Changes

Changes are a fact of life. They do not have to be huge, drastic events. Every day, we wake up and change tiny bits, even if it is the simple fact of growing older, minute by minute. I was raised to believe I would never grow old.  My religion taught that Armageddon would come before I so much as got my first wrinkle, if I would make it through public school at all before salvation arrived, was pondered on daily.  I was one of the last hold outs in my small social group to leave the cult mentality. This left me bitter about loss of time that I could have been living, loving, and getting an education.  I was however, blessed with a family.  This family of a husband and four children that I told myself, we would build on and make up for the loss of so many other opportunities. I was still a traditional person.  I loved being a stay at home mom, cleaning, laundry, organizing. As a wife I would strive for perfection in being his right hand, his secretary, his vacation planner, cheerleader, and magic maker. Whatever the task, whatever he needed, I took as a personal challenge to make reality even if it was only a brief whim he mentioned in passing. This was what I had been directed to from childhood as the ultimate goal of a woman. And to be honest, even after having opportunities open up after my freedom from mind control, this was not a bad gig.  I felt good about my life.  Marriage was more than a promise or piece of paper to me. This was my partner, my other half, the person with whom I would be building an empire with.

I remember the day that I wanted to end it all. Standing in front of a crappy mirror in a half done bathroom inside a fixer upper that was deteriorating by the day.  Mid forties, the grey was showing , my eyes were blood shot and swollen from crying. My body broken down from stretch marks and time. A husband in full blown mid life crisis and alcoholism, who chose to move into a one bedroom apartment and share bunk beds with a promiscuous lesbian half his age because he said he needed peace and living with me did not give him any.  Kids running wild and arguing upstairs, bouncing off the walls, a job that was for additional income only, without a chance of supporting myself, much less my children.  I looked at myself, hating every last inch of me. Everything I had ever wanted and dreamed of having was broken or gone entirely. The anger was building up into a frenzy of panic and loathing. I picked up a 2x4 laying in my shitty bedroom and swung at the woman looking back at me in the mirror. I wanted to destroy her.

A fortunate thing about having a bedroom in the basement and free spirited, wild children running amuck upstairs is that no one heard the crash, or my sobbing. I don't even remember much other than I had some scratches on my arm. All my life there had been a tendency to self harm. A failure of perfection, missing the mark on a goal would be followed by a head bang to the wall or a shoulder to the door frame along with me berating myself for the stupidity of my shortcomings. I remember looking at the scratches, my heart still pounding from panic, crying uncontrollably, wishing I could make this roller coaster stop.  I picked up a piece of broken glass and slowly ran it across my skin.  I was disappointed that it didn't bleed.  I did it again and again with more pressure. Nothing but a few scrawny stripes and redness. I guess our litigious society had come up with a safety glass of some sort for mirrors.  However, my heart rate slowed down and an almost uphoric calm came over me.  I rested for a moment, got up on my feet, and picked up the mess.  Then I showered, put on clean clothes and went upstairs and took control of my house again.   The next day I was surprised at the area on my arms and legs. Streaks that looked more legit came up and burned. There was a comfort in the way they burned, just slightly uncomfortable enough for me to be reminded of the incident. Each uncomfortable rub against my pants gave off another sense of calm.

 I eventually had to face the destructive thoughts and deal with my pain professionally. How I got from blissfully content to having hurtful thoughts, I can not tell you.  It was a path that presented changes, both dramatic as well as subtle.  Never in a million years would I have thought I would have ended up in front of that mirror, facing the loss of my family, the home I once efficiently dominated, and my immortality......changes. They come to us all. We have three choices, accept and learn from them, bury our head in the sand and pretend not to notice, or exit the program.   These choices are in front of us every day as the world slowly keeps spinning. I still hate change. But as I snuggle up to my youngest and talk about her day, I'm glad that I did not choose option 3.  Changes....they can suck, but you can't stop them.