Let me start by saying, this can happen to anyone. Yes, even you, reading this post now, in a million-dollar home, wearing clothes that cost in the thousands of dollars, who has a prestigious education, who's been married for years, who has the kind of life people would look at and call 'perfect', attractive, smart, successful you.
I loved Bill. In many ways, I still do. I still miss him. Most days.
But some days things...slip, and it's suddenly like I'm right back there, in my old kitchen, waiting it terror for his key in the lock. Just days ago I woke up panicking because I dreamed he was on top of me, holding me down and demanding that I cry for him. I felt like a failure as a woman that day, because all I could manage to do was cry in the shower, call my safety contact and curl up under a blanket. Those are the days that, when they pass, I can honestly say I hate him. He took away my ability to put on my big-girl pants every day and go out and do what needs to be done. He made me like a kicked dog---needing to be collared, but too head-shy to even get close enough. Then I hate myself for hating him; he was only human. Was it *really* his fault? What could I have done better? Was I too much like a rabbit, teasing the fox with such easy prey? Would he have respected me more if I'd stood up to him? Would it have made any difference in the outcome if he had? That's the constant buzz of questions and doubts that only meds and therapy can quiet down.
Anyhow. Just checking in. Maybe one of these days I'll be confident enough again to have a 'captain'. But that still seems a long way off, even if I'm no longer in physical danger.
