May 17

The Problem with Monsters

Sunday I cut all ties with my ex. I can still e-mail him but there is no way to erase the email address from my mind. He could e-mail me or leave comments on the site if he wanted to but I have done all that I know to do to move on. It sucks. It is painful. It is lonely. I will live through it.

The Problem with Monsters

Truth is I still love him. I have a feeling I will always love him. In some ways, he was a great guy. We had some really great times. When things were good, it was the happiest I had ever been in my life. He was smart, funny, sexy, and very good at World of Warcraft. He was also emotionally abusive.

The problem is that he was not a monster. He was confused and emotionally damaged. I felt him working very hard to overcome and become a better person and that is why I stayed. I saw so much good in him. I had hope that if I loved him enough and just hung in there, things would be okay.  I was pretty dumb about that. (Did I drink that kool-aid?)

I think that is the problem most people in emotionally abusive relationships face. The abusers are not some monsters with dripping fangs or we don’t have to cover bruises or make lame excuses during hospital trips. We have to make smaller, more subtle excuses. Most of them, we only have to make to ourselves.  After awhile we become really good at these excuses and they automatically spring to our minds and we don’t even notice we are making them.

One of my friends and my role model for internet goddess Sara O’Flaherty said:

It’s easy to make excuses for people we love, and as it starts to hurt less we tend to not think it was as bad. Sometimes you have to take that shard of glass and dig it back in the wound to remind yourself how utterly awful it was.

When it began I knew it was abuse. I thought I was strong enough to face it. Somewhere in the middle of all of it I forgot to face it and just took it. I had my reasons. By the time he broke up with me, I was so confused I didn’t know to be outraged. I had lost track of how I was supposed to be treated. I had gotten so wrapped up in forgiving him and loving him, I had forgotten about me.

I hate admitting this, it is part of the shame, but I only knew something was wrong by the reactions of my friends. I feel like I should have come out of it mad and outraged. I am still ashamed at my lack of indigence.  It should not have taken Tina’s rage, Sara’s swearing and name calling, and Lanell holding my handing telling me “honey, he abused you, you were abused,” to make me see things were desperately wrong.  I am even more ashamed that I made excuses for it in the beginning. Truth is that the shame isn’t helpful. Truth is that I went through what way too many women (and men) go through.

Now all I can do is try to look back at what happened and examine it without the excuses and the shame.

It is hard to know when it all began. He had been tempestuous before we even got together. I didn’t know enough to see that as a warning sign. He very obviously loved me, even in the beginning.  In the beginning, he would tell me how smart, beautiful, and talented I was. I was like a flower growing in summer sunlight. I liked the me I was with him in the beginning.

He had a temper even then and I was afraid of it even then. In the beginning, though, he always knew when he overstepped. So many times in the relationship, I would be on the brink of leaving and he would do something that kept me there. Everyone seemed to noticed that he had a sixth sense of right when he was about to push me too far. I still remember things being good most of the time. I have no idea if I was wrong or not.

Then the big bad happened. I called it “the rough patch.” That is like calling Mel Gibson a little unbalanced. I think this is when the excuses started to flow like spice on Dune. I understood why he acted the way he did. I think I forgot that understand why someone is acting they do is not the same as it being okay. I know I knew there were things that were not okay but I was going to wait for things to calm down to talk about them. Things never really got good after that. I was stubborn and I loved him so I kept pushing.

I am coming to realize that the details don’t really matter except to help remind me of how things that happened where not okay. I know how a man is supposed to treat a woman. I know how a woman is supposed to treat a man. I know I wasn’t being treated like that. It is so damned hard to admit that I have issues believing I can be treated well and loved and cherished. I see men bending over backwards for the women they love. I was raised by a good man. I am surrounded by good men. I know what they are supposed to be like. My self esteem is so low that I have a hard time believing I will ever be treated like that. It is a hard truth to face. Strong woman is screaming.

There is just so much. One thing leads to another to another. I get lost in it in my head. I don’t really know how to best handle it all. I do think it is best to take Sara’s advice and keep poking at it until all the poison drains from the wound and all I have is a scar. I know I need to get a job. I know I should be doing a billion other things. Knowing something and making it happen are often different things. Some days I don’t have the bravery to face the immensity of the world. Most days I don’t have the bravery. I will try and start then something else will come up and I just get too discouraged. I try so hard to be positive but some days I just don’t have it in me. Every once in awhile it becomes so much that part of me just wants to not exist for a few minutes.  Bah I am getting way off track.

The point was supposed to be that many people that do this are not the monsters we want to believe they are. The effects are profound. The damage emotional abuse causes is real and painful and scarring, just as scarring as physical abuse. I am not saying that because these abusers are not monsters that what happens isn’t monstrous. I needed to realize this. I needed to come to grips with the fact that I stayed not because I was weak but because I am human. It is a hard balance to walk. I loved him for a good reason and I have to remember that while realizing why I couldn’t stay.

If you do happen to read this, know that part of me will always love you. There is good in you and I believe in that good. My greatest hope for you is that somehow you heal enough so when you are ready, you can be happy and you can have the kind of relationship the best parts of you deserve. Closing that door was the hardest thing I have ever done. I know you have it in you to be an incredible man someday. I just can’t wait for that someday.

 

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May 14

But I AM Right!

I have fully embraced the world of the internet. I love the interwebs. I love the good, the bad, and the truly disgusting. No, I don’t want to read about your sexual exploits or look at your heinous wounds but I love that you feel okay with posting it. There are things I don’t like such as posting embarrassing or exploitative photos of others without permission or of course stuff that harms kids. It makes me a bit uncomfortable that you can find information on how to create bloody mayhem on the internet and other dangerous and damaging things. Truth is, though, the internet didn’t create any new problems, it just made the old bad things easier to do. So I open my arms and heart wide to the flawed dirty being that is the internet.

Trust me, the denizens of the internet are dirty, flawed, and sometimes nasty little shits. Trolls abound. Mostly these are sad little people who got picked last for teams one too many times and decided to take revenge by anonymously cutting down other people. Some people like the internet for pretending to be someone else and creating havoc for others. Mostly, though, the bad internet creatures are like me, well-meaning, over-sharing, self-righteous twits.

The internet proves the old saying: opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and they all smell bad.

Earlier in the week I was having a conversation with Tina that got me thinking about this. We were talking about a facebook post from a mutual friend. Neither of us remember what the post  was about but she told me about a response that really got me thinking. She said someone replied “no one cares what you think until you prove that you do” or something along those lines. It is so true.

I have many different friends of many different religious beliefs, socio-economic standings, and sexual orientations. I have military friends, I have dirty hippie liberal friends.  Most of my friends are raging nerds but I do have some non-nerdy facebook friends. My sister is the most normal person I know and she is my facebook friend. Most of the time my posts are fairly innocuous. I try not to swear too much. I try to keep my posts mostly non-political. I also try to show sensitivity to the various religious belief systems of my friends. Sometimes, though, I cannot help myself. I’m a blogger. We have many many opinions and we are conceited enough to write about them.

I can really only think of two that really got responses from  a lot of people. One was my outrage about, well, everything Arizona seems to be doing politically. The other was my joy at the death of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” I am not going to go into my feelings on this more because you guys have smelled my opinion enough on those.  The point is, people on both sides aired their opinions. I don’t believe I got any personal attacks and I think everyone stayed on topic. I actually thought it was pretty cool. Before I posted on the topics, no one cared the slightest bit how I felt about those topics. By posting about my opinions I opened myself up to having people disagree with me. I got lucky because everyone was civil.  The simple fact of internet life is that whenever we post anything we open ourselves up to the opinions of others.

Tina taught me something. Mommies are the most cutthroat, self-righteous group out there. Tina Fey posted a bit of her book BossyPants and it was a prayer for her daughter. She wrote a few cuss words. The mommies brought out the switchblades for that. I have seen mommies tell other mommies that they are horrid for feeding their kids gluten and should have child protective services called on them. I personally think that any social worker would love to deal with a mommy who puts diaper cream on their child’s face and fed their child processed sugar over the kids that have been beaten, molested, and neglected.

The other self righteous group is nerds. They are actually awesome in how freaking nuts they are. Nerd rage is glorious whether it is about games, electronics, or popular culture. I have seen people revert to third grade name calling over Batman Comics and computer processors.

In my pondering I have not come up with much in the way of conclusions but I do know if I open my mouth I bring the hell fire upon myself. That is what I get for airing my asshole… er, opinion. Also, seriously people, try to be more polite to each other. When you are writing in response to something think about what your kindergarten teacher would tell you. Respect.

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May 12

Atleast There is Coffee

So, like the day of the wasp (the picture of the wasp, not a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant), I have nothing cool and insightful to say. So I am just going to say a bunch of things until I have nothing else to say.

My mom looked at me yesterday and said “what is the deal with your face?” I am really glad I am not going through an emo, insecure period right after a bad break-up in which I am trying to deal with rebuild my image of myself. That might have stung then.

I really want a sarcasm font.

I have been moody as hell lately. I can’t tell if it is actual depression or hormones. That could explain the deal with my face. Either way I have been emo as crap. I am thinking about dying my hair dark and wearing lots of eyeliner. I will carry around an expensive looking bound journal and tell people I am journaling through my pain. Anyone know where I can get some large angry looking boots in a ladies size 10?

The good thing is I have been pleased with my writing. I don’t care if you guys are just being nice because I am that obviously unhinged, I like the approval and I am not above being lied to.

fuzzy bunny

Behold the fuzzy fuzzzy bunny.

 

Look at the fuzzy bunny. LOOK AT IT.

 

Look at it…

okay

 

So I have started working out again. I enjoy working out because I am strange. I am doing a strange work out cardio video and Pilates for the really out of shape folks. I have only been really sore one day. and on that day I rested.

I turn thirty in November. I have decided that I would like to have hot enough legs by then to wear a short skirt. Stacy London tells me that it is bad form to wear mini-skirts after 35 so I would like to wear a short skirt and have it look good atleast once before then.

Are you looking at the fuzzy bunny?

The only bad thing about working out is that my butt is constantly sore and you cannot complain about that like you can your legs or arms being sore. People think I was having waaay more fun than I actually did.

Speaking of sex, yesterday I was thinking about how rusty my flirting with intent skills have gotten. I can still flirt up a storm on accident or with someone I have no desire to sleep with but I found that my “game” is sadly lacking.  I was pouting about how bad fifteen months had damage my man getting skills until I had a realization. I never really had man catching skills. My “game” consisted of wearing low cut shirts and hoping that whomever I was lusting for found socially awkward and slightly insane incredibly sexy. Maybe by November I can up my game to socially awkward, mildly insane, sometimes funny, boobs hanging out, and in a short skirt. Hey it never hurts to have goals.

And now my coffee cup is empty. Good news is that I have an idea for Saturday’s blog. I just need to do a bit more writing in my head. I hope you enjoyed the fuzzy bunny.

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May 10

Little Purple Mouse

My parents have an interesting kind of love. They love each other intensely and after thirty years of marriage have become so close they cannot live without the other. Their marriage is the defining aspect of their lives. Last year my dad went in for a routine surgery that did not go so routine. It was a rough procedure and even though he wasn’t put all the way out he was still heavily sedated. When they brought us back to see him, he was in obvious pain, completely exhausted, and still out of it. After Mom kissed him he held up his left and indicated he wanted her to put back on his wedding ring.

There was something so simple and profound about that moment. Thirty years of marriage to his true love made it so that, even when he was hurting and groggy, he did not feel right without that symbol. I got a small taste of that feeling of a partner and mine only lasted fifteen months. I can’t imagine three decades of that sort of love and partnership.

One year for some gift giving holiday, Dad bought Mom a little glass purple mouse. It has the big round cartoon ears and a cute little smile. It looks like it is going to scamper off at any second and cause mischief. She didn’t quite know how to take it.  He told her that it was the perfect representation of how he felt about her. (Yes, my parents talk like that. I blame them for my inability to talk to kids my age when I was young.) He told her that when he looked at it, he thought of her. It made him deeply, purely happy.

My mom has made my dad many gifts over the years. She made him a Buzz Lightyear lunchbox when she could find on in the stores. She has done a drawing of most of his dogs that have been in our house. One year she drew many little purple mouses and put them with his packed lunches and hid them various places just to let him know she loved him. He calls that mouse the most important gift he ever gave mom.

She (the mouse) has a chip in her ear now. Somehow it makes her even more of a perfect symbol for my parents relationship. She sits on a window sill beside the Hilary Clinton nutcracker that Mom bought Dad poised smiling and ready to create havoc.

Sometimes it is the simple things that show us so much about other people if we take the time to look at them. These little insights into the people in our lives are such profound little gifts.

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May 07

Yeah (NSFW)

I completely lack inspiration today. I have not a tiny idea on what to write at least 500 words. I feel no desire to try to bullshit through one dazzling you with my wit and awesomeness. I feel honor bound to write a blog tonight since last Saturday I was too sick and gross to write.

I went to Wal-mart this evening. You would be amazed at how many males of varying ages were buying only a bouquet of flowers and a card. I predict fist fights tomorrow morning. Someone will get a black eye over the last bunch of tulips.

I have pg’ed myself so much. I say flipping, frelling, shoot, crap, holy smokes, gorramn, and snikes.  Some days I just want to cuss. I don’t cuss on facebook because there are people I might offend that I actually want to stay friends with. Some days I justwant to say “fuck, cunt, shit, damn, motherfucking hell bitch cock.”  I hate pretending like I am an adult. Once its on the internet it is out there forever. Fuck you, internet, FUCK YOU!

I hope if I ever breed I don’t have ugly kids. If I do ever have ugly kids, I hope one persons hates me enough to tell me so I can not torture people by making them tell me how cute my malformed spawn is.

OMG It's a fucking wasp motherfucker

I don’t know why I posted this. It seemed appropriate.

 

I bought a box of popcorn today. I forgot how much I love popcorn.

It amazes me that people still turn their noses up at internet dating. They say that the old fashioned way was better. I think people are full of stupid. Do they mean the old fashion way where the girl’s parents sold her off in a business deal? Maybe they prefer you marry a cousin or die alone. Or do they mean the old fashioned way of marrying whom society told you and he beat you and you were okay with it. Or the more modern old fashioned way where you get all tarted up and go to a bar, get drunk, sleep with someone, fall in love even though you really don’t know each other, and get divorced a few years later with a heart filled with bitterness and anger.

I should write ads for e-harmony.

I was at Wal-mart checking out when the little girl with the family behind me slapped my butt.  I looked down at her and she smiled a big angelic smile. When her dad asked her why she spanked me  she just shrugged. I approve.

Acid wash jeans should stay in the eighties. Anyone wearing acid wash jeans should be ticketed the first two times they are caught out in public wearing it. On the third time, they should be sterilized.

Light is spelled L-I-G-H-T. Right is the direction or the affirmative. Rite is something pagans do to have an excuse to get naked and drink. The opposite of day, night, is spelled with a ‘ght.” I agree with Eddie Izzard, it is cheating at Scrabble and makes no sense but that is how it is. 2nite makes the hate and anger bubble up from my soul like an anger and hate champagne. Keep in texts and on twitter you ignorant fucking retard. Oh, and do not breed.

Oddly enough, I feel a bit better. Sometimes I think we all just need to go a little Tourette’s Syndrome on a blog. So I have written almost six hundred fucking words so I am going to fucking publish the shit and go play some fucking video games.

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May 05

Little Girl

It happened to her because every adult in her life failed her.

I didn’t really know her. She would come in about once a week with the group home she was in. I do know she was quiet, sweet, smart, and deeply needing affection and approval. I also knew she was 15 and she liked my purple hair.

For some reason she was at the library alone that night. I have no idea why. I think she knew the two guys she started walking around with. One of the boys clearly saw the part of her he could take advantage of and circled in like a shark. I watched it all with mild curiosity. Later when she went out back with the boy one of the other librarians saw her sneak out with him. She came up to the rest of us and made a snarky comment. One of us should have went out to check on her.

I saw the boy come back in and got his friend to leave. I don’t remember thinking anything of it. I saw her come back in a bit later and I remember thinking she looked a bit dazed. Then I saw her crying. I wondered what was wrong with her but I didn’t interfere. She started talking to another boy she knew and cried harder. He started hugging her and taking care of her. I remember being relieved that someone else was doing it. She used the phone and wandered around crying for a bit. I never once stopped to ask her if everything was okay.

She came to us. She told us she needed help because he had raped her. I didn’t get up and give her my chair but when she sat on the ground I saw the blood. I got on the floor with her. I don’t know if it was right or just weird. My co-worker called the police and handled the crowd while I sat in the floor with her.

I don’t know why the blood changed things for me. Before she was some moody little teenager that was probably having some silly boy trouble but after I saw the blood she became a little girl in a lot of pain. I did the only thing I knew to do and held her while she cried. I don’t remember what we talked about but I am sure I told her all the things we tell people in pain.

The woman from the group home came in and looked at her on the floor with me and immediately started pacing while making phone calls. I don’t blame her. I know she was probably had a billion reports to make and balls to start running. So I stayed on the floor with this little girl while she cried.

I got up when the police and ambulance got there. I don’t remember why I got up but I know I yelled at a few younger people who were staring. We should have closed the library that night, then again, there were a lot of things we should have done. Anyway,  when I walked back into the room she was still on the floor with all these men standing around her staring and asking questions. That pissed me off for some reason so I pushed one aside and said “Someone should be on the floor with her.” I crawled back beside her.

As she left I asked her if she was going to be strong and tell them what happened. I told her I was proud of her for being so brave.

I have seen her a few times since that night. She seems to be okay. I want to stop her and ask her a million questions. I want to know how she is really doing. I want her to know how proud of her I am and how sorry I am that it happened to her. I never will say those things to her though. It is that strange distance society places on people. I am afraid of intruding or making her feel awkward. I am afraid that I am that crazy woman that sat on the floor with her the night something happened to her.

It was over a year ago and I still think of her often. I think she would be surprised if she knew how much she changed my life. I am still amazed about how much strength and grace a fifteen year old girl could possess. Maybe one day I will be able to tell her that and that I am damn proud of her.

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May 03

So Much

I am writing a blog entry in my head that goes with “Strong Woman” but right now my brain is inundated with other crap to write it first. After I am done with this blog I will probably start writing it and try to get it right. There is just so much.

Most of life seems like this plodding succession of the sameness. I go through life making plans and trying to act on them while knowing life will change them for me. Not much of note happens while I am trying to go forth and save the world. Then, it is like the world explodes and many many things happen at once. It is so easy to get caught up in it and forget to stop and look at each little bit. I feel like I have to look at the “so much” because each thing is important in its own way and I have this crazy feeling that if I don’t pay attention I will miss something important.  The problem is it is hard to know how to tackle sorting “so much out.”

My heart is breaking for one of my Tina family. I want to hug her (not Tina) and make things better for her but I know I can’t.

Yesterday on my way to Wal-mart I suddenly filled with sadness and loneliness. Most of my life I never understood why people rushed from relationship to another. It always seemed silly and destructive. I get it now. I feel like part of me is missing and when I reach out to touch it and find nothing there it is almost unbearable. Stupid brain, stupid heart. I get better at being single again but it is going to really suck while I am relearning the skill. I do hate being the only single woman in Oklahoma over the age of 25. I bought Pull-n-Peel Twizzlers and I am working on an overdose. (Don’t judge me.)

Osama bin Laden is dead. All I can think still is “this is fucking huge.” I don’t feel elation. I just feel strange. I was in my second year of college when the twin towers fell. My entire adult life bin Laden has lurked in the background as some real-life boogeyman and now he is gone. I try to track the stories through time and honestly it doesn’t make it seem anymore real. I feel like we are on the precipice of something big as a country like when a big crowd has gathered and everyone is bracing themselves waiting to see if there will be a riot. I don’t know. So much could happen from this I just have to hope that this frenetic pace that the world has been moving at gives us a chance to stop and make wise decisions.  It is like watching dominoes fall but only being able to see two dominoes ahead. I fear the pattern that everything will make when all is said and done. It could just be the Twizzlers talking.

Then there is the storm. Those poor people. What else can you say other than I hope they don’t get forgotten amongst everything else.

In the end, there are still jobs to be found, white trash container gardens to be tended, houses to be cleaned, and blogs to be written.

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Apr 28

Baby Wipe on a Mag-lite

Disgruntled doughnut

He looks like he knows what is coming.

 

Last night I was going to watch my niece and nephew but there was a crisis in my Tina family so I decided to stay at Tina’s house just in case we were needed for back up. This is what happened.I had some errands to run for my family so I go out yesterday. Since I am a sucker and I love Samantha I decided to get some Krispie Kremes. I told them to give me some rainbow sprinkle doughnuts, some glazed, and just to through whatever else will fill out the dozen.  We ended up with Disgruntled Doughnut.  Last night I asked my professional photographer BFF to take a picture. This was the beginning of it

sick and twisted people

Who stabbed Disgruntled Doughnut in the Face?

We decided Disgruntled Doughnut needed more reason to look so disgruntled so two grown ass women stuck a fork in Disgruntled Doughnut’s face. Tina added red sprinkles for blood and put them on black construction paper for a better photograph. We made art from doughnuts.

Oh the humanity

Oh the carnage

This was the natural progression. Disgruntled Doughnut had to be done in.  If you look closely you can see his brains leaking out of his head wound.
I don’t know if other people will appreciate the awesomeness of the doughnut photo shoot. Tina and I laughed so hard we were snorting. My stomache muscles are actually sore this morning from laughing so hard last night.
I asked Tina to take some pictures of me because my hair is so different from the last time I got a picture taken. Tuesday Megan cut atleast six inches of hair off the back of my head and gave me Bette Page bangs.  Also, I have a best friend who is a professional photography (she argues with me when I say that) so I am going to se that for all I am worth and get free photos when I can.
The benefit for her is she has a willing subject to try new ideas out on. I have no clue how to hold my face, I can’t fake smile to save my life, and I always look in the exact wrong place every time but I hold still a hell of a lot better than a two year old or a puppy so we do okay. I tell myself this anyway so I don’t feel like I am taking advantage of her mad skills.  Last night she was trying to take some very particular shots and there was a weird shadow that she was battling. Mid pose she stopped and told me to stay just like I was. She ran off and came back with a Mag-lite flashlight. That is funny enough by itself because she had a cop roommate that taught her to use a Mag-lite as a deadly weapon.
Anyway, she propped the Mag-lite on her shoulder and assured me that she had no plans to kill me. I don’t have any life insurance so I was pretty sure I was safe. She tried using the flashlight to battle the errant shadow but the light was too intense. Once again she told me to stay still and she covered the Mag-lite with a baby wipe and secured it with a hairband that I left laying about like a heathen. Last night will forever be the night of the disgruntled doughnut and baby wipe on the Mag-lite.
So much strange and stressful shit is going on in our lives. Being goofy and laughing so hard last night was better than a week on the beach. Best friends are a blessing and I suspect that whatever Krispie Kreme employee put that put that doughnut in my dozen will never know what he started.
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Apr 26

Adele at the Top of My Lungs

My laptop is now dead. I have had fascinating computer luck as of late. I wasn’t going to give up on my trip to Tina’s house so I am blogging from her computer. Just thought I should share.

I was driving up here yesterday listening to Adele “19” and singing at the top of my lungs. I sing terribly but I enjoy it. I was also writing in my head. Last night I had a few drinks then decided to help Tina’s little brother Kyle with some homework. I stopped in the middle of it to talk to Tina about a writing project I have in my head. Today I was following Tina around the grocery store writing in my head. I realized now I am always writing something in my head. I am not sure if that makes me insane or not.

Last night before Tina read my blog from Saturday I told her I thought it was the most important thing I have ever written. I know that sounds self-important and over dramatic. I do think it is true though. I realized with two of my recent blogs that I have a talent for writing short blocks about pain and emotion. I like to write about hope. I realized last night (by that I mean Tina helped me realize) that if I can write about both I could possibly make something really good.

I am in the odd position of having known and loved many people who have been abused in different ways. I am also lucky that many of these people have shared their stories with me. I have decided to write about them. I have been writing the stuff in my head last night. First they are going to appear on my blog but after I feel like I am done I am going to compile them and try to get them published. I have no idea if it will succeed but, like many things in my life, I am going to give it a go and see what happens.

I am going to take the title from the blog that started this idea and call it “A Sliver of Something Better” because the thing that I find the most incredible about these people is that they have taken the abuse in their lives and fought to create something better. I know it is so easy to look at all the unfair stuff in your life and use those as an excuse. The people I know have all used the pain and done better with their lives. My hope is that I can do that justice.

I predict now that I have an actual focus for my writing I will be walking around all day writing in my head more than ever. I will stop in the middle of a conversation and start talking about whatever I am writing in my head. It should be awesome because I needed something else to make me more distracted and strange to talk to. Can we pretend I am eccentric and creative?

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Apr 23

Strong Woman

I hardly know where to begin. I honestly believe somethings need to be written or discussed but it is hard starting. So I will start here.

Shame.

I have this idea of a strong woman in my head. She is bold and brave and takes no shit from anyone. I have spent my life wanting to be her. I think most of the women in my generation have her residing in their heads in one form or another. She is the result of many generations of women before us struggling for a sliver of something better. Not aiming to be the strong woman somehow denigrates that effort and spits on all that struggle. I owe it to those women to be a strong woman. I owe it to my mother to be that woman considering what she did to give me the chance to be her.

Shame.

When I was younger I had a male friend that would get high and hit me. Who it was doesn’t matter anymore nor does anything else other than the lasting shame. Strong woman doesn’t let a man hit her. She rips his balls off and feeds them to him with marmalade. It was almost ten years ago and I just told my mother a few months ago because of the shame. I can actually count on one hand the people I have talked to about it. I will never tell my father and I will pray he never reads this, not for the shame but for the fear he will actually rip some balls off but he won’t use the marmalade.

Anyway, that shame sticks. Every relationship you have you think about it. I know it wasn’t right. I know it wasn’t my fault. I know it should never happen again. The shame is still there and it causes you to question everything. It takes away your ability to trust your own instincts. You feel a constant fight to balance between the knee jerk reactions of either taking it like a mouse or being a nazi. I don’t want to be either. I want to be somewhere in the middle, somewhere healthy. What is healthy? What would a strong woman do.

So you get into another relationship. At first things seem good but little warning signs start appearing. He yells at you at night and skirts the edge of calling you stupid. The excuses start early too. Oh its just because he is tired. He says and does stupid things. Are they normal boy things or are they something that you should not take? Are you just being over sensitive? Well, hang in for just a bit more to see what happens. He has so many good things about him and he really does honestly love you.

Things progress and it seems the worst that happens is that he is not supportive. He tells you that he doesn’t want to hear about the bad things going on with you. He doesn’t call you when you are struggling with family emergencies. You figure he just feels frustrated because he can’t be there for you. Things settle out and you find out later that he was flirting with another girl and he mentions in passing that she sent him a picture of herself. He seems very sorry that it hurt you and it won’t ever happen again.

Later, your best friend has a baby and you go to spend the night with her family to celebrate the happy event. He gets mad. He screams at you. He is pissed that you didn’t answer his calls and that you had three drinks and that you were in a pool. He is at home alone and you are having fun playing around. Subtly, strong woman starts to recede. The chance for balance starts to slip away.

Time progresses with a million little things. None of them seem big anymore. Insults slipped into conversations or nasty words yelled during a rant become no big deal. It is just him and he is trying to learn to deal with his emotions better.  Yeah, and he only beats you because he loves you. *Eye roll* You are a strong woman, you can handle it because he loves you and you can help him. You find out about lies and you explain them away in your head. If you just stick it through it will get better.

Strong woman still lives in your head. She screams in anger when he tells you “you need to shut the fuck up, you are making yourself sound like a total whore.” (I didn’t actually call you a whore, Selina, and you did take that joke too far so you did sound slutty.) She realizes it is not okay when he tells you about all the women who are hitting on him then tells you that he is glad no one wants you. You feel her reacting when you jump at any scrap of kindness and praise like a hungry puppy.  She tells you that you should get mad that he turns off his phone for days but gets pissed when you don’t answer his calls. Strong woman is in the back of your head while he is berating you about your mistakes and ranting at you because you have told other people basic things about your relationship.

The shame you feel is worse because you see the same things strong woman sees. You know what is happening is not okay. You see that everyone around you sees that it is not okay too. You just know you are not strong enough to stop it so the shame grows.

When it ends shock and pain is there first. The desperate gasping is almost unbearable. The shame starts to creep in. First, it is because you feel like you failed. You feel like a fool. You try to stamp that out. Then people tell you that you are strong woman for handling like you do. Shame seeps in because you didn’t end it, it floods in because of that tiny part of you would have jumped at a chance to have him back. (That part of you has been quashed, thankyouverymuch.) The shame twinges when you realize you really liked being in a relationship and you actually don’t prefer to be single. Strong woman is just as happy alone.

The shame is so deep and strong that you know you have to write about it but you have a hard time feeling that vulnerable.

The shame is so strong that the only I could only write this in the obnoxious second person. It is so strong that I am writing this rushedly with very little thought to wording or polish because I am afraid if I think about it I will stop. I need to write about this. The shame needs to be faced.

I try so hard to be strong woman. I want that balance. I hate that part of me is afraid to post this because he might read it and he might get mad. I am sick of the shame. I am too good for that. The shame is stupid and I would tell any other woman that she needed to let go of her shame so she can move on and find a relationship worthy of her.  Easier said than done.

If I ever meet strong woman, I might want to punch her in the face.

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