“It’s just the beasts under your bed…In your closet and in your head” ~Metallica, Enter Sandman
My fear, my bottom-line, no-one-else’s-fault fear is that he is right. What if he is right?!
What if I am best shut away from the world? What if I am hurting my boys? What if the only thing I’m good for is contrasting his greatness?
I am an anger generator with no sense of right-wrong, good-bad; I am a godless, misinformed, stupid waste of space only good for dipping his dick into and cleaning up the crap he creates.
He makes the money. He schmoozes for the promotions, he works his ass off goddammit so he can come home and work like a slave around here, too. I’m always breaking stuff, always buying more than we need, always wasting the good life he’s providing for me by crying, fearing, cringing, and hugging the walls to avoid detection. He can’t turn his back on me for one second because of all the stupid ignorant stuff I do when he isn’t riding me like a dying hag.
I’m the part of him that he exorcised during our marriage ceremony. He didn’t marry me, he divorced himself from responsibility and all the bits of himself he could no longer face, no longer control, no longer contain. In marrying me, he made himself God.
My REAL fear, the no shit fear that lurks beneath my bed and circles my thoughts like a vulture – What if he is right?