You're right Michael Stipe - Everybody DOES hurt, sometimes...

I moved out of mine and my husband's house on Thursday, August 20, 2009. Two days later, various members of my family and I returned to the house for my things and my two cats, Trinity and Maya. I was still so angry with Jason that I was able to go through with all the packing and leaving, but it did hurt to see the pain in his eyes and to see him cry, knowing that he still believed I had the power to heal those wounds.

Since I've been back in Mom and Dad's house, I've been getting stronger and stronger. After several days, I was able to put my contacts back in, as the days of sobbing slowed considerably. After about a week, I took my wedding ring off. I started reconnecting with good friends of mine, friends I had been keeping out of my life either at Jason's request, or because I was afraid that they would find out the reality of my current situation.

The reality of my life was nothing near the romantic scene I had scripted for everyone. Some people knew of the drug abuse, both Jason's and my own, but we consistently lied to the world about the actual frequency of our use. Even when I did not use with my husband, I more often than not knew he was going to get high, and covered his tracks for him. A few people questioned the abusive nature of our relationship - the emotional, mental and physical abuse that had been escalating over our three years together - but we both did our best to paint a smile on our love. I feared the end of our relationship probably as much as he feared 2012, the end of an era. Having survived all too many failed romances, including two engagements that never made it to the altar, I was terrified that the end of this marriage would most certainly launch me into "spinster" mode for the rest of my living days. I believed him when he told me that "nobody would ever love me" and that I "didn't have the strength to leave him".

I don't believe either of those things anymore.

When I was in high school, I fell madly in love with a boy who, for the first time in my life, fell madly in love with me in return. I was 14 and he was 16. We dated for about 5 1/2 years or so, the last year and a half being an excruciating experience for both of us. Well, I'm pretty sure it was for him - you'd have to ask him. It certainly was for me. It was when I moved away from Mankato to go to college in Missouri that our relationship started falling apart. He once quoted the band Fifteen at me, saying "you seem to need a man, to retain an identity". Of course it pissed me off, but over 10 years later, that still sticks with me. Was he right? Am I the only woman in the world that has this problem? I doubt that I'm alone here. Why do we, as women, feel incomplete when we're single? Why this lifelong quest for finding THE ONE? For that matter, is this strictly a female issue?

Without diluting the strong emotions I've felt for the loves in my past, I do have to wonder: do I even know what real love is? I've heard that you cannot truly love someone else until you love yourself, and this has been a serious roadblock for me, until very recently. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, and I even tried convincing other people that I did, actually, love myself. There was no fooling Q, however, even if I did manage to fool a few others. The scars on my arms, the x's over my heart, the lines on my stomach - these remain as visible proof that I did not, in actuality, love myself. As disturbing as the volume of old cuts on my body may be to some, they don't even come close to the emotional wounds I've dealt with. Those inner wounds are so much trickier.

As I've been back in Mankato, I've learned that I am far from unique in my pain. This is a fact that I grasped years ago intellectually, but was only able to truly "get" within the past few months. When I tell people of my broken wrist, when I show people my scars from cutting, when I open up about the hurtful words that were pelted at me, and the equally horrible things I've said and done in retaliation - people understand all too well what I'm going through. I have met more women who have been in abusive relationships than I knew existed. I have related to more cutters and other people with Borderline Personality Disorder - outside of a hospital setting - than I thought possible. I've been more in tune to those in grief, to those going through the death of their own relationship, and to the mass quantities of suffering in this world. And for perhaps the first time in my life, I feel humble in my suffering, and grateful for the love and support I do have in my life. You cannot measure pain - one person's suffering is no better or worse than their neighbor's.

So far - and it's only been a few months now - I've learned several key lessons.
1 - Everything in this world is on a continuum. Nothing is black or white.
2 - Humanity is ultimately good. Negativity seems to come from suffering, from an attempt to avoid the inevitable pain that comes with being alive. People will generally help you if you let them.
3 - There is a reason for everything in this universe. You are exactly where you need to be at all times.
4 - I do love myself. I am worthy of love and I do not need anyone else to complete me. I have always been complete - I just didn't realize it.

So, with that said, I hope you decide to come back once in awhile to see how this journey unfolds. Feedback is always appreciated as well, although it certainly isn't required. :)

much love,

~Q~