Heart Strings

‘WAIT!’ She yelled leaping out of bed while pushing the sleeping mask onto the top of her head. He paused in the doorway as she pleaded ‘What do you mean I can’t find light at the end of my tunnel because of the blindfold?! What blindfold?’.  
He was outside when he turned to her,
‘Scared of what you’ll see?’ he asked over his shoulder. She thought before answering, 

‘No, I’ve had enough. I want out. I’m not scared of the light. I’m not.’ Issy assured him, and herself. 
‘I didn’t say it was the light you were scared of’ he whispered as he stepped into the night.  Her eyes grew wide and wild as it all clicked, she finally understood what he meant.
‘I’m scared… of the dark… of my darkness’. By the time it sunk in, he was gone. Gone again. He regularly stopped by in the small hours of the morning while everyone was sleeping. He’d whisper words of wisdom to her as she slept and just as she’d woken he would have to leave.  
‘Scared of my own darkness… He’s right, he’s always right’.  She couldn’t help but smile, it was obvious.  As she climbed back into bed Issy let out a deep sigh, of equal parts relief and frustration. She knew what she needed to do, she just didn’t know how. 

‘Step into the darkness’ read the note Issy had written herself the night before. Looking at it now in the light of day, Issy couldn’t grasp the same significance she had known only hours earlier.  She took the post-it to the kitchen and pondered it while the kettle boiled. She stuck it to the bathroom mirror and pondered it some more in the shower, and again as she brushed her teeth. She brushed furiously as she tried to figure it out. It wasn’t until her gums ached that she noticed how crazy she felt. What was this feeling? Issy did as her psychologist had told her and checked in with her body, ‘feel it to heal it’ she instructed herself as she began to scan. There was tightness in the chest and a jittery weakness in the arms. It was as if she had been clenching her fists too tight for too long that now they were weary to the bone. Whatever this feeling was she didn’t like it one bit. ‘Now name it to tame it’ she told herself. ‘I feel…’ Issy looked at her reflection in the mirror, searching her eyes for the answer. ‘I feel overwhelmed. I feel frustrated. I feel angry.’ The last line struck a chord. She did feel angry, but why? Her breath grew erratic and her nostrils flared while her chest began to rise and fall violently. She could no longer see her reflection looking back at her; instead she saw her hands. She had tunnel vision tunnel vision. Her hands were close to her face, struggling and pushing. Slowly more was revealed. Her hands were between her legs that were also trying to push something away. Her knees bent up behind her ears; she was twisted into a helpless ball, pinned on a bed, under the weight of heaving flesh, a man. She pushed with everything she had against his chest but it made no difference, he refused to budge. Issy saw in his face, the face of the man she loved, the intoxicated thrill of power. He felt strong and mighty making her so weak and small. He was addicted to the thrill and could not be stopped. In that terrifying moment everything went black.

Issy was again in her bathroom, standing naked in more ways than one. In the mirror she noticed tears streaming, down a face she didn’t quite recognise. It was the face of a pleading child who begged for mercy. It was her face, wearing all of the emotions that she’d repressed. The pain in her chest intensified, it was too much to bear. ‘Those must be the ‘heartstrings’ people talk of’, she thought, being yanked and torn away from her. She took her hand to her heart and rubbed it clockwise like her psychologist had shown her. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe now’ she soothed. Finally her breathing slowed back down, and she felt that she could move again.  Exhausted by it all and unable to do anything else Issy went back to bed.

‘You did walk away. Does that not make you strong?’ he asked her. He looked deep into her eyes that had slept the day away.
‘Oh… I guess.’ Issy said sitting up tall against the head of her bed momentarily before her chin dropped back down. ‘But it took me four years. Four. Years.’ She was hit with a wave of painful emotion as all the things she had allowed her ex to take from her came flooding in.  She thought of how she had isolated herself from all of her friends, she had destroyed her dreams and lost her passion, the businesses she invested over ten thousand dollars in now gone! Her reputation in taters. If only it stopped there she thought, but she had lost something else she didn’t realise could be taken. After the years of manhandling, the grave her ex-boyfriend had dug between her legs was now lifeless, no pleasure could be stirred, orgasms a thing of the past. How unfair she thought that he lives on without a care while she served the life sentence for his crime. She literally paid the price of expensive psychology bills while he traveled overseas. 

The worst loss of all was that of her will to live. She walked the world now like the living dead, the light gone from her eyes. She did not live but merely exist in the ruins of herself. Everything reminded her of her old self, she missed Her terribly. A confusing grief. Everything that she had admired and enjoyed about herself was gone, her love for music, her creativity, and her imaginative mind was no longer a part of who she was. Her mind now stirred only for thoughts of how to end this existence, whilst making it look like an accident. Until one day it hurt so much that she cared no longer how it looked and resolved to exit however and whenever she could find the strength. Oncoming trucks on the regional highway seemed like the best target, her arms twitching at the wheel, daring her to veer towards them. Selfishly, it was not the thought of killing or hurting an innocent truck driver that deterred her but the risk that she might survive. What if she lived on in greater pain, too disabled to take her life in the future? It wasn’t worth it. Eventually she accepted that she couldn’t do it. Whoever this new self was, she was just going to have to get used to them. A rebirth. 

All of this pain made her angry with herself, ‘I can see all the ways he hurt me now, over and over and over. The undermining. The manipulating. The way he would yank me around and scold me like a child in public, for the tiniest things. The way he would punish me endlessly for things he thought I was thinking even though I wasn’t. And it was always my fault!’ Issy’s voice cracked with grief, ‘It was always me who apologised! Never him.’ She broke down further, ‘I refused to see it, but he gave me every reason and I still didn’t leave’.

‘You did leave’ his calm voice reasoned.
‘It was like I didn’t have a choice though’ Issy argued, ‘in the end, killing myself was the only option and I couldn’t do it under his controlling grip.  I was happy to pay the price to end the pain, that’s all I wanted. That’s not being strong.’
‘And when you decided you didn’t want to die, did you go back?’ he questioned softly.
‘No.’ Issy murmured.
‘Why?’ He refused to let her off the hook. After a long moment of thought Issy looked at him with a small trembling smile, he had uncovered something she had overlooked.
‘Why?’ he repeated kindly.
‘Because even though I couldn’t see it then I can see now. I see what he did, and that it wasn’t okay’ she closed her eyes, ‘and, that loving yourself is more important than pleasing others’ Issy continued ‘and sometimes that’s means accepting that you did the best you could, you were as strong as you could be’. She kept her eyes tight to soothe the sting of oncoming tears. These tears were different to the ones that had fallen in her bathroom the day before. They flowed with ease and washed away the pain. They were the cleansing tears of self-acceptance. She had realised her strength. She did not deserve the torturing of her traumatised soul, for hindsight that would not change the past. She deserved to honour what she done for herself.

Issy lay back down without opening her eyes, she knew he was gone. 

If you think domestic violence could be happening to you, please read this. The fear of failure stems from not being able to trust ourselves as we’re disconnect from our inner voice. Unfortunately this makes us easy targets for bullies, narcissists and sociopaths. Using the Failure Friendly tools and practices will help you to wake up (find self awareness), shake up (embrace unconditional self belief), and make up (foster unwavering self compassion). All this to reconnect with your inner strength, your inner power. 

Sending love,

Buzzy