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.
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.
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. 🙂
My greatest fear of all the fears in my life is that there will never be one who feels this for me.
“If I should think of love
I’d think of you, your arms uplifted,
Tying your hair in plaits above,
The lyre shape of your arms and shoulders,
The soft curve of your winding head.
No melody is sweeter, nor could Orpheus
So have bewitched. I think of this,
And all my universe becomes perfection.
But were you in my arms, dear love,
The happiness would take my breath away,
No thought could match that ecstasy,
No song encompass it, no other worlds.
If I should think of love,
I’d think of you.”
No one has ever gotten anywhere near the proverbial door to my heart save one and I’m sure he doesn’t even know it himself.
I had an on-line relationship once upon a time.
Crazy, I know.
It happened nonetheless.
This is a tribute to my Crazy Virtual Romance.
My romantic interest will probably never see this post, so I decided to let it all out.
It’s therapeutic you know.
Besides, I love this song and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to post it.
All went well with my trip to the dentist. The wisdom’s are out and it is now 5:45 am Saturday morning. My mouth feels like someone took a jackhammer to it, I can’t sleep, and I’m still a little loopy, but other than that I feel great.
Thank y’all for your support. I mean that.
I’ll be eating a lot of ice cream and drinking a lot of milkshakes and I like that.
Not sure how long it will be before I’m coherent enough to make any meaningful posts, but I wanted to give you a little update.
I go back o the DDS on Monday and have more work done on Tuesday.
Be well all.
Let me say here and now. I am (
almost never, most of the time, usually) always on my best behavior and I am without doubt a law breaking abiding citizen. (Sarcasm)
I don’t go around making trouble as I have some sort of drug paraphernalia on me at all times. (Sarcasm again)
I have the utmost respect for law enforcement
on a good day. (Sarcasm, and it may not end here, unlike the paved street)
I haven’t been pulled by a cop in…well…since I was a wee teen.
I suppose the cop that pulled me today was quite intimidated by my gangster appearance. (One can never be too careful you know). After all, I had my posse with me (my 69 year old mother and my 15 year old daughter). I guess I asked for it.
I was ticketed. I took my punishment like a real ‘trooper’, clenched teeth, fake smile, accompanied by the famous Clint Eastwood, make my day, look and all.
I drove away, cussin’ like a sailor, but I’ve not said one ugly word in this post and I’m happy about that.
My destination was clearly mapped out in my mind. I had to get my mother home to get her diabetic meds. I know, I know, I shouldn’t have been in that drug run, but I couldn’t help myself it was a true error in judgement on my part. I don’t know what I was thinkin’.
Of course, I drove right by an apparent drug deal and the officer did too.
I continued on and low and behold, my favorite cop made a U-turn and a high speed chase ensued as he had snagged yet another crew of vicious criminals who were traveling East at about the speed limit. (An older lady and a younger one).
Yes I did. I turned around just so I could take another photo. Of my favorite cop.
In the blink of an eye I had an epiphany. It is the 30th. He has to get that quota in and it’s blatantly obvious he’s gonna do it all in one day. Yes, that had to be it, or, someone pissed in his cornflakes this afternoon. Or, someone has to pay for the new Police Station.
By the way, I was ticketed for………..
Alright, if you insist, here’s the whole sordid story:
I was wearing my seat-belt mind you, it clicked when I put it on. You know the saying “click-it or ticket”? I clicked it. I adjusted it, placed it underneath my arm (I don’t do turtle-necks or seat-belts choking me to death) and as a result I must pay a $150.00 fine. My contribution will help pay for the new police station that was erected three blocks from my home.
Oh, I almost forgot, the city was kind enough to re-pave the street just in front of the new station. Not the entire pot-marked street, just that one portion.
FYI: The crime rate in the county in which I live, is the highest in the state. 60% of violent crimes are related to domestic violence. I sure would love to know where this dedicated law enforcement officer was when my ex was trying to run me over, driving down the sidewalk on the very street I just got pulled on, just one mile from the police station. (Not sarcastic)
I would dare to say that, looking back, he made the right decision. I’m a zit on the face of society and clearly, I must be eradicated.
Thank you favorite cop. I’m in total awe of your hard work and dedication.
We simply cannot leave this post without the “Cops” video ’cause…………. I’m a bad girl.
I must admit, this whole post, with the exception of two lines (my bad, three lines), is, in all it’s glory. Sarcastic.
There’s just no other way to start this conversation than to first thank those who were there to support me through my long, thunder-filled night. I appreciate the hell outta that. I mean it! You were my sunshine in the moonless night. 🙂
Today I set out to go straight to South of the Border. I knew there’d be sunshine there; without doubt and Pedro. I haven’t seen him in ages. He hasn’t changed much, he’s had more than one facelift, his face looks frozen!
Of course the very first thing I did was pay Pedro a little visit, after finding out I wouldn’t get the free beer ’til tomorrow!
Besides. My next husband?
My next stop was the pot, because I had to pee, from all the free beer, I had tomorrow.
The third stall is where I found all the pot heads!
But there were plenty of sinks to piss in Lance.
For all the cheap assholes!
I love y’all.
Thanks for droppin’ by.
Besides, I started this post yesterday and it is now tomorrow and it’s time for some………. Smirnoff.
It’s been raining all day and will continue to do so all night along with thunder and lightning.
In light of my most recent visitor, I guess I’ll hunker down with my military mace, blade and 12 gauge. Oh, well. Long night ahead.
Thunderclap as I type.
Another surprise visit from the ex asshole and I’m just not going to burden you with all the pissy details, but I’m kinda sick of all the shit he seems to FEEL that I’m fuckin’ buying. He thinks he is so damn clever. Newsflash………”you’re a dumbass.”
To quote R Lee Ermy (Full Metal Jacket)
My Dearest Ex:
“You will not speak until you are spoken to
And the first and last words outta your sewer mouth will be “Yes Mam”
You will not laugh
You will not cry
You will learn by the numbers
I will teach you”
Do not come back to my house and upset my children not even one more time and let me give you a tiny bit more advice, that you won’t take and will regret later, don’t play with dynamite, I’m liable to blow up in your face and that will hurt like motherfucker.
“You’re one bridge I’d like to burn, scatter the ashes, smash the urn, I’m through, with you……….”
I’m fuckin’ done!
Try as I might I cannot find it within my heart to write about any of the woes of my past, or stats related to domestic violence. The only thing I can do at this point is write about absolutely nothing of true value. I’m heavy and weary and desperately trying to break free from the hurts of the past. I desire to shed the skin of recurrent failure and put on a new suit. A suit of life, love and beauty. I could rant on about the sorry state of the world and the sorry state of all things deplorable, but I got nothin’.
So, I set out today to find inspiration for my writer’s block and nada. Although irritation did rear it’s ugly head when I got stuck in the rush hour hell and watched the traffic light change not once, not twice, but thrice before I realized that this numbskull had decided to give a ticket to some poor soul at a traffic light. He couldn’t just follow the man to a better destination. Oh, no, he had to do it right then and right there.
It just happened to be 90 degrees today, my A/C is broken, I had to piss like a champion race horse and I was holding my legs together tighter than Dick’s hat band.
Of course, the cussin’ started when no one would allow me to go over to the next lane to get around this foolish doler outer of justice.
Finally, I very kind fellow sojourner allowed me to gain entrance in the lane beside me so I could get around this ridiculous debacle and I headed straight for the Sonic where I procured a large chocolate shake and took a much-needed piss.
I decided at that point that I would go to the nearby park and sit under the shade tree (actually lay in the grass), suck down my chocolate shake with a vengeance and enjoy the view.(Of the sky)
I took a pic of a pretty tree with pretty clouds and I felt better. 😉
Did anything come to mind? Nope
Did my empty head think of anything great to write? Nope
Did I enjoy the peace and serenity of the beauty of nature? Yep
“I like to hear some funky Dixie land and then some honky tonk………..”
“Old black water keep on rollin, Mississippi moon want you keep on shinin’ on me”
I know, it ain’t the Mississippi river or the Mississippi moon, I was just looking for a reason to play this video. 😉
The kids and I had an awesome time!
I hope you enjoy the music and photos!
~This is what it is to be free from Domestic Violence~
If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, please visit http://www.nomore.org for a list of domestic violence centers specific to your location. You can also contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at http://www.thehotline.org or call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). If you feel you are in immediate danger contact your local law enforcement by calling in the U.S. 911
This gallery contains 18 photos
Runs the water of perdition
Fills the porcelain walls of pain
Hands that move without permission
Decrepit talons of evil stroke
Visceral abhorrence did evoke
Compulsory arousal pulled the chain
Slaying me over and over again
Gripping the red, the vile, my fate
Showed no mercy did not abate
To the brink brought me near
Denying my confusion and my fear
Looking on you saw the hate
Before you dug the final grave
As I gripped the red and vile
The red securely sealed my fate
I’ve been working on this post for several days. It is the single most difficult post I’ve made. It is my hope that in the end you will have found it to be encouraging.
Raw unadulterated emotion reduced me to a fragmented heap in every sense of the word as *Jon’s* lawyer ripped what was left from my heart and soul. He condemned his prey to death with the stealth and viciousness of a Leopard; I could hear Jon’s words creep like the grim reaper from his lips and into my thoughts exacting a cruel and hefty price for my defiance. The courtroom, packed with onlookers, stifled the air. They needed no oracle to see all of the destruction; the gruesomeness overpowered their urge to turn their heads.
Streaming tears gave way to guttural groans; breath escaped me; heaving and gasping my composure fled. My defenses hemorrhaged onto the stand, as the predator circled and clawed ferociously ending me with ease. Gravity weighted me to the seat, I couldn’t stand under it’s supremacy. I buckled under the pressure and gasps escaped from the (now) audience in the courtroom
Granted supervised visitation, I met with my children every weekend. The release I’d felt when I left my abusive environment quickly turned from hope to hopeless. My health and mind quickly declined; depression settled like a black stormy cloud. The gnawing, deep seeded pain, no longer tolerable, drove me down into the hell of hopelessness. The wish for a shove or a slap and even death replaced the desire to survive. Alone and rejected by everyone I relied on, I screamed into the void, my voice went unheard. In my mind, recourse did not exist. I’d failed at every attempt to retrieve my children and now the desire to rescue myself no longer existed.
I couldn’t divert my eyes from the bottle of pills on the coffee table. It somehow drifted into my consciousness incessantly, calling my name. The harsh unrelenting words and actions of Jon over the past 19 years cut like a knife. The memory of his attorney’s assault invaded my senses and I questioned my sanity. The cries of my children and their inability to cope formed the final bullets of death.
Separated, mind from body, I took the bottle into my hand, I stared into it’s eye and it stared back at me. It understood what I had to do, it invited me. I twisted off the cap and 20 or 30 pills spilled into my hand, they seemed to sparkle like jewels. I answered their call and swallowed them down a few at a time and then 30 more. I did not seem to be in control of my body, it was moving through the actions without my consent.
Three days later, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness unable to move. My hands, tied to rails on either side of the bed, ached. A respirator effected the rise and fall of my chest. The hospital room was cold and sterile and the machines played a lulling song. I could hear my own heartbeat on the monitors; silent tears rolled down my face.
I returned to my mother’s a week or so after my suicide attempt and still I never sought help. I returned to Jon and my children a few months after that. I grew angry and insolent as time passed and even contemplated another suicide attempt. I didn’t follow through because of one simple act of kindness. Someone reached out to me and spoke living words into my heart. Those words ignited my hope into a fire that would give me the courage to ask for help.
I went to a rehab/shelter, told my story and it was heard. I knew then that if I’d reached out to the right people I could have prevented such an awful act of violence against myself along with untold suffering.
They called outside resources to come in and provide counseling concerning Domestic Violence. I was given a plan with local resources, the hope to fight and the strength to win. It was a welcome reprieve, a place of strengthening, encouragement, and acceptance. I was safer and freer than I’d been in a very long time.
Three years later, one year ago, my children and I walked out for the last time. We received therapy and I’m blessed in their presence and living the life of a survivor. Many good and bad things happened in that three year interim and I reached out for help.
While the reasons for our pain may be different, one fact will remain the same; heartache is, at times, intolerable to bear without help. The choice to reach out to someone in my desperation saved my life and the lives of my children; I hold firm to that belief.
I’ve included a national suicide hot line link here. I also have resources and help links at the top of my blog page for those struggling with Domestic Violence.
Don’t suffer in silence. Reach out.
I’ve been given an assignment for the
day week month year foreseeable future by a good friend and confidante Tela and I have to say that it’s not one I really care to participate in, as once again, I must look inside myself and pull out some ugly shit. However, I believe it is something I must address in order to grow into my new self. Thank you Tela for being pushy. I need it. 🙂
The wrecking ball responsible for reducing this foundation of trust into a pile of brick and mortar is termed abuse, which comes in many forms. While I experienced physical abuse, more often than not, I was the victim of gaslighting as well.
The following, are words on a page:
Gaslighting is a form of mental abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making a victim doubt his or her own memory or perception thereby causing the victim to question their own sanity. Instances may range from the denial by an abuser that previous incidents ever occurred, to the staging of bizarre events by the abuser with the intention of confusing the victim.
The term “gaslighting” comes from the play “Gas Light” and its film adaptations. Today it is used in clinical and research literature. Wikipedia.
The spit required to initiate the catabolic process of this word is severely hampered by the chemical toxicity (bullshit) of the act itself. Why on God’s green earth would anyone choose to be so toxic to his or her fellow man/woman? What provokes the idiotic, egotistical, maniacal, exuberance in such an individual? I suppose I don’t really give a rat’s ass to know the what’s, when’s, how’s, and why’s of such anymore.
I’ve stepped out into my own and it is of great comfort to me to know that I can recognize it again if need be. I have no desire to be “lit” up again and if such an act of lunacy is attempted, I believe I will be able to recognize the match for what it is. Let there be no mistake that I will extinguish that motherfucker before I go up in flames.
(Mini rant over)
The following is gaslighting is all it’s corrosive glory:
Ingrid Bergman had been “lit” up by her husband and was on her way to the madhouse, until he was busted. Reasons? Doesn’t matter.
Back to the questions:
The cure for atrustolee, (no trust)?
After my arm had been paralyzed I was forced to go to PT and put tiny golf tees in tiny holes, my fine motor skills resembled that of a child trying to grasp cheerios from the table for the first time. I was clumsy and awkward; it took all of my concentration to be able to make a fist. The arm itself was extremely hypersensitive to any sort of touch. I had to pull and stretch muscles I’d protected from the pain. It was a long, painful and mostly irritating experience. I was relentless in regaining the use of my arm because without it I would never be able to function normally again. Machines and therapists surrounded me at each visit to assist in my dubious recovery.
The issue of trust isn’t any different. It will be required that I use muscles I’ve tucked away for safe keeping. It will most likely cause pain at some juncture and I will be awkward and unsure about it. Relentlessness will be required once more in order to regain the tone and use of my trust muscle. My heart is hypersensitive to any random touch and I find myself once again, surrounded by machines and therapists to assist in my dubious recovery. At this point, I am trying to place those tiny golf tees into tiny holes all over again. Mark my words; before it’s over I’ll be brushing my own hair and living life to it’s full extent.
Thank you for all of your support. I mean that.
I had all but forgotten about this song until that day. I’d listened to it repeatedly all summer long.
I traveled anywhere and everywhere over the last summer and the radio blasted most of the time. I had to drive, feel the push of the clutch, the stick in my hand. I would decide when the motor revved and when it quieted.
I’d dreamt of liberation, I’d tasted it’s goodness, it smelled of sweet honeysuckle and it was good. It also came with a price. A price that I didn’t know I’d paid.
“Who is this? Where did she come from? I don’t recognize her.” My anger bubbled and burst.
“Where am I? What happened to me? Where did I go?” Grief settled as dew on a barren soul.
The rubber met the road and I drove….hard and fast. Just not fast enough or hard enough to get away from the woman I’d become and not slow and cautious enough to find the woman I’d lost.
They said welcome back. They said they’d missed me. They said it was good to see the “real” me again.
They didn’t know that I’d died. They didn’t know that I’d become nothing more than a chalk outline.
Neither did I.
I stood before *Jon* this week as neither the woman he’d killed nor the woman he’d created. He didn’t know that the dead can’t speak.
In my death, Tee had risen and she walked away today, for the last time, with Victory in her hands.
Each victorious step leads to another step of victory. It is you, my community here that gives me that gift. Know that.
I’ve included the music video as a memorial to her. Thank you Sunshine.
Don’t grieve for her. She’s at peace now.
I’m at the wheel and I’m a survivor.
I’m a survivor, I want to make that clear.
However, I need to take a break from the edge of hell and regain my composure.
I assure you all, I’m fine.
I’ll be back.
I want to thank all of you for your unending support, kind hugs, warm thoughts and positive energy.