Sue and I started a blog when we began to write When Loving Him Hurts. Please click on the link to take you to WHEN LOVING HIM HURTS website.
I will include some of them here.
I’m not sure how I would have coped during those years had I not had my miniature Yorkie, Osho. For dog lovers, I don’t need to describe what he meant to me. As this first blog post, I am using photographs of him from one of the first blogs Sue and I wrote. The photograph of Sue is where she used to sit all day, writing with Osho tucked beside her. It was from that balcony from my home in the Berkshires where When Loving Him Hurts was born.
The Underbelly Of My Beast
Last night Sue was going up the stairs to the guest bedroom when I announced that I was to blame for the abuse.
“What do you mean?” she asked shocked as she sat on the steps not sure what to do with either the coffee or the information.
“ I chose every single one of them. I had lots of opportunities to leave when the abuse started but I needed that abuse. I needed his pathology to fit in with my mine. My pathology was that love was an obsession not dissimilar to an addiction. I was no different to a drug addict. I was consumed with him.
I needed my fix the way a drug addict needs there’s. Sue was confused so I tried to explain by describing my day-to-day life.
“The focus of my day was my labors of love. What errands could I run, what food could I make, what outfits I could wear and what could I do to earn the applause and approval when he came home. How could I show him how indispensable I was? And that was another example of my manipulations.
The business of my day began when he woke up. I had buttered his toast to the edges the way I was sure no one else would have done. Not only had the toast been buttered to perfection but the timing around the delivery of the toast and coffee had become an art form. Having successfully achieved breakfast on time it was now time for wardrobe consultation. I was smug in the knowledge that I was The One. Don’t for a minute forget that affairs are the norm. The abuser always manipulates with other women. The hidden truth was that my manipulations were no less deceitful.”
“How so?” Sue asked.
“In lots of ways. Firstly I manipulated him to take me to every single event and function so that my presence in his life was as public as possible. I dressed to the nines and I lauded it over other women. In my mind I had the prize and shamelessly I showed off. I was a bigger liar than he was. He showed me exactly who he was. He was an addict, an abuser, and a cheat. I pretended to be something that I wasn’t.”
“Had he given you everything you wanted as in appreciation, kindness and consideration, would you have stayed?” Sue asked.
“No, I would have been bored stiff. Decent men don’t supply enough drama to justify being consumed. That’s why I wasn’t a victim. I choose him and he performed perfectly.”
“It still sounds like a difficult and painful way to live”.
“I have learned that there is always a payoff for destructive behavior. Mine was that as long as I was focused and consumed by his life I never had to do anything worthwhile with my own. He was the perfect camouflage for the fact that I was doing nothing with my life.”