The effect of seeing someone who looks like my husband! 28/9/2021.

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'He' in this case, is a lecturer for my diploma course.

Saturday - It was the way that my body, before I'd become aware... it was automatic, without thinking. Suddenly we were both holding each other's hands!

I'd just come into the room - late! Next minute he was in front of me and - why were we holding hands?! 

What happened? 

This was the first time I'd seen him. He told me that I was in the wrong place "oh, this is actually a course on midwifery. You are in the wrong room!" and, as I know that he is a joker, I'd responded with "oh, no problem. This will be interesting, ****(his name)!" 

He looks like my husband. 

He moves like him. 

I looked at him as if I'd been married to him for 25 years... 

As a therapist himself he must have picked up my body language and gone with the flow! 

As did I! 

But, there was no desire. We are not each other's type at all! All we have in common is be both wear a belt bag, and think postmodern therapies are the best! 

And he is totally himself. 

I guess we were being totally postmodern! In so much as we didn't need to analyse or even want to deconstruct! 

But that moment of mutuality, of being in sync, it has left a mark, or a dent, or a rip - I'm in shock because yet again I get to see that so much behaviour and feelings are automatic; without a second thought my body reacted - as if he was safe. 

He looks like my husband!

And my husband isn't a safe person. 

He would not have held my hands. 

He would just have looked at me.

But, my body would still react with trust, habitual trust, 25 years of habit..24 years of trust. 20 years of...? 

And during my sleep? 

I reacted to 5 years of self attack, and self deception now understood to have been the effect of living with someone who deceives himself, and maliciously chose to deceive me. 

And the mark, rip, tear in me and the nightmare that meeting caused?

I woke up with aching, in tears, and the same feeling; the same as it had been; my frustration, sense of terror and dread. The feeling was of ulceration, or poison. Echoing through my mind, my husband's words of absolute dismissal - and the lies and the deception - the realisation that I could be in danger, the mix of physical awareness of threat colliding with the cognitive search for evidence, truth, clarity, disbelief until I had concrete evidence!

And there is tomorrow, which is a 'Monday afternoon' this time on a Wednesday morning (therapy) re-booked because Kit's tooth needed fixing. Right now I am coming up slightly from the Tuesday post-college descent, but an hour ago...I'd had enough of college. 

So, I am glad I made the recording last Thursday or Friday, the one in which I tell the story because perhaps I will never have the strength to do it again. 

Strength - doesn't make sense? 

Why will I lose strength, faith, trust, hope failing.

The clue is in the nightmare. 

My body reacting - instant forgetting, then memory resurfaces into grey morning light, bringing pain and necrosis. 

Without Kit I am without hope. And  I am shocked back into the truth of it - that I am on the meat hook in the darkest corner of hell. 

No calm. 

No comfort. 

No hope.

So basically I have to get this right - get tomorrow, each Monday afternoon - right. 

And right means?

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