As a mother myself, the notion of wanting my child to fail is unfathomable. She did, though: want me to fail. She wanted me kicked out of my home, destitute, with nobody, specifically family, willing to help me. She wanted me to lose custody of my son. Not only did she want my marriage to fail, but she wanted Jeff to move on, quickly, telling him she just knew the "right" person was out there for him.
The lengths that she was willing to go to accomplish her goals was staggering. Contacted 2 of my friends that I'd had a falling out with, I assume only two because she didn't have other telephone numbers or means of communication, or because I typically DON'T have fallings out with close friends that lead to their dismissal in my life, and (according to one, as we've since made up), begged them to write character assassination letters that she could provide to the courts as a way for me to lose custody. She asked for anything that could make me look bad, partying, drugs, time spent on the phone, you name it. I can count on one hand the times I'd "partied" with that friend over the 20 year course of our friendship, although certainly there were a few times that we had too much wine. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not a drug addict. She's patently aware of that, and there was no basis for her request. She just wanted me to lose custody.
From what Jeff tells me, she would make the daily 0.6 mile walk from the home where I finished my teen years over to Jeff's mom's house, where he was temporarily staying, bang on the door until he came outside, so that she could criticize me. He wanted to be left alone. He needed clarity. It was during this time that she not only encouraged him to push for sole custody, but ALSO encouraged him to go "over the road" as a driver. He said he'd never see Alec. Ahe quipped that she would help. How generous of her.
Eventually, I assume she felt that her plans to have me fail weren't rolling along in a timely fashion, mostly because of Jeff's reluctance and his insistence that I'm a good mom. As she'd already been calling my mother-in-law regularly, at work, mind you (she has no boundaries), she called and suggested that since Jeff wasn't interested in taking our son from me, that together they contact CPS and have him removed from us both. For what? Your guess is honestly as good as mine. I don't claim perfection, but I've certainly never done anything that was CPS "worthy" in my entirety of his life.
That was May, 2016. She's not had any contact with the 3 of us, save a few unanswered text messages to Jeff, and award moments where he had the phone thrust upon him and he had to politely find a way to hang up quickly.
What do you think about a mother that wants her child to fail at any cost? There was no build up. No years of being a problematic daughter. No fights. Nothing. She'd clearly been waiting my entire life for the opportunity to arise, so that she could take me down. Consciously? Subconsciously? Does it matter? I don't know.
I do know that I have to remind myself of this story whenever I feel a longing for that mother/daughter bond. It hurts. I miss who I thought she was, and it really doesn't feel good to say that I triumphed over my mother. I did, don't get me wrong. She wanted me to lose everything, and all that I've lost is a self-absorbed, self-centered father, and a manipulative mother that doesn't know the meaning of unconditional love.
It does hurt. It does. I wonder what is so inherently terrible about me that my own mother could reject me. Hopefully one day I'll be able to emotionally get to the place where I am logically: she is sick. Until that time, I'll write my feelings because this is cathartic for me.
Thank you for reading.
Monday, March 26, 2018
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Perfectly Imperfect
Going crazy is both humbling and a relief.
On one hand, it's embarrassing because you spiral deeper and deeper out of control until you get to a place where you don't even recognize yourself; but on the other? What a burden to be lifted- to know that you're not perfect, you don't have to be, and it's ridiculous to try.
Where do we get this notion that everything is supposed to be shiny and beautiful and happy 100% of the time? We don't live our lives as a fucking Pinterest page. There's no Better Homes & Gardens photographer following us around, detailing our every move and mistake. The truth isn't always pretty, sometimes it's ugly and raw and horrible and you can't dump a truckfull of glitter on a piece of shit to hide the smell.
It's hard going crazy. The inner battle, surrendering yourself to the abuse you've created in your mind: "You're unworthy of love." "You're too much." "Nobody could put up with your shit." The silent, and not so silent words you've heard your entire life. Getting to a place where you just say, "Fuck it. Who cares? I'll never be good enough, so why even bother?" isn't just destructive, it's liberating. Because really, you CAN'T be perfect, and you'll never live up to these insane expectations you've placed upon yourself.
Maybe everybody needs to go off the rails once in their life. Run wild in the grass. Know that eventually the people that love them will help guide them back on track, and it's ok to let them. It's ok to need other people. It's ok to be scared and weak sometimes.
On one hand, it's embarrassing because you spiral deeper and deeper out of control until you get to a place where you don't even recognize yourself; but on the other? What a burden to be lifted- to know that you're not perfect, you don't have to be, and it's ridiculous to try.
Where do we get this notion that everything is supposed to be shiny and beautiful and happy 100% of the time? We don't live our lives as a fucking Pinterest page. There's no Better Homes & Gardens photographer following us around, detailing our every move and mistake. The truth isn't always pretty, sometimes it's ugly and raw and horrible and you can't dump a truckfull of glitter on a piece of shit to hide the smell.
It's hard going crazy. The inner battle, surrendering yourself to the abuse you've created in your mind: "You're unworthy of love." "You're too much." "Nobody could put up with your shit." The silent, and not so silent words you've heard your entire life. Getting to a place where you just say, "Fuck it. Who cares? I'll never be good enough, so why even bother?" isn't just destructive, it's liberating. Because really, you CAN'T be perfect, and you'll never live up to these insane expectations you've placed upon yourself.
Maybe everybody needs to go off the rails once in their life. Run wild in the grass. Know that eventually the people that love them will help guide them back on track, and it's ok to let them. It's ok to need other people. It's ok to be scared and weak sometimes.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Dysfunction ain't fun.
I haven't written in a while but I decided to talk about something that affects me every day- SIJ dysfunction (Sacro-Iliac Joint).
The degree of pain varies from day to day... Some days are good; other days, eh. Not so much. Last night was a bad one. My back had been killing me, literally causing tears (that I always attempt to hide because really, who wants to hear my broken record?) I called Jeff into the bathroom after I got out of the shower to check to see if I was out of alignment (forward flexion test- he basically creates a diamond shape over the iliac and sacrum using his thumb and forefingers, I bend over and if I'm out of alignment one finger moves and the other doesn't). Yep. It was out.
It's always the damn left hip that slips. I'm hypermobile on that side and hypomobile on the right. I had a series of steroid injections on the right side that helped somewhat but when my left hip slips out of place it's terrible. So anyway, I gobbled 2 Aleve, and had Jeff put my hip back into place. I'm sure that's his favorite on the 'honey-do' list. Ha ha. Went to bed and now I feel much better. Not pain-free mind you, but better.
I decided to write about this because while SIJ dysfunction isn't common, pregnancy changes many women's bodies and well, I have many friends with children and/or are currently pregnant. I think the medical community is somewhat dismissive of pain during pregnancy. They assume that every woman experiences it to one degree or another and that's it. I can't tell you how many times I was told that I just needed to suck it up. I mean, when I walked I could literally FEEL my bones rubbing and crunching. Every step I took was like somebody kicking me in the crotch with a steel-toed boot. Finally after threatening to quit my job (and thereby losing my health insurance which would result in my OB/GYN not being able to be paid) they sent me to a physical therapist and put me on home rest.
I can't tell you how amazing it was to have a PT tell me I wasn't crazy and that the pain I was experiencing was abnormal. She helped me be able to handle the remainder of my pregnancy without shooting myself but unfortunately the permanent damage was already done.
If those fuckers would have just listened to me when I brought up Pubis Symphasis Dysfunction... Now, because of the bone rubbing all sorts of wonky directions, I have early onset spinal arthritis and degenerative disk disease. AWESOME.
It's not all bad. I manage the pain most days. Controlling my diet is major factor. Gluten seems to create inflammation in my body so when I avoid it, it majorly diminishes the pain. Of course, I slip now and then- I'm human. After all, who can pass up a piece of cake? Exercise is incredibly beneficial too. When I walk about 2 miles a day I notice much less pain as well. Unfortunately it's about 5 degrees hotter than hell right now so I haven't been doing so well. All about to change. I'm going back to the place I miss, somewhere that completely changed my life for the better 7 years ago... the gym! I'm looking into getting an SI belt that would hold everything into place. Definitely going to need that on the elliptical trainer. I've started practicing a bit of yoga to stabilize my hypermobile hip and I never let myself sit in one place for too long.
I don't know what the future holds for me. I'd love to go back to work in the pharmacy but pregnancy permanently disabled me. I don't know that it would be possible to stand (or sit) for upwards of 8 hours. I'm scared. I miss working like you wouldn't believe but I'm so terrified of the pain becoming worse. I know eventually I'm going to have to bite the bullet- if for no other reason than being a housewife/stay-at-home mom is NOT exactly my definition of a good time. SAHM have the hardest job in the world, and I'm kinda lazy. ;)
So that's it, my friends. If you suffer with chronic pain, please tell me your story.
The degree of pain varies from day to day... Some days are good; other days, eh. Not so much. Last night was a bad one. My back had been killing me, literally causing tears (that I always attempt to hide because really, who wants to hear my broken record?) I called Jeff into the bathroom after I got out of the shower to check to see if I was out of alignment (forward flexion test- he basically creates a diamond shape over the iliac and sacrum using his thumb and forefingers, I bend over and if I'm out of alignment one finger moves and the other doesn't). Yep. It was out.
It's always the damn left hip that slips. I'm hypermobile on that side and hypomobile on the right. I had a series of steroid injections on the right side that helped somewhat but when my left hip slips out of place it's terrible. So anyway, I gobbled 2 Aleve, and had Jeff put my hip back into place. I'm sure that's his favorite on the 'honey-do' list. Ha ha. Went to bed and now I feel much better. Not pain-free mind you, but better.
I decided to write about this because while SIJ dysfunction isn't common, pregnancy changes many women's bodies and well, I have many friends with children and/or are currently pregnant. I think the medical community is somewhat dismissive of pain during pregnancy. They assume that every woman experiences it to one degree or another and that's it. I can't tell you how many times I was told that I just needed to suck it up. I mean, when I walked I could literally FEEL my bones rubbing and crunching. Every step I took was like somebody kicking me in the crotch with a steel-toed boot. Finally after threatening to quit my job (and thereby losing my health insurance which would result in my OB/GYN not being able to be paid) they sent me to a physical therapist and put me on home rest.
I can't tell you how amazing it was to have a PT tell me I wasn't crazy and that the pain I was experiencing was abnormal. She helped me be able to handle the remainder of my pregnancy without shooting myself but unfortunately the permanent damage was already done.
If those fuckers would have just listened to me when I brought up Pubis Symphasis Dysfunction... Now, because of the bone rubbing all sorts of wonky directions, I have early onset spinal arthritis and degenerative disk disease. AWESOME.
It's not all bad. I manage the pain most days. Controlling my diet is major factor. Gluten seems to create inflammation in my body so when I avoid it, it majorly diminishes the pain. Of course, I slip now and then- I'm human. After all, who can pass up a piece of cake? Exercise is incredibly beneficial too. When I walk about 2 miles a day I notice much less pain as well. Unfortunately it's about 5 degrees hotter than hell right now so I haven't been doing so well. All about to change. I'm going back to the place I miss, somewhere that completely changed my life for the better 7 years ago... the gym! I'm looking into getting an SI belt that would hold everything into place. Definitely going to need that on the elliptical trainer. I've started practicing a bit of yoga to stabilize my hypermobile hip and I never let myself sit in one place for too long.
I don't know what the future holds for me. I'd love to go back to work in the pharmacy but pregnancy permanently disabled me. I don't know that it would be possible to stand (or sit) for upwards of 8 hours. I'm scared. I miss working like you wouldn't believe but I'm so terrified of the pain becoming worse. I know eventually I'm going to have to bite the bullet- if for no other reason than being a housewife/stay-at-home mom is NOT exactly my definition of a good time. SAHM have the hardest job in the world, and I'm kinda lazy. ;)
So that's it, my friends. If you suffer with chronic pain, please tell me your story.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Hi!!!
I haven't blogged in forever, so I wanted to just write a little something to say hello.
Jeff is back home! Yay! I have no idea how I managed things while he was gone, but I somehow did and I think it has made me a better parent.
Now to work on reclaiming a life for myself. I'm going to start by going to my favorite ceramics shop this weekend and painting a piece and have it glazed. I'm sure whatever I make will be for Alec, but it's a start, right?
Anyway, I'm also going to try to carve a little piece of downtime during the day as well. Like right now. Get my butt writing again.
So that's it. Short but sweet.
Jeff is back home! Yay! I have no idea how I managed things while he was gone, but I somehow did and I think it has made me a better parent.
Now to work on reclaiming a life for myself. I'm going to start by going to my favorite ceramics shop this weekend and painting a piece and have it glazed. I'm sure whatever I make will be for Alec, but it's a start, right?
Anyway, I'm also going to try to carve a little piece of downtime during the day as well. Like right now. Get my butt writing again.
So that's it. Short but sweet.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Where the Wild Things Are
and Max
the king of all wild things
was lonely and wanted to be
where someone loved him best of all.
Yesterday I received a package from Jeff. It was the book "Where the Wild Things Are" and a tiny little DVD. I had known that he had gone to the USO and filmed himself reading the book to Alec, but I was unprepared for how strongly it would affect us.
I gathered Alec up, snuggled him in my lap, handed him the book and pressed play on the remote control. Alec looked at the TV, turned around and looked at me. I said, "There's Daddy!" and he pushed the book aside and lunged for the screen. Jeff had recorded the video so that when he was done reading a page, he would put it to the screen so that he could show the pictures. In doing so, he slightly covered his face. Whenever the camera went back to him, Alec would crack up. He laughed, pointed, and said "Dada" over and over again. Every time he saw Jeff's face it would start him anew. I swear, I haven't seen Alec so happy and excited in a very long time.
Of course it killed me. Every time Alec laughed, I started to cry. And obviously I had to hide it from him. It felt like my heart was being stabbed. That was a strange mixture of emotion. On one hand, I was elated that Alec was able to 'see' his father, relieved that he hadn't forgotten him, and thrilled to see Jeff myself. On the other hand, it really cemented how much I miss my husband. I don't know how to describe it (imagine that! ME at a loss for words!) but it made me want to bury my head into Jeff's arm and never leave. I don't know if any of you have ever ached to touch someone.
Jeff has recorded another book. We should receive that in a week or so. He wants to record a story every week on his day off, so that he can build Alec's library. I know that each and every book and DVD that Alec gets he's going to be so very happy. Hopefully, I'll get to the point where I don't feel like my heart is being ripped out. After all, I love what he's doing. It's truly the most wonderful gift a parent can give to their child... the gift of themselves.
the king of all wild things
was lonely and wanted to be
where someone loved him best of all.
Yesterday I received a package from Jeff. It was the book "Where the Wild Things Are" and a tiny little DVD. I had known that he had gone to the USO and filmed himself reading the book to Alec, but I was unprepared for how strongly it would affect us.
I gathered Alec up, snuggled him in my lap, handed him the book and pressed play on the remote control. Alec looked at the TV, turned around and looked at me. I said, "There's Daddy!" and he pushed the book aside and lunged for the screen. Jeff had recorded the video so that when he was done reading a page, he would put it to the screen so that he could show the pictures. In doing so, he slightly covered his face. Whenever the camera went back to him, Alec would crack up. He laughed, pointed, and said "Dada" over and over again. Every time he saw Jeff's face it would start him anew. I swear, I haven't seen Alec so happy and excited in a very long time.
Of course it killed me. Every time Alec laughed, I started to cry. And obviously I had to hide it from him. It felt like my heart was being stabbed. That was a strange mixture of emotion. On one hand, I was elated that Alec was able to 'see' his father, relieved that he hadn't forgotten him, and thrilled to see Jeff myself. On the other hand, it really cemented how much I miss my husband. I don't know how to describe it (imagine that! ME at a loss for words!) but it made me want to bury my head into Jeff's arm and never leave. I don't know if any of you have ever ached to touch someone.
Jeff has recorded another book. We should receive that in a week or so. He wants to record a story every week on his day off, so that he can build Alec's library. I know that each and every book and DVD that Alec gets he's going to be so very happy. Hopefully, I'll get to the point where I don't feel like my heart is being ripped out. After all, I love what he's doing. It's truly the most wonderful gift a parent can give to their child... the gift of themselves.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Go AWAY!!!
Aug 6, 2006
What was I thinking??
This is really difficult for me.
I need closure. I need to be able to deal with this so I can completely let go of my past.
Here's the thing. I've always considered myself an open-minded, well adjusted sort of person. I know I've been through a lot of "difficult" things but this experience that you are about to read is probably one of the worst. I lost myself. Keep your mind open while reading this, even though it's a lot of information there is still so much more. If anyone ever has any questions, please feel free to ask. I'm not ashamed anymore.
In 1998 I met a man we'll name "M". When I first met him I thought he was a pretty cool guy. Attractive, quiet, mysterious. I found out about his past. He had come from a really tragic background, badly abused by his foster parents and I felt so bad for him. When we first began dating we argued a lot. I thought it was just a sign of all the passion we had for one another. The arguments escalated pretty rapidly. He would get mad about the most trivial things; being unable to locate the remote control would send him into such a rage that he would punch the living room wall. After several months of dating, we split up. I couldn't deal with that kind of temper and I think he thought I nagged too much.
In December of 1999 we began dating again. I was in a really vulnerable place. My best friend, Danielle had been murdered earlier that year and I was having a lot of trouble finding my place in the world without her. "M" had known my friend, and I thought he would be able to help me deal with the loss. I moved in with him. The arguments started right away. Now, I'm sure that I probably fueled some of the fire, but he would get really nasty. He had a history of cutting himself, and when we would get into really big fights, he would slash open his arm. One time I even had to take him to the Emergency room. He didn't just reserve his anger for hurting himself. He shoved me a lot, called me a bitch, was really ugly. Once in our 1st apartment he shoved me into the wall when a nail was sticking out and it went into my forehead.
Now, I'm not stupid. I've volunteered for women's shelters, and I knew I was in an abusive relationship, I just didn't know how to get out of it. I felt horrible about his past. I'd found out that when he was a child he tried to hang himself when he was told he was adopted. He was really badly beaten by his foster father, and I thought that there had to be a way of helping him become healthy again. If I just loved him enough, he could become the man I thought he could be. I should have known better.
After a year of living together "M" told me a secret. We had just come home from Insurrection in Atlanta, and I'd thought we'd had a blast looking at all the porno mags and what not. He sat me down and told me he felt dirty and ashamed. Crying, he told me about a secret fetish of his. "M" liked to wear diapers. I didn't know what to say. I was shocked, but confused. I don't know if I was ever in love with him, but I certainly know that I did love him. How do you respond to a secret like that? Was I supposed to pack up all my things and move out immediately? Part of me definitely wanted to, but then I also felt I could maybe help him work through this. See, in my mind, I felt he just wanted the comfort of being a child that was safe and loved. I knew that he had never gotten that from his childhood, and thought maybe I could see this as a form of self-therapy. I listened to him, and tried not to judge what he was telling me.
Time went by and "M" wanted me to now join him in his fetish. He wanted me to be the babysitter or the mommy in his sexual fantasies. He bought pacifiers, bottles, wipes, baby powder and of course diapers. He wasnt happy with adult types, he would buy the childrens kind and tape two together. He liked the rustling sound that the baby kind made. I was grossed out, but I didn't know what to do. Im a sexual being, and I'd engaged in fantasy role-playing in the past, so I just tried to go with it. I thought weird sex was better than no sex at all. Eventually he exposed more of his secret sexual life. I had noticed that my panties were sometimes missing, and I wouldn't be able to find certain clothes of mine. I confronted him and he confessed to cross dressing. Again, I was freaked out. I was seeing a therapist at the time, and she told me that perhaps "M" was just expressing his feminine side. For instance, if he had come home from worked and hugged a teddy bear would I be disgusted with that? I don't believe the comparison was fair, but I still tried to work around it. "M" started wearing the panties under his work clothes. He felt it helped him when he was at work stay close to Michelle (his pseudonym female personality.)
He still continued to be abusive. One night after some really heavy drinking, he attempted to have sex with me. Of course, now, I never felt like a sexual being. How can you when the man you're with looks better in lingerie than you do? Also, Im definitely not a lesbian. I didn't want to make out with a man wearing women's clothing and makeup. Anyway, when he came on to me, I tried to avoid his advances. One thing led to another that night, and I remembered him holding me down, me laying on the bed, his knees on my chest while I was crying. I got away for a little bit and he slammed me into a post in the living room, leaving a huge bruise on my arm. He pushed me back on the bed and head butted me. I dont remember the rest of what happened that night, it was a blur. The next day he cried and told me how sorry he was. He hadn't meant to hurt me, if I would just take him back he promised he would never again hit me. Like a fool, I believed him. To make things up to me, he would take me to Savannah, my favorite place in the world. Things were actually ok on that trip, but when we got back home, we wound up getting in another fight and he punched me in the face, blacking my eye. I called into work sick the next day. I told everyone I had gotten sick from some bad shrimp and while throwing up I had blacked my own eye.
I left him that week. I went to Atlanta and stayed with my friend Ryan. (He was the only person who ever knew what happened during the relationship.) "M" called me constantly, showed up at my work, left flowers on my car, and finally when he couldnt get a response from me, called me telling me he was going to kill himself. I left work and came to our apartment. He was laying in a full tub of hot water with long vertical gashes running down both his arms. He was bleeding a lot. When I left him that night I was deeply confused. I didn't want to be responsible for his suicide, but I never wanted to get hit again. That night I went out with an old friend. He told me he was dying. He was really sick, and didn't know how to handle it. I cried, not wanting to lose another friend and called "M" to talk about it. He asked me to come over, telling me he had started going to anger management. I moved back in. (I know, I'm a fool!) A week later I found out that he wasnt telling the truth. He hadn't gone to therapy at all. He had tried, but felt embarrassed, so he backed out of it.
A couple of weeks later we moved out of our apartment into a much nicer one. I felt like we could make a fresh start. For the next couple of weeks, it seemed like real progress. He had promised me that he wasnt going to wear panties anymore, and the whole diaper thing seemed like an old nightmare. One night, however when we were cleaning house together, we got into a fight. I had asked him to hand me a roll of trash bags and instead of handing them to me, he through them at me with such force that it whacked me on my back and left a huge whelp. I started crying and yelling at him, and he ran into the kitchen and stomped on my toes. I got away from him and grabbed one of his belts that was laying on the floor and started swinging it around me in a defensive maneuver. I didnt want him to get close to me. Of course, he still came at me, and when I hit him with the belt he reached to the floor and grabbed a boot of mine. He hit me on the head with it. All of a sudden my head felt wet. I ran into the bathroom, screaming and he followed me in there apologizing. He claimed to have felt like I was his father with the belt, and he said he just freaked out. I probably needed stitches, but I was too embarrassed to go to the ER.
After that, I know I should have left him for good, but again, I felt like he was just lashing out because of his messed up past. I tried to see the good in him, tried to make things work, but it was hard. "M" started with the cross dressing again. I would come home (he was supposed to pick me up, but would invariably have passed out, leaving me to catch a ride with co-workers) and find him sleeping on the bed with remnants of mascara around his eyes. I would yell at him to wake up and he would rush to the bathroom to clean himself. I started finding other bizarre things, too. My tampons would go missing. I later found out he was using them on himself. I found receipts for underwear, and vibrators that I knew didnt belong to me. I found my computer toner had been run out when I hadnt printed anything. He had been going to cross dressing web sites and printing out pictures of the she-males on there. Then, I found my diary next to his porno magazines. I was going crazy. How is anyone supposed to live like that? Every time I would try to leave him he would tell me I was being unsupportive and judgmental. He would call me "vanilla" and tell me I was close-minded. I tried to tell him that his lifestyle choice was fine for him, but not for me and how dare he try to make it? He wanted me to become his mistress. He wanted me to lay down the law and boss him around. He wanted to give me his paychecks and make me in charge of everything. He wanted me to yell at him and call him names, humiliate him. The f*cked up thing is, I tried it. I started hitting him all the time now. In my head it was payback. He didnt clean up the kitchen like I had asked him to? I would beat him with clothes hangers. In my mind I knew how wrong it was, but I was so very angry. I hated him for making me something that I wasn;t. I hated him for hitting me. I hated him for hurting me. I hated him for making me feel sorry for him.
I would come home to weirder and weirder situations. He started shaving his legs and underarms. One night I came home and found him in a reverse eagle position using a vibrator on himself. I also came home to find him vacuuming the house in a French maid uniform. I remember being dull to that sort of thing, but still being in shock that he didn't have the decency to close the blinds. For everything that I was going through, I didn't want anyone else to know. I felt like they would judge me. Think I was a sick person for staying through all that crap. In my mind I made justifications. He had been abused when his sister hadn't so maybe he thought women were treated better and thats why he wanted to be one. How could I explain that to someone else?
Finally, I grew sick and tired of all the crap. I was sick of yelling all the time. I was sick of being pushed into the walls of our apartment. I was sick of being called a bitch. I was sick of making excuses to my family and the few friends I had left. I was sick of being sad. I was sick of trying to explain to him that we in fact, did NOT have a healthy relationship. I tried to get him into counseling. Nothing worked. One night I had a dream about a man that I had been in love with for a very long time. I saw myself happy. I didnt know how to get to that place, but I knew I had to try. I had given up on myself. I no longer believed in me and I was absolutely miserable. I had gained so much weight, stopped wearing makeup, and had begun dressing in baggy clothes. I now know that those are the symptoms of someone who is depressed and beat down.
I left "M" in April of 2004. Of course, he never understood why I left. I didn't leave him for someone else, even though he thought I did, and I'm now in a happy healthy relationship. He hates me now. He thinks I'm the one responsible for all of his pain. I know I'm not. I don't put up with bullshit anymore.
I stick up for me.
If you have ever been abused, know someone who has, or know someone who knows someone please tell them it is never to late to leave. I can't tell you how many times I felt alone, scared, and fearing for my safety. Forward them my blog. Trust me, if I can come through this and still retain my dignity, anyone can.
Thank you for reading this.
What was I thinking??
This is really difficult for me.
I need closure. I need to be able to deal with this so I can completely let go of my past.
Here's the thing. I've always considered myself an open-minded, well adjusted sort of person. I know I've been through a lot of "difficult" things but this experience that you are about to read is probably one of the worst. I lost myself. Keep your mind open while reading this, even though it's a lot of information there is still so much more. If anyone ever has any questions, please feel free to ask. I'm not ashamed anymore.
In 1998 I met a man we'll name "M". When I first met him I thought he was a pretty cool guy. Attractive, quiet, mysterious. I found out about his past. He had come from a really tragic background, badly abused by his foster parents and I felt so bad for him. When we first began dating we argued a lot. I thought it was just a sign of all the passion we had for one another. The arguments escalated pretty rapidly. He would get mad about the most trivial things; being unable to locate the remote control would send him into such a rage that he would punch the living room wall. After several months of dating, we split up. I couldn't deal with that kind of temper and I think he thought I nagged too much.
In December of 1999 we began dating again. I was in a really vulnerable place. My best friend, Danielle had been murdered earlier that year and I was having a lot of trouble finding my place in the world without her. "M" had known my friend, and I thought he would be able to help me deal with the loss. I moved in with him. The arguments started right away. Now, I'm sure that I probably fueled some of the fire, but he would get really nasty. He had a history of cutting himself, and when we would get into really big fights, he would slash open his arm. One time I even had to take him to the Emergency room. He didn't just reserve his anger for hurting himself. He shoved me a lot, called me a bitch, was really ugly. Once in our 1st apartment he shoved me into the wall when a nail was sticking out and it went into my forehead.
Now, I'm not stupid. I've volunteered for women's shelters, and I knew I was in an abusive relationship, I just didn't know how to get out of it. I felt horrible about his past. I'd found out that when he was a child he tried to hang himself when he was told he was adopted. He was really badly beaten by his foster father, and I thought that there had to be a way of helping him become healthy again. If I just loved him enough, he could become the man I thought he could be. I should have known better.
After a year of living together "M" told me a secret. We had just come home from Insurrection in Atlanta, and I'd thought we'd had a blast looking at all the porno mags and what not. He sat me down and told me he felt dirty and ashamed. Crying, he told me about a secret fetish of his. "M" liked to wear diapers. I didn't know what to say. I was shocked, but confused. I don't know if I was ever in love with him, but I certainly know that I did love him. How do you respond to a secret like that? Was I supposed to pack up all my things and move out immediately? Part of me definitely wanted to, but then I also felt I could maybe help him work through this. See, in my mind, I felt he just wanted the comfort of being a child that was safe and loved. I knew that he had never gotten that from his childhood, and thought maybe I could see this as a form of self-therapy. I listened to him, and tried not to judge what he was telling me.
Time went by and "M" wanted me to now join him in his fetish. He wanted me to be the babysitter or the mommy in his sexual fantasies. He bought pacifiers, bottles, wipes, baby powder and of course diapers. He wasnt happy with adult types, he would buy the childrens kind and tape two together. He liked the rustling sound that the baby kind made. I was grossed out, but I didn't know what to do. Im a sexual being, and I'd engaged in fantasy role-playing in the past, so I just tried to go with it. I thought weird sex was better than no sex at all. Eventually he exposed more of his secret sexual life. I had noticed that my panties were sometimes missing, and I wouldn't be able to find certain clothes of mine. I confronted him and he confessed to cross dressing. Again, I was freaked out. I was seeing a therapist at the time, and she told me that perhaps "M" was just expressing his feminine side. For instance, if he had come home from worked and hugged a teddy bear would I be disgusted with that? I don't believe the comparison was fair, but I still tried to work around it. "M" started wearing the panties under his work clothes. He felt it helped him when he was at work stay close to Michelle (his pseudonym female personality.)
He still continued to be abusive. One night after some really heavy drinking, he attempted to have sex with me. Of course, now, I never felt like a sexual being. How can you when the man you're with looks better in lingerie than you do? Also, Im definitely not a lesbian. I didn't want to make out with a man wearing women's clothing and makeup. Anyway, when he came on to me, I tried to avoid his advances. One thing led to another that night, and I remembered him holding me down, me laying on the bed, his knees on my chest while I was crying. I got away for a little bit and he slammed me into a post in the living room, leaving a huge bruise on my arm. He pushed me back on the bed and head butted me. I dont remember the rest of what happened that night, it was a blur. The next day he cried and told me how sorry he was. He hadn't meant to hurt me, if I would just take him back he promised he would never again hit me. Like a fool, I believed him. To make things up to me, he would take me to Savannah, my favorite place in the world. Things were actually ok on that trip, but when we got back home, we wound up getting in another fight and he punched me in the face, blacking my eye. I called into work sick the next day. I told everyone I had gotten sick from some bad shrimp and while throwing up I had blacked my own eye.
I left him that week. I went to Atlanta and stayed with my friend Ryan. (He was the only person who ever knew what happened during the relationship.) "M" called me constantly, showed up at my work, left flowers on my car, and finally when he couldnt get a response from me, called me telling me he was going to kill himself. I left work and came to our apartment. He was laying in a full tub of hot water with long vertical gashes running down both his arms. He was bleeding a lot. When I left him that night I was deeply confused. I didn't want to be responsible for his suicide, but I never wanted to get hit again. That night I went out with an old friend. He told me he was dying. He was really sick, and didn't know how to handle it. I cried, not wanting to lose another friend and called "M" to talk about it. He asked me to come over, telling me he had started going to anger management. I moved back in. (I know, I'm a fool!) A week later I found out that he wasnt telling the truth. He hadn't gone to therapy at all. He had tried, but felt embarrassed, so he backed out of it.
A couple of weeks later we moved out of our apartment into a much nicer one. I felt like we could make a fresh start. For the next couple of weeks, it seemed like real progress. He had promised me that he wasnt going to wear panties anymore, and the whole diaper thing seemed like an old nightmare. One night, however when we were cleaning house together, we got into a fight. I had asked him to hand me a roll of trash bags and instead of handing them to me, he through them at me with such force that it whacked me on my back and left a huge whelp. I started crying and yelling at him, and he ran into the kitchen and stomped on my toes. I got away from him and grabbed one of his belts that was laying on the floor and started swinging it around me in a defensive maneuver. I didnt want him to get close to me. Of course, he still came at me, and when I hit him with the belt he reached to the floor and grabbed a boot of mine. He hit me on the head with it. All of a sudden my head felt wet. I ran into the bathroom, screaming and he followed me in there apologizing. He claimed to have felt like I was his father with the belt, and he said he just freaked out. I probably needed stitches, but I was too embarrassed to go to the ER.
After that, I know I should have left him for good, but again, I felt like he was just lashing out because of his messed up past. I tried to see the good in him, tried to make things work, but it was hard. "M" started with the cross dressing again. I would come home (he was supposed to pick me up, but would invariably have passed out, leaving me to catch a ride with co-workers) and find him sleeping on the bed with remnants of mascara around his eyes. I would yell at him to wake up and he would rush to the bathroom to clean himself. I started finding other bizarre things, too. My tampons would go missing. I later found out he was using them on himself. I found receipts for underwear, and vibrators that I knew didnt belong to me. I found my computer toner had been run out when I hadnt printed anything. He had been going to cross dressing web sites and printing out pictures of the she-males on there. Then, I found my diary next to his porno magazines. I was going crazy. How is anyone supposed to live like that? Every time I would try to leave him he would tell me I was being unsupportive and judgmental. He would call me "vanilla" and tell me I was close-minded. I tried to tell him that his lifestyle choice was fine for him, but not for me and how dare he try to make it? He wanted me to become his mistress. He wanted me to lay down the law and boss him around. He wanted to give me his paychecks and make me in charge of everything. He wanted me to yell at him and call him names, humiliate him. The f*cked up thing is, I tried it. I started hitting him all the time now. In my head it was payback. He didnt clean up the kitchen like I had asked him to? I would beat him with clothes hangers. In my mind I knew how wrong it was, but I was so very angry. I hated him for making me something that I wasn;t. I hated him for hitting me. I hated him for hurting me. I hated him for making me feel sorry for him.
I would come home to weirder and weirder situations. He started shaving his legs and underarms. One night I came home and found him in a reverse eagle position using a vibrator on himself. I also came home to find him vacuuming the house in a French maid uniform. I remember being dull to that sort of thing, but still being in shock that he didn't have the decency to close the blinds. For everything that I was going through, I didn't want anyone else to know. I felt like they would judge me. Think I was a sick person for staying through all that crap. In my mind I made justifications. He had been abused when his sister hadn't so maybe he thought women were treated better and thats why he wanted to be one. How could I explain that to someone else?
Finally, I grew sick and tired of all the crap. I was sick of yelling all the time. I was sick of being pushed into the walls of our apartment. I was sick of being called a bitch. I was sick of making excuses to my family and the few friends I had left. I was sick of being sad. I was sick of trying to explain to him that we in fact, did NOT have a healthy relationship. I tried to get him into counseling. Nothing worked. One night I had a dream about a man that I had been in love with for a very long time. I saw myself happy. I didnt know how to get to that place, but I knew I had to try. I had given up on myself. I no longer believed in me and I was absolutely miserable. I had gained so much weight, stopped wearing makeup, and had begun dressing in baggy clothes. I now know that those are the symptoms of someone who is depressed and beat down.
I left "M" in April of 2004. Of course, he never understood why I left. I didn't leave him for someone else, even though he thought I did, and I'm now in a happy healthy relationship. He hates me now. He thinks I'm the one responsible for all of his pain. I know I'm not. I don't put up with bullshit anymore.
I stick up for me.
If you have ever been abused, know someone who has, or know someone who knows someone please tell them it is never to late to leave. I can't tell you how many times I felt alone, scared, and fearing for my safety. Forward them my blog. Trust me, if I can come through this and still retain my dignity, anyone can.
Thank you for reading this.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Mama told me there'd be days like this
Today sucks.
My anxiety levels are through the roof. I feel worried, suspicious, and slightly desperate. I don't think that any one thing has triggered this; this is hitting me from multiple angles.
I'm trying to reassure myself that it's just the Wellbutrin. I know that it can initially create some anxiety before it starts working properly.
I tried to sweat out the agitation but that didn't work. Now I'm just sitting at the computer, eating pistachios, and hoping that I hear from Jeff soon.
My anxiety levels are through the roof. I feel worried, suspicious, and slightly desperate. I don't think that any one thing has triggered this; this is hitting me from multiple angles.
I'm trying to reassure myself that it's just the Wellbutrin. I know that it can initially create some anxiety before it starts working properly.
I tried to sweat out the agitation but that didn't work. Now I'm just sitting at the computer, eating pistachios, and hoping that I hear from Jeff soon.
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