Archive | February 2014

Living In Oblivion

Since returning from my weekend getaway, I’ve kind of been in this strange place mentally. Like a bizarre mental purgatory if you will. I don’t really know how to explain it. Just a feeling of — weirdness. Drifting through the passing days unable to really focus in on work and, more likely than not, thinking way to much for my own good. Mostly on what my life has been, what needs to be done and what the future holds. Not much – only ALL of that. Sheesh…no wonder I can’t concentrate!

As I sit here now, totally procrastinating on getting my day started, which is absolutely neglectful of me since I started off Monday totally on top of things and by Thursday I am finding myself having to play catch up the entire day, my head is just flooded with a million thoughts. The one thing that has been on the top of my list for the past three weeks is…what the fuck is wrong with you? Not YOU you…my husband you. How the hell does a man who swears he loves his wife go through 25 years of not giving a shit? I mean, seriously? How does a person who seems to be able to maintain a normal life at work and home (minus the fits of rage) just carry on through his days as if he is truly a good man, who loves his family and believes that somewhere under their hateful glares his family loves him back? Can a person really be that oblivious? I just don’t get it.

Let me paint this picture. Aside from arguments, attitudes and assholery is a man who wakes up on a daily basis and goes to work – for his family. That needs to be stressed because everything he does in life is “for his family.” He has had a steady job since the day he found out I was pregnant with my first child. I will absolutely give him that much. In all these years, he’s only had two jobs and he only left the first for the second in order to be in the union. So in that sense, yes he has always been a provider. I too have always worked. I’ve been working since I am 14 years old and have contributed to paying all of the other “bills” while he maintained paying the “rent/mortgage”.

Never, since day one, were we a joint anything. No joint savings accounts, credit cards, etc. I remember when we first got married, I asked him for his check. He didn’t understand the question. Now I was confused. I said give me your check so I can combine it with mine and pay all the bills from it. He laughed. He said to me…that will never happen. Don’t forget, I was only 18 so what the hell did I know? Only what I had seen from my parents. Naively I said…isn’t that what you do when you’re married? We combine our checks, keep money aside for us to use to get back and forth to work and I pay the bills from the rest of it? He thought that was a cute notion. However, he quickly clued me in that it was never going to work that way. He would never hand his check over to anyone. Years later, I learned that this is what he witnessed his father do – hand his check over to his mother – and he vowed…never to do the same. And he stuck to it.

Now even though arguments and abuse were a very fertile part of our lives – or at least my life – there were many calm and rational moments. There still are. We can hold normal conversations. Well, he can. He talks so much that there is never really time for my opinion – nor does he want to hear it anyway. Plus his conversations are mostly about work related issues which I have no use for so I just nod and act like I am interested. To him these are wonderful family moments. Where I don’t talk and he is in a mellow mood. I can only guess that in his mind that means we are getting along which must mean there is mutual love and respect. Well, not really respect. He never faked that one. He told me when we first started dating he had no respect for me. Which if I was older and wiser would have meant something but at 17 who really has a true grasp on what respect actually means in a relationship? You don’t respect me? Ouch…that hurt.

When someone controlling and abusive says I love you what does that mean? I own you? I loathe you? You are supremely fucked? Or does it actually mean I love you? From my perspective in knowing both sides of him I do think that he believes that he loves me but I also believe he has no true idea what that means. I’ve asked him many times over the years…what is it that you love about me? He has no answer. Never. Nothing. A complete blank. I can tell you what he does not love about me. My attitude. My sarcasm. My big mouth. The fact that I never really have let him take over my mind and believe that I am a piece of shit. All of that bothers him. I personally believe that’s where the rage comes from. The anger is already there. The anger comes from I don’t know what. Childhood trauma would be my guess – but the rage – purely because I won’t break. The love though…yeah, he loves the “idea” of a wife and family. Those are his – things. I have a house, a car, a wife, kids, etc. His possessions. That he has complete rule over. So to a psychotic narcissist abusive piece of shit…he loves me. Golly gee, I’m a lucky gal.

When I let myself truly marinate in the thoughts of this bullshit life, I come across only one thing that hurts me the most. The thing that brings tears to my eyes even as I type this. What about me? Do you think in all these years he has once had a conversation about me? No. Not once. And believe me, I’m not an over exaggerator. Never. He knows absolutely nothing about me. To this day he will still ask me what flavor ice cream I want and if I want cheese on my burger. Yeah, those are minor things but give me a break. Simple shit like that you’d think someone would know. Does he know my favorite color? Favorite flower? Favorite song? Favorite movie? Favorite anything? Nope. What about my hopes and dreams? Does he know that I like to write? Or that I have written…anything? So what exactly is my purpose? I’m like the Queen of England. I have a title but no authority. Maybe I’m being petty. Does any man really know any of this stuff? C’mon. We all know the answer to that. It’s not like I haven’t tried over the years to ask him but when I do…he says I’m starting an argument.

I just wonder, is control that important that he refuses to believe me when I tell him I don’t love him? I mean literally…I say it. He says…I love you. And I say. I’m sorry you feel that way or thanks but no thanks or I don’t love you. Something to that effect and he says…wow, you hurt my feelings. I continue…really, I hurt your feelings? Wow. You’re so delicate, now imagine if I beat you on top of being mean. Then he looks at me…I only assume realizing what I have just said and usually he will walk away. Usually, when he’s not in the mood for an argument. These are the basic “good time” conversations we have when things are mellow.

It baffles me that a man can sit day in and day out with a woman he supposedly loves and not see she is sad and has no desire to be there. It’s beyond ridiculous to me. Why the hell do I have to plan an escape? Why can’t he just let me go? Man up already and stop living in oblivion.

————————————————-

To read from the beginning… my story starts here.

Sunshine Award

Feb26

First, I would like to thank TeelaHart for nominating me for this award. She is still relatively new to the blogging world and in her short time here her blog has truly blossomed. She was unsure of telling her story at first but I’m glad she did and I can bet she is already feeling the benefits. Please be sure to check her out.

RULES FOR ACCEPTING THE NOMINATION FOR THE SUNSHINE AWARD:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to their blog.

2. List 10 facts about you.

3. Nominate 10 other blogs for this award.

4. Announce the nominations to the nominees.

ABOUT ME:

I love to laugh.

I love listening to music.

I love the sound of absolute silence.

I am getting way to emotional with age.

I’m pretty astute in seeing both sides of a situation.

One of my passions is genealogy research.

I have an unnatural affinity for anything mob related.

I enjoy fishing, but not touching the worms…or the fish.

Over the years I’ve discovered I’m a country girl at heart.

I’m as real as they come.

I am nominating the following for the Sunshine Award:

Fat Bottom Girl Said What

Lessons From the End of a Marriage

In a nutshell, you guys have been nominated because I enjoy your blog, your words, the inspiration you provide to others, and/or that you have been a consistent supporter of my words and you are appreciated.

Not Freshly Pressed

Feb26

Upon returning from a brief hiatus, I am honored by multiple award nominations. Not one but two awesome women nominated me for the “I’m NOT Featured on Freshly Pressed” Award. I’d like to thank Amy (aka SweetMarie) at Picking Up The Pieces as well as Sunshine at A Victim’s Journal for their extreme thoughtfulness. Never in all of my years of living this life did I think I would be willingly telling my story, let alone be recognized for it.

I’m glad that DonCharisma decided to create this award for those of us that will likely never be featured on Freshly Pressed. It’s understandable. I’m sure there are millions of bloggers on WordPress. How can they possibly keep up with all of us to know who really deserves such praise? Of course, for those of us writing about the gloomy topic of domestic violence, I’m sure it’s nothing personal. Why wouldn’t they want to feature a story of how a victim of abuse made it out and is now thriving? Who would even want to read survival stories such as that anyway? I never started this blog for notoriety so I could care less if I were ever featured on Freshly Pressed.

Thank you once again, ladies, for acknowledging my blog. I in turn pass this wonderful award on to the following:

Refining My Life

Avalanche of the Soul

Cerridwyn Darkstrom

I Won’t Take It

I Survived A Murder Attack My Family Didn’t

RULES FOR NOMINEES

1. Select the blog(s) you think deserve the “The I’m NOT Featured On Freshly Pressed Award”.

2. Write a blog post and tell us the blog(s) you have chosen- there are no minimum or maximum number of blogs required- and ‘present’ the blog(s) with their award.

3. Include in your blog post a paragraph about why you’d like to be on WordPress’ Freshly Pressed OR a paragraph on why you couldn’t care less about Freshly Pressed. Up to you

4. Let the blog(s) that you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the instructions with them- (please don’t alter the instructions or the badge!)

5. Come over and say hello to the originator of the “The I’m NOT Featured On Freshly Pressed Award” via this link: http://DonCharisma.org/2014/01/01/the-im-not-featured-on-freshly-pressed-award

6. And as a winner of the award- please add a link back to the blog that presented you with this award, and then PROUDLY display the award on your blog.

7. If you ever do get officially “Freshly Pressed” then take down this award badge and display the official “Freshly Pressed” badge instead.

Thank you again!

18 Days

Feb25

Ugh…18 days!! I can’t believe I have gone so long without a post. Believe me, this was never intended. Most especially because I know when writing about this topic going MIA sends people into a frenzy. I myself have gone into a panic checking on people I hadn’t heard from in a while so I know how it goes. If I had any of you concerned, my apologies.

Quite a few things have gone on since my last post (nope, still here) and it all has had my head in a tailspin. My mind was on overload and I could barely form a thought let alone post something semi comprehensible. Last I left off was midway through my Sweet Heart Series, which I fully intended to carry on until Valentine’s Day. However, I had weekend plans that took me out of state. A surprise party.

I had known about the possibility of this party since September – on my last weekend visit to my dear friend – let’s give him a name already or at least an initial – R. There ya go. So R is basically my consigliere, my guru, my confidant…my virtual bestie if you will. Being as he works 99% of the time and most conversations are via text. But when I have a problem, he’s there. This is my friend who I have mentioned throughout this blog. At first, the only one who knew of said blog.

Anyway, his wife mentioned throwing him a surprise party when my ex and I had gone there in September. I knew it would be highly unlikely that I would be able to make another trip out of state “alone”. Usually, if I go visit family I will take one of my kids with me and there is never an issue. When the mention of the party came around again I knew I had to be there. So, I came up with a story and a travel companion and although there was some huffing and puffing, luckily there was no issue on me actually going. I was able to get out and go be part of my friend’s surprise.

As luck would have it, I knew someone who was going to the same party. Someone who just happened to need a ride. Someone who was looking forward to spending the weekend with me. Yeah, my ex.

Since our last visit (The Flip Side), we had spoke of the possibility of a follow-up trip. We were both so relaxed the last time. It was a really good visit. This time we were a little concerned about extra people that might be there. I gave him the option that if he was at all uneasy about being there “together” and others seeing and knowing then I would not go. He is like a brother to our friend and his presence trumped mine and I would have gladly forfeited if it meant our stay would be less than perfect.

It ended up that the other couple we knew going we both trust. The husband being someone my ex grew up with and someone I have known nearly since birth. I had worked with his wife in the past and so I was fine with being there with the two of them, both of us were. So we went. Our friend was so shocked and surprised, not only at his party but that we came back — together.

Another perfect two days…relaxed, peaceful, content…just as it should have been all these years. Which did come up a couple of times. This was how our lives would have been if we had stayed together from the start. Comfortable and natural…and a lot of smiling. Makes me believe that happiness is definitely a possibility in the future.

Of course, coming home is always the let down. Dropping him off makes me sad. Walking in my front door…depressing. The week following was pretty much me spiraling into sadness and depression because of feeling so at peace with my ex yet still living this reality. Rethinking all of the little things that were said and done while we were away. There were moments when I contemplated not coming home at all.

I’ve made quick decisions like that in my youth. Got mad at my parents and stayed out all night….or at least until they made enough calls to find me and come drag me out of wherever I was. As much as my heart wants to do the same thing now, I know I have to play this out smart. I have to plan and be prepared in order to get out in one piece and stay that way. The more I keep things calm here the more I think I can plant seeds – unknowingly – in preparation. If I use my head and play it smart I think in the end there will be less of a roar and more of a whimper. We’ll see.

Time always flies when you’re not counting the days but when you’re watching the clock…how slow it goes.

————————————————-

To read from the beginning… my story starts here.

Sweet Heart Series: Day 7

Feb7

I must say…this is exhausting! Even though I’m not blogging a piece of my personal story on a daily basis, deciding on which posts I want to shine a spotlight on is not an easy decision. I have read SO MANY good stories in such a wide variety of subjects. Being as my personal blog is at times a pretty depressing subject (to say the least) there are moments when all I need is HUMOR. Luckily, this chick can tell one heck of a story, not to mention draw one mean stick figure! Enjoy…

This one was posted by: Becky Says Things

Listener, you have before you a virtuous Becky. A wholesome Becky, a saintly Becky. A Becky so pure, so unsullied by evil, that I wouldn’t be surprised if you feel a trifle overwhelmed. I feel a little overwhelmed at myself.

Yes, most admiring Listener, I have given up booze for an entire month. I have been on the sobriety wagon for the whole of November. Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips, tickled my nasal hairs, or been dribbled down my chin. I am, to quote my good friend Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way.

Continue reading here… Becky says things about … giving up booze for a month

Sweet Heart Series: Day 6

Feb6

When I am in the mood to laugh…I mean seriously crack up, I know exactly where to go. It was not easy to choose which post was funnier. This chick really has a way of describing a situation. When shit hits the fan I don’t think there is anyone that can describe it better. She really puts a special spin on workplace shenanigans. Even if it means she has to laugh at herself by posting about her most embarrassing real life situations, she’ll do it. Do NOT dare her. Take a moment to enjoy…Aussa.

This one was posted by: HACKER. NINJA. HOOKER. SPY.

There is a person who sits across the hall from me whom I refer to as “The Goat Man” due to his collection of myotonic—aka “fainting” goats. While I’m no expert on the topic of fainting goats, I’d imagine they appeal to two types of people—those who are freaking hilarious and those who are painfully awkward.

The Goat Man falls into the latter category.

He and I have a complicated history that began three years ago when I was at the bottom of the food chain and he was the boss of the boss of my boss. One year later I was vastly promoted and now plague him as his equal.

Continue reading here… File of Awkward: The Goat Man

Sweet Heart Series: Day 5

Feb5

Let me be clear…not everything I read has to do with abuse. It’s just that when I started on WordPress that was the topic I was writing about and it was the topic I needed to read in order to find my way.

Beyond that joyful topic is so much more. I love reading your poetry, and your hysterical hijinx in the work place, as well as the inspirational posts and not for nothing…there is some nice erotic fiction on here. Haha! Hey…I’m being honest.

Today I wanted to share a post that really resonated with me. Made me rethink and change my way of speaking. You see, I have a few friends who are all about positivity. Being grateful for everything they have is just second nature to them. Even if things don’t always go their way for some reason they take it with a grain of salt and understanding that maybe something better is ahead. I’ve taken notice that this attitude has worked for them and that what they wish for others was returned to them. So when I read this post it wasn’t something foreign to me. It really made sense.

I started to change the words I used and after a while I didn’t have to stay on top of what I said…it came naturally. For those of you who have followed me since the inception of this blog, you may have noticed there has been a change. Many of you have commented on the growth you have seen. I truly appreciate that and it would be remiss of me not to pass this post on, as I feel it was a true turning point in my way of thinking.

This one was posted by: The I Am

Like so many other people, I have a list of words that I try very hard not to use. For the most part, they’re easy to avoid. One word that takes more concentration than others on my list is “hope.” *

I’ve looked for synonyms, but none really satisfy the requirements of this single, simple word. So, I fall back on the good ole’ standby, “trust.” As in, “I trust you had a good time.”

But why do I avoid “hope?”

In my thoughts on anything, I try to always think positively. I want to manifest this and that and to do so requires a constant flow of positive thoughts. And “hope,” I’ve determined, is not as positive as I’d like it to be.

Continue reading here… There is no Hope

Sweet Heart Series: Day 4

Feb4

When I was a little girl, growing up in the 1970’s, I was allowed to play with everyone. My parents never discussed the color or ethnicity of anyone we knew so the color of skin was never a subject I thought about. When I started Kindergarten both of my parents worked so my grandparents watched me. I used to play with all of the kids that lived in their building on a daily basis. That summer, my grandmother passed away. I don’t really remember what provisions were made after that regarding who watched me. It’s possible my parents worked different shifts so that one was home with me, I can’t really remember. All I know is that I continued school near my house. Midway through elementary, we moved to the neighborhood where my grandparents lived and I started school with all of my familiar friends and I met other kids that would eventually become lifelong friends.

When I started in my new school, one of my friends from my grandparents building was in my class. We’ll call her Lucy. Since there was a decent hugh difference within my class and neighborhood I never saw her as different. However, I soon found out that she was a girl that got picked on, and often. It happened to be that her father was black and her mother was white. Today we call it biracial. Back then the names were cruel and ignorant from little 3rd graders…oreo and zebra were pretty prominent. And even though I was her friend, and new her probably since before I could remember…I joined in. The black kids, the white kids, the spanish kids….we all tortured her. Of course, because we were kids, things would subside and we’d all be friends again…until the next time she became the target.

As the years went on, less and less of that occurred. I’m not sure if we all just outgrew it or if the friendships over powered the need to pick on her. Don’t get me wrong…I was not exempt from being teased. It was a free for all…we ALL got picked on at one time or another. Whether it be because your pants were too short or you had a booger hanging out of your nose…everyone was fair game. And it wasn’t considered bullying…it was kids being kids.

I never told anyone until recently but my participation in teasing Lucy was an extremely heavy burdon on my heart. This was a true regret I carried with me into adulthood. Even though I went through almost all of school with her, I never apologized. We’d see each other here and there…we were for the most part friends…more like aquaintances as the years went on because we never really “hung out” anymore plus she dropped out of school so I never saw her after that.

I don’t know how many people in the neighborhood knew this…I did because my grandparents lived directly upstairs from her family…but the entire family…from the mother to all 5 children (3 more to eventually come) were ALL abused. Serious, insane, jaw droppingly abused. I never even knew how bad until I got in touch with Lucy’s mother. She contacted me through Facebook. She was finally free of her husband and told me of all of the horrible things that man did. This woman was locked inside of her house. He had a deadbolt put on and nails in the windows so they could not escape. He beat them terribly…your worst thoughts…he did it. He even had his wife commited. It was only about a week or so but still. Then he moved them out of state and continued the madness. Her eldest child was lost to drugs and eventually died. Lucy would also succumb to drugs and some sort of mental illness most likely due to being raped by her father.

After speaking with her mother several times, she told me of the eventual arrest of her husband and how her and the rest of her kids are finally at peace. It was so nice to hear a happy ending for her. At one point she asked me if I had ever been “in the life”. That’s how she phrased it. In The Life. Of course, I said no. A small part of me wondered if we reconnected for a reason. Maybe eventually I would need her expertise. I shrugged it off as this was a couple of years ago and I was no where near ready to talk about my life.

However, there may be another reason she was brought back into my life. Whatever reason, I took full advantage of the situation. I sat down one Saturday and wrote her an extremely heartfelt sincere apology about the way I took part in the treatment of her child. I was hysterically crying writing it. I never realized how much it truly affected me. When I hit send…I felt a small sense of relief but I was so nervous anticipating her response. She called me to respond. She said, “Honey, I can’t believe you carried that on your shoulders for so long. You can let that go. I cannot hold against you what you did as a child. Those were actions of children who didn’t know any better. There is nothing to forgive as far as I’m concerned but if you need it, I forgive you. And I thank you for such a beautiful note.” At once, I felt a huge sense of relief. The heaviness of that burden was instantly lifted…even without apologizing directly to Lucy.

With that being said…since blogging…I’ve come across great people. Some of whom, as I write, I know will respond…and I look forward to it. One of these people wrote something that reminded me of Lucy. And I know exactly how heavily it weighs on his heart. He wrote a beautiful poem about it…I wish he’d find a way to forgive himself. Even if he is unable to find that little girl from the bus…I extend the forgiveness from Lucy’s mother unto you…

This one was written by: Fragments of Life

of all that is taught and reckoned as sin,

from top-to-bottom, left-to-right, inside-to-out,

one way or another, i’ve committed them all.

yet, i shrug it all off after a moment’s regret,

and move on, not feeling too bad at all

for most of what i’ve done.

only one sin haunts me and will not turn me loose.

Continue reading here… Unpardonable

Sweet Heart Series: Day 3

Feb3

Over the past several months, in reading all of the posts written by amazingly courageous people sharing their stories, I have learned that even though we have all gone through different types of situations, in the end what our problems boil down to is quite the same. For example, all abusive relationships are not identical. There is physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological and sexual abuse (to name only a few). Also, even though the bulk of the stories are written by women, there are men also being abused – by their wives, significant others, etc., yet still abuse is mainly recognized as a women’s problem.

Similarly, there is infidelity in marriage which also works both ways, not to mention just utter lack of communication, plus a slew of other issues that can cause the demise of a relationship. No matter what the problem, when the breakdown of a relationship that you thought would last occurs and the victim of it’s circumstance happens to be us, we wonder…why me? What did I do wrong? How could I have stopped this from happening? When we finally come to grips with the reality of the situation we start to wonder…

This one was posted by: Lessons From the End of a Marriage

“Will I ever trust again?” I asked, turning towards my dad in the aftermath of the day the marriage died.

My voice trembled along with the rest of my body, a pleading tone hoping for a positive response.

His eyes teared, he pulled me in for a hug. “I don’t know but I sure hope so.”

It wasn’t the response I wanted, but it was honest. And honest was what I needed.

Over the next weeks and months, I asked that question of my mom, my family, my friends, my journal.

And every response was the same.

“I don’t know.”

Continue reading here… Will I Ever Trust Again?

Sweet Heart Series: Day 2

Feb2

One thing I have written about a couple of times is the judgement the abused get from the non-abused. It’s not always a deliberate judgment but more of innate sense of being utterly unable to empathize with our strife. It is just a natural instinct to say…”Why doesn’t she just leave?” or “I would never stay with a man who hit me.” and of course there is always the “It can’t be that bad if she’s still there.” What it boils down to is an ignorance that really is not their fault. They’ve never been abused. As wrong as it is for someone who has never been hit to judge my situation it is equally wrong for me to judge their lack of sensitivity. But one out of four of those who judge us will eventually join our sisterhood.

This one was posted by: Teela Hart

I have said many times that I would never be with a man who abuses me. As a nurse, my training taught me to recognize the signs of abuse; as an ER nurse, I had occasionally cared for abused women (not that domestic violence is a respecter of either sex).

I employed educational materials and I prepared a “one size fits all” speech completely bereft of first-hand knowledge, and gladly so. I was innocent to the trappings of Domestic Violence.

Continue reading here… Innocence Lost