Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


12 Comments

Who’ll Stop The Rain?


It’s been raining all day and will continue to do so all night along with thunder and lightning.

rain

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.  :/

 

 


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


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!


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

 

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


42 Comments

The Next Step


I decided, after three (or more) days of self- loathing, mindless distraction and fear (self-imposed and otherwise), that I would venture out from the confines of my cozy corner.

I discerned a distinct lift in my spirit, listening to Vivaldi’s “Winter” as I began putting away, picking up, rearranging, dusting, sweeping and mopping. Oblivious to anything else, it felt good, right, and free.

A knock at the door, my son running down the hall, and a slightly sinking feeling ended my harmony. Jon was at the door. I suppose, since the restraining order had timed out, he felt he could stop by any time he pleased.

I maintained, I think, as he stood at the door while every thought you can possibly imagine crushed my mind. He had decided to lighten the proverbial load with a menial monetary donation out of the goodness of his heart and look in on the children. (As if)

Refusing to make eye contact, I stared down at my feet and asked him if he had tried to call first. My insides vibrated; I held the doorknob tightly to brace myself just in case the quaking decided to seep into his view. I took in a long, unhurried, breath. I couldn’t give him a glimpse of the storm going on inside my body as well as my mind. The door closed behind him. At first, I thought I’d done pretty well under the circumstances.

Out of nowhere, like a slow winter approaching, my hearing muffled, tunnel vision replaced peripheral, I could feel my body growing cold as the blood literally drained from the top down.

I sat on the bed; huge bullets of liquid terror formed on my face and I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Shortly after, I regained my composure only to realize the dread growing in my belly.

I should’nt have been so curt. He is going to ‘get me back’ for that little tort. Maybe I should call him back and clarify. Maybe I should apologize. What is he going to do? How will he take it?

Even now, as I type this very post, I’m debating, hoping to stay a controlled, violated and blemished mind. I have somehow landed right back where I started today.  Cautious of every next step, I take it anyway.