Elusive is twilight
Hangs on the brink
Gives us a show
Split the sky
Day and night
Dark and light
In one embrace
No loneliness here
Tears stream down my face
I’m constantly bouncing between getting better and falling apart, on the bright side, losing touch with my harsh reality is so much easier when I get out of the house and absorb the beauty that surrounds me. I can breath a little easier.
I really want to thank all of those who supported me through my somewhat tumultuous situation with the ex, You will never know just how much you all mean to me.
I’m simply writing my thoughts which are a bit odd, but then, I’m a bit odd.
I’ve placed myself in a very small bubble and find myself somewhat lonely.
That’s pretty damn funny ain’t it?
However, I do have a little Janis on the cue to help wash my blues away.
I’m definitely free:
From human contact
Male contact specifically
I believe that’s a topic for another day.being that I’m tipsy ‘n all
My email address has also changed to email@example.com.
The previous account was compromised. Go Figure.
I guess I’ll leave you with one of my favorite songs
The the kids and I are in a shelter.
There’s not much more I can say.
We are managing. One day at a time, and at times, one minute at a time.
I miss y’all and I hope to get back soon.
It may take a bit to reply to comments but I will.
That’s me, I’m FINE. It ain’t pretty in here today so for that I’m sorry. Younger or sensitive readers might want to look away.
I suppose that this would be what one might call a dear *Jon* letter if *Jon* was the one gettin’ it. But, he ain’t. The blog is.
There are just a few things I want to say to that son-of-a-bitch. (He always hated it when someone called him that, he took it as a personal slight to his mother; God rest her soul.) She was no bitch; I just get great satisfaction out of knowing that he hates the hell out of it.
I always said that I wouldn’t be like his mother, but what the fuck do you know, I turned out just like her. 19 years with my father-in-law (God rest his soul) and she left him. Some 5 years later, she died with cancer and a few years after that he died. My beef ain’t with them. I’m sorry they were both afflicted with whatever virus infects abusers/victims/survivors.
I wish that I could change all of that shit, but that ain’t gonna happen because it’s a man’s fuckin’ world. Sorry men, but I’m not in the best of moods these days. Try not to take it too personal.
I’m in no mood for moving poems, poetic phrases or words, wit, read between the lines bullshit and I for sure ain’t here to paint a pretty fucking picture. The whole godamned thing is a revolting, stomach churning, pathetic ranting of someone who’s just FINE.
Why the fuck did you do this to me? I’ve lost everything and have nothing left but this fucked up life that I’m gonna have to box up into tiny parts and ship to some un-fucking-known part of this shitty little world I live in and start all over again.
I take particular offense to that Jon.
I don’t like it at all. The kids don’t like it. Nobody particularly likes going into hiding and looking over their shoulder at every turn. I’m pretty sure I’m right about that.
You are really gonna go fuckin’ ballistic when I skip town with your kids in tow because you couldn’t keep your dicked up ego in check.
I loved your sorry motherfucking ass, and a very, very tiny little part still does and I hate your motherfucking ass for that too.
I gave you EVERYTHING you wanted, I told you EVERY ONE OF MY DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS and you used them against me.
I no longer have anyone to lift heavy boxes and open jars and shit and I’m pissed about that.
I had to change my own oil in the jeep and I’m really pissed about that too.
If someone talks shit to me on the street I have to MAN UP and I’m a fuckin’ woman and I’m pissed about that.
I have to change my own flat tires and I’m superbly pissed about that.
I have to haul in the groceries, put them away and cook ’em and that really burns my ass.
You have the fucking nerve to call 30 times a damn day and if I don’t answer, you’re at my fuckin’ door.
I can’t take it anymore man, I can’t take it, it’s killing me slowly.
That’s funny ain’t it y’all?
He’s still killing me. Every minute of every day. Killing me.
With guilt I shouldn’t have to bear.
With fear I shouldn’t have to live with.
With trying to pull magic dust, money, what-the-fuck-ever outta my ass to leave here.
I’m dyin’. Every day. Right before your very eyes.
I hope you’re happy Jon.
My email has been hacked and no longer exists.
Obviously my contacts were are all lost.
Please send me your email addresses so that I can talk to you again.
I’m makin’ this short and sweet so that I don’t say a whole bunch of fuckin’ cuss words.
Due to my circumstances I’m making this post via this contraption we call an iPhone.
I have gone over and over in my mind what to say and how to say it and I haven’t got a clue. (Typing with my thumbs is a definite disadvantage.) ;)
I’ve been from piller to post over the last month, makin’ plans, huntin’, gatherin’, fallin’ down repeatedly and gettin’ back up.
Surely y’all see, feel, realize and know that I ain’t simply just gettin’ back up.
Obviously y’all know that each one of you form a collective force in my world that is composed of hope, assurance, light, energy, patience, and undying support in my absence and my presence.
Undoubtedly-you must know that Y’ALL pull me back up with your arms of love and kindness.
Most assuredly y’all know that every like, every word in every line, every sentiment embodies me and drives me forward in ways I just can not adequately express.
Returning home from a much needed vacation literally hurt. I didn’t want to come home to more bullshit. It was a challenge to pull into the driveway and walk into my home knowing that I would be met with a barrage of phone calls and drop by’s from *John*. I didn’t expect the kind of reception that would cause alarm. I did expect the wearing down to be continuous and irritating.
I’d gone shopping for some much-needed groceries and such and returned to *John* standing in the driveway. My daughter, sitting on the tailgate of his worn down, dirty ass truck with her back to him crying her eyes out sent my heart and mind into immediate overdrive, my breathing stopped for a bit and every lick of spit dried up instantaneously. My hands, shaking like a leaf in the wind, ripped the keys from the ignition and my rubbery legs propelled me from my Jeep like nobody’s business. My mind had a little trouble catching up to my actions but I just went with it and approached the situation with wide-eyed apprehension. I can’t recall what I had in my hand but I directed my daughter, I will call her *Mary*, to take it inside effectively freeing her from his onslaught and placing myself in his crosshairs. I noticed her friend sitting in her car parked at the curb as I watched my daughter go safely inside the house.
What is happening here? What is he doing? What did I do with my mace? I need to get it and the knife NOW! His words seemed muffled and almost incomprehensible. I caught phrases like “I can’t believe you are doing this to me” and “all the times I took care of you”. The thing that really got me going was the look that I saw in his eyes. That ‘taken over by a demon’ look and he was charging toward me like a bull. Me dying in the driveway, in front God and everybody played in my mind and ‘fight or flight’ made it’s natural progression only this time ‘fight’ reared its head instead of flight. I made one or two steps back, held up the mace and told him in no uncertain terms that he’d better step back or I would put him down and then stomp the shit out of him. He wisely took my advice. God only knows what would have happened if he hadn’t. I’m just glad he did.
At some point in all the ruckus I thought to myself that if he did kill me it would be in front of God and everybody and he would at least go to jail for it. Not the best thinkin’ in the world I know, but my thoughts nonetheless.
Every day since that one has been a challenge and I’m sharing this because I need to. I’ve been in touch with the shelter. I’m getting all my ducks in a row. The kids and I have once again revisited safety precautions and emergency guidelines in the event of another surprise attack.
What have I learned?
My children and I cannot afford to drop our guard.
What do I want?
I want to answer the call of the bat cave and retreat to tangible safety.
Thanks for listening.
I have not made a post in a long while and I have to say it feels like I’ve been running around with a half-empty glass. I’ve missed y’all more than words can adequately express.
My intentions were to make a post announcing that I would be leaving for vacation at the end of the June, however, things got a little hairy and I decided to make a swift exit. I honestly believed that by the time I returned things would be better (naïve, I know) and needless to say when I arrived at the intended destination my ridiculously tense, stressed, brow un-furrowed. The best feeling in the world was leaving home and all the shit that goes along with it; watching, as as the ‘crazy train’ grew smaller in the rear view mirror felt good. I had no idea the shit storm I’d be returning to. (Yes I know that’s a preposition)
I was determined to get my children out of the toxic environment their father infused into the atmosphere and into “different”, for the lack of a better description, if only for a short time. Even though we no longer live with our abuser, we continue to suffer from his unbelievable reach thanks to the family courts. More on that issue another time.
We started this endeavor with the intention of being away for seven days (thank you Daddy) which turned into fourteen days for reasons I can’t really go into, but I will say that vacation was not the only agenda. I hope that I will be able to shed some light on the whole, screwed up, story once it’s over but as it stands, it’s still a work in progress so to speak.
My travels have ended, however, that’s temporary. I am not sure how long I will be able to make posts due to having to re-locate, but I am going to take advantage of the time I do have.
I am safe with plans to be safer. ;)
My children and I traveled with fun and tension release in mind and we made it together. I sucked every minute of the distraction free time I could get with them. I visited with my son Carey. He doesn’t have internet yet, but he does send his love.
I love y’all and I’ve missed y’all very much.
I was not in an electronically friendly environment for quite some time although I did get emails via the phone. I want those of you who supported me through email to know how grateful I am that I have friends like you. I mean that.
I cannot tell you how much I appreciate everyone here and I am sorry if I caused even a tiny bit of worry.
Now….. it’s time to make my rounds and catch up on a few blogs, I’ve missed a lot and I want to say hello. :)
I want to those who have shared their hearts cry, written their words in blood and tears. I’m so glad you have found your voice and I dare say that if we all felt this way domestic violence would not exist, wars would cease, hunger would be eradicated, and the list goes on.
I want you all to know that you ain’t heavy; you’re my sisters and brothers. Please take pause, read and listen. Five minutes to know how much I truly do care.
Originally posted on Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics:
Here is a no shitter story:
I talked to my ever-so-cool step-sister back in the Seventies about this song.
She said to me,
“Lance, what does this song mean to you?”
I said (thirteen years old), I said, it is about some dude carrying his brother out of a war zone in a desert, and some guy comes up and says, ‘Is he heavy?’
And the dude says, “No. He’s my brother.”
My step-sister just left me there, all alone, wondering why I was not cool.