letting down

Sometimes I get sad. That memory comes back to me, for a while it was occupying my mind my body my disbelief. And i brought my story to practicum with the therapist and the 10 students. mostly i stared up at the ceiling, I was shaking, and I cried. I think it's been a long time since I've cried. people really held it with me, one guy was twitching. One guy said as people were saying "I long to have you with something better, you deserve better" (this is the same comment that everyone jumps into and i know this but this doesn't deal with the wreck and the pain and the mess put on my story) So one guy said "I feel like I want to defend her from these comments" and that wording felt so good. i think my pain has been like in "who will defend me?" "Who even knows this story up here?" That was such a tramatic thing that happened. sometimes i have flickers of scenes. in such disbelief at the face. and the face way back then and the things promised. And the face when it denied me and turned on me and argued and denied me.

And like this relief to think God that's what i want or that's what i'm left with, what i stand alone in: Who will defend me? And how it feels to have someone who said he would defend me do a thing to harm me, do a thing to leave me, and even in our last argument to have him watch me flitch around and to let me fall. right in front of him.

am i mad because he took responsibility for almost like no part? Probably partly but I'm also just still mad.

after sharing i feel small, and that feels good. i feel defenseless. i think i've blamed myself gone over and over the scenes and where i was wolfed. i mourn what i didn't say, but now i just mourn that that occured right in my story, the shame i feel like it was to give that back to me. The shame.

But now in a small way i feel like i walked myself away from the scene holding my own hand in a new way. just sad and with myself.

it still bothers me.

I am mad. There is nothing for me to do. But I'm mourning it. That was such a defying thing. such an undoing thing. such a slap in my face.

I care that that happened. Who else cares? Who else will care?

That was such a violent situation.

I had to funeral my whole conception of what that relationship was. How awful to tear out a page and discard. but flashbacks had come back to me, and I'd whince, feeling almost touched by the memory of what I thought was genuinely given to me, and how awful to run over me. How awful that I stayed. How mistrusting do i need to be now?

What was the mast of that which I gave?

What does it mean that my words were wasted? I am just starting to mourn that. not that I didn't do something write/say something write, but that I kept trying to defend and explain and prove myself to someone who kept denying me/anihilating me. Who maybe liked to watch me fall?