“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”—Anne Lamott
“Preserve your memories, keep them well; what you forget, you can never retell.”—Louisa May Alcott]
In order for me to share my beautiful twin flame love story, I am unfortunately going to have to tell you more of my saga (back story) with M, and there are no spritely turns of phrase to be found. I know I've tried. It behoves me to write this part of the story, for it is not flowery and pleasant yet quite necessary. It's bothersome and uncomfortable. I feel in my heart, though, it is time, and I want to seal my heart and gain closure.
It was near our end fate of living in California that I kept insisting on taking a trip to Carmel, California, to see the lovely Flanders mansion. When I first moved to California, I discovered a stunning old abandoned mansion that had been sitting empty and derelict for a little over a decade. I became smitten with the estate. I was so happy to spend my days researching the genealogy of the family that once owned the home, history and gaining a rapport with the local mayor of Carmel, city council and historic preservation. There was a non-profit organisation that retained control over the estate, and I became friends with the kind woman; Carmel is the home town of Clint Eastwood, and he had tried for many years to purchase Flanders for himself and fill the wandering hills with sheep, and to preserve it as well. Oh my! If I couldn't be in England, Carmel seemed the next best alternative. I became well acquainted with the mayor of Carmel and all sorts of folks in city positions. Truly that is where my love of community began to take shape. M decided he would drive us to Carmel. This tactic is spirited trickery as he never had an ounce of intention in my living out my dreams of dwelling in an ole' 1925 mansion in Carmel, so why did he even trouble himself? Hoodwinking is a favourite mode of the operand, and M would draw this type of manoeuvre more than once; in fact, it was a steady rotation. I wanted off of the sea's sickening chaotic tidal waves.
What I would later come to learn is that when egocentrics want to conspire, there are numerous ways they do this, and one is they mirror you. They masquerade, and your interests are their interests. They also utilise their flying monkeys.
They feign that they are great supporters and go out of their way to lead you down the yellow brick road; however, they have no intentions at all of following through; it's enticing. It's a levity little match they play to make it seem as though they care for you and your passions, yet in fact, they could care less. It will be tucked nicely into a little file in their reservoir to weaponise at a later juncture for their advantage. Before you know it, you've been taken down a rabbit hole of degradation and a wallowing lack of self-worth.
It is a covert cap full of tricks to pull out when they need to leverage themselves. As in, see all I've done for you! I took you to where you wanted to go; I did this and that for you, and you're never satisfied or happy. My favourite (I'm being a wiseass, of course) is that you are always the mad one, and when you oppose, you're then set ablaze (gaslit). It is merriment for them; they especially use this tactic whilst around other people, missionaries who've come for supper, your inlaws, children, friends, and co-workers.
I wanted desperately to move to Carmel, so I admonished M to take up employment at the local radio station or even somewhere that would bring in a small living. I could work at the Monterey Aquarium too, and we could do it together. And although we would have to sacrifice, I felt it was my time to shine, and now that the children were fairly all grown and soon to fly from the bird's nest, we could, as a couple, focus on my dream.
I had spent my life since the age of meeting M, following him and advocating his dream. I invariably sacrificed my childhood loves and dreams to help M. I constantly felt as though if I supported M one day, it would be my turn. Little did I know, until that one night in front of the lit fire when all hell broke loose, did it truly and deeply sink in, "This individual is never going to be my cheerleader. It's never going to be my turn, not ever."
I'm not sure you've ever experienced that kind of deep gutted pain, where you hear the most cutting words from someone that you thought loved you, and in that distinct moment, you finally receive, and it ultimately connects in your brain that this person from a deep place doesn't actually love you, nor ever did in the manner you were meant to be loved. Ill suited. Your heart had been trying to show you for over twenty-plus years, but the refusal to listen to your spirit that the person is incapable of what you require does not nor ever existed. There is no more making an effort. The options and the desire has vacated your body. You are two separate individuals cut from different cloths and have been all along, but now what you heard can't be unheard or unsee what you've seen. It was as clear as the nose on my face. It was my moment of reckoning with my soul, down to the depths of who I was and what I thought I was.
A dreadful betrothal doesn't have to be volatile in the sense that there is bodily misusage; it can be just as damaging by impassioned control, and over time one becomes worn down to thread-baring consequences where nothing is left. Nonetheless, do not miscalculate that bodily harm isn't a part of the strategy. I will also confess to not being a little saint either. Those several times I squabbled back. To then be informed I was making it all up; it never actually happened. Again, repeatedly I needed to be boxed up and put into a mental institution because I was crazy. That I honestly liked and enjoyed fighting. Now press that sentence on repeat like a record player for decades.
In the same way, M had made threats when a terrible incident occurred with our son. I knew what threats could become as I had seen horrifying occurrences between my parents. It's a volatile environment. I did what came naturally, adjusted and retreated into my childhood, and lived more on eggshells. I understood a climate with defacement and unnerving occasions. When you are born into an abusive and volatile atmosphere, you know what to expect. You've acclimated to the dreadful abuse; because the abuse is customary. As unhealthy as it sounds to read, I had let myself down once again, and it was no longer a new sensation. I had long been on the road to ruin. He had spent his life taking me apart like a clock. The all-encompassing biological, expressive, and psychological vitriol I was experiencing is technically termed trauma bonding.
Without tainting this post with any more unpleasantries, allow me to wrap this up and state that, in my opinion, M is a dark horse.
I concur with Princess Diana in the aspect you become isolated, more broken and feel for a long time that you have no out. It's such a feeling of despair that you become so sad and defeated that the only out is to take a passport. As Princess Diana needed control, anorexia came to recreate, as so with me.
After M had taken me to Carmel, with my hopes up, I kept prattling on, making goals and thinking of all the creative ways we could make it work. I longed to live in a place that reminded me of the English countryside, where I could make my little dreams a reality—dashed were those dreams into a million pieces.
At this stage, I was ineffective. I had overcome the ailment, the pursuant belligerent shouting matches, and then I recollected the words, "You're slothful. I'm the breadwinner, and that's how it will always be, so get used to it. I'm never going backwards, for it is beneath me. I worked to get myself where I am without your help, and you can do the same."
I replied, "So, are you anticipating I continue to follow you until the earth ends, never settling for twenty more years and having nothing of my own and no home environment of stability?"
"Indeed! I got to where I am by myself. If you want to live your dream, you can do it yourself because I'm not helping you!"
Somewhere deep, I knew I loved my life enough to change. A feeling you get when you step up on the rise and look over fields of gold. There was something inside of me that erupted. As if there were a brick wall that is quite tall, and each little brick was moments and years of built-up resentment with a few missing bricks near the top. I then felt the completion of the wall. First, beyond comprehension, I was deeply gutted. I felt the descendants of my English, Irish, and Dutch fiery spirits begin to rise, bubbling from the ocean's depth, mentally bemoaning to myself, I will set the whole world ablaze. I had been standing beside someone for so long that I no longer recognised him nor myself.
My vindication; to become wholly more well-known and prosperous than he ever dreamed possible, I needed no more time to know my own heart.
For your amusement, I remember reading once in an article that Lady Gaga said (In a conversation with Cosmopolitan once, Lady Gaga opened up on the roadblocks and revealed an interesting anecdote about her ex-boyfriend and said: "I had a boyfriend who told me I'd never succeed, never be nominated for a Grammy, never have a hit song and that he hoped I'd fail."
Lady Gaga continued and added, "I said to him, 'Someday when we're not together, you won't be able to order a cup of coffee at the f*cking deli without hearing or seeing me.")
My story isn't complete.
I do not think M imagined in a month of Sundays, I would ever leave nor file for a bill of divorce, yet again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
