I smile and nod, laugh and adjust my hair. I look down at my clothes. I feel disgusted, wearing something because he told me to. Keep smiling. I punctuate his monologues with small comments. I ask a question. He keeps talking about himself.
He doesn’t notice that I’m not listening. I can tune in and out of the conversation as I please. When I tune in, I say things and he gets angry. When I am having my own inner conversation, he happily blabbers on. It’s better this way. I sigh.
I am tired. I keep smiling. I want to run, lock myself in my bedroom and forget. But, it’s also his room. I should not take up his space. What if he asks me to talk about it? Then I would have to explain something which I do not want to understand myself.
I beg him to go out for a run with me. I can’t go by myself. If I go alone, then I am away from him. When I am away from him, anything can happen. What if I go? When I come back, he could be so angry that he starts breaking things and pushing me, like my previous partner did. I can’t risk it.
My friend calls and initially, I feel glad. Then, I freeze in fear. She asks if I want to go skiing with her. I request that we go when he is working. She is busy at that time. I tell her that I’ll get back to her. I need to speak to him before making a decision. What if he feels rejected? I tell him that I am going skiing with my friend. He doesn’t say anything. I compulsively follow with, “you can come with us if you want!” He does. Whew! I almost screwed things up here.
I read in bed, secretly wishing for him to ignore me. As soon as he comes into the room, I create a wall between us. I shut down. I am seething in unconscious anger, slowly losing my grip on the “good girlfriend” act. It’s hopeless. He starts kissing me and touching me and when I say no, he keeps going. I stare at the ceiling, wishing it to be over. I turn around and swallow my tears because I can’t talk about it. If I talk about it, he will find a way to blame me. Then I will feel guilty.
And I already feel guilty. I can’t stand any more guilt. I am drowning in it.
Six months later, I lay on my back, eyes open in the complete darkness and confess “I miss being enmeshed.” Even after months of detox, I crave co-dependency. I crave the intensity of closeness that happens when my world revolves around him.
“What do you not miss about it?”, she asks and I can’t help but start sobbing.
I don’t miss the fear of not consulting him before making a decision. I don’t miss thinking about him continuously: how can I avoid making him angry? How can I make him like me more? I don’t miss feeling guilty for not being what he wants me to be: not being nice enough, not being thin enough, not making enough money, not having enough sex… I don’t miss doubting my reality and believing everything he says before even considering my experience. I don’t miss the insanity of punishing myself before he punishes me, of hating myself so that he doesn’t hate me, of having no boundaries, no space, no life of my own. I don’t miss losing myself, and having no desire to live other than to be with and serve him. I don’t miss the poison of the resentment, building up and closing in. The toxicity of unconsciously plotting revenge while pretending to be nice. The insidious desire to crush him, obliterate him for ‘making’ me sacrifice so much.
Survive. Be likeable. Give your Center away. Cause as little ripples as possible. Enmesh your Bubble in their Bubble. Avoid triggering any emotional reactions, at all costs. It is an expensive, boring life. I don’t miss it.
Yet! part of me does. The Masochist. The part that finds joy in avoiding feeling. That finds joy in manipulating the other into thinking that I am nice, then unexpectedly leaping out and killing him. Slicing his throat with his own weakness. Stabbing his heart with sarcasm and passive aggressiveness. This is what I get to relish once I allow myself to be enmeshed.
I get to be superior. I am playing a game that he doesn’t know I am playing. The game of being nice. The game of resentment. It is sick. I am alone. This is what happens. I end up alone, with no more consciousness, no more Aliveness than I had before. This game does not go anywhere — nothing changes while playing Low Drama. The game does not serve any other purpose than survival. Kill or be killed.
I am furious for all the time wasted. Precious moments of aliveness gone down the drain. I refuse to play Deceit, Manipulation and Superiority. I refuse to pretend. I refuse to be nice. I refuse to be what I think someone else wants me to be so that I can kill them later.
I keep my attention on my Center. I check my Grounding Cord a few times a day. I keep a thick personal Bubble of space. There is no way that I will get Hooked into not Making Boundaries. I keep my Sword of Clarity out, and ready. I stay awake. I will say whatever it takes to hold my space. To live my life. If you get angry, sad, scared or even joyful, I can handle it. I will be an asshole if that’s what it takes.
I am a Warrioress.
I will not tolerate other people’s Bullshit. I will tell them when they are speaking from their Box. I will tell them when they are deluding themselves. I will tell them when their Gremlin is trying to play games with them, with me. My sword is there. I am shifting identity, and I will not shift back out.
I am a Warriorress.