Critical Moment

Husband shows up on the scene.

(In my mind of course.  But that is the battleground.)

He showed up to punch the crap out of this lowly little fellow who talks sbout ‘pussy’ in tbe smoke shack and a lot worse, who bummed the butt i was about to put out for a light when i was on my way back from a private smoke.  PRIVATE.  That was the issue.  I had just gotten off the phone with my mother, and i told her sbout the privste smokes.  I cant even remember the wotds she used.  Theyre too obnoxious.   “So youre not dealing with society, ” or something like rhat.  Its HOW im dealing with society, the break i needed all ny life, and my husband, who is the ONLY one who really knows me saw that, in this moment, and what an unbelievable bitch my mother has been.  Its about the being kneed in the crotch when i was a little girl.  Its all coming togethet. I was dealing with a needy black woman who effectively sidelined me in a group today, and i said so and walked out of the group.  In high school i was identified as needy in tbe area if English language arts, snd my Fall term Fteshman year roommate, a black girl from Harlem, got me kicked out of the needy class over accusations of discrimination because i got an A and she got a B .  (The teacher was Scottish, and liked me.) The following summer he committed suicide.  It wss horrible.  At the time i didnt really understand what was happening.  I only knew i was in over  my head in Mr. G’s English class and that marked my Entire high school years and even influenced me in a negative fashion in college.  It was yesrs before i broke out if that predominating relationship.

So today i am fighting for a place apart from the crowd and protection when it makes people jealous.  IVE SUFFERED ENOUGH and its ridiculous thst i have to keep pretending that everything is okay when its not.  No.  I cant handle the smoke shack.  Sorry mom.

After i hung up with her i couldnt find my key.  After about 10 minuts yet anither miss J, NOT black, or maybe a little black, cone to think of it, came to my door: she had taken the key out if the doorhandle where i had keft it.  Looking for the key in a raging panic gave me time to get control of my emotions and evade being cut by my mother.  This miss J was the one who came to get me when the cops came last weekend, sonething my mother DOESN’T know about, and never will.  She is always nice to me and she saved the whole muddled afternoon since my locking horns in the morning with the black wonan at the partial program.  I had been saying to myself that something like that could happen to remind me of  God’s kindness in the midst of all this trouble.

My husband, in my mind, says that he will always,  always be there for me, now that he finally sees the fighr, but as of  this monent he doesn’t feel he can be expected to remarry me.

(My psychotherapist told me positively today that all these mental interactions and experiences simply aren’t happening, but i explained to her that in my experiences my borders have been blurred and crossed to where normal boundaries have broken down and there are countless examples in film and books that i can point to, she’s not convinced.)

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