I’m in a mountain region gettin slammed by 50 mph winds and a windchill expected to be -30 degrees.
My head hurts and my ears are popping and I’m more than a little nervous right now.
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 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.
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.
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
The remarkable hardness of sapphires—9 on the Mohs scale is the second hardest mineral, right behind the diamond at 10.
I took this photo of the sun and it reminds me so much of the Star Sapphire. It’s beauty is beyond words.
I love your heart
I love your soul
I love your mind
And all it holds
I love the way
You make me feel
I love the fact
That you are real
I love the warmth
Even in your hottest state
I love the fact that
In your eyes
Reflect the star
In the sky
I see in you
Twelve point star
Tried and true
Strong and hard
Gentle and kind
True and blue
In my mind
This is for you ❤
The roads I walk
To take a left
To take a right
No way to win
Against the tide
A futile attempt
The brazen valves
Shunt far away
From the want
To get my way
I give it up
I let it go
I Let it flow
Into the sea
Floats fast a free
That not one wave
Will make it be
For all of those whose roads have been blocked and another way must be chosen.
You gave yourself
Of time and more
To offer another
A gift of worth
Oh how I melt
Beneath your words
Some may never
The heart that beats
Within your chest
Pulses above all the rest
Yet I know
And gladly so
That you are
A true hero
For those who’ve given more than they had to. You’re the heroes.
If you don’t care to read REALLY ugly words then maybe you should skip this one.
It has come to my attention of late that the obligatory, cold-blooded, monster that once ruled my life is now preying on my children. My gut was not wrong, he did have something up his slimy sleeve and I am incensed. Trust me when I say that it could get ugly in here as I am about to address this blood sucking asshole in this post and then I’m going to deliver the same to his wretched fucking face.
YOU have no fucking right to call MY children and try to make THEM feel sorry for YOU!
YOU hit your own daughter with your fucking broke down piece of shit truck with MY son in the passenger seat.
YOU left behind a god-damned mess for ME to clean up.
YOU do not give a shit about their well-being.
Do not ever call me again to express your concern for the daughter that YOU tried to destroy with your abuse, grandiose religious ideations and your self-predicated need to be right when you are nothing but fucking WRONG. They are not going to move in with you EVER. I do “get” that you, in your own depraved mind, believe that I am far from an adequate parent but why don’t you just face the shivering fact that the amount of fucks I give in regard to you is NONE.
DO NOT EVER drop by with your fucking clueless brother to offer your counterfeit concern.
Note to that brother of yours:
I called you on so many occasions asking for help and if I recall correctly you said, “Oh you know how *Jon* is, he would never hurt you or the children.” After he paralyzed my arm, smashed my head into the windshield, threw me to the ground, wrapped his fingers around my neck and choked me to unconsciousness while MY children watched. Shall I say here that you are without doubt full of more shit than your brother. Wasn’t it YOU who said, “make sure you investigate the story the kids told you about the truck incident, I find it hard to believe” when you called to “check in” on me? Well, dear ass-in-law, your niece cries herself to sleep at night over that fucking truck incident not to mention the two incidents prior to that when I in all my 110 pound glory had to punch your hick ass brother in the face to get him off her. She also, thanks to YA’LLS POSITION on the matter, feels guilty for no FUCKING reason, hence the lack of communications with all o’ ya’ll. My children had to listen to you all slaughter me at Christmas. Did you take into account their feelings then? I think the fuck not. Don’t push your luck with me, you will walk away holding your ass in your hand, I shit you not. On second thought, please do bring that whole fucked up clan of yours and don my doorstep at your own fucking risk because none, neigh not one of you will leave with your fragile egos intact. That’s not a threat, it is by god, a promise.
Now back to you Fuck head:
Your daughter is in a shit storm that only a soulless individual like yourself would use to gain yet another foothold on her distressed emotions. You’re not here, thank the gods, and you never will be here so let’s thank them again and here’s a newsflash just for you. She will never be THERE either and I do venture to say thank the gods for a THIRD time. You can take all of your severely challenged sense of save the fucking day and save your fucking self because I’m not the woman you once knew, and I’m fully prepared to fight like a tied Fiest fucks over my children and here’s a another fucking clue just for you. You’ll fucking lose!
I hate making confessions; they are painful, ugly truths I’d rather not share with anyone, much less the world. I seem to have no recourse in the matter at all so, I’m gonna spill the beans if you will. I’ll do my best not to beat around the bush and get to the point.
The bare-naked truth is that when I’m left alone with my thoughts they wonder into places the hadn’t ought to go. I don’t hate *Jon* every day all day. I remember the tender moments, the laughs, the fun, and the over the moon intimacy we shared early on. These emotions are intensified when he calls at all hours of the night pleading for my forgiveness and I’m hovering at the brink of loneliness myself. I know that makes me sound like I’m one brick shy of a load after all the things that I’ve already shared and maybe I am, but I also know that I’m flesh and blood with a heart that pumps syrup through my veins.
What saddens me the most is that I can’t pull the good parts that belonged to *Jon* out of the air and keep them with me and let the ugly parts float away. The sad fact is that I had to take my heart and run.
I thank all that is good that these seemingly never ending moments of deluded memories are trumped by visions of the undeniable truth that he is a broken man that neither I nor anyone else can fix. His capacity for carrying goodness is tainted and there is no point of return to reference.
Because of the battle that takes place in my mind, I have to force myself to search out and see the brokenness of my children and the unwarranted guilt that they carry over the events that led to our final run for freedom. I have no choice but to counter that longing for his carefully constructed illusion with the lies, the condescension, the cruelty, the hate, the battering and the never-ending pain that resulted from it. Of all of the things that I have to remember and relent to, I have to remember and relent to that.
Whatever you do, wherever you are, whatever you think, when the longing for that illusion of love creeps in I hope you join me and choose to “Remember That.”
Some folks think it’s unrealistic to strive to maintain my sense that good lives in everyone, that the road paved with a healthy amount of cynicism is the safest road to take. Is there such a thing as a healthy amount of cynicism? Anyway, I have not one scintilla of a desire to be cold, hard and overwhelmingly disparaging, but I’m finding that to be a difficult task and if one such healthy balance does exist I hope I find it.
You made an empty promise
You made it very clear
You said I was your princess
You said you’d never leave
I wrapped my arms around your legs
I shot up to the sky
I trusted everything you said
I never asked for lies
You didn’t seem to care that day
You screamed into my face
You turned those hurtful words
You knew they had no place
I gave you all my loyalty
I gave you one more chance
I gave you all you asked of me
I gave you my embrace
You struck my heart, my soul, my mind
You brought me to my knees
You lied again; I’d simply sigh
You blamed it all on me
I sank into my own abyss
I had nowhere to turn
I must have been at fault for this
I deserved that hateful burn
You’ll be sorry that fateful day
You see my back and not my face
You will know too late to say
You will see me walk away
I don’t need your empty promise
I don’t want your warm embrace
I’ve never been your princess and
I hate your lying ways
You can take your filthy guilt
You can find another trip
You can hurt somebody else
You were meant for nothing less
I’ve learned a lot over the years but the one thing I’ve learned to do the best is keep a stiff upper lip. Allowing the intense rawness that I feel deep down inside, any space at all to run freely terrifies me to the point of freezing up like an old, rusty, hinge but I understand that it’s a necessary evil of sorts. Honestly, it would take nothing less than the Jaws of Life to free the stemmed tide and I have, on occasion, run across such a brash tool and denied it’s entry for the sole purpose of self-preservation which in the end leads to destruction.
The Jaws of Life is a tremendously loud, hydraulic tool designed to prevent loss of life in crushing motor vehicle accidents although that’s not it’s only use.
The consequences of all of my missteps rest not only on myself but also on the lives of those I endeavor to protect, so taking the blame seems to be the natural progression, and it should be. The problem with that is that I’ve been conditioned since childhood to slink back believing that I am the one who doesn’t measure up, for one reason or another, even when it is crystal ball clear that the problem wasn’t always due to my lack of adequacy but to their inability to accept themselves. On many occasions as a child, I felt that if I’d done this or that that things would have been different, that I’d be loved, that I’d be accepted and validated in the discovery of me. Rarely did that ever happen catapulting me into a metamorphosis so to speak and dividing me into tiny little pieces making it nearly impossible to detect the abandoned child crouching in the empty corner of my heart. This plays a significant role in skewing my reality which in turn makes it nearly impossible to rightly judge my steps.
I’d like to defer for a moment to the thoughts that I previously shared in “Chalk Outline” concerning my death and resurrection and say that I was wrong about that. The plain and simple truth is that I’ve never discovered me because at each and every turn in an attempt to do so, that hurt little girl jumped back to her assigned corner headlong. She’s never held firm in her demand for respect and the right to be who she longs to become.
I have jumped aboard a runaway train bound for nowhere good should I choose to continue to live in the throes of the anger that keeps me in denial. This unworthily trusted reaction to childhood brokenness has more than sufficed as a protection against the hurt that now balks at the thought of remaining under the gun that had always kept it in check.
It’s time to call that hurt little girl out, hug her, tell her I love her and that it isn’t her fault. Convincing her of that may be years in the making but I know that one day she will forgive me for abandoning her to her own devices.
Within the walls
Of hurt and pain
I hid behind
I will give my love to you
My heart and soul to you
Forever you’ll be mine
I’ll put my hand in yours
All that I am is yours
Until the end of time
Although some of them may never know who they are, I find it necessary to thank those who wielded the Jaws of Life against the crushing, metal, armor that trapped my little girl inside for so many years. Truly, you are my heroes.
I have to say this has been a helluva week.
So, I’m just gonna spill the beans or at least a few of them. I’ve learned something over the past couple of days and I think it’s important that I tell it.
I’m going to be forced to see *Jon* every day this week and for the sake of legality I can’t tell you the reason outright. But know this: IT’S OUT OF MY HANDS. It was a blow. A HUGE blow. Not to mention all the regular shit that occurs on any given day.
My initial response, as is usual with me, is to shrink back into my cocoon and hide. So I made the post “I’m Out”.
Then I saw all the support ya’ll handed out and was overwhelmed. As luck would have it today, I stumbled upon Rocky and I watched (for the 4th or 5th time) , needless to say I had an epiphany.
I’m in the ring, up against Mason, “The Line”, Dixon, getting my ass beat to a pulp (in my own mind). And each and every one of you have my back. Standing in my corner, cheering me on.
You’re all my “Micky”. The bell dings, round 573 is over and you give me a stool, rub my shoulders, shoot hydration down my throat.
You advise, remind, pump me up, tell me “you got this, you can do it, now get out there and show him what you got! You trained for this all year, you’re ready, you know what to do!”
What you don’t do is give up on me because you believe in me, you know that I got this. You know he’s got a TKO comin’ to him and that I’m gonna be the one to oblige.
I thank the hell outta ya’ll for that shit. I really do.
I can’t think of any better way to say it.
I love ya’ll.
Almost forgot. What did I learn? I AM NOT ALONE!
Ok, I admit I ain’t no Rocky, mainly because I’m a chick. I won’t cite the other obvious reasons
But ya’ll get the drift.
I know I said I was “out”. But I’d forgotten my daily commitment for the NO MORE campaign.
I am completely overwhelmed by all the love and support from ALL of you. Thank you for reaching out with your hearts and positive energy. While reading your comments, I found this jewel, an answer to my ever so curious mind, by way of Ivy_Mosquito in my comment box on “What Do I Say?”
This young lady’s blog is awesome, I wish you’d go check her out. Specially if you want to know what the fox really says.
I love ya’ll.
Steady as a rock
Then again not
The touch of a hand
In absence dwells
A heart torn apart
Whole and well
Imposing a thought
With no legs to walk
Heaven or hell
No way to tell
All thoughts prevail
Does it bother you?
Do you think if you ignore it, it’ll go away?
Do you think abuse is the victim’s fault?
It happens to 1 out of 4 women every day and 1 out of every 6 men are abused daily.
Does that bother you?
It’s probably happening to someone you know right this second.
Does that bother you?
It that is the case, are you complicit by “walking on by” and minding your own business.
That bothers me.
If indeed you walk on by and mind your own business, do you think it’s the victim’s fault?
That bothers me.
Would you rather I not post such graphic content while you watch mindless TV/ Motion Pictures of a disturbingly graphic nature?
That fuckin’ bothers me.
Would you like to know who else it bothers? EVERY LAST VICTIM ON EARTH WHO GETS TO SEE IT FIRST HAND.
The blackest of black
The darkest of hell
It seemed to me
I would never prevail
Smoke from his nares
Breath of his soul
Bit just another
Blood gushing hole
The stairway to heaven
’til I tripped over the devil
And landed at his stool
Winds rushed forth
As I looked to the sky
A shimmering hope
I’m not gonna die.
I’m not a drinker, I hate the taste of alcohol. But, last night I threw caution to the wind and indulged in a small
glass bottle of wine. You know the kind. It was a great vintage, year 2014, strait from the grocery store shelf. I do believe it was the grocery store brand.
There’s nothing like the taste of rubbing alcohol to stimulate the taste buds. I squinted my eyes and took a
small sip big gulp as the tiny hairs on my arm stood at attention and I gasped for air. I banged my fist on the table and rattled my jaws. I figured I needed a chaser. I refrained from that, as I’m not a veteran drinker. I’m certain it would have been an unwise decision.
My tongue was sufficiently numbed so I fried my chicken, sipped my wine, and listened to my favorite jams.
The hideous wine was a far cry from the first Long Island Iced Tea I ever had, I was sitting in a bar at the Holiday Inn in Savannah, Georgia. Of course, that was the last Long Island Iced Tea I ever had. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.
I pulled up a chair and took a seat at the kitchen table, opened up my PC and began my search for Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette and Freddy Fender. I’d forgotten all about the way makers of that time. It was an easier, happier time when an air of innocence could still be found. Maybe it was just ignorant bliss. No matter, it was what it was.
I enjoyed myself, immensely and discovered that sometimes we need to fry a little chicken and have a little wine.
Take it away Freddy:
Contrary to the song. I was not wasted.
Who am I?
Sensitive views on politics, religion, and correct grammar will not be found here. Sentence fragments, slang, political incorrectness, contractions, passive voice and the word ‘but’ will be.
Believe it or not, I am a private person to a degree. I suppose we are all the same in that respect. Some things I will share and some I see no benefit in sharing. I learned that in rehab.
The question of who I am has plagued most of my life. I continue in my lack of assurance today. But, here are a few things I do and say without hesitation in the real world and sometimes the cyber world. No matter who’s lookin’.
If I see grocery carts in a parking space, I have a mini fit. Recently, I pulled into the parking lot to find said spectacle in a handicap space and much to my children’s chagrin; I promptly let the bag boy know, just in case he didn’t.
Recently, a door-to-door salesman stopped by and finagled his way past my mom who was visiting. To my children’s embarrassment and my mom’s I’m sure, I abruptly told him to get out, following behind ensuring that he did. We have hard wood floors and he was selling carpet shampoo. This is a no-brainer in my mind.
I buy boxes of food for those less fortunate at the grocery store. If I am waiting my turn at a check-out and see that someone is struggling to come up with the cash, I take care of it. I’m talking a couple of bucks here.
In nursing school, one of my classmates failed by .3 of a point. At her request, I went through her tests with her to be sure the instructors didn’t miss anything. I was told to drop it or drop out. I dropped it.
I’m certain I could never live in a mansion and even more certain I could not be a snob, although I have been called a snob on more than one occasion. I am terribly shy, and usually at a loss for words, I suppose this landed me in the snob category more than once.
I’m not “cool”, never have been, although I’ve tried to be. I’ve failed. Miserably.
Socially, I’m a misfit. I really have to think hard on what I’m going to say and I still sound like the village idiot most of the time.
I laugh when I’m not supposed to, I cry the same.
Witty is not a word I would use to describe myself. Although I did use that word to describe myself at my daughter’s insistence.
Unless I see your face and attempt to read your non-verbals, sarcasm
sometimes usually escapes me.
The things I share and the way I share them are all me. The heart and soul of me.
I’m not a writer as such but I get by with a little help from my friend, MS Word.
I don’t sound as Southern on paper as I do in person. Unless I’m in your comment box, without MS Word.
I love the fact that I am Southern. I’ve been called a Southern redneck and it tickled me good. It was their attempt at flattery. It worked.
Living the life of a domestic violence survivor is a hard row to hoe, and there are times I chop the shit out of it. More times than not, I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle.
I’ve attempted to watch every “war movie” ever made, I don’t like chic flicks and I love listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd.
My entire wardrobe consists mainly of faded jeans, tank-tops, and flip flops. Winter wardrobe includes a jacket and boots.
I use terms and phrases such as:
Look a yonder.
Can’t beat that with a stick.
I’m fixin’ to. (In a minute)
Don’t git ya gander up. (Don’t be upset)
What brings you to my neck of the woods? (my house)
Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me. (One idiot calling another idiot an idiot)
Shit (my personal favorite).
One more thing. MS Word has this document lit up like a Christmas tree and it really sticks in my crawl, so I’m gonna post this before I change my mind. Plus, my daughter is telling me to stop stalling.
I cannot find the words t0 adequately convey how much I appreciate every single person who follows, comments or likes my blog.
I have received unending support from so many here in my virtual world. You have given me the strength to not only survive but also thrive one day at a time.
Because of you, I can:
Refuse to allow 19 years of my life, once filled with an indescribable hell, to go to waste.
Refuse to allow this precious corner of my world to be tainted by the control of my abuser.
Refuse to be complacent and complicit in this vicious crime against my brothers and sisters by keeping silent.
And I promise:
I will, until the day I draw my very last breath, advocate for you, love you, support you and most importantly, listen to you.
BECAUSE OF YOU I AM NOT ALONE.
My bare skin pressed into the unyielding, cold steel of an uncertain world. Nothing to cover the nakedness but a thin veil of shame, my eyes rejected the evil that so desperately coveted the death of my soul. I could smell the color of his vile presence, the stench of green vapor hypnotized and paralyzed.
The scent of a vulgar haze of hatred streamed from his nostrils. His eyes smelled black, soulless, and empty. His lips held the odor of a parched desert as waterfalls of perdition flowed unhindered. Moments before he fled to the abyss, his viscous carcass further depressed me into the resistant steel of this world I had come to know.
His presence retreated, however, his color persisted and my eyes remained unmoved.
A faint sound in the distance permeated the air, a sweet sound of people talking, laughing, and living. I had to find them in the world unknown to me. My overwhelming desire to find them, to beg them for help, to plead for mercy would override the evil that lurked. Covered with the thin veil of shame I made my way toward the sound in the world beyond my own. I turned the knob opened the door and screamed for help, however, my pleas went unanswered.
Therefore, I moved on.
As many of you know, most of my blog posts describe in detail my own encounters with domestic violence. I have noticed that with each post comes a significant amount of emotional upheaval. This can be cleansing as well as draining and by draining, I mean the tsunami kind of wipe out.
As a result, I have chosen to post videos, which address the issues women and men encounter every day. It is imperative to my well-being to take a break of sorts before journeying on with the rest of my hideous saga.
I hope you all understand and will be patient with me.
I want to thank all those who follow and support me in my journey to recovery.