The Yin to My Yang

She is my wife; I am her husband.
She’s the yin to my yang,
an anchor on a drifting boat sometimes,
a rock to a lonely albatross
a drink to a wino,
luck to a leprechaun who has lost his charm.

She listens to country; I rock and roll.
She was born and raised in ONE place all her life.  I’ve traveled halfway around the world and back.  Not just once, but several times.
She’s a farmer’s daughter who’s family has always been tilling the same old ground for centuries.  I was born a warrior and raised a military man.
She dropped out of school early and barely got her GED.  I have been through so many years of school, and studied in so many fields that I have trouble keeping up with mine.
She thought the broiler was good for toasting and nothing else.  I can gourmet cook.
I can visualize. She can’t.
I do art. She takes photographs.
She was raised here.  I was raised everywhere. Anywhere. Nowhere at all.
She has a hometown.  I have none.
She has family – an extended one, sprinkled all around like dust and pepper.  I can count all my family members on the fingers of one hand.
She works.  I stay at home.
She likes things clean with uncluttered lines; I like intricacy and curious things.  My cabinets and office are littered with trinkets, souvenirs, and specimens collected during a lifetime.  Her kitchen counters are vast smooth plains, without a single instrument or appliance on them.
When it comes to interior decorating and paint schemes, she likes “blend” while I like contrast and outline.
Her tastes run country Southern; mine modernest, surrealistic, and strange.  (We have one room: murals of mountains; a sky – another with thousands of glow in the dark stars on the ceiling; things like that . . .)
When it comes to art, she is the Queen of Tacky and I am the King of Fine.
She like those big doe-eyed paintings.  I just want to poke out their eyes.
I like indoor animals. She can’t see the sense of having an animal that won’t give you something back – like beef, butter, eggs or a fresh glass of milk.  (I did point out about the cats to her . . . put some milking machines on some . . .)
I am highly creative (she says); she has a focused mind.
I’m a speed demon, she drives slow.
She can get wildly jealous.  I don’t have a jealous bone.
She was loved in her childhood; I was abused in mine.
I am DID/MPD; she is a mono-mind.
She will drop someone in a heartbeat over a perceived slight or inclination.  I am more apt to forgive, hanging onto that friendship (or family member) a little longer, if not for all time.
She pretty much drove away all my friends; I’ve always let her keep hers.  But to be fair, some of mine have died.
She has kids. I have one.
She likes babies; I love children.
I would like to have another kid to teach and raise; she says that she is done.
I don’t understand her commitment to this marriage; but I am committed to keeping her happy all the time.
I don’t understand what she see’s in me; but I know what I see in her (a tough – and yet towards me a compassionate and tender woman; one who is self-responsible, she can be fair and kind).
We accept each other’s weaknesses, and I guess that’s part of the clue; why me and her are sort of a mutual ‘you’ (when dealing with our friends and all).

And yet despite these differences:
we are committed to one another, and (apparently) still deeply in love,
and (it appears) still struggling to understand one another here after almost twenty-six years,
but like Yin,
and Yang,
putting their faith in their love and trust in one another . . .
just one


About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle ( ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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