At each of those crossroads sorts of times, when I've wondered if I have anything left to say that's of significance, I've received a comment from out of the blue which reminds me of my purpose. I woke up this morning to this comment from a new reader:
While those things were true, right, good, and easy to comprehend intellectually, it was like taking an emotional enema. I always felt like all of ME had to to be gutted out so that I could intellectually respond correctly to a situation that ripped at the fiber of my emotions as a woman. Not trying to fix something actually becomes doing something when you have to work so hard not to do it. It was hell. That's the best English word I can think of to convey what that part of it was like. When I talk about that part of it, I'm talking about the sexual part. Looking back, I'm sort of amazed that I didn't drink more than I did. And while I know beyond a doubt that I used alcohol as a sort of sedative during much of that time, I can't say I ever developed an addiction to it. It's not something that appeals to me now at all. At least not in the way it did then.
And yet, there were so many things that I enjoyed about being married to Tdub. We had great rapport when it came to talking about things that interested us like movies, people at church, theological stuff. His brain had been programmed, it seemed to me, with Church of Christ doctrine (which doesn't really exists, btw hehe!) and my brain was constantly trying to figure out what it meant to really be a Christian. This made for some great discussions where we'd sometimes disagree but with a great deal of humor. We did the sorts of things together that keep couples together. But there was always this nagging issue, like a gnat that won't die, swirling around the boundaries of all our good times.
I will process more. Thank you Grant for your inspiration and encouragement. I've got mucho sewing to do. I'm working on some fund raising projects for Christmas money. I'll post some pictures later...maybe even later this evening.
Sparky is wonderful in his stubborn, impish, dachshund way. Having figured out that momee gives treats from the fridge (cut up cubes of spam) when he comes in when called from outside, he's now decided to bypass the outside step altogether. He will get my attention that he wants outside. I follow him as he prances down the little hallway to the back door. I open the door, and he turns and prances back down the hall and stops in front of the fridge with his tail wagging. Gotta love that!
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