Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


18 Comments

Inane


The roads I walk

Bifurcate like

Bloody veins

To take a left

To take a right

No way to win

Against the tide

A futile attempt

Unwanted unwelcome

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

Unanchored hope

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.

 

 

 

 

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25 Comments

A True Hero


You gave yourself

Of time and more

To offer another

A gift of worth

Oh how I melt

Beneath your words

Some may never

Ever know

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. 

 

 

 

 


34 Comments

Don’t Piss in My Cornflakes and Call It Sugar *Mature*


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.

Dear Asshole

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!

Fuck You!


81 Comments

No More Beatin’ Around the Bush


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.”

Side note:

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


14 Comments

You and I


You and I

You and I

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


33 Comments

The Jaws of Life


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.

Jaws of Life

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.

Child's Cry

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.

footage.shuddershock.com

Within the walls

Of hurt and pain

I hid behind

A masquerade

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


48 Comments

Just Call Me Rocky


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.