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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


48 Comments

Life Ain’t Always Fair, but it’s Always Life


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.

I want to first thank, with all my heart, Americana Injustica for her guest post in my absence and CTC for their unending support while I’ve been away. I would have been lost a few times without you.

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. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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.

 


12 Comments

Don’t Get Too Close To The Fox She Might Feel Threatened. Especially If She Is Screaming.


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.

Say No More

Say No More

 

 


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


23 Comments

Versatile Blogger and Very Inspiring Blogger


Versatile Blogger

Versatile Blog

I was nominated a while back by belsbror for the Versatile Blogger Award as well as the Very Inspiring Award.  If you have never read his blog you should go check him out.  His blog is awesome.

I am very honored and at a loss for words.  I want to thank those who read my blog and I pray that the words I share will in some way help others to be aware of the damaging effects of Domestic Violence and most of all I hope they help others to see they are not alone.  They have a voice and are free to share it.  I will listen.  I promise.

My nominees for both awards are:

http://sweetmarie9619.wordpress.com/

http://wonderfulshantelle.wordpress.com/

http://betternotbroken.com/

http://soulhealingart.wordpress.com/

http://onewayhealthier.com/

Very Inspiring Award

Very Inspiring Award


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

nomore.org


16 Comments

No More Week


This week is no more week.  I’m asking sister survivors, fellow bloggers and friends to please help spread the word and stop the violence.  You can follow nomore.org on twitter @nomoreorg and FB.

Let’s join the thunderclap.  Raise awareness, raise your voice and stop the violence.

I say no more because for 19 years I didn’t.  This silence was a detriment to myself and my family.   It is my duty as a survivor to help others realize and understand domestic violence is a cancer that will continue to proliferate and destroy the very fabric of our society.

Why do you say no more?

nomore.org

nomore.org


28 Comments

Lean In


Family

Family

I made a post a while back describing an incident I’d had with Jon in 2010 resulting in right arm paralysis. An all-out military assault of MRI’s, X-rays, poking and prodding rendered an ugly diagnosis. The physical therapy department had become a second home and the pain nearly insurmountable. When asked to describe the pain, the words always fell short. A brachial plexus injury is a devastating and crippling injury from which many never recover. Thunder and lightning had taken up residence from my neck rendering the arm and hand useless. The pain was a special kind of horror; however, the complete and utter betrayal in its ability to function caused the most heartache.

Working tirelessly, wearing a special *contraption* and the unwillingness to accept this as a permanent disability excited the required drive to beat the prognosis. Following nine months of intense therapy, function slowly returned and the pain receded. Unexpected jerking movements resulted in dropping, or randomly flinging whatever object I was trying to control across the room. The unadulterated hilarity of the Freddy Krueger splint coupled with the identified object and its unidentified destination kept me sane.

Fortunately, I retired the splint to the Freddy Krueger hall of fame, however, the daily exercise and muscle stretches continue to this day.

Last week started like any other abnormal, PTSD ridden week with a twist of bitterness and a healthy dash of straight up disgust. However, Wednesday’s flavor of the day changed rapidly from vanilla to rocky road when a sudden severe onslaught of sharp pains traveled between my shoulder blades. The excruciating pain and inability to breath drove me straight to the MD. He examined me thoroughly and had me carted off to x-ray where they discovered I had multiple fractures in the vertebral body of my spine.

Dazed and confused, I proclaimed the impossibility of the situation, followed by a ‘what the hell are you trying to say’ stare. There had been no hideous falls or car accidents; therefore, I was hard pressed to come up with a plausible explanation for the injury.

It was obvious the Doc had been in deep thought over the cause of the injury before spilling the diagnosis onto my lap. It would appear, to the best of my understanding, that there had been significant damage to the cervical and thoracic vertebrae in 2010 along with the brachial plexus injury. The vertebral body had developed multiple stress fractures last week for reasons I cannot explain causing the severe pain I am currently experiencing.

Once I returned home, drugs in hand, shaken to the core with anger, and weeping like a newborn baby, I headed for my room. I could not hide the tide of emotions from my children and of course, they followed in behind me. It pains me that my children are forced to see me in this state. Once again, I failed at being the rock, the fortress they need. However, they do not complain, they are champions. They each take time to lean in, give me hugs and whisper in my ear, “I love you.” I do not have to ask, they instinctively act. When they least expect it, I lean in, give them hugs and whisper in their ear “I love you.” They do not have to ask, I instinctively act.

We are a family, strengthened by our past, weathering the storms of the present, and reaching into the future as we learn that we already instinctively know what it means to lean in.


14 Comments

Social Media Safety for DV/Stalking Victims


Here is a list of some things you can do to try to stay safe:

  • For any account that you create, use a strong password that no one could figure out and keep it private.  To read more about this, please see What safety steps should I take even if I think the abuser does NOT have access to my email account?
  • Limit the amount of identifying information you use, like your birth date, address, full name, etc. (This step can also help prevent identity theft.)
  • Be careful about what you post!  Consider the articles you post to your profile, the pictures you put in an online album, or any status updates that indicate where you are at the moment (such as “checking in” at a restaurant) or where you are headed (such as a vacation destination).  These types of posts can reveal a lot about you: your interests, your whereabouts, and your future plans, which can lead to someone finding you.
  • Log out of your account by clicking “log out” after each session on your social media page.  Do not simply close the browser, as it does not always log you out of your account, which would then be viewable by any other user of the computer.

womens.law.org


4 Comments

I’m A Member of the Cut-Throat Club


Thank you Americana Injustica for inducting me into The Cut-Throat Club.  I can say with complete clarity that you are a force to be reckoned with and I look forward to joining voices with you here at WP.

Americana Injustica, founder of The Cut-Throat Club is a fighter kick ass survivor.  Her story is both heartbreaking and inspiring. 


Leave a comment

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

View original post


40 Comments

Hell Is Too Good For You!!!!!!!!


Faded denim jeans, black T, work boots and an Allman Brother’s cap fit like a glove to his 6′ frame. With a god-like stride, he strutted the halls, the kitchen, and the bedrooms all the while barking orders like a dog strait out of hell. “Git yur shit packed, everythin’, I don’t wana see anything lef’ within viewing distance.”

M, my daughter, inconsolable, gathered her clothes, stuffed animals, and any toys she could manage to carry  Her “I love Daddy” t-shirt stained with spaghetti sauce and matching shorts crumpled and  wet with tears stuck to her little body.  R, trembling, tears tracing the creases in his strained face obeyed, no questions asked. Their hearts ripped from their chests, their trust forever broken they made their way to the living room and awaited further instruction. They cried, begged and pleaded with Jon to let them stay, however, their pleas had no effect on Jon’s stone cold heart.

“Now git out.” Disbelief consumed my oldest son who had been staying with us at the time. He helped the children 11 and 9 years old. Carey glanced over at Jon and Jon gave him a little smirk. My son ignored him and continued to the car that he had finally loaded with everything they owned.  In the matter of a moment he nonchalantly approached the car.

“Get outta that fuckin’ car, unpack yur shit, and let that be a lesson to ya.  Without me you ain’t nothin’ and you ain’t got nothin’.

At the time, I was at the Domestic Violence Center gathering every  little bit and piece of information I could to plan my escape. I had no idea this had taken place until a few days ago.

hell

hell

I am convinced hell wouldn’t even have this sorry excuse for a human. I’m not even sure that son-of-a-bitch is human at all and I am certain hell would be too good for him.


19 Comments

Deaf Ears


Crying

Crying

I called to wish you a happy birthday today and the words “I love you” fell on deaf ears.

The bruises I took for you.

The rants I endured for you.

The hundreds of times I defended you.

The hours I held your hand when you gave birth to your son; my grandson.

The hours I spent defending the hateful accusations hurled at you.

The agony I feel as he plays his games with you.

The pain in my heart will never leave me

Until I hear “I love you too”