I’ve had a series of moments today. ‘Overwhelm’ moments. It feels like grief (because let’s face it, I’m no stranger to loss) but it could just as easily be the super sized emotions that go with having EUBPD. Maybe a little of both. But they were the kind of moments that stopped me in my tracks and set my mind off on that old familiar roller coaster. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face, and I’m struggling to do what I was doing.

It kicked off this morning with a picture a friend had shared on Facebook. Or maybe a meme. I’m not too sure what qualifies as a meme. But it read, “Unpopular Fact: There is still grief involved with letting a toxic person go.” Unfortunately it was not credited to anyone, so I’m unable to reference it, but it spoke volumes to me. It was 12 years at the weekend since my husband died. Plus I’m still getting my head round having said goodnight to Dave and walking away from our friendship.

After wrestling most of Saturday I did mark Andrew’s sad anniversary on Facebook at about 10pm, by posting a photo of him and a simple caption acknowledging he was still loved. I wrestled because I find the gushing comments about what a wonderful man he was, how hilarious, what a legend, such an inspiration etc, just a bit too much. I spent 20 years of my life with him, loving him and caring for him. It was the funny, brave inspirational young Andrew I fell in love with. He was the father of my only child, and as dads went, he was pretty good. But as a husband, he was toxic. A bully. I never had any financial independence. He would stand over me making me sign credit agreements he’d filled out in my name, and then when he died I had a shedload of debts. I was told what I was allowed to wear, what hairstyle I must have, who I was allowed to see, what I was allowed to watch. He’d regularly make basic decisions on my behalf. I was very often referred to as, “Stupid” that apparently was now my name. He had a generic hatred for people with mental health problems, which was bad news for me. But as with every previous year I have sucked up the well meaning comments about him. But know that after Andrew died I grieved for him pretty normally. I didn’t realise until 5 years later that the relationship had been abusive. And that’s when my emotions really hit the fan. Oh my.

And then there’s Dave. In an attempt to process the ongoing situation of missing him, yet hating myself for missing him I created a very short poem. It did make it on to my Facebook, but I’m putting it here too in case anyone missed it.

Ode to Dave (not my brother)

When you made a date,

With my mate,

You sealed your fate.

Arsehole.

Dave’s toxicity was more subliminal. He was clever, unlike Andrew. His strength lay in holding 100% of the power in the relationship. Only telling me what he considered I needed to know. Despite him being fully aware of my mental health condition that causes me to wildly overthink in the absence of robust communication. We had a Dom/sub dynamic, so he used the fact that he was my Dom to control me far beyond the scope of those roles. He relied on my inexperience to suggest what was expected of me, even if, as I found out later his requests were nothing more than his personal preferences. He created a dependence in me that he then rejected, appearing amused by my affection for him. I made the decision to walk away after Date-with-a-mate-gate for my own sanity (what’s left of it) but I’m currently missing him like crazy. My last ‘moment’ came as I was eating dinner. An, “I want to die and I miss my old perv” double whammy accompanied by a flood of tears. Completely floored me. I wish I could be angry with him. But I can’t. I just hurt.

I also have some random thoughts on toxicity and grief I would like to voice. 1. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean they can’t be toxic. 2. Because someone is/was toxic does not mean you won’t grieve for them when they’re gone. 3. Some Dominants are toxic, that doesn’t mean you won’t miss and grieve for them, and the dynamic, when it ends. 4. Just because the person is your partner, or your child’s parent, doesn’t mean they can’t be toxic. Or any other family member/friend for that matter. 5. Grief for a toxic person is blinking complicated. And this collection of observations is far from exhaustive.

Just as a sideline, my suicidal thoughts are rare and fleeting currently, which is a big improvement. A break by the sea was a tonic. And the referral made to the Community Mental Health Team has resulted in me being offered a telephone assessment with a senior nurse this week. Watch this space.

Thanks for reading. Take care of yourselves and each other. 👼🏻