Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


34 Comments

Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional


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.

*Jon*

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


4 Comments

Coalition Against Domestic Violence


 These are the Safety Guidelines written by the Coalition Against Domestic Violence.I do not claim any authorshipl

Hotline Number: 1-800- 799-SAFE (7233)
TDD Number: 1-800-787-3224

Domestic and Sexual Violence Research Group Safety Strategies Workbook http://www.dvsafetyplanning.org/.

National Sexual Assault Hotline – 1-800-656-HOPE

Personalized Safety Plan
Your safety is the most important thing. Listed below are tips to help keep you safe. The resources in this book can help you to make a safety plan that works best for you. It is important to get help with your safety plan.

If you are in an abusive relationship, think about…

  1. Having important phone numbers nearby for you and your children. Numbers to have are the police, hotlines, friends and the local shelter.

  2. Friends or neighbors you could tell about the abuse. Ask them to call the police if they hear angry or violent noises. If you have children, teach them how to dial 911. Make up a code word that you can use when you need help.

  3. How to get out of your home safely. Practice ways to get out.

  4. Safer places in your home where there are exits and no weapons. If you feel abuse is going to happen try to get your abuser to one of these safer places.

  5. Any weapons in the house. Think about ways that you could get them out of the house.

  6. Even if you do not plan to leave, think of where you could go. Think of how you might leave. Try doing things that get you out of the house – taking out the trash, walking the pet or going to the store. Put together a bag of things you use everyday (see the checklist below). Hide it where it is easy for you to get.

  7. Going over your safety plan often.

If you consider leaving your abuser, think about…

  1. Four places you could go if you leave your home.

  2. People who might help you if you left. Think about people who will keep a bag for you. Think about people who might lend you money. Make plans for your pets.

  3. Keeping change for phone calls or getting a cell phone.

  4. Opening a bank account or getting a credit card in your name.

  5. How you might leave. Try doing things that get you out of the house – taking out the trash, walking the family pet, or going to the store. Practice how you would leave.

  6. How you could take your children with you safely. There are times when taking your children with you may put all of your lives in danger. You need to protect yourself to be able to protect your children.

  7. Putting together a bag of things you use everyday. Hide it where it is easy for you to get.

ITEMS TO TAKE, IF POSSIBLE click here to print check list.

bullet Children (if it is safe)
bullet Money
bullet Keys to car, house, work
bullet Extra clothes
bullet Medicine
bullet Important papers for you and your children
bullet Birth certificates
bullet Social security cards
bullet School and medical records
bullet Bankbooks, credit cards
bullet Driver’s license
bullet Car registration
bullet Welfare identification
bullet Passports, green cards, work permits
bullet Lease/rental agreement
bullet Mortgage payment book, unpaid bills
bullet Insurance papers
bullet Protective Order, divorce papers, custody orders
bullet Address book
bullet Pictures, jewelry, things that mean a lot to you
bullet Items for your children (toys, blankets, etc.)
  1. Think about reviewing your safety plan often.

If you have left your abuser, think about…

  1. Your safety – you still need to.

  2. Getting a cell phone. Getting a Protective Order from the court. Keep a copy with you all the time. Give a copy to the police, people who take care of your children, their schools and your boss.

  3. Changing the locks. Consider putting in stronger doors, smoke and carbon monoxide detectors, a security system and outside lights.

  4. Telling friends and neighbors that your abuser no longer lives with you. Ask them to call the police if they see your abuser near your home or children.

  5. Telling people who take care of your children the names of people who are allowed to pick them up. If you have a Protective Order protecting your children, give their teachers and babysitters a copy of it.

  6. Telling someone at work about what has happened. Ask that person to screen your calls. If you have a Protective Order that includes where you work, consider giving your boss a copy of it and a picture of the abuser. Think about and practice a safety plan for your workplace. This should include going to and from work.

  7. Not using the same stores or businesses that you did when you were with your abuser.

  8. Someone that you can call if you feel down. Call that person if you are thinking about going to a support group or workshop.

  9. Safe way to speak with your abuser if you must.

  10. Going over your safety plan often.

WARNING: Abusers try to control their victim’s lives. When abusers feel a loss of control – like when victims try to leave them – the abuse often gets worse. Take special care when you leave. Keep being careful even after you have left.

 


22 Comments

Onslaught *Heavy Triggers*


I cannot force anyone to understand domestic violence if they have never experienced it. However, I can most assuredly give a sneak peek into the life of a DV victim/survivor and hope that someone will open their mouths or quite simply click the share button. To remain silent is to be complicit in this crime.  I’m just sayin’.  One more thing.  I lived for  nineteen years in domestic violence, I escaped, and I had to watch and think on these things as I made this post.  Remember that.

 

Now take a deep breath and move on to the next one.

 

Take your time, clear you head and keep watching.

 

Enraging isn’t it?

 

As painful as it is to watch this tragedy multiply that by infinity and you’ll begin to understand how painful it is to live it.

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


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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


9 Comments

Say No More


April is No more to sexual assault month.  Please feel free to reblog, retweet, FB or all three.

There is only one way to break the silence and bring this ever growing nightmare to the forefront of the minds of others and that is to SPEAK out in the capacity that we can.

Say No More

Say No More


58 Comments

The Night the Lights Went Out *Trigger Warning*


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.

 

 

 

 

 

 


15 Comments

Chalk Outline


Recently, on a visit to the Cut-Throat Club Online I found a song that one of my fellow Cut-Throats, Sunshine, posted.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


18 Comments

I’m Out


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.

 

Rock On

Rock On

 


42 Comments

Do Ya’ll Want To Know The Truth?


The day before my escape from the war zone that had been my life, I ran to my neighbor’s house with my children for safety.

The week prior to my court date I asked my neighbors to testify to what they’d seen.

Their answer?

“It ain’t none of our business, we remain neutral.”

My 12 year old son had to testify, because of course, I’m crazy.

Three months before abandoning EVERY fuckin’ thing, social workers were sent to our home to determine why our children hadn’t been to school.

His reply?

“I worked Black Ops, I don’t even exist. I know ya’ll have an agenda here, I’m a human lie detector, now what are you really doin’ here.”  The only black op he’d ever seen was in his own black soul.

The week prior to my court date I paid a little visit to said social workers and asked them to testify.

Their reply?

We don’t recall any such conversation.

Four months prior to my exodus, I hid in the bathroom to call my dad. I stood next to the door so I could hear footsteps. I didn’t, but he was there, listening to my every word, became enraged and kicked the door in. The door put a gash in my forehead. The phone flew from my hands.

His response?

“I told you your mama’s crazy, look what she did to herself, now she wants to blame it on me.”

My response:

W-A-K-E   T-H-E   F-U-C-K   U-P   P-E-O-P-L-E

You want to save the animals, the ozone, the economy,  the fuckin’ trees and while I agree with all that shit, how about you take into consideration that without the fuckin’ woman there’d be no one here to admire all the other shit you’re tryin’ to save.

Three women are killed by their husband/intimate partner/boyfriend EVERY single day.

LEARN SOMETHIN’ ABOUT THIS SHIT.  HUG A VICTIM INSTEAD OF A DAMN TREE.

 

 

 


15 Comments

Say No More To Sexual Assault Month


Please feel free to reblog, retweet, FB or all three.

There is only one way to break the silence and bring this ever growing nightmare to the forefront of the minds of others and that is to SPEAK out in the capacity that we can.

 

Say No More

Say No More


29 Comments

Blackest of Black


black hole

 

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

Far removed

’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.


14 Comments

Say No More to Sexual Assault Month Begins Today


I will be making this post everyday for the rest of the month as April is No more to sexual assault month.  Please feel free to reblog, retweet, FB or all three.

There is only one way to break the silence and bring this ever growing nightmare to the forefront of the minds of others and that is to SPEAK out in the capacity that we can.

 

Say No More

Say No More


16 Comments

You Didn’t Break Me (As Hard As You Tried)


WRITTEN BY: Carey Hart

I don’t understand
I’ve done my best not to drown
I cant stop all the things
that are swarming me now
the decisions I’ve made
haven’t helped me thus far
and it grates on my soul
with the vengence of hell
it brings hate to my heart
and drowns all my thoughts
when all I can do
is just fall apart
so I swallow my pride
and choke down the tears
and fight all the hatred
that dwells deep inside
I want to unleash the anger
I want to scream at the sky
I want to take all these words
and just make you cry
I want to flip the fuck out
I want to strangle your soul
I want to make you bow down
until I can feel whole
so don’t forget what you’ve done
and don’t you dare look at me
because the last thing I need
is to remember your face
I hope your happy now
with all the pain that you’ve dealt
it may have left all these scars
and damaged my soul
but you can bet your damn ass
that I will make it through this


52 Comments

Yellow Roses


Yellow Rose Buds

Yellow Rose Buds

The yellow rose represents the sun, warmth, and friendships.

Last night I had a dream about yellow roses growing up from a concrete slab. I reached out to them to admire their beauty. My immediate thought was of the magnificent hearts at the Cut-Throat Clubhouse and the care we have for each other.  A new beginning beautifully hewn with delicate roses through our concrete prisons serves as a reminder that beauty springs from cold, dark places.

I am lost

At a loss

For real words

To express myself

Exactly the way

I really feel

Without the shedding

Of a tear

Ten thousand tears

A fountain flowing

Cannot control

Falling down

The darkest hole

Cannot run

Cannot hide

From the pain

That lives inside

A dream awakes

My darkened mind

Of yellow roses

At my side

Without thorns

In concrete slabs

In strength they grow

From tiny buds

I reach for them

And their love

Their Sunshine warms

They light the way

They lead me out

I live to fight

Another day


26 Comments

Quintet of Radiance


Picking up the Pieces  authored by Amy Thompson also found on twitter @AMarie nominated me for the “Quintet of Radiance award.  Amy is an unmovable advocate and support for domestic violence victims and survivors.  I am truly honored.  If you haven’t met her already please go by and pay her a visit.  You will be welcomed with opened arms.  Chances are, she has already found you.

According to the rules for accepting the award.  I must choose a word that describes me using the Alphabet.  A challenge for sure.

A-Activist

B-Blessed

C-Charitable

D-Decent

E-Engaging

F-Forgiving

G-Generous

H-Honest

I-Improved

J-Just

K-Kind-Hearted

L-Loyal

M-Merciful

N-Nurse

O-Open-Minded  (daughter says sometimes 😉  )

P-Playful

Q-Quirky  (says my daughter 😉  )

R-Responsible

S-Strait Forward

T-Trustworthy

U-Understanding

V-Valuable

W-Witty  (my daughter chose this one; I obliged)

X-Xtra-Special (made that one up   🙂   )

Y-Young’un (according to Lance)

Z-Zealous

My nominees are:

afterthepsychopath.wordpress.com

behindthemaskofabuse.com

Unload and Unwind

The Phoenix Again

The power of silence

Lady with a truck

My life a day journey

Finding my inner courage


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What Is In A Name


Stigma’s: Wrong on every level. Thank you to Jenni @ Unload and Unwind. She brings up a valid point we should all hear.

Unload and Unwind

One of the human races greatest gifts is language and we use it as a way to understand and recognise the world around us and our place in it.  In most cases this is a reassuring process, how children grow to understand what they see as they learn to speak.  However there is a danger inherent within, like most things in life there are choices to be made in how we use language and what labels we place on many things.

stigma 2I have come over time to recognise how naming things can sometimes be a negative.  In particular when it comes to the Mental Health Sciences doctors  and counsellors primary goal is to define or diagnose a person’s mental health and proceed to label it according to where it fits within the medical models.  Unfortunately there is a great deal of stigma attached to mental health and whether people realise…

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Dear Daddy.


Teen Survivor or TS-is a tender young survivor who needs our support today. She is a beautiful diamond in the rough just like the rest of us. You are not alone TS!

teen survivor of domestic violence

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hiding


21 Comments

One Day


“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Befalling freedom from my abuser was taxing; the road paved with falling rocks and repeated avalanches of emotion. I had unchained my physical body from his grasp. I was fortunate to have escaped with my life and the lives of my children. We enjoyed a stress free, perpetual vacation to various places, taking pictures and producing videos of our excursions for a solid summer season.

Upon our return home, we were evicted due to the loss of an income, but that was ok, I told my children. The end of one thing always means the beginning of a new thing. And in our case, it meant the beginning of a brand new life, uncontrolled by bitterness and anger. They seemed to be happy with that.

Move number one:

We moved into a four-room house with my mother . It was painful, but I felt semi-safe. She lived at the end of a dead end road and my heart raced at every car that headed our way. I was nervous and jittery with every door slam or horn blow or any other random noises I couldn’t identify. The phone rang and my heart sank…every time.

No worries, I told myself. I have a restraining order, mace, a bat, a knife, a phone, and I never slept when everyone else did. Someone had to stand guard. My hands shook with every minute movement, breathing was shallow and rapid, but that was no problem. I could handle that compared to what I had to reckon with prior to my escape.

Move number two:

Enthusiastic to find a new home, we searched until we found the perfect home; the last house on the left, on 13th street. (I think there are horror movies about this but I’m not superstitious) I purchased an alarm system, dolled up the house, brought a little of the old into the new, the mace, the bat, the knife, and the phone and lay claim to our new home.

I triple checked the windows and doors to be sure they were locked and set the alarm. I lay on the couch with my various weapons listening intently to every noise the house made in order to be at ease when heard repeatedly. I was as someone “hopped up” on crack, peeking out windows, walking the halls repeatedly checking on the kids. Nevertheless, that was ok I could handle it.

It took about three weeks before finally resigning to sleep in my bed. My nightly ritual of checking windows, setting the alarm, strategically placing the mace, the bat, the knife and the phone in the place my abuser would have slept continued. However, that was ok I could handle it.

It has been an entire year now yet still the ritual continues. The phone rings; my heart stops. A knock at the door; my heart stops. The sound of a car pulling into my driveway; my heart stops. A noise in the night; my heart stops. A flashback dream; my heart stops.

The question that really governs my mind is this. When will my heart stop stopping?

New beginnings are wonderful. Added anxiety of constant emotional, verbal, financial, mental and physical abuses are no more. Instead of the wonderment I expect, continued fear is what I receive.

My former life once filled with independence, freeness of heart, fun, spontaneity, and always on the go no longer exists.  I find myself now bound to the solitude of my new home.  I grieve deeply for that part of me that is now a stranger. My soul traverses between bargaining, anger, depression, and denial. However, I cannot make the leap to acceptance. One day maybe. One day.


4 Comments

Demons


My blog is not intended to embellish, dramatize or glamorize my circumstances.  It is not a platform to belabor the points that lie therein.  It is a confessional, if you will; a feeble attempt to express; in the best way, I know how, the volcanic eruptions that spew forth from the dredges of my soul.  I cannot drown my demons; they know how to swim, therefore I lift the embargo placed on my voice and sing.

 

Demon

Demon