Purple is supposed to be royal, or womanly. It actually used to be my favorite color.
Have you noticed that lots of beauty products come in purple packaging? Other feminine products, too — pads, tampons, pregnancy tests.
This is not that purple. This is the dark kind. The crusted, black around the edges, kind. A color of a passion so overwhelming it ends up fueling a crime.
I had those passions when this started. They scared me, but empowered me, too, further confusing the confusion. I could see why in a moment of violence, some people don’t feel pain. The passion takes over everything. It’s adrenaline, I guess.
I can’t make myself read some of my earliest posts because it makes me physically cringe. I feel like I’m reading about someone else. I have a confidant at work who, I can tell, holds a totally different, irreparably worse, image of me. I can’t even write some of the things I told her I could do, hoping they would relieve my pain.
Thank goodness those days are behind me. The dark purple passion still lingers, though, and I wish I could tame it to a spring lavender. I keep reading about forgiveness, and getting over shit, but I’m not over it.
I actually read a different take today. It said if you are divorcing a narcissist, throw all normal advice out. It will never be “amicable” and you should avoid direct communication, because you and he know you are easily manipulated.
That rang a mammoth gong in me.
I don’t want to project the image that somehow divorce is harder for me than everyone else, but if you have ever had dealings with a narcissist, you may understand my journey a little more than “normal.”
On this Thanksgiving Eve, I am thankful that, by the grace of God, I didn’t harm him. Or her. Or me. (Came close). Or someone innocent, who might have easily been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I am WAY thankful for that.