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