Feeling faint twinges of anger over my mistreatment at the hands of Dylon, but mostly am feeling elated.

Addendum: this is one of the pages Dylon told me helped him realize what he'd done to me: http://www.web-street.com/thingsarelookinup/Boundaries/Controlling.shtml. On it is the following in a list of "symptoms" of controlling, abusive behaviour:

* They can be very clever and sound very sweet while they are saying what are really very cold or insulting things. ("I'm so sorry you have so many problems." This is not sympathy; this is a put-down.) Dylon would do this all the time, in the nicest tone of voice possible, of course. It was always "I'm sorry *you* are having a problem" with the emphasis on me-- *I* had a problem, but the rest of the world didn't-- I was the freak, the oversensitive one, the jerk.

* Subtle controllers may disappear when they know you need them most - or deliberately take days to respond. (They've "got you," and they are enjoying the "power" you've given them.) Dylon did this when I had the miscarriage, and again when we were separated. Knowing I was v. upset, miserable, and desperately unhappy, he just dumped me.

* They may say, "I'll give you your space" when they know the most important thing in your life is happening. This is the flip side of the previous one: knowing I was in dire straits, he put a aren't-I-so-wonderful-and-noble spin on it all, said he was doing it for my own good, and that if I insisted it would be harming him as he couldn't take it any more. Blah blah blah.

* They may not respond when you say something they know is very deep and personal to you - or smile in satisfaction when YOU "lose control" and cry, for example. He never smiled when I cried, but there were plenty of times that I was v. upset about something and he totally blew it off as inconsequential, overreactive, etc.

The main problem he has is with trust. He never, ever believed me when I told him something was bothering me. Always took his own measure of a sitch over mine, no matter that I knew more about it than him. I really don't know why he's got such trust issues-- goes back to his mom, perhaps? I dunno. All I know is that I never gave him reason to doubt me, not like that. All I ever did was love him. Maybe I loved him too much.

This isn't really an anger issue, as I'm not actually angry, but it's not something I'm ready to post publicly yet so I'll put it here.

Dylon admitted to me today that he did actually control me, violate my trust in him, and all-around emotionally abuse me during the 4 years we spent together. He now realizes what he did to me, and to our relationship, and seems sorry. Seems rather completely devastated and numbed and down in general about it all.

To me, it validates so much frustration and pain. It releases me from an ocean of self-doubt and -loathing. For so long I was convinced that I was so horrible, so worthless, that even the person who loves me the most can't stand me, would discard me like garbage. Knowing that the fault wasn't mine, that he drove me deeper into depression until I craved death as a release from my misery, and in desperation had to leave him, has been an unbelieveable momentous occasion for me.

I've also discovered that love really is boundless, and eternal, because though I can't honestly say I want to get back together with him, I do want to help him. In spite of his problems, and how he treated me, there is so much that is beautiful in him, and I'd hate to see him stunted and alone and wretched the rest of his life because of guilt and fear and regret over what's happened between us.

I don't know what happens now. All I know is, I'm not bad, or awful, or to blame for everything that went wrong in our marriage. For the first time in over a year, I feel good about myself. Like I can look forward to the future, instead of dreading it and being sorry I survived another day.

Rereading my posts to this journal, I note that the last time I was angry with Mom and Gramma, Louis was in the mix somehow, again.

It was the time he sprung a visit on us, and I had to cancel my plans last-minute to help. Prince Louis deigns to give us an hour of his time and the world stops to accomodate him.

So typical. The faithful daughter is always there, always helping, and gets reamed. The erstwhile son flits in and out out their lives, always unreliable, usually with his hand out, and is treated like royalty. The son screws up, but all is forgiven, and the daughter has to deal with the fallout.

Mom and Gramma are, at this moment, fawning all over my brother L. Why am I not there, engaging in the love-fest? Because L fecked off and "forgot" we were moving last week, leaving us to flounder frantically through one of the worst series of days and situations in our lifetimes. It was HORRIBLE and he could have helped a lot-- Mom and I were both v. sick, all sorts of things went wrong, Gramma was frantic as usual, and he wasn't there.

So when the prodigal son calls, do you think Mom gives him an earful of shit about his desertion and negligence? Hell no! He gets the usual fatted calf supper, and I get called "mean" and "vicious" and "unnatural" for refusing to go along with it. I asked Mom, "And you wonder why he doesn't have any respect for you?" But she just doesn't want to "cause trouble" (said in that drawn-out drawling whine). And she wants me to bend over just like she does, and take it.

Well tough titty. I spent 4 years doing just that for a man, sublimating my own rights and needs and wants so that he could have and do whatever he wanted at my expense, and I will be fucked up, down, and sideways if I'll allow it to happen again.

Two days ago, at M's, I remembered yet another incident of D fucking me over-- it was after I'd returned last year from the first separation. We were at the clothing store, and I found a GORGEOUS coat-- wool and cashmere blend, excellent quality fake fur trim, fit beautifully, would have been perfect for me. Only $110 Canadian. And he wouldn't let me have it. Didn't need it, he said.

So I spent the rest of that winter, and the entirety of this one, shivering my ass off in my polar fleece jacket (which is really not a winter coat) because D didn't think I needed an actual winter coat. Fuck him, and fuck L, and fuck my goddamned father for saddling me with a goddamned piece of shit car that's costing me a goddamned fucking fortune that I don't fucking have.

Mom can allow L to abuse her, use her for his gain, and "forget" about her when she needs him, but not me. M helped us for 4 days straight, and she's not even fucking related to us, and the kid we adopted, who we saved from a life of god-knows-what, can't even be bothered to give us a few hours of his time unless it's to give him something or feed him for free.

Fuck that. I bet the main reason Mom was put out that I wouldn't join them was because she had to come pick up Gramma herself, instead of having me chauffer the old girl to Mom's. Boo-hoo. Fuck the lot of them. I'm done being reamed by the world.

Analysis:

What made me angry: Mom being obsequious to L in spite of his shabby treatment of us.
How I know I'm angry: Powerful urge to confront him and tell him in brutal clarity why he sucks.
Physical symptoms: Tight feeling in chest, lump in throat. Thick breathing.

Have been feeling ittitable and weepy lately, thinking it's mostly an overload of stress as lately my life has sucked balls.
Doing ok controlling outbursts, however.

Haven't been angry lately, more of a faintly sour temper, really. Frustration at not being able to write as much as I'd wanted-- failure to fulfill the compulsion is always good for making me feel crabby.

Haven't been v. angry lately, or at least nothing significant enough to remember. Good times!

So far, I've been irked twice, and disgusted once. And it's only 2 pm.

Irk #1 I tell Valerie that Mary too wants to hit the JoMar, but ask that we go when I can afford to buy something too. Valerie responds that she doesn't want to wait and I can come along for the ride, and get a free lunch.

I don't want a free lunch, goddammit. I'm not a charity case. I don't want to look at all the nice, inexpensive fabric that I can't afford, it depresses me. She knows this. I've told her many times before. And I told her again, that if she couldn't wait until I could afford some too, she could go with Mary, without me, and suggested she call Mary to make the details.

Irk #2 Val made some cake that sounded really good, so I asked her to bring me some when she picked me up on Sunday. She brought 3 slices, 1 for each of us. I didn't get a chance to eat it until today, when I went down for lunch, and found it was all gone. Questioning Gramma, I found that she and Mom had eaten it all. I couldn't believe it! 3 slices of cake, 3 occupants of house. Simple math, really.

I asked, you couldn't save me some? G replied, we thought you'd had some. I said, you couldn't ask me? She replied, you weren't here. I demanded, you couldn't have saved me a slice, and waited until I was home? She just clammed up, knowing she was wrong. I ranted for a few minutes about how they call ME the inconsiderate, selfish one of the family... That just pisses me off.

It's the injustice thing again. They criticize me for failing to be more generous, kind, giving, considerate, and then they do things like this. So that's what made me angry. I know I'm angry because I'm filled with indignation, and outrage, and mild disbelief (mild because, well, they are just as obnoxious as I am, they just pretend they're not and I'm not used to them being shamelessly obnoxious-- usually they're more stealthy about it). No physical clues I can identify, besides the typical tightness in the chest.

And now for what disgusted me. Some brown-nosing twat wrote an open letter to the king, who has been activated to serve with his Corps Reserve. The overly matey tone of his epistle just grated on my nerves-- I know this guy. He's a homely, greasy-haired pariah in his home group, and across the southern region-- perhaps the entire kingdom. I feel certain that the king barely knows who this guy is, let alone appreciates his "sage" advice.

I guess the uppity, questing, cloying feel of the thing just got on my nerves.