DH pulled a mean trick last night. He's been waiting for an outward show of emotion from me for months while I've been running stuff through my head. All he's had is the occasional glimpse and a blank wife. The original plan had been to sit down, snuggle and watched this film that had been recommended for it's eroticism (haha like we need any encouragement atm). Unfortunately the over0riding theme of the whole thing was this girl's journey swapping self harm for being a sub. I'm sure in a normal state of mind this could be seen as her embracing her own form of freedom. But where I am, all I could see was the way out is to swap one pain for another.
So DH came up with a plan. He made out (bloody convincingly I may add) that he was really angry with me for something I'd done. The required effect was some form of show of emotion. It nearly backfired, as I did consider for a time just walking. Instead what happened was I broke down. Not just tears, but I curled up and sobbed like a small child. Everything from the last few months just welled up and spilt over. The promise that I'd feel calmer in the morning hasn't worked out. I don't do emotion because I'm scared that once it starts, it's never going to stop - and so far I'm about right; I feel like all the layers have been stripped away and I'm barely holding back tears ever since. With everything out in the open, I feel a bit like old Mr Carrion up there - my survival is based on my being submerged in these nightmares that crawl around my head like worms. Without them, I cease to be me; and yet perversely, at the same time they hold me back from getting on with life.
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