I've been home for two days now. I still don't know what to say about it. It was a discovery of sorts. I discovered a little bit about myself, and that is always a good thing, even if at the time it feels like a bad thing.
I missed my husband terribly, but I knew that would happen. Funny thing it's kind of the first time in a long time I've really truly missed him. I felt his absence and would go to bed at night trying to imagine his arms around me. We constantly emailed and texted each other. I called almost every day, sometimes crying and needing to be talked down. He was there for me in every way except physically, and I never before relied on him so much.
Going to see my family does not feel like going home. I told my therapist when I envision visiting them I see a dark cloud over everything. I know it's horrible, because these people love me very much, but it's the truth. This time, there actually were dark clouds. It rained cats and dogs the entire time I was there. When I needed to get out and walk and clear my head I had to bundle up and bring an umbrella and brave the wind. I dodged puddles and mud and the wind blowing in my phone made it hard to have conversations with hubby.
I discovered that I don't feel a part of this family. I am an "other". I don't know why I feel this way, I just do. I don't belong, and the longer I live away the more that is true. I used to be able to bounce back and forth when I was younger, wait, that's not true. I used to just fight with my mother all the time. Now I step back and just internally shake my head. I refuse to engage in an argument. But I don't belong. I am not cut from the same cloth. If I ever was cut from the same cloth I have changed so far from it you would think it the difference between a silk dress and a suit of armor.
I discovered that when I stay in their home I revert back to a child, or rather, emotionally I relive the feelings I had as a child. Gone is the 40 year old woman who is a manager, a wife, a homeowner, a good friend, a good conversationalist, full of life and laughter and opinions.
In her place is a 10 year old. A 10 year old who is excruciatingly shy, unsure of herself, frightened, quiet, sad, awkward, and angry. A 10 year old that just wants to be alone, wants to go away.
I wanted to drink every-single-minute I was in that house. No. I wanted to get drunk every minute I was in that house. Triggers everywhere. I gave in a little bit here and there. Two glasses of wine while out with a friend, so I could come back a little buzzed. A beer with another friend, so I could come back and go to sleep. I didn't touch the whiskey that was in the basement next to the bed I was sleeping on. I looked at it, but I didn't go there.
I haven't had a drink since I got back. Surprise! I should have been knocking back drinks the entire flight home, but I didn't. I did the best I could on this trip. I went out with friends here and there and got myself back. I would leave the house and run down the driveway like I did as a teenager, into a car with a waiting friend. It felt like, "Quick! Hit the gas and go before they decide I can't leave".
I would go to a tea house with Johnny and be me again. I went to Nikki's house and hung out with her and her kids, and I was me again. I would soothe my soul in tiny bursts, find my adult self, and then try to hang on to her as I re-entered the vortex. I would talk to my husband on the phone, and remember who I am now, and remember I have a home 3000 miles a way and a life that I love, and it kept me hanging on by my fingernails until that flight back.
It's so good to be home.
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