Become a Fan
So I thought
By mazie l haize
Monday, October 08, 2007
Rated "PG" by the Author.
The day I realized my husband was lying to me was the first day in many years I lifted up the veil of shame and took a breath of fresh air. I felt free for a brief moment, like a daughter dancing on her father’s shoes, moving through the world dizzy, and joyfully safe. Then the wall started to crumble. Like any deconstruction this was the beginning of a painful process, a rebirth if you will. But the more I struggled the freer I became, I realized this was my journey.
My therapist, after one visit, validated all my ‘paranoia’s’, as my husband like to call them. I struggled for so long trying to reconcile my longing to be loved by parents who were lost to their own demons. At best, I was a baby bird incessantly chirping, with the annoyance of a dripping faucet, my parents blaming me for chirping. I felt my existence was a mirage not really valid or consequential. Like a means to someone else’s end. My husband liked my adaptability, I morphed into whatever suited the task at hand and he was ready to give me my pat on the head, 'what a good girl', when I complied. My paranoia’s, according to my husband, were my concerns with having my family in my life, they were repeatedly abusive, not supportive, belittling, condescending, and toxic to say the least. I yo-yoed between excommunicating them from my life or trying to find redeemable qualities, and interactions that showed me some glimmer of hope. At this time in my life I was still trying to get the food I needed, coming up empty, my ‘abusers’ keeping me needy and in a place where I needed my husband and he felt more secure. As my house of cards started to fall, I realized my husband did not love me and he was sabotaging my healing. This let to more cards falling.
When the veil was lifting, I felt at times helpless and frightened, but incrementally free, like the truth was occurring drop by drop. Part of me was stuck in the faucet and part of me was flowing free. What was holding me back? Were my wings clipped, my feathers stunted, was I not a bird at all? Did someone trick me into believing I was a bird? Maybe because of all the chaos in my childhood all I really knew is I was alive. I navigated landmines, survived bombs going off, deafened at times, shell shocked mostly into believing whatever childlike fantasies I could dream up in my mind that would sustain my spirit. So I guess I was the one who lied to myself, about being a bird, that is, it was all I had, so I thought.