The Window Revisited

So, enough additional stuff has happened since I wrote the Parable of the Window that I've made some changes in my "room".  Perhaps it really happened when I became Monster Girl and I just didn't realize it until now.

Last night I realized that I just don't care any more if Beauty Man comes in to open the window enough.  I think I'm not truly in apathy about it all, but I'm definitely on the verge of it... and rather glad to be where I am - emotionally speaking.

I think I hear you wondering what changes I've made in my "room".  Well, I imagined myself in my "room" the other night.  Surprisingly, instead of seeing myself curled up almost dead, as has so often been the case, I saw myself curled up in a corner (as I've "seen" before) and realized I wasn't in complete fetal position.  My face was turned oddly.  Upon closer consideration, I realized I was breathing through something like a straw, sort of.  I realized, as I studied the situation, that I'd scraped a hole through the wall in my "room" and the straw-like object was pushed through the hole into the world of air.  And I was breathing.  Not totally naturally, but breathing just the same.  And the breathing requires mega-focus... but still breathing!

Additionally, I saw that my fingers were busy working around the straw-like think to make the hole bigger.  The hole I'm carving out of the wall will only be big enough to allow a free flow of air.  I'm not trying to get out of the room.  I'm just trying to create a way to stay in the room that is not dependent upon someone who has proven unreliable and uncaring.

How does this analogy compare to real life.  I'm not really sure, to be completely honest with ya!  Odd, aint it?

I will tell you, though... my husband has done some nice things lately.  What he has done has been totally inconsistent, though.  And because of how close (in time) they are to unresolved issues (for me they are unresolved)... Anyway... it just doesn't matter to me.  Not a bit in my conscious caring mind.  In the back of mind it registers... but I'm just so focused on breathing that I can't deal with anything else.

For instance, Beauty Man called to tell me he loved me (in the middle of his, probably 14 hour, day at work) and tell me he missed us a lot.  Yeah, that used to be nice.  I used to like that kind of thing.  I used to look forward to it and hope for it.  He USED to do it pretty regularly.  Now... don't care a bit and, in fact, it's annoying because I was trying to finally eat my lunch (3:30pm!) and it was then he called.  Probably I should've just had my eldest ask him if he MUST speak to me, and if not for her to take a message... but given our past, I knew he would probably be completely miffed by that.  So, I answered the phone.  Told him thank you for trying to be thoughtful and that I'm sure the children missed him, too.  I don't miss him.  Not a bit.  In fact, I think it would be simpler if he would just work 14 hour days 6 days per week.  And I only say six and not seven because I believe firmly in keeping the Sabbath Day holy.  *sigh*

This is from the woman who has been fighting with her man to be home more because the children need him.  I'm not even worried about that anymore.  He's been too much a jerk to them too often that I can't help but think it's all around better for him to work more than less.  Not that his hours have ever really gotten to BE less... he's been steadily working 63+ hours since he started this job too long ago.

Is that totally mean?  Probably.  But I just don't even care right now.  :(

I probably need to study the stages of grief/mourning.  It just seems highly likely that this anger is part of a mourning process.  Mourning the death of another hope.  *sigh*  I'm so tired of this full morgue!

The Cat Runs Away

This is a continuation post.  I recommend you start at the beginning of this mini-story, the move on to the middle, and THEN come on back here here so that you'll understand what "cat" this is all about.  Next post will actually be the final.  I know... I keep drawing this out, but I can only do so much of dealing with the crud at once.

That night one of the many murders was accomplished.  Thus far it is among the most gruesome for me.  I know this whole thing may be "no big thang" to you.  I do, truly, know that lots of women have more horrendous trials than this.  I do.

But you know, the THEORY OF RELATIVITY* (the star is a totally different link, fun, right?) is not exclusively applicable in Physics.  All too often folks try to apply it to morality... doesn't work there, but humanistic relativism would argue it does, of course.  If you know God, you know that just aint so.  I'll leave THAT there and move along.

The wounds I have sustained are legion.  I actually hurt myself when beating up the speakers, but didn't know it when it happened.  I had a scratch on one shoulder, a cut on an ear lobe, and a huge bruise on one calf that took more than three weeks to heal up and go away entirely!  But the worst of the damage is internal... contained and defined in my emotions and thoughts.  Oh, would that the only damage was to my flesh... and a result of my own actions!

As a result of this whole thing, I completed a metamorphosis from sort of cute girl to Monster Girl.  And, unfortunately, I don't see it as a reversible sort of thing.  Christ's Atonement has (and is) bringing to pass healing of the pain.  It's mostly gone, most of the time (when I allow His Atonement to work in me), but it will not erase the image I saw or the knowledge of what Beauty Man did.  It is this that has finished up a process (this metamorphosis) begun when I first learned and knew for sure about his lies... and knew the whispers were true.

I guess, in a way, it's sort of liberating to feel truly ugly.  Perhaps this is a stretch... and yes, I am trying to make something good out of crap.  But maybe if I can simply accept my ugly Monster Girl-ness, I can do something truly good with what has happened and make beauty from my own personal Monster ugliness.

I need a break.  I'll finish up next time.