T.H.R. and I read a book growing up, about a pair of twins living in an abusive home, who in the end turned out to be plural. One of the twins, the one that didn’t exist on the physical plane, ended the book with the mentality of “Whenever she needs me, I’ll be there, bearing the burden and the pain that she can’t take. That’s the role I play.”
And it…instilled something into me.
A dream. A desire. I wanted to be that protector.
We lived in a rather abusive home. We spent a lot of our time either locked away lost in our own little world or just trying to survive daily life surrounded by menacing people full of underhanded, hostile intents. I had to spend day in and day out watching the person I love being broken down in ways she couldn’t quite understand.
When we tried to escape that hell, it followed us. We carried a piece of it with us everywhere we went. T.H.R. tried to drown it out with drugs, stealing, and various forms of escapism, but it clung to her.
And still, I carried that mentality with me. I wanted to be her protector.
When I finally learned how to use the body, I was ecstatic. This was a dream come true. Finally…finally. I could step forward and help. I could take care of her. And I spent years doing it. Years trying to save her from herself.
Everything I was, was tied up in this view of myself. This role of protector. I avoided my own trauma, focusing on hers, and let myself drown in her problems.
There came a time when it wasn’t doable anymore. Where I broke, and I pulled away. We both recognized that I was dependent on her in more ways than one, just as she was dependent on me. We were too deeply entwined in some unfortunately toxic ways.
Things needed to change.
For awhile, I floundered. I didn’t know who I was without her. I didn’t know how to stand on my own two feet without her to prop me up. It feels almost pathetic to say now. To have gone from a noble protector, to this washed up, lost little thing.
But little by little, I found my footing. It began with building relationships away from her. Namely focusing on my romantic connection with Fallah, rather than dedicating every day to being up front. Then I branched out into new hobbies, like building this site and focusing on my writing.
I left T.H.R. to handle herself, and I tried my best to do the same.
But breaking free of codependency when you share a body and a life-long history can be a tricky thing. T.H.R. isn’t some abusive partner I can just abandon. She has never in her life been malicious towards me. She has never been cruel. She has always tried to do right by me, whatever it is that I may need.
When I came forward with this issue. When I realized we were too deeply entwined…she supported me entirely. She never even blinked. If this is what I need, then this is what there would be. She gave me endless patience. She played the delicate balancing game of giving me space but never truly cutting off my avenues of support and love from her.
Even when I overcorrect and push her away, she takes it in stride and listens to my needs above all else.
Which…makes things difficult.
I think she’s genuinely done well, coping with the “loss” of our relationship. Saying loss makes it feel like there’s nothing there at all, which isn’t true. We’re still close. I still love her with all my heart. But we’ve forever lost how things used to be. For the better, I suppose.
But sometimes I don’t know how to handle it. Sometimes I overcorrect. I feel as though leaning on her at all is a sign that I’m failing. I feel as though I need to do everything by myself, or at the very least, with the help of everyone who isn’t her.
I find myself wondering, what will things be like between us going forward?
I don’t want to be tied together by our miserable past. I don’t want things between us to be messy and wrong.
But then I say something hurtful. I push her away. And she smiles. She says it’s okay. She knows where I’m coming from, she’ll respect my decisions. She’ll be there supporting me no matter my life vision.
And that’s when I realize…I’m being silly. We aren’t tied together because of our shared history. The abuse we suffered isn’t what holds us together.
It’s our patience. Our love. Our willingness to step in and be at each other’s sides while not losing sight of what makes us each who we are.
It’s hard to let go of that desperate connection. Hard to feel okay standing on my own two feet. But standing on my own doesn’t mean being alone. We still have a bond. We still pass time together. She’s still my favorite person in the whole world. The person who means the most.
But I trust her to stand and walk on her own. I trust her to lead her life. Do what needs to be done. I trust her to protect herself.
Just as she trusts me to do the same.
She doesn’t even have to say it. I know she’ll always be there.
Things have changed, but that doesn’t mean they’re forever ruined.
I just have to get used to that, is all.