Hello, goddesses. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are in the world. Spring Equinox will be here in the northern hemisphere tomorrow, as well as a total solar eclipse. In preparation for Spring’s arrival, I am letting go of a TON of pain, sloughing off the dead of the winter of my soul so that radiant life can burst forth.
This is a hellaciously long post. This post is a vomiting of my soul, of my heart.
It’s about the bad relationship I was in before being with my twin flame. It’s something that has to come out, because it’s poison for me.
Divorce was not an easy word for me, and it wasn’t something I took lightly. I always saw it as a horrible, life-ending word; a word so terrible that I couldn’t look at it without shuddering. I was one of those non-understanding people who thought those who left their marriages were weak and didn’t truly love their spouse to begin with. I was so wrong, so bigoted.
This isn’t an inspirational post in any way. If you find that it has helped you in some way, then I’m truly, honestly happy that it has. But I don’t expect it to. Maybe it will even anger some of you. Maybe you’ll give up reading this NOVEL halfway through.
But you know what? That’s fine.
It’s something that has to come out of my soul before I can move on and no longer feel anger and pain, before I can evolve as Mary, the wildly wonderful lunatic who deserves to be loved. I’m writing this for me.
So here goes. BEWARE, there’s brief talk about sex.
* * *
I’ve known Jon for as long as I knew my husband, Trevor. We all met in the same 3D chat program in 2002. I quickly became close to Jon, despite our 5-year age difference, and it was mid to late 2004 that I realized I loved him. The feeling was mutual. But it was something I had to quickly put away in my heart and discourage Jon from. Trevor was geographically closer to me, and the exact same age as me, and I had feelings for him as well.
So it was Trevor who I ended up choosing instead of the one who made me feel utter joy every day. I chose the one who felt safer to me.
I made what was probably the worst decision of my life. It was a relationship that should have never happened, but I was sappy and believed my affection for Trevor meant utter, wonderful romantic perfection.
Before I came to Canada to be with him (because he said he refused to live in the US, so I had to come there), I was very lucky if I ever got the time of day from him on messenger programs and Skype. I clung to him for four years before we met in person so I felt that I could belong and matter to someone, and so that I could perhaps have an escape from the extreme isolation and emotional abuse I was living with in my parents’ home.
I was cheated on multiple times throughout our near-10 year relationship. I had to beg for just basic things, even food or bus fare. I was constantly told that everything was “his”, from our bed to even things he bought me. I was always put second to his electronics and video games. I was usually forbidden from touching “our” electronics, such as our DSLR, because he didn’t trust me for some unspoken reason. I felt like I was too lowly to be noticed, to deserve him.
And, my lovelies, I was a damned idiot. I thought that maybe if I worked harder, did things for him, basically served him like a slave, he wouldn’t cheat on me again with ex-girlfriends and other women whose obvious messages he kept failing to conceal (I wasn’t even snooping).
Maybe if I lost weight, he’d find me attractive. If I worked hard on my appearance, maybe he’d make love to me instead of hurting me before passionlessly turning away from me or leaving the room altogether.
Maybe if I took his interests as my own, we’d actually have something to talk about. Maybe if I made his interests come first, he wouldn’t switch every subject over to himself as though what I said didn’t matter at all to him.
Maybe if I led him by the hand, he’d do all the things he kept saying he wanted to do but then did nothing about. Maybe he could learn to fill out simple forms on his own or learn to Google important phone numbers.
Maybe if I helped him manage his money, it wouldn’t all be gone on payday for his toys. And maybe he wouldn’t steal hundreds of dollars from me again without a second’s thought (the most serious example is that he stole money for my permanent residency fees, bought a huge new tv, then refused to sell the tv to get the money to get me back to Canada). Maybe he wouldn’t refuse to let me see any part of our tax returns, where I’d timidly ask for money for an eye exam or my anti-depression medication. Maybe he wouldn’t steal money from his mother, from me, from friends for bus fare when he’d spent his entire pay on video games.
Maybe if I encouraged, celebrated him, without nagging, he’d grow to be the person he kept saying he wanted to become. I truly wanted to see him reach the potential I knew was in him.
Or maybe if I put my foot down, he’d get off his ass. Maybe he’d go to marriage counselling with me if I insisted. No? Oh. Then maybe I should try that much harder and then feel guilty for doing it, feeling like I was a nagging shrew.
And maybe if I helped him with all these things, I’d finally be able to have a child with him instead of him telling me that I had no choice but have an abortion if I got pregnant.
And in the process of shouldering our marriage alone and trudging uphill, my needs were completely unmet, and I was made to feel that they weren’t at all important.
That I was completely unimportant.
Maybe if I talked to him–gently, honestly, openly and without yelling or accusing–he would learn to understand. I begged and begged him to understand.
He didn’t. And wouldn’t.
But I didn’t want to give up. My entire life I’d wanted to get married, be someone’s wife. I always felt that I had no identity, and that being married would give me one through my husband. I loved the concept of being married *far* more than I loved my husband, and I didn’t care that our marriage was on a foundation of soft, eroding sand that was slipping out far faster than I could manage. I was a *wife*, and wasn’t that good enough for my ass?
I was miserable. Barely existing. Frequently suicidal. I felt transparent, bereft of colour and substance.
I had considered divorce since mid-2010, when my husband and I had only been married for a year and a half. It was a dead relationship even before the words “I’m coming to Canada” were uttered in 2008. But I felt so, so selfish for wanting out of a bad situation. So I kept forgiving him, kept convincing myself that because *I* had feelings for *him*, it was still a genuine relationship even if he didn’t have feelings for me.
Through it all was my best friend, my twin flame, who had always been there for me when my husband wasn’t. Jon had been concerned for a long time, and in his gentle wisdom, he told me that maybe I should think about separating.
I thought long and hard about it for eight months. I struggled so much with myself. But after a lot of soul searching, I knew that leaving this relationship was the only way I could ever save myself and be happy. It was the only way I could live.
I told my husband that I was leaving him. He said nothing, then went to message an old friend on Facebook in the hopes of scoring a date with her.
I knew then that it was the right decision.
September 1st, 2014 was a scary day. It was me not only stepping out of my comfort zone, but leaping the hell out of it. And I don’t like change, never have.
But then joy overtook me. And suddenly, I was no longer transparent. I was ME, my own person, full of colour and life.
My three best friends – Liat, Alora, and Jon – all buoyed me up. And my relationship with Jon just happened, and incredibly naturally, as it was always supposed to have happened. He had always loved me, had always silently waited.
But I still felt so guilty for leaving Trevor. I felt like such a failure. I continued to blame myself for everything, especially when I went to the house to get a few of my things and he sexually assaulted me.
I felt I didn’t deserve happiness, and I feared change and leaving Canada and my friends. The routine and familiarity.
So I balked, feared, stewed in resentment and anger toward my twin flame who was only trying to help me. Who had always loved me so purely and wholly and had never tried to interfere in my marriage at all until he’d become concerned for my happiness and well-being when he saw first hand how Trevor treated me. In trying to understand my intense fears, Jon told me to try two weeks with him first to give everything a chance. Despite his love for me, he only ever wanted to see me happy.
He never gave up on me. Not then, not now, not in thirteen years.
Since then, I have experienced such AMAZING levels of healing, and a much richer understanding of who I am and who I want to be.
Do I feel like a victim? No. Do I finally feel like I made the right decision? Yes. Do I feel like I’ve taken back my power? Yes.
I never want any person to feel like they’re unimportant and undeserving of their significant other’s time, love, or respect. I never want any person to feel like they HAVE to be in a relationship to be someone, especially if that relationship is abusive, or one-sided, or just plain dead. I want people to feel vibrant love and to know they are loved, and wonderful, and wildly rich with amazing hearts and brains and bodies and emotions and ideas.
Because that’s how I now feel for myself for the first time in my life. I may be thirty, but I’ve just now reached the Spring Equinox of my life.
Love and light,