This week, I have reduced Mr Nice to tears, and seen T shrivel under my gaze.
No, I haven’t done a crash course in karate and beaten both of them to a pulp (yet), but yes, things have been flirting with the surreal.
Mind you, this in itself seems to fast be turning into the new norm, in this period of brutal change and grief.
After a glacial encounter with Mr Nice, which left me feeling at best like some random stranger trying to sell him double-glazing, at worst like I did not exist at all, I started reliving the exact trauma I went through three and a half years ago, when T brutally turned into some sort of terminator, inflicting pain, and systematically erasing any trace of the life we had once shared.
This particular style of violence left me feeling broken, with a sense of acute disorientation, and questions about my own perception of reality.
This time, something in me flicked and searing pain turned into blinding rage : How dare these people, who once loved and respected me turn me into no-one, and get away with it because their own guilt is just too much for their delicate shoulders ?
Outrage simply propelled me onto a mission to spread the joy. First, I called Mr Nice and told him exactly how I felt about his behaviour, and how to make things worse, I could not tolerate to be treated like a stranger. If only for a few minutes, I confronted him with the alternative reality of our separation, and that felt good.
Yet I wasn’t done with my bout of super-hero-puts-world-to rightedness.
I summoned T, sat him down and watched the faint air of worry spread over the handsome features I no longer love. Then, I simply told him about the pain I had felt when he left, about my fear, anger, loss, about what I went through, what the children went through, how to this day, we behave like strangers and it is incredible to think that we once loved each other enough to want a family together, and I’d had enough of that. For three and a half years, these things had been stuck unsaid somewhere in my windpipe, yet for three and a half seconds, I got a flicker of the old T, a glimpse of understanding and misery.
Confronting both men left me empty, but something is emerging from the rubble, a need to speak out and no longer quietly let people hurt or mistreat me.
While it is one thing to leave a relationship you no longer want to be part of, it is another to walk away from the destruction without a look back. No matter how tough the guilt is to bear, no-one should feel dispensed with the responsibility of showing compassion.
Right, I’ll put my cape back onto its hanger and get the dinner on.
Gotye- Somebody I used to know