front of me as I work on my laptop.

“Happy Anniversary,” He says and kisses the top of my head.

Internally, I shudder—if he were to see my reaction it’d surely upset him. “Thanks. Happy Anniversary.” I reply. He may expect something, but I didn’t bother to get him anything.

I’m still not sure what it is exactly that we’re even supposed to be celebrating.

I place the box aside as I continue working and my heart pounds in my chest. I’m not sure how he pulls it off, but damned if I don’t know the box’s contents.

This definitely isn’t the reaction that he seeks. The room fills with the tension that rolls off of him. I crank up the music in my earbuds and try to fade into the background.

A tactic used to desensitize a person to inappropriate or abusive behaviors; manipulating a person to agree or accept something that is in conflict with the law, social norms, or their own basic code of behavior.
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