I had a CD when I was in High School of Mandy Patinkin singing show tunes. There was one song that was a mashup of "You've Got to Be Carefully Taught" and "Children Will Listen." (You can hear it here https://youtu.be/owxRpV7l8Dc)

This jumped into my head today after my therapy session. Of course we as a nation are dealing with the tragedy that is the Las Vegas shooting, but my personal tragedies are front and center in my mind as I attempt to find healing from a habitually broken heart. 

I listened as a child. I was taught. I was taught through abuse and neglect that I was to take care of the family and adapt to the abuse and violence that I experienced and witnessed. I was taught that it was my job to put my body between the abuser and my younger more fragile siblings. That I was the one to call the police when my mother was being beaten. That I should keep the house clean so there was no evidence of the hell in which we were living. These lessons added to the anxiety and depression with which I was born and turned into a syllabus of worthlessness. If I wasn't caring and fixing and adapting, I had no purpose. 

I continued that role in my marriage. I defended and supported and cared for a husband who didn't do the same for me. He tore me down, isolated me, raped me, stole from me, lied to me, gaslighted me. And for over a decade, I adapted to each increase of the abuse. I drew my lines further and further from my self preservation and lost more and more of myself. Until I couldn't anymore because it isn't only about me. I have the Wildflower Child and she deserves to see what real, healthy, relationships look like, so she can have them herself. 

And then I did it again. And again. To lesser degrees, but no less damaging to my sense of self and my hope of finding true partnership in this life. Today in therapy it was pointed out to me all I've just laid out above. I hadn't seen it until now. I knew my choices have been not good in people I trust and give my heart to. But I hadn't seen the scars of my abuse in that light before. 

This helps. It hurts right now because it is freshly exposed and raw. But if I can see something, I can address it. And hopefully avoid it in the future. 

It's been what, about ten months since I posted? I'm still on Cymbalta. Still in therapy, though I only go every other week. And that will end soon, because in October I'm moving to Florida. I'm moving from the mid-Atlantic, to fucking Florida. With my parents and my now 8-year-old child. I'm 42-years-old. 

In the last almost year, I've had my heart broken repeatedly by the same person. Someone I love without reason and to my detriment. Someone who doesn't abuse me intentionally, and isn't inherently abusive in any way. He's just, broken, and selfish, and doesn't love me the way I need to be loved. Though I've never been loved the way I need to be loved so what the fuck do I know? 

My therapist wants to spend our last few sessions before I move working on my relationship issues. I obviously want to work on my relationship issues. I want to not be in love with someone who can't love me back. I want to be able to take all I've learned from this last relationship, and find one with the good qualities and without the bad. Find someone who wants to spend their life with me, and my kid, and my dog. Someone who loves animals and food and movies and art and tattoos and, me. But I keep having this dream that somehow, this man I've loved for over a year will get his shit together and realize that I am the one that he wants and somehow decide to work to bring our lives together. And the logical part of my brain knows that is a fantasy and will never happen and my heart is breaking over and over, like an MC Escher print of heartache.

I want to cut my skin. 

When I was younger, starting in elementary school and going through my marriage, I would self-harm when the internal pain got this bad. I haven't started again. But I've driven my nails into my palms hard enough to bruise. I've scratched the skin between my thumb and forefinger until it's raw. I've clenched my jaw hard enough to cause days' worth of ache. But I haven't cut. But holy shit I want to.

I have virtually no money left in my account or on my credit card. I just did back-to-school shopping for the kidlet. And my dog had an emergency vet visit last week because my parents' dog attacked her. So that's awesome. This has nothing to do with anything other than the anxiety dump that is my brain.

He told me that I am loved. I am loved by my family, but it isn't the same. He said he loved me. That he broke up with me last year because he was so in love with me and didn't know what to do about it. He said he didn't want to be the man that screwed over my child's mother. He said he still loves me. But he breaks my heart. Completely. And he has my heart. Completely. I have said I'm not in love with him anymore. That I still love him. That we will always be friends. But are we friends?

I don't know anything. All I am is feelings. Pain wrapped in hope and desire.

Maybe Florida will be a positive change. Maybe the pain will ease. Maybe. ​

So you know that Doctor Who themed tattoo I got for my 41st birthday? This one in case you forgot: 

The symbols behind the Tardis and sonic screwdrivers are "Gallifreyan" for my daughter and my names. But the screwdrivers themselves are really about relationship goals. 

One of the most romantic stories on television is the love affair/marriage of the Doctor and River Song. And I chose the 12th Doctor and River's sonic screwdrivers because their love surpasses time and space. 

But it also tragic. They are meeting in the wrong times. They are two comets crossing in the cosmos. And I'm a doomed romantic. 

There is never a good time to start anything. There is just a time. I am trying very hard to maintain equilibrium during a turbulent time that involves not only the most epically fucked Presidential election in generations, but the imminent move of my parents and sole support system to Florida from the Mid-Atlantic, the possibility of going from part-time to full-time employment, and the pause button being pressed on a relationship that feels more real and potential to me than any I've had. 

I love easily, but I love deep and hard and with every fiber. And like River, I don't expect my love to be returned. But oh how I hope. I'd pray if I was religious, but I don't think Odin gives a shit. 

I'm an adult trapped in an adolescent loop with a Wildflower Daughter and a hot-mess dog and I'm in love. And I'm scared. And I have to make decisions that I do not want to make. And ultimately, I make them alone. 

All I can hope is that like River and the Doctor, the stars align and things fall into place, and I find my way. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll turn and hear, "Hello Sweetie."