My mother died January 25, 2015. I found out about my mother’s passing two weeks later when I received an email from the bank. I don’t know if I could ever verbalize the turmoil that went on, that still goes on, inside my head.
I had shed a tear for my father but I bawled over my mother’s death.
My mother had been in my life much more often than my father but it was volatile. My father’s abuse was obvious but my mother had me fooled. Don’t get me wrong, there were times when the abuse was self-evident but she was a masterful manipulator and could pull my strings with just a few words. She had me fight her battles for her, endure the wrath of my father for her, carry the blame for a multitude of the family’s sins and all while having me convinced she was the only one in the world who was on my side.
In short, my mother hurt me more than any other abuser in my life. I trusted her more and longer than anyone else and she, in turn, betrayed me at every chance. My realization of this fact was fairly new when I found out about my mother’s passing so I was still very angry with her at the time. I hadn’t had the years of dealing with our relationship the way I had with my father.
I loved my mother. When she was good...she came across as an awesome person. When she wasn’t good...she did things a mother should never do.
Betrayal is the one and only word that continuously comes to mind.
And all that anger? It’s still there. However, for the first time in my life it’s a good thing and here’s why.
Since the day I found out about my mother’s passing, I have been trying to romanticize her and our relationship. There’s this saying, “Don’t speak ill of the dead.” That’s nice and all but it was unfair in my case. To gloss over the things she did invalidated the decisions I made in order to deal with her.
Basically it came down to this, if my mom was so great then why did I end all contact with her? Why did I feel so much anger for her? Why wasn’t I there for her?
This thought process halted both my healing and grieving process.
I love my mom but she was a monster who, depending on what she needed from me, was either a charming human being or my worst, living nightmare. To have a relationship with her I had to purposely try to forget the things she had done to me. It wasn’t healthy then and it isn’t healthy now.
The fact is, I can still love my mom and be mad at her at the same time. Humans are complicated creatures that way. I can forgive those who have committed crimes against me but not wish to be around them. My mother and father’s family can be angry with me for doing what I had to do but the fact is, when a child is abused and the rest of the family refuses to get involved, they emotionally abandon that child.
And for those of us who have lost someone who was abusive to us - it’s okay to hate them a little for a little while. It’s okay that your memory of them isn’t as pleasant as others’ memories of them. It’s okay for an abusive person’s loved ones to be angry with us; it’s their stunted way of avoiding their grief or protecting their memory.
It’s also okay to still love them no matter what they did as long as we understand we must always love ourselves enough to stand up and say, “I do not deserve this,” and walk away.
And...It’s also not only okay but absolutely imperative that we remember them exactly as they were; not because we’re holding on to the pain but because we need to remember why we made the choices we made.
Now I can grieve my mother’s passing the way I should have a year ago.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Romancing the Tombstones (part 1)
Over a year ago my father passed away. Then two months later, my mother passed. Of course, I did not find out about my mother’s death until two weeks later when her bank contacted me. I thought it was one of those spam emails but it had too many details to ignore so I called them. Sure enough...while this woman on the other end of the line prattled on and on, my mind reeled with the realization that my mother had been gone from this earth for two weeks...
...and I didn’t know.
Finding out about her death in this way hindered my already-screwed-up grieving process. Everyone grieves in their own way but for those of us who have suffered at the hands of the deceased, it’s difficult and even more so when a cease fire had never been called.
When my father passed we hadn’t seen each other in over sixteen years and had rarely spoken. He had never shown remorse for the things he had done which ranged from raping me to telling everyone I was crazy (so they wouldn’t believe me when I told on him) to trying to convince me to kill myself.
In a way, I had already mourned my father’s passing in small increments ever since I realized he would never be any kind of a father to me. Still, when I received the phone call saying he was in the hospital and not expected to make it I struggled with whether or not to visit him.
My internal dialogue went something like this -
Why did I have to visit my dad?
Because it was the right thing to do.
Why is it considered the right thing to do? No one would ask the victim of rape to visit their rapist if he was on his death bed but because my rapist was my father there are special circumstances? No! He shouldn’t have raped me because he was my father. Because he was my father, he shouldn’t have lied about it thereby destroying any chance for me of having a relationship with anyone else in the family.
However, none of that matters now. He’s dying.
How did that change anything? The fact is, nothing changed with my father dying except he could no longer directly hurt me and he no longer had to endure me as his daughter.
Over the next few days I would read messages of support from those who were still in my father’s life and it was like taking a bullet each and every time. My father was not that man to me.
Why not? Why did I get the bad version of my father when everyone else seemed to get a good one?
The next morning, after a restless night, I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. My Morning Glories were in full bloom and breath taking. I felt grateful for my husband and kids and dogs. I felt grateful for my simple life. Then I realized - at that moment in time - did any of it matter?
At the end of my father’s life what good did holding on to these thoughts do?
I had always told myself that I had already forgiven my father but in that moment I found myself asking God to forgive him. That was when I knew what it meant to truly forgive.
Now, other than the occasional visitation of an unwanted memory, I’m in a good place regarding my father.
This did not happen with my mother.
(to be continued...)
...and I didn’t know.
Finding out about her death in this way hindered my already-screwed-up grieving process. Everyone grieves in their own way but for those of us who have suffered at the hands of the deceased, it’s difficult and even more so when a cease fire had never been called.
When my father passed we hadn’t seen each other in over sixteen years and had rarely spoken. He had never shown remorse for the things he had done which ranged from raping me to telling everyone I was crazy (so they wouldn’t believe me when I told on him) to trying to convince me to kill myself.
In a way, I had already mourned my father’s passing in small increments ever since I realized he would never be any kind of a father to me. Still, when I received the phone call saying he was in the hospital and not expected to make it I struggled with whether or not to visit him.
My internal dialogue went something like this -
Why did I have to visit my dad?
Because it was the right thing to do.
Why is it considered the right thing to do? No one would ask the victim of rape to visit their rapist if he was on his death bed but because my rapist was my father there are special circumstances? No! He shouldn’t have raped me because he was my father. Because he was my father, he shouldn’t have lied about it thereby destroying any chance for me of having a relationship with anyone else in the family.
However, none of that matters now. He’s dying.
How did that change anything? The fact is, nothing changed with my father dying except he could no longer directly hurt me and he no longer had to endure me as his daughter.
Over the next few days I would read messages of support from those who were still in my father’s life and it was like taking a bullet each and every time. My father was not that man to me.
Why not? Why did I get the bad version of my father when everyone else seemed to get a good one?
The next morning, after a restless night, I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. My Morning Glories were in full bloom and breath taking. I felt grateful for my husband and kids and dogs. I felt grateful for my simple life. Then I realized - at that moment in time - did any of it matter?
At the end of my father’s life what good did holding on to these thoughts do?
I had always told myself that I had already forgiven my father but in that moment I found myself asking God to forgive him. That was when I knew what it meant to truly forgive.
Now, other than the occasional visitation of an unwanted memory, I’m in a good place regarding my father.
This did not happen with my mother.
(to be continued...)
Friday, September 28, 2012
Venting vaguely and venomously
If you spend 10 years telling me you hear voices that tell you to cut
yourself to let them out and to kill people or they will kill you...you
cannot be pissed off when I hold you accountable for the things you say
by not trusting you.
If you tell me that not only are you attracted to 12 year olds, you fantasize and write about them and even blame them for the way you feel toward them...you cannot be angry when I break all contact with you.
Did you think I was going to reward you for your honesty? Nope. I knew all along. I even reported you to the police once. But you telling me and thinking I wasn't going to do anything about it was your way of trying to get me to trust you in some sick way. "I told you my vices. I was honest. Now let me have access to your children."
You also told me because you knew no one would believe me if I told. I can't help anyone in the family anymore but I can help my own.
The reason I have been considered disabled is because more than one therapist says I have PTSD and once triggered am dangerous. I am an extremely nice person but if you mess with one of my kids I swear I will make Rambo look like a toddler playing with dolls. I will not regret one moment of it. In fact I will relish the ability to express all the anger for all the sick things the family put me through. To me...once you commit that kind of crime...you no longer exist as a human being. You're a monster from a late night movie.
If you tell me that not only are you attracted to 12 year olds, you fantasize and write about them and even blame them for the way you feel toward them...you cannot be angry when I break all contact with you.
Did you think I was going to reward you for your honesty? Nope. I knew all along. I even reported you to the police once. But you telling me and thinking I wasn't going to do anything about it was your way of trying to get me to trust you in some sick way. "I told you my vices. I was honest. Now let me have access to your children."
You also told me because you knew no one would believe me if I told. I can't help anyone in the family anymore but I can help my own.
The reason I have been considered disabled is because more than one therapist says I have PTSD and once triggered am dangerous. I am an extremely nice person but if you mess with one of my kids I swear I will make Rambo look like a toddler playing with dolls. I will not regret one moment of it. In fact I will relish the ability to express all the anger for all the sick things the family put me through. To me...once you commit that kind of crime...you no longer exist as a human being. You're a monster from a late night movie.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Smile on a dog...
Just rambling ramblers...writing what I think as I think it helps me work through things. :P
Is there something wrong with me for wanting to share my life with others? Is that a form of vanity? Am I desperately crying out to be understood and/or accepted? Is that vanity?
And why is the song, "What I Am" by Edie Brickell stuck in my head?
Oddly I find myself wanting to contact people to apologize for my side in our disagreements....but I have serious reservations about contacting anyone anymore because:
* I am expecting them to be in the same forgiving place at the same time I am. Not really reasonable...
* Even though I can lie to myself and say I'm not expecting anything in return eventually I'll be disappointed because I am expecting their forgiveness and friendship and maybe even different behavior from them in return...all in all, not really fair to them or myself.
* I constantly do this: I forgive people, let them back in my life but nothing has changed...not even that fact that I am allowing someone to walk all over me again.
* But...I hate the idea of becoming this cynical person who refuses to trust...who is afraid to trust.
I wish people could see how much damage an abuser in the family does: I mean the innocent are thrust in the middle of all of this...they have to choose sides and no one wants to believe that someone they love is an abuser...they'd rather believe the accuser is insane or a liar or perhaps, both.
I understand that. It smarts a little but I understand it. There are days when I am angry and bitter but they are becoming farther and fewer in between the days when I can empathize with those stuck in the middle...but no matter what, these people are responsible for the way they behave. If you treat me hatefully, no matter who you are trying to protect or your rationale, you are still treating me hatefully.
And I don't deserve that...basically I was abused and then abused by others for having the audacity to tell or for learning to have boundaries. Well...just a little bit of information on me...I will never, ever be bullied into silence. It didn't happen when I was a child and it sure as heck isn't going to happen now.
So, I may feel really bad for those who are stuck in the middle but that doesn't mean you get a free pass to treat someone badly...In fact you're really just a horse of another color to me.
...still a horse...just another color...
Someone earlier had posted something about loving your enemies.
What does that mean really?
I wonder every single day that if I had stood up to certain people earlier then maybe we'd all still be talking today. I mean by the time I stood up for myself they had already figured me to be the type to just keep taking their crap. It was shocking to them I believe when I told them I would not accept their abuse anymore.
Of course...they shouldn't have been behaving that way at all but could I have done something to get a different outcome? What would have happened if I stood up earlier? Would that have helped? Because in my mind I was "loving mine enemies." I was looking over the things said and done until I just couldn't take it anymore. I thought that eventually, through inaction, they would just give up and realize I wasn't going to leave Colin no matter what they did or said.
I thought they would realize I was worthy of Colin...of them...
But it didn't work at all...and I'm really freaking confused why I seem to rub certain people the wrong way so badly when I'm just trying to live a modest life with morals and integrity. All I ever wanted was family and I have it now. I really wish I could share that. I wish people knew me...I wish they knew me.
I don't think I should contact anyone. I don't think...well...to tell you the truth...I'm just tired of thinking about trying to fix things. It's exhausting.
(anyone know why all the lyrics sites have "choke" instead of "throw"? And if it is choke...um...why???? lol)
Is there something wrong with me for wanting to share my life with others? Is that a form of vanity? Am I desperately crying out to be understood and/or accepted? Is that vanity?
And why is the song, "What I Am" by Edie Brickell stuck in my head?
"Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks."
Oddly I find myself wanting to contact people to apologize for my side in our disagreements....but I have serious reservations about contacting anyone anymore because:
* I am expecting them to be in the same forgiving place at the same time I am. Not really reasonable...
* Even though I can lie to myself and say I'm not expecting anything in return eventually I'll be disappointed because I am expecting their forgiveness and friendship and maybe even different behavior from them in return...all in all, not really fair to them or myself.
* I constantly do this: I forgive people, let them back in my life but nothing has changed...not even that fact that I am allowing someone to walk all over me again.
* But...I hate the idea of becoming this cynical person who refuses to trust...who is afraid to trust.
"Religion is a light in the fog."
I wish people could see how much damage an abuser in the family does: I mean the innocent are thrust in the middle of all of this...they have to choose sides and no one wants to believe that someone they love is an abuser...they'd rather believe the accuser is insane or a liar or perhaps, both.
I understand that. It smarts a little but I understand it. There are days when I am angry and bitter but they are becoming farther and fewer in between the days when I can empathize with those stuck in the middle...but no matter what, these people are responsible for the way they behave. If you treat me hatefully, no matter who you are trying to protect or your rationale, you are still treating me hatefully.
And I don't deserve that...basically I was abused and then abused by others for having the audacity to tell or for learning to have boundaries. Well...just a little bit of information on me...I will never, ever be bullied into silence. It didn't happen when I was a child and it sure as heck isn't going to happen now.
So, I may feel really bad for those who are stuck in the middle but that doesn't mean you get a free pass to treat someone badly...In fact you're really just a horse of another color to me.
...still a horse...just another color...
"What I am is what I am
Are you what you are or what?"
Someone earlier had posted something about loving your enemies.
What does that mean really?
I wonder every single day that if I had stood up to certain people earlier then maybe we'd all still be talking today. I mean by the time I stood up for myself they had already figured me to be the type to just keep taking their crap. It was shocking to them I believe when I told them I would not accept their abuse anymore.
Of course...they shouldn't have been behaving that way at all but could I have done something to get a different outcome? What would have happened if I stood up earlier? Would that have helped? Because in my mind I was "loving mine enemies." I was looking over the things said and done until I just couldn't take it anymore. I thought that eventually, through inaction, they would just give up and realize I wasn't going to leave Colin no matter what they did or said.
I thought they would realize I was worthy of Colin...of them...
But it didn't work at all...and I'm really freaking confused why I seem to rub certain people the wrong way so badly when I'm just trying to live a modest life with morals and integrity. All I ever wanted was family and I have it now. I really wish I could share that. I wish people knew me...I wish they knew me.
I don't think I should contact anyone. I don't think...well...to tell you the truth...I'm just tired of thinking about trying to fix things. It's exhausting.
"Don't let me get too deep
Don't let me get too deep
Choke (throw) me in the shallow water
Before I get too deep"
(anyone know why all the lyrics sites have "choke" instead of "throw"? And if it is choke...um...why???? lol)
Monday, November 7, 2011
Sorry about the yiping
"Most people are so busy knocking themselves out trying to do everything they think they should do, they never get around to do what they want to do." – Kathleen Winsor
What is it about being a 'people pleaser' that seems to turn people into a pack of ravenous wolves and me their wounded prey? My desire to be liked and accepted is a gaping and bleeding gash I incurred during childhood abuse.
And yes, I am trying to 'get over it.' I spent ten proud years in therapy trying to 'get over it.' You don't get PTSD over 'spankings.' You don't have flashbacks of being told to go to bed.
Why does it seem to offend some people when I talk about the abuse or how I'm trying to deal with some aspect of it? How we were raised as children, the experiences we endured, molded us into the people we are today. I just happened to live through conditions that have made therapists physically sick. I am proud that I survived. I am proud of the creative ways I endured it and I am working on being proud of who I am today.
I have just spent so much time 'people pleasing'...a side effect of the grooming...that sometimes I really just don't know who I am or what I'm supposed to do or how to act in any given moment.
And that's my life - how is this person thinking or feeling? Are they angry with me? How do I fix it? This person hurt me; hurt them back. Now I'm a bad person.
See grooming is a form of brain washing. I have been told versions of reality other than my own. I have been told right after abuse that my injuries occurred in another way. I have not been allowed to feel hurt or sad or angry. I was only allowed to feel what I had permission to feel and any resistance was met with swift and harsh punishment.
Yes, to those who run with the wolf pack, I am considered an easy kill. It's true; I allow my wounds to be seen. I don't try to hide them anymore. I don't do this because I want your pity or attention. I do it because it's honest. I'm not hiding any part of myself anymore. I am wounded. I am flawed. It's taken me a long time to learn to love and trust. Being honest about what has happened or how I feel is something I do even though I am very frightened to do so.
Remember, I want to be liked. I'm looking for that acceptance I missed out on as a child. Obviously, that is an issue I need to work on and boy have I learned a lot these last ten years at the hands of those in Christian, Intellectual and "I just love her so much" (stab, stab, stab) clothing.
Still, honesty is priceless to me. No abuse can occur in a relationship that is honest. Nothing can fester in the light. Honesty is the light and I shine it on myself and the abuse for the world to see. Yes this happened and I'm not going to shut up about it because 1) I have to talk about it to heal and 2) my abusers are still, to this day, abusing me; telling me that it didn't happen. Telling me I remember it wrong. Telling me it was my fault. Telling others...a much more palatable version of what happened; Michelle is crazy. There is not a group of men in the family who prey on children. All the broken people in the family? They are all just sick. It's just a coincidence that they all mention they have been abused.
There are monsters but they aren't in our closets. They are in our family album. And my family shouldn't be pissed off at me for shining the light on them. They should be pissed off that I had to. Anyone talking 'loyalty' to me now is inadvertently shining a light on their own issues.
So, as you see, I am a fucked up person (sorry, no other word would fit)...but I'm trying really, really hard to not let that affect those around me. My faith, honesty and a heaping helping of humor has made my life really enjoyable. I still have issues I am working on but I am working on them. It's very hard for me to allow myself to be vulnerable and I have recently made some huge leaps of faith only to end up in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the hill with that pack of hungry wolves in sheep's clothing waiting for me.
So to the wolves, I may be easy prey but I guarantee you this; Deep down I am tough, stringy and resilient. With any justice at all, I'll give you gas and hemorrhoids for life but I will walk away from you.
I've already survived worse than you.
Still, I promise I'll try to work on my yiping. I bet it makes it hard to hear the television.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Ghosts of an ex-boyfriend and a naive me past
Bleh. I’ve been trying to sit here and write the story I’ve been working on but am being haunted by the ghost of a past boyfriend. I must write about what is going on in hopes I can finally put this shade to rest and continue the writing I actually enjoy.
I just don’t get it. It’s been twenty years. How on earth can someone rationalize seeing my Facebook page, congratulating me on my great marriage and family and then asking me for another chance?
Seriously. My mind cannot wrap around this one. “Hey. I see you got a great family and a happy marriage. I am still in love with you and would like you to give us another chance.” (I'm paraphrasing of course)
What? WHAT?!
What part of happily married did he not get? What a set of entitlements he has!
Am I doomed to have these odd experiences with even odder people over and over again? Do these things keep happening to me so I have things to write about? Or am I supposed to realize that life is just a joke and learn to roll with it?
I think I am supposed to roll with it. That or write one heck of an unbelievable story about my life and encounters.
When he first contacted me I was slightly upset but managed through it. I do not miss him; hadn’t thought of him. It was a bad relationship. I’m not just saying that because I’m suppose to. Bo was my first boyfriend after leaving home and all I did was move from one abusive relationship to another; from the frying pan into the fire so to speak.
It wasn’t until he made his recent claim on me that I lost it. I was so angry I could barely function. Colin and I argued. Actually, I argued. There was nothing for me to be angry with Colin about but I suddenly felt like he was treating me badly. I felt insecure and used. It took a while for me to realize that I was actually having a flashback of my relationship with Bo.
I cannot even write here what all went on between the two of us because it was just that violent and abusive. I wrote it out and read it to hubby who actually said he felt sick. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted some sort of revenge against him at some point but isn’t living a good life the best revenge?
I thought so. I really did. I thought after him seeing my page he’d go crawl back under the rock he came from but he didn’t. He said he wanted me back which pissed me off more than I thought was possible.
Why?
Because he made me feel like that 18 year old girl again who fell for all his stupid pick up lines and lies. Because I was transformed back there to a time I had never allowed myself to think about. I had to relive all of the crap I endured. He cheated, he lied, he beat me…he did worse.
And…I let him. I kept going back. I believe him when he said it was my fault. I believed him when he said I wasn’t good enough but maybe…someday.
I didn’t want to be reminded that I was once that girl.
But now I sit here with a different perspective. Writing IS my therapy.
I wrote about the abuse until most of the anger and sadness melted away. It wasn’t my fault that I chose to be in an abusive relationship. It was all I knew at that time. I am not the same person now. I have grown. He has no power over me anymore. I don’t need to feel ashamed. I need to feel proud that I did finally recognize the abuse and the fact that I deserved better. I need to feel proud that I moved on and grew into a better person.
So, what brought this topic up tonight? He sent out a video to me of a country song called, The Man I Want to Be. I have blocked him on Facebook and the two emails he’s written me to. I have also had to delete a mutual friend who, for some reason, believes I should give him a second chance regardless of the fact that I am happily married with kids. Our friends were the same way back then. Every time I tried to find refuge when Bo hit me, they would send me back or tell him where I was. It was like I was his property.
Then I realized that I haven’t listened to country music SINCE him. I had avoided the whole genre because it reminded me of that horrible time in my life. I stopped being that country girl to distance myself from the girl who allowed herself to be treated like that…no more horse rides, no more 4x4’s, no more guns, no more fishing, no more CB radios. It’s hard to believe I use to do all of that stuff. And all the people who knew me from then think that I am still that little girl lost…
I am not the same person.
I seem to learn the hard way. I seem to learn how to do something by learning what NOT to do. I thank Bo for teaching me everything a boyfriend shouldn’t be. I don’t personally think Bo ever loved me but my husband says he believes he did. All I know is that if I loved someone who was obviously happy with someone else I would not tell them I loved them and wanted another chance. That is a selfish act and proves to me that Bo is still the same old Bo.
And now…I want to share the last encounter I had with Bo because, to me, it was poetic.
Bo was always able to just call me and I’d come running even if I had work or a date or whatever. These encounters became less and less frequent as I realized what kind of person he was. When he called in 94 I had not seen him in since 89 when we officially broke up.
He invited me for drinks. That was his subtle way of getting me there for sex. I entered the bar fully intending on having sex with him. We were, for lack of a better phrase, f**k buddies. They call it hooking up now. I prefer “hooking up” to the other because there was nothing buddy, buddy about it.
I walked in the bar and sat down beside him. I ordered my Jack Daniels and we talked. He used all the same old tired lines he had used on me from the very beginning. Nothing had changed. There was a voice inside my head screaming for me to leave. I decided to try something. “Bo if you can answer one question I’ll leave this bar with you, go anywhere you like and do whatever it is you want. What is my middle name?” He had to know it. We dated on and off for years. I lived with him twice.
“What?”
“What is my middle name?”
He starts laughing and stalling. “I bet you don’t know my mi…”
“Wayne.” I knew a lot about him.
He obviously didn’t know my middle name. I gave him another chance. I couldn't believe I had been involved with a man for all those years when he couldn’t even tell me my middle name.
“What’s my birth date?
There was more laughter as he started naming off zodiac signs and dates. “How ‘bout a month? Can you give me a month?” At this point I was becoming very angry with myself.
No. He couldn’t.
“What’s my birthdate?”
“July 13” I answered him again but I didn't feel smug. I finally felt the full of force of being an idiot sleeping with a guy who would never, ever love me.
He looked like he didn’t know what to say. I placed a five dollar bill on the bar for my drink and hopped off the bar stool. He grabbed my arm. “Where ya going?” He said this laughingly but there was that old, stern warning promising bad things if I didn’t do as he said. I had already decided I would never see him again after this night.
No more hook ups.
“I’m leaving. Until just now I actually thought you gave a shit about me.”
“Sit back down.” He was using his ‘angry eyes’. This form of intimidation use to work on me.
“Good bye Williams.” I yanked my arm from him. There was no way he'd make a scene in the bar. I think he was also jolted because I stood up to him and turned him down for sex.
With that I made my movie exit. I never looked back. I weaved through the tables until I got to the door. I gave it a huge push and felt like I was reborn when the fresh air from the parking lot hit me. It was the goodbye I had always wanted with him and it is the moment I will hang on to because it’s the most clear picture of our relationship.
I just don’t get it. It’s been twenty years. How on earth can someone rationalize seeing my Facebook page, congratulating me on my great marriage and family and then asking me for another chance?
Seriously. My mind cannot wrap around this one. “Hey. I see you got a great family and a happy marriage. I am still in love with you and would like you to give us another chance.” (I'm paraphrasing of course)
What? WHAT?!
What part of happily married did he not get? What a set of entitlements he has!
Am I doomed to have these odd experiences with even odder people over and over again? Do these things keep happening to me so I have things to write about? Or am I supposed to realize that life is just a joke and learn to roll with it?
I think I am supposed to roll with it. That or write one heck of an unbelievable story about my life and encounters.
When he first contacted me I was slightly upset but managed through it. I do not miss him; hadn’t thought of him. It was a bad relationship. I’m not just saying that because I’m suppose to. Bo was my first boyfriend after leaving home and all I did was move from one abusive relationship to another; from the frying pan into the fire so to speak.
It wasn’t until he made his recent claim on me that I lost it. I was so angry I could barely function. Colin and I argued. Actually, I argued. There was nothing for me to be angry with Colin about but I suddenly felt like he was treating me badly. I felt insecure and used. It took a while for me to realize that I was actually having a flashback of my relationship with Bo.
I cannot even write here what all went on between the two of us because it was just that violent and abusive. I wrote it out and read it to hubby who actually said he felt sick. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted some sort of revenge against him at some point but isn’t living a good life the best revenge?
I thought so. I really did. I thought after him seeing my page he’d go crawl back under the rock he came from but he didn’t. He said he wanted me back which pissed me off more than I thought was possible.
Why?
Because he made me feel like that 18 year old girl again who fell for all his stupid pick up lines and lies. Because I was transformed back there to a time I had never allowed myself to think about. I had to relive all of the crap I endured. He cheated, he lied, he beat me…he did worse.
And…I let him. I kept going back. I believe him when he said it was my fault. I believed him when he said I wasn’t good enough but maybe…someday.
I didn’t want to be reminded that I was once that girl.
But now I sit here with a different perspective. Writing IS my therapy.
I wrote about the abuse until most of the anger and sadness melted away. It wasn’t my fault that I chose to be in an abusive relationship. It was all I knew at that time. I am not the same person now. I have grown. He has no power over me anymore. I don’t need to feel ashamed. I need to feel proud that I did finally recognize the abuse and the fact that I deserved better. I need to feel proud that I moved on and grew into a better person.
So, what brought this topic up tonight? He sent out a video to me of a country song called, The Man I Want to Be. I have blocked him on Facebook and the two emails he’s written me to. I have also had to delete a mutual friend who, for some reason, believes I should give him a second chance regardless of the fact that I am happily married with kids. Our friends were the same way back then. Every time I tried to find refuge when Bo hit me, they would send me back or tell him where I was. It was like I was his property.
Then I realized that I haven’t listened to country music SINCE him. I had avoided the whole genre because it reminded me of that horrible time in my life. I stopped being that country girl to distance myself from the girl who allowed herself to be treated like that…no more horse rides, no more 4x4’s, no more guns, no more fishing, no more CB radios. It’s hard to believe I use to do all of that stuff. And all the people who knew me from then think that I am still that little girl lost…
I am not the same person.
I seem to learn the hard way. I seem to learn how to do something by learning what NOT to do. I thank Bo for teaching me everything a boyfriend shouldn’t be. I don’t personally think Bo ever loved me but my husband says he believes he did. All I know is that if I loved someone who was obviously happy with someone else I would not tell them I loved them and wanted another chance. That is a selfish act and proves to me that Bo is still the same old Bo.
And now…I want to share the last encounter I had with Bo because, to me, it was poetic.
Bo was always able to just call me and I’d come running even if I had work or a date or whatever. These encounters became less and less frequent as I realized what kind of person he was. When he called in 94 I had not seen him in since 89 when we officially broke up.
He invited me for drinks. That was his subtle way of getting me there for sex. I entered the bar fully intending on having sex with him. We were, for lack of a better phrase, f**k buddies. They call it hooking up now. I prefer “hooking up” to the other because there was nothing buddy, buddy about it.
I walked in the bar and sat down beside him. I ordered my Jack Daniels and we talked. He used all the same old tired lines he had used on me from the very beginning. Nothing had changed. There was a voice inside my head screaming for me to leave. I decided to try something. “Bo if you can answer one question I’ll leave this bar with you, go anywhere you like and do whatever it is you want. What is my middle name?” He had to know it. We dated on and off for years. I lived with him twice.
“What?”
“What is my middle name?”
He starts laughing and stalling. “I bet you don’t know my mi…”
“Wayne.” I knew a lot about him.
He obviously didn’t know my middle name. I gave him another chance. I couldn't believe I had been involved with a man for all those years when he couldn’t even tell me my middle name.
“What’s my birth date?
There was more laughter as he started naming off zodiac signs and dates. “How ‘bout a month? Can you give me a month?” At this point I was becoming very angry with myself.
No. He couldn’t.
“What’s my birthdate?”
“July 13” I answered him again but I didn't feel smug. I finally felt the full of force of being an idiot sleeping with a guy who would never, ever love me.
He looked like he didn’t know what to say. I placed a five dollar bill on the bar for my drink and hopped off the bar stool. He grabbed my arm. “Where ya going?” He said this laughingly but there was that old, stern warning promising bad things if I didn’t do as he said. I had already decided I would never see him again after this night.
No more hook ups.
“I’m leaving. Until just now I actually thought you gave a shit about me.”
“Sit back down.” He was using his ‘angry eyes’. This form of intimidation use to work on me.
“Good bye Williams.” I yanked my arm from him. There was no way he'd make a scene in the bar. I think he was also jolted because I stood up to him and turned him down for sex.
With that I made my movie exit. I never looked back. I weaved through the tables until I got to the door. I gave it a huge push and felt like I was reborn when the fresh air from the parking lot hit me. It was the goodbye I had always wanted with him and it is the moment I will hang on to because it’s the most clear picture of our relationship.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Just pretend
Hubby and I are sitting at the dining room table.
Me: You didn’t call me today.
Hubby: What?
Me: You didn’t call me today for break or lunch.
Hubby: (Scoots his chair over close and whispers in my ear) I’m not at work today. (He then scoots his chair back)
Me: I know but you still didn’t call me.
Hubby: (Scoots his chair close and whispers in my ear again) I know. That’s ‘cause I’m not at work today. (He scoot his chair back)
Me: You still didn’t call me. You could just pretend.
Hubby: Fine. Ring, ring, ring.
Me: That’s not your ring.
Hubby: Ring, ring, ring.
Me: THAT’S NOT YOUR RING! WHO THE *%$@ IS THIS? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY HUSBAND?!
(Hubby loses it)
Me: (Singing Hubby’s ringtone for me) I do, want you to know I hold you up above everyone.
Hubby: Hello?
Me: Hi Baby. How are you?
Hubby: Why are you calling me at work?
Me: (Scoots my chair over to Hubby and whispers in his ear) You're not at work today.
*This is how Hubby and I play around. :)
Me: You didn’t call me today.
Hubby: What?
Me: You didn’t call me today for break or lunch.
Hubby: (Scoots his chair over close and whispers in my ear) I’m not at work today. (He then scoots his chair back)
Me: I know but you still didn’t call me.
Hubby: (Scoots his chair close and whispers in my ear again) I know. That’s ‘cause I’m not at work today. (He scoot his chair back)
Me: You still didn’t call me. You could just pretend.
Hubby: Fine. Ring, ring, ring.
Me: That’s not your ring.
Hubby: Ring, ring, ring.
Me: THAT’S NOT YOUR RING! WHO THE *%$@ IS THIS? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY HUSBAND?!
(Hubby loses it)
Me: (Singing Hubby’s ringtone for me) I do, want you to know I hold you up above everyone.
Hubby: Hello?
Me: Hi Baby. How are you?
Hubby: Why are you calling me at work?
Me: (Scoots my chair over to Hubby and whispers in his ear) You're not at work today.
*This is how Hubby and I play around. :)
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