Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Faith, Fear, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

. Obsessed .


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So… Ack!! Let’s just start with that. AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhccckkkkkkkkk!! Shake it off, right?

I have spent the last couple years focusing on healing from my domestic violence situation. It has driven me to push forward and through the emotional traps that have sprung up over the course of my healing. I have assumed this whole time that my abuser was the wicked source of my lack of self esteem, self care, and insecurities. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Let me catch you up a bit, and then I’ll come full circle into my statement above. I have been in counseling hard core since March 2015. I have been averaging two group therapies a week, as well as a 1×1 session with my therapist bi-weekly. I have worked hard on myself, my mind, my emotions and my ability to communicate what my needs are before I break down into a suicidal depressive state. I have come to thoroughly enjoy each week and the topics the group settings introduce. I love it so much, I’m working towards Peer Counseling. My overall goal is to go back to college and finish my psych degree. I want to work with domestic violence victims and/or become a d.v. advocate. I am venturing into my 40s exactly how I wanted to two years ago when I left my abuser. “I will enter my 40s as a rock star.” As my counselor says, “You’ve always been a rock star, it’s just getting you to believe it as well.” So here I am, a freaking advocate for mental health . . . and I wouldn’t change the path it took me to get here for anything.

In these groups I have created a safe, supportive group of friends. It is amazing who your tribe begins to morph the more you grow and establish your own boundaries.  I learned to purge those from my life that were not healthy for me anymore. I learned to establish a set of boundaries by changing my vibe, especially in regards to myself. I changed my view of “me” and that allowed me to see who around me was supportive. I can honestly say I am thankful for the new troup I have built around me. I have some strong female friends to thank for that. (Karla, Julie, Mary, Suzanne, Kerry… to name a few). Changing my inner voice to question my negative self talk is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. That’s not to say, however, that I am perfect. I still have moments of doubt, it’s just not crippling or damaging anymore. Those boundaries and self discoveries aided in my ability to see romantic relationships differently as well.

After a few messy dates, and my capacity to see what was happening and not what I wanted to happen, I finally met a fantastic man. The greatest thing about this is I am not blinded by “newness” of a relationship. I went in knowing who I am, my boundaries, my strengths and weaknesses. I met someone who is in a great place spiritually and mentally as well. We are taking our time, moving slow. It helps that we’re about an hour apart from one another; that forces us to be slow. One of the biggest compliments he gave me recently, “I like that I don’t feel like I need to save you. You’re doing such a great job saving yourself.” Hell Ya I am. It is about time as well. I’ve said it quite a few times, and I will say it again, I am thankful for the path my relationship history has put me through. It has helped forge and guide me to who I am today. However, I have come to quickly realize, not only in my counseling, but from my current relationship that my abuser is not my sole focus.
My ex-husband is.

How does that work out? My ex-husband is my biggest hurdle in the ghost of relationships past. Wow. I didn’t fully recognize this until my current beau enlightened me that in almost all of our conversations I have made mention of my ex-husband. Not only have I made mention, it’s usually negative. This is not healthy. When his words landed that blow on my emotional
psyche, I ruminated on it for about an hour. He’s right, you know. I do mention my ex quite often. It’s not a “hung up on him” scenario. It’s the fact I have never really mourned our friendship. The friendship was severed beyond my control. I wanted an amicable divorce. I didn’t contest, or fight, or push. I wanted it easy, in hopes to mend and keep our friendship. We’ve known each other for 26 years; almost longer than his new wife has been alive (I think she’s 27 now). I believe, deep inside, if she wasn’t a factor in preventing him and I from talking, we’d be able to at least have closure. It was all so brash when she became involved. So where does that leave me? Apparently, it leaves him at the forefront of my mind . . . . so much more than the abuser ever was. How do I “get over it”? Or, “Let it go”?

And please, for the love of all that’s sanity, don’t sing the damned song.

How to let it go. I don’t believe in irony anymore. I firmly believe in a path of learning placed before us. I believe that angels come down and take form of  people when you’re truly in need. I believe the universe slaps us upside the head when we’re “really not getting it.” A couple weeks back the discussion in one of my group therapies was around exactly that, “Letting it go.” There was a huge discussion surrounding the fact that you can’t really, “Let it go.” That the event(s) or trauma that lead you to hold onto the pain will always be in your memory. You cannot ever really let it go. What I took from that, what I processed over and over again in my mind, was the fact that you can’t let the event go.. . but you can let the pain go. But first, you have to define exactly what the pain is.

The pain. The truth of the matter. The emotions behind the transient being taking up space and dwelling over and over again in your mind. Pain is healing and growth. But why am I holding onto it with my ex husband? I will never get my credit back. I will never get my car that was repo’d back. I will never get the ten years invested into the actual romantic relationship back. I will never get back anything invested, really. On a cognitive, rational level, I fully understand this. What good is it to harbor those memories though? Fear…? Maybe a little. Fear that I’ll be wooed into a similar relationship scenario. Anger…? Ya, there’s a lot of that. I’m angry over the fact we were friends for as long as we were and it ended in the manner it did. But, it’s done and over, right?

I need to restructure my thoughts so that I do not continue to move forward in this relationship in a way that could potentially ruin it. We’ve been divorced since 2011. Friendship, and any resulting relationship, has been finalized and severed. Closure will not happen, at least not right now. I cannot continue to harbor these thoughts. I have to let the emotions and pain surrounding the relationship go.

From the movie, “Peace, Love and Misunderstanding”

Diane: You want me to just let go of 40 years of irresponsibility, embarrassment, and her total refusal to grow up?
Jude: Yes, exactly.
Diane: [incredulous] Like a balloon that’ll just float away.
Jude: It’s not a balloon, Diane. It’s a sandbag you’ve got to drop for the balloon to get off the ground.

Abuse, Belief, Body Positive, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Fear, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Suicide

. Prowess .

** warning – sexually graphic content. read at your own discretion **

I had a rough session with my therapist today. The end conclusion is that I really, truly have never experienced genuine love; but yet I desire a love of a lifetime deeply. I yearn for a hearth and home. I’ve blogged about it before, but today is a bit different. It took someone from my past to really resurface some buried memories and feelings.

The mental road trip I took with him has left me staggering; tripping over my own defense mechanisms that jut out of my past like broken pieces of glass in my path.

Here we are a week later, and I have had nothing but time to think about it. (By “think about it” I really mean, “Overthink, overanalyze and personally demean self worth.) I have never really identified with an addiction, this week however, I have the realization that I too have an addiction. My addiction isn’t so much “sex” per se.. It’s more the desperate longing desire to actually be wanted. I tend to sell my self worth for a brief moment of intimacy. In those moments of sexual gratification, I could convince myself that I was wanted and loved. I told myself this for so long, I actually believe the lie.  I have spent 20+ years selling off pieces of my soul like a bargain at a dollar store. I have been taught to believe that men promise a relationship for sex, and women promise sex for love.

How do you come back from that?

I have had a lot of sexual partners. There it is. It’s out, it’s open. Judge lest ye be judged. It’s the only thing I “knew”. It’s the only thing I identified that the male gender wanted from me; from age 14 when I was raped by a 26ish guy. Before I actually lost my virginity, willingly, all I ever heard were rumors from various groups of guys who would boast, “I could hit that.” There are a few key moments in my teenage years, that I really feel were pivotal in my sexual awareness and development.

I will start at 14, when I was in a foster home. I was always an early developed teen. I had hips, small waist, big ass and size C/D breasts. I was immediately placed into a sexual position because my genetic code made me a “woman” at a young age. This memory has been blocked from my conscious for years, until just recently. So, bare with me. I remember partying with a neighbor at the foster home. He had all the teens at his house, he always did. We’d drink beer, listen to Guns N’ Roses, and just talk like “adults”. But I wasn’t. I was only 14.  What I remember in my jagged memories is that the group left. I was left behind. I remember feeling kind of out of it, loopy… from the booze or maybe more. I remember we were in his room and he started kissing on me, grabbing my thighs, reaching up under my shirt. I remember kind of “checking out” mentally. He was far too big to fight. I remember him trying to penetrate me, but as a young… virgin.. he couldn’t. He got frustrated and pissed. He just kept pushing, forcing. I remember whimpering and he shoved me off his bed. I remember a friend had come back to find out where I was, because I hadn’t left when they did. I remember this friend kind of sort of sneaking me back in my house to sleep it off. From this point forward, I remember being a “mean” girl towards guys, this lasted until I actually willingly slept with one. And then, it became the norm. “Fuck it, sex is all they want, then fine.”

Second incident, I can recall that instilled and enabled the thought that all my worth was tied into being a “cum dumpster” (actual term a guy used “jokingly” when I was around 19.) I used to take the public transit everywhere. I was probably about 16 or so. It was summer. I was wearing this cute, typical 1990s figure fitting floral dress. It wasn’t too revealing, short, or trashy.  I was standing up on Pac Hwy waiting for the bus; Pac Hwy is known for a lot of street walkers. I was minding my own business, standing there reading my book. A car pulls up next to me, this guy rolls down his window and asks, “How much?” I was totally, completely taken aback. I started crying from shock. I sputtered, “I’m not a hooker!” The bus started to arrive at that moment. So, the impression this left me with subconsciously was that I really am only worth what my body can offer.

Third incident, was in Junior High. It’s not as pivotal as the first two in my mind which is why it’s out of linear timeline, but it still affected me. I never realized exactly how much it affected me until counseling today. There was this peer named Adam. Adam was apart of the “in” crowd. I had taken a photography class, so this had to be around 9th grade. I was in the dark room, prepping my film. Adam came in, got up really close behind me. He used his pelvis to push into mine, and rubbed himself on me. He turned me around, put his right hand on my left breast and forced me to kiss him. He laughed at my face when he was done. Later, at lunch, he told everyone I tried to kiss him. He told everyone I was just a slut. That labeled me for the rest of my school career. I think at this point, I gave in and just became what every man expected me to be.

This lasted up until last week. It’s weighing heavy on my heart. I have never been worth dating; from teenage years to current. I am sure lacking a father, knowing a “good” / “true” man has a lot to do with the shaping of my sexual identity. I am sure that having a chaotic childhood instilled the grasping and grabbing of any attention given to me; even if it’s a falsified promise of love. It’s still touch, emotion, feelings for a brief moment. I am also sure that the reason I carry so much weight on me is so that men don’t see me as a ‘sex symbol’ anymore, they just see me as me.. or don’t see me at all. I’m pretty fucked up in the head.

Now, with my counselor’s help, I am able to recognize it for what it is. I am going to learn to readjust my thinking. I do know that I dream of hearth and home. I dream of a love of a life time. I have to let my convoluted ideas go. I have to relearn what love is.

First assignment from her, “Define what love is to you”. Yay.

Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Body Positive, Friends, Friendship, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Love, My Life, Outrage, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love

The “nots” and what not.

I am flooded with vile images and statements about being fat; whether it’s echoes from my childhood, or from my doctor, or from my own cynical self loathing mind. Just type the word “fat” into google and see what comes up. Hell, there’s even a “all fat people must die” subcategory on reddit dedicated to mocking, hating and threatening people who are overweight.

Where do I fit in on this planet? Transgendered individuals have more respected space in our society than an overweight person does. Think about that for a moment. What the hell is wrong with people?

My worth is not defined by my weight. It just is not. I have so many amazing qualities that are unfortunately packaged in an unflattering body; ironically it’s only unflattering because we are in a society that pushes image more than anything else.

I am not a thin woman.
I do not fit in the conventional, conformed ideas of what being a woman is.
I am not okay in my head, I have a lot of struggles.
I am not fat, I have a lot of fat. 
I am not defined by my weight. 

I know that I am worthy of love that I give to others. I know my worth. I have, however, lost all faith in the process anymore; the romance, and the “whole wooing the woman you want for the rest of your life ideals”.

I’m have a lot of fat on me, a lot. I also know that if you put me in a line of women, I would never get chosen. Men see with their eyes. They’re very vain and physically driven. The reality, the “raw” of it, is that my humor, intellect and personality are no longer in the running. We are, unfortunately, a society that bases everything on first looks. And I’m too old to try. My youth is no longer on my side. All that remains are the great things that reside inside of me. But it takes someone interested to take the time, get to know me, and learn of my positives. This will never happen because the convenience of everything “in your face” has caused our attention spans to focus on this moment. In this moment, all that can be taken in is my short, morbidly obese, body size. 

I am coming around to the fact that we are just broken. Our society has become so instant gratification and throw away, that dating does not exist. It really doesn’t anymore. Social media, hook-up sites, and airing all our shit on blogs (Yes, that includes my blog as well) has caused us to give up caring about soul connecting. We no longer look for the great person inside of the other person. 

Well, not all of us, I am seeking a deeper soul connection. I’ve had to go through hell and back to come to that realization, but that is what I want. So, knowing that in this life a deeper soul connection isn’t going to happen for me, because we’re so image and body size conscious that most people no longer have the “time” to connect in that manner, I am coming to terms with being alright with my dogs and being alone.

 

. Writing ., Abuse, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Body Positive, Changes, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Faith, Forgiveness, Friends, Friendship, God, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Health, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit

. Bad Seed .

11054476_1042644772431636_2984777582140298064_nPLEASE CLICK THE PICTURE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLE. IT’S WORTH THE MOMENT TO READ THE EXPERIMENT AND READ THE OUTCOME. IT RESONATED WITH ME.
— In the pic below: Left facing apple got glowing, positive input. Right facing apple got all smack talk.
Words can make you sick. And heavy. And dark.
Words can make you light. And radiant. And energized.
Words infuse.
Words refuse.
Words bless.
Words protect.
Words energize.
Words heal.

MORE OF THIS ARTICLE CAN BE READ BY CLICKING THE APPLE PICTURE

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I really needed to read this today. WOrking and processing through my counseling appointment last week, which was geared around negative self talk vs. positive self talk, this was a visual example of what is taking place.
In an odd observation, I find it rather cathartic and hopeful that the “Bad Apple” is in the hand of the arm with a butterfly tattoo. It may be preserved, internally, as bad, but it has a chance of metamorphosis. The seeds are still there. The seeds can be replanted, thus creating a new growth.
We all have the potential for new growth. We just need to wash away the “rotten” words we keep fertilizing our mind, body and soul with. We need to turn over the soil, and learn to water, feed and encourage in a more positive manner.
Abuse, Batterer, Beauty, Belief, Body Positive, Counseling, Depression, Forgiveness, Happiness, Healing, Health, Journey, Love, My Life, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

A day of steady.. blows to the gut.


Shit I work out in counseling – Although it’s not really worked out it, it’s just floated to the surface.

I never really realized how .. mean I am to myself until a friend said something the other day about western state. Aparently during the hike, I was beating myself up under my breath. I mean, I know I am in my mind. I never realized how vocal I am about it. I thought it was primarily in my mind.
But I catch my mom doing it.
“I’m such a dumb ass”
“What a fucking idiot”

And then I noticed … I do it too. “Come on fat ass.”…”cow” fat ass” toad” dumbass” ugly nasty cow”.

The truth behind all the fat / body positive posts is that I’m hiding behind that.

I would love to be substantially thinner; 180 ish.
I flood my page and my eyes/mind with images that it’s okay to be a fat girl; because that’s all I am.

But, I hate it. I hate not having energy. I hate being short of breath because of my sarcoid AND my weight. The two combined are killing me.

I would love to be able to wear clothes that I find adorable, unfortunately they stop at size 22.

I hide behind it, because I’m trying to convince myself I’m okay.

I’m talking this out with a friend. She says to me, “What would YOU tell you? If all those “tapes” disappeared, what would you really say to you?”

Truth be told. If I memory banks were magically wiped, I would be reverted to a child like state. I would have no clue how to positively encourage myself. I have never had that.I have never, in my life, been reinforced. Or taught how to reinforce confidence myself. 

That’s a sad, sad thought. 

. Writing ., Abuse, Batterer, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Changes, Changing, Counseling, Depression, Family, Fear, Forgiveness, Friends, Gratitude, Happiness, Healing, Health, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Outrage, Positivity, Romance, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

Put it in your dream journal, you freaking hippie.

Today, has been the one year anniversary of my fleeing my abusive situation. One year. One year should be enough to toughen up, pull on my big girl panties and move forward. It has not been that simple. I am sure it would have been more simple if I hadn’t side tracked myself into believing I was ready for love again.
Michael, was a deceiver.. he was a liar in the purest sheep’s clothing. He led me to believe I was in a safe place to fully open and begin healing. He encouraged me to open, flourish heal. In a lot of ways he damaged me more than my batterer did. He took what was left of my trust, my faith, my ability to stand up and heal myself. And I allowed him to do it.
I need to get up off of this couch. I need to get a move on again. I am crippling my own damned self by this personal talk of ‘no good’, ‘no worth’ and all the other horrible things I say while sitting here slowly disabling myself.
I have fallen hard a few times these last few years, and even though I have gotten up each and every time, I have found it has been getting harder to do so. This last plummeting event has proven so. But you know what, I’m up. I may not be fully functioning, but I am up. I have risen. I have risen in my own way, in my own due time, but alas, I am standing.
I need to embrace my weird. I need to marry all my differences into one amazing being. I’m an odd duck, I know this. So I need to stop trying to conform and fit into some idea of what I “should” be and accept who I actually am. I’m hiding behind fear (so, so much fear) and I need to get up, this one last time, stay up and own who I am. I have written about this numerous times. I know this. I believe this on a intellectual level, I know this. It’s getting the rest of me to pull the line.
I queried a few of my friends to find out what they think of me, who they “see” me as:
* retrobilly
* rockabilly
* retro
* eclectic
* ghosts
* geek
* hippie (my son calls me hippie all the time)
This really is what is thought of me. I have convinced myself that they see ‘fat’, ‘pathetic’, ‘poseur’ … Nope. This is all my own crippling thoughts enabling my decline. Well, no more.
So, I need to get up and get dressed. Make an effort to embrace who I am. (of course, with all this said and done, tomorrow may be a very different view point.)
Abuse, Batterer, Beauty, Belief, Blessings, Body Positive, Changes, Changing, Counseling, Depression, Fear, Forgiveness, Happiness, Healing, Hope, Journey, Love, My Life, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Suicide

Bare Bones

I had a conversation with someone this morning in regards to domestic violence, getting out and finding myself again. I am literally bare bones. I am stripped down to nothing trying to rebuild, and I have no clue where to start. A few things were said that really triggered me, and I felt I needed to write a blog to work through what it was exactly triggered me.
She said to me, “You need to find you…. and where you want to fit in your own life.”
After she had written this to me, I broke down and cried. Since she said it, I have been crying periodically. This took place about noon; it is now 8:32pm.
I cried because of the reality in which her words stung. I don’t even know where I fit in my own life anymore. I cried because I didn’t know how to respond. I cried at how exposed and raw I feel. Through sinew and marrow. Through cells and bile. Through surface and core. Raw, bare bones. 
I know, I know, I know. I’ve read all of the quotes. I’ve listened and heard all of the motivational comments from friends. I’ve processed it. I sit here daily, on my couch, without motivation to do anything… without motivation to even care to do anything. I have big ideas in my head of things I want to do. Things I dream of achieving. But I sit. Daily. Not caring.

So here I am, open and available, and all I can motivate myself to do is sleep. I am nearing my one year anniversary of getting out of the abusive relationship, but the abuse hasn’t stopped. I’m more abusive towards myself. I can’t flee myself. 

Abuse, Batterer, Belief, Changing, Compassion, Counseling, Depression, Family, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Hope, Love, My Life, Negative People, Outrage, Positivity, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

Heavy Heart

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I write this with weariness, a bit of trepidation and an incredibly heavy heart. I know full well that if it were seen by the individual it is written about, a whole whirlwind of anger, abusive language and flurry of drunk emails and texts will begin.
I have not talk to this individual in a couple years. I could not handle her drunken raging. Through counseling, I came to a point where I was strong enough to say “no more” with her. My last interaction with her was 11/9/2011. You can read about it in a previous blog entry: Sisters, Sisters.
I just wish my mother could do the same. She’s so accustomed to not seeing abuse for what it is, and she has such high hopes that one day all of her children will be able to come together and reunite, that she cannot walk away from the tirades she’s put through nightly.  (Literally, nightly.)
I have always wanted a tight relationship with my sister. It was never going to happen. If you talk to her, she will tell you I’m crazy. She will bash me and bad mouth me. She will try to play  sympathy card and rally her troops against me. She will tell you that I am jealous of her. Truth be told, I am not. Maybe in my younger years I was, but I’ve grown far too old to care about petty things like body size and looks. All in all, attitude and demeanor show more about a person’s character than what you adorn on the outside.
The abuse has not stopped. When I hit my ultimate low, I called my mom and asked to come home. I asked for help. I asked for my mom. This is my business, with my life and I asked for my mom’s help. Why?? Because I recognize a woman in need of assistance. I am suicidal. I am very depressed. I, in a sense, am “crazy” if you want to put that label on me. The difference is, I recognize this. I acknowledge this and I can no longer hide or live my life in a manner that is hurtful for my soul and spirit.
When my sister found out I had moved home, she blew up my mom’s text… “Is she finally going to get the help she needs? Or is she just being moody because she was broken up with?” My sister has always passed judgement on me. (Hell, not just me, but anyone she comes across that does not benefit or suit her needs; our mother included.) She cannot handle the fact that she has no control over my life, or can use her methods to influence, hurt or bully me anymore. I cut that out November 2011.
What she doesn’t see is that she is hurting our mother.. each and every derogatory text she sends, she crushes our mother’s spirit more and more. It is abuse. I’ve spent enough time in domestic violence classes, group counseling and individual therapy to know that this is abuse. My mom says to me all the time, “It’s so nice to have you home. At least we have conversations and you don’t lecture me nightly.” I hate seeing her like this. I hate seeing my mom hang her head, take the abuse and cry quietly to herself. I hate that she’s so accustomed to the abuse, she just “All well, she’s just drunk again.” I hate that she has expressed to my sister, “Please, stop. Just stop texting me like this.” and she is totally, completely ignored.
She has bashed me. SHe has bashed my mom. She has turned to other family to play victim. I have not talked to, written, or paid attention to my sister since 2011; there’s a reason for it. I don’t care what she says about me, or to whom. I do care about the emotional and physical toll it’s taking on our mother. It literally hurts me to see my mom’s heart aching as much as it is. My sister’s a drunk, she always will be. She’ll end up drinking herself to death like her father did. She’s her own burden to bare. But she needs to back off of mom. Mom is too old, too fragile to continue putting up a good face for it all.
I don’t hate her. I don’t wish ill will on her. I simply do not want her in my life. If she can, just for one moment, think if someone other than herself,  my “christmas wish” is that she backs off mom and leaves her be. Please. Have some compassion for our mom.
And to answer her question, yep.. I was “moody because I was broken up with.” Am I, “finally getting help?” Yep. I have been since January 21, 2014 when I left my abusive relationship. I am a little crazy. I am a lot depressed; which isn’t a “moody side effect of being broken up with.” I am a human with chaos inside of me. I am a woman with fluctuating hormones due to a hysterectomy and now failing ovaries. I am emotional. I am me. However, I see your query and raise you, “Are you sober yet? Are you getting the help you need?” (maybe that was a bit snarky, but, I feel I need some clarification and redemption. I am just trying to live my life the best of my capabilities; sans alcohol, drugs or lies.)
. Writing ., Abuse, Batterer, Belief, Depression, Fear, Health, Hope, Journey, My Life, Self Acceptance, Self Esteem, Self Love, Spirit, Suicide

Inside out

anxiety-cycle

I am going to do my best to describe exactly what is going on in and out of my body right now. Anxiety and depression are a silent killer. I don’t care what people say, I am slowly dying. I’ve been calling it my slow and silent suicide. It all began the moment I stepped out of the shower this morning.
I had an appointment at the local DSHS office today to assess for disability and medical coverage. I hadn’t even gotten out of my car yet, and the sweating started. I open the doors and enter the facility, the shaking starts. I’m nauseated, dizzy and panicky feeling. I feel like I need to run away. I’m sitting there in a wave of people, loud kids, trying really hard not to lose my insides all over the lobby. I literally feel like I’m exploding from the inside out.
I’m called up to the counter, I can’t even state my name. I’m in such an anxiety ridden body that I’m talking too quietly. In my head the voices are telling me, “everyone’s listening”… “everyone knows your business.” This alone causes more shakes. I begun to wring my hands together, rubbing the corners of my thumb cuticles raw.
I get through the interview, get back to my car and immediately break down. I’m cry like a frightened child. I cried the whole 14 miles back home. I entered home, immediately enter the bathroom and puke.
This… this is not living.
This… is not quality of life.
This… is a portion of who I used to be.
All the while, the other half of my mind’s voices are telling me, “This is not who you are. Get over it. Buck up and learn to live again. Get out of this funk.”
I am literally split. I’m black and I’m white. I’m yin and yang. It’s too intense for me. What the hell is wrong with me. I miss who I was before meeting the abuser. I miss that life. I miss the job, the friends, the social. I hate this. I hate me. I hate this life now.
I’m exhausted.
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“Internet Prey”

Internet DatingIn my last post, I had mentioned some comments my aunt said about men, dating, love and more. One of her comments stayed with me., so much so I couldn’t figure out how or why I felt the previous blog was unfinished. I’ve let it marinate on the tip of my mind, formulate through my fingers, and now I am ready to write and process through it. 
The comment that she said, that has stuck with me since she said it, was, ” The guys you meet on the internet are predators nothing more. They prey on women who have low self esteems and then manipulate you and hurt you. They simply aren’t worth it.”
Really? Just men on the internet? Sure, I can guarantee that there are cretins on the internet. Hell, I’ve met a few. But, all men on the internet are predators? I am really bothered by this generalization. I have met a substantial amount of incredible, giving, loving people from the internet; men and women alike. I guess the biggest reason this bothers me is because… she’s a victim; as my mother, and as myself. 
She was preyed upon by men (multiple men) she met through work, life, friends. She has had an abnormal amount of abusive men in her life. But, she never met one of them off the internet; not a single one. Same goes with my mother. Same goes with me. I have had four (five if you count this last one that lasted all of four months) influential, soul developing sexual/love relationships in my life.
My first unsavory relationship I met through friends. I was 18, fresh out on my own and met this guy who turned into an abusive, mean spirited, mouthy s.o.b. My second, my son’s father, ended up being a lying drug addict. Although he didn’t abuse me in any sense, he still was a ‘winner’. I also met him through a friend. My third, my one and only marriage so far, was domineering, money controlling, controlling and emotionally abusive. I met him in in junior high, through a friend. My fourth imperative relationship I met on the internet. He’s the subject of massive abuse that I’ve written about on my blog. 
My fifth, if you want to count him, was not abusive, in any way, shape or form. He loved me fully, and with the best of his abilities. I was the broken one by that point. I was the one too distraught and depressed to be anything viable. I met him on the internet. 
The only reason I’m going down my list of ‘men’ in my life is to show that men who prey, prey regardless of their platform. Women who become victims, do so no matter there station in life; no matter their path, no matter their socioeconomic status, no matter period. For my aunt to be so judgmental of the method in which a person finds love is so wrong. Love will happen. Hurt will happen. Abuse, will happen too. 
A victim needs to learn what aspects about themselves that makes them an easy targets for abusers in order to change their path so they do not become victims again.
I understand she’s about 25+ years my senior. I understand her life has brought her hell, that she’s carried as a burden upon her back like a mule carrying passengers. I get that she’s been hurt as well. But, I kindly ask her to let me live learn on my own; just as she has. 
This does not mean that I am looking for love again; not  now, not in the near future, not at all. But, I refuse to kill what small glimmer of hope that love does exist inside of me. Isn’t this what love is about? Isn’t this what life is about? Trying, trying and trying again?
It doesn’t have to be about love and relationships alone. Try life. Try friendship. Try trust. Try hope. 
Just try. It’s all we have. To be there for ourselves. To be there for others. To fill our lives with what makes us smile, feel alive, feel happiness. No one has the right to demean or belittle another’s process. No one, no matter how hurt or bruised their soul is, has a right to convince another to give up. 
We all hurt. We all have been shattered, broken and thrown out. We have all cried out for help. We are all alike.

Live and let live.