At 19 I married a man. So naïve I was. Truthfully I know he picked me for this reason. He was beautiful. Ah inspiring. (I didn’t have much of a sense of self esteem or skills to handle men.) Long story short, he was a rapist. What he did to me that night has stayed behind well guarded walls, until I started taking Viibyrd. Then poof!  I wake up to my screams. I don’t know where I am for a few minutes. He haunted my dreams for months and when I researched him, I discovered he committed suicide recently. His wife not even knowing I hadn’t filled for divorce until 2000. I said nothing to his family. Some know my parents wouldn’t allow this marriage. Some blamed me for not staying with him. 
His suicide hit me hard. Love & hate. I forgave him so long ago, or so I thought. I finally told my husband. He can’t kill a dead man, which is what he really wanted to do. Hubs listened to the details I remember. Out slipped, it was like my dad. And hubby screamed, I knew that sob hurt you more than you said!  I stood there in shock. There’s a wall there I’m not ready to take down. 
This is where I am now. It’s when it all fell apart. I had wall after wall protecting me. And like dominos that all came down. It’s why I’ve been so strong. I mean I gave birth alone while my husband was in Iraq for 15 months, without meds mind you.  I could handle miscarriage, rough spots in marriage, family saying I was a cold hearted bitch. I did it all, but the minute I felt him die, I knew it was going to crumble. 
I don’t know how to go back to good. I feel like a victim. I griefed a man who did unspeakable acts to me. I’m angry, I’m scars, I’m so tired. This is my life and it’s good. All of this doesn’t make me anymore. Or does it?