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. 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.
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Stronger than myself.

I cannot express how much I really enjoy this quote. It was posted on my timeline (facebook) and it just settled into my mind. It’s perched there, like a wise old owl; knowing the strength behind it. I researched the quote and found it was from “The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins. I will admit, I have not read the books, but I have watched the movies; so if this is a wrong quoting please let me know so I can correct it.

Fear. My whole life I have thought fear is what drove me. I thought it’s what made me who I am. Fear of not surviving. Fear of my mother. Fear of turning into my mother. Little did I know what was really working in my soul was really hope. Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope for a brighter future. Hope. It truly is stronger than fear. 


I am thankful for my hope. I am also thankful for my fear. I believe, that even though one is stronger than the other, you cannot exist without the merging of both in your blood. Just like red blood cells need white cells to make the system whole; hope and fear entangle together as well. What defines the outcome of the person is which one they let rule their life. From this point forward, in an act of mindfulness, I am pushing my Hope forward a bit more.

So, moving forward with hope, one of my biggest “hopes” in life was to be published. That daunting task of actually getting my novel out of my head and onto “paper” (albeit, an electronic form thereof), has stalled me. It’s weighing on my shoulders. I am not under any time constraints, but I stress myself out with it. So, instead, I am going to focus on compiling and editing short stories and poems I have up to this point. Heck, I may even try to throw in some of my poetry.  My new hope is refocused into revamping the old to make it new.

Today, I am thankful for my creativity, dreams, hopes and fears. I am thankful I am who I was created to be, inner and outer layers.

I love when my dreams play hard to get. my passion finds it so damned sexy. 
The Universe and Her, and I #259 written by Christopher Poindexter

 

 

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Lessons on Paper.

Reading a book called, “Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men” by  Lundy Bancroft. It outlines and defines the characteristics of abusive batterers. These are the sections that directly relate to, and define, my relationship with my abuser. 

IMG_20140612_183508-1Image 1:  “This patters is common in abusive relationships; an abusive man is often unusually good at expressing an intensity of caring early in a relationship and can make you feel so special and chosen- as if you were the only person who could ever matter so much to him.” 

I know that this is the very reason I managed to attracted my abuser. As indicated in numerous other posts on my blog, I was a child who did not grow up on a life of nurturing and support. I did not have unconditional love. I never felt ‘special’ by my mother, and I never knew my father. I grew up an married an absent man. I spent just shy of ten years with him. He was disconnected, absent, and really vacant throughout our marriage. When I left him, I stumbled onto the abuser. I had spent a life of feeling like a burden, problem, or unwanted. I didn’t even feel comfortable in my silence, in my space, in my own head. I was overwhelmed with how special I felt in the beginning of the relationship with him. He was charismatic, doting, and attentive. 
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Image 2:  The Player (One of the archetypes of abusers) – These three bullet points are completely him:
* Women are put on this earth to have sex with me – especially me. 
* Women who have sex are too loose, and women who refuse sex are too uptight.
This one right here from the moment we had sex the first time. I never heard the end of it. I was “easy”. I didn’t make the conquest hard enough for him. I literally would fight with him about “We were just two adults doing adult things. It doesn’t make me a bad or horrible person.” He never, ever got over that. He held it against me for the whole duration of or relationship. He shamed me and made me feel like all I was worth was fucking, and even then, barely worth that because I cannot have kids. “Barren” “Dried up old bitch” “Unbreedable Cunt”. Yes, I  literally was called those names before and after sex with him. 
* If you could meet my sexual needs, I wouldn’t have to turn to other women. <– Everything from women online to local women. I literally stood by his side while we were at karaoke one night, while he encouraged another woman at the bar to hang on him. While he was holding my hand, she seductively put her arms around his neck, leaned in and said, “You smell so fucking good”… He didn’t push her off. He didn’t stop her. He was holding my hand, letting me know that if I didn’t give him what he wanted, he full well could get it elsewhere. I was not allowed to be friends with any other male, online or elsewhere, without him flipping the fuck out on me. All women are evil, lying cunts, who cheat. I was just another one he was waiting for it happen with. But he, on the other hand, hit on my friends, he friend requested all my female friends on facebook and then flirted with them.
And I just let it happen… for two years.

IMG_20140612_180245-1Image 3:  Mr Sensitive (One of the archetypes of abusers) – These three bullet points are completely him:
* As long as I use a lot of ‘psychobabble,’ no one is going to believe that I am mistreating you.

* I can control you by analyzing how your mind and emotions work, and what your issues are from childhood. I can get inside your head whether your want me there or not.
* Nothing in the world is more important than my feelings.

IMG_20140612_182107-1
Image 4:  The Terrorist (One of the archetypes of abusers) – These three bullet points are completely him:
You have no right to defy me or leave me. Your life is in my hands.

* I would rather die than accept your right to independence.
* Seeing you terrified is exciting and satisfying.

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Cleaning House.


This holds true even if the person in front of us is our own reflection in the mirror.  

“When we no longer have any emotional or physical energy left, we are much more likely to surrender to the very thing which transforms us. Surrendering is, ironically, the only thing which allows us to continue this journey because our ego or false self has been shattered. This is also the dangerous opportunity for transformation. …. and why Joseph Campbell once stated, “Madmen and saints swim together in the same waters. What drowns one, will transform another.”

“When we reach the end of our rope, life is usually calling us to let go and allow life to carry us for a while as we release control.”

“I was forced into the basement of my soul, to look directly at what was hidden there, to choose in the face of it all, not death, but life.” (These are all excerpts from a handout from counseling tonight. In a two page description, these three sections went off like bombs inside my head.)

Again, back to looking into the very mirror above. The reflection looking back is not a true self, but an imposter. . . a ‘false self’ creating the very vulnerabilities that invite the batterers, the abusers, and the takers into our lives.

We studied this in group tonight. It really didn’t make much sense.. until a phone call from a friend.  “Surrendering is, ironically, the only thing which allows us to continue this journey because our ego or false self has been shattered.”  False Self. 

She said it very brash and to the point.  No sugar coating, “… we really weren’t cool chicks, we convinced ourselves that were these awesome chicks, thus inviting in those who damaged and shattered us…. Something that i chose for myself. I’m accountable for my pain in that I chose to hurt myself with someone else’s hand. It certainly doesn’t absolve my abuser, but i can’t lie to myself and perpetuate a victim mentality by not acknowledging my role in it. “

Ouch. But better poignantly stated that any of the advocates or counselors I have been dealing with to this point. 

In that split moment of abuse, in that second of life flashing, I had only one choice … to transform. The real me, deep down inside that was fighting the imposter, stepped up and pushed out with all of her might. She’s the one that kicked in flight mode. She’s the one that picked up the shattered pieces and went into action. She’s the one that got me here, right here today. Safe. Sound. And finally .. working through my shit.

I wasn’t “me” when I met him. I was a morphed version of who I thought I should be. I was free from a marriage of convenience and no passion. I tried to fill that void with someone, anyone, who acknowledged me after a very dry, unloving marriage. My relationship with the abuser, “…forced me into the basement of my soul, to look directly at what was hidden there, to choose in the face of it all, not death, but life.” 

I am now at the point where I am directly gazing into the mirror, stored in the basement of my soul, facing what I am hiding within.  I planned to hit this head on. I will be reformed. I am eager and anxious to become healthier. I hold myself accountable for the pain I have inflicted on myself by the hands of another. I invited this in. But damn it, I’m cleaning house. I was conditioned from childhood to accept less, because that’s all I deserve. To give all, but expect and accept nothing in return. Well no more. No more trying to convince myself that is all I am worth. 

I was challenged recently to revisit my I AM… statements by another friend.

I AM worth happiness. 
I AM deserving of love.
I AM in my right to expect more from those I chose to have in my life. 
I AM who I make myself to be, not what was ingrained in me. 
I AM vulnerable, but I AM learning empowerment. 
I AM beautiful. 

 

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Embittered Hope

Through everything I have endured, I still live through hope.

                            I love fully. I dream wildly. I feel completely.

I could be embittered, but I know bruises heal.

I could be cold and callous, but my blood flows warmly. My exhaled breath fogs over the mirror of deceit.

I could be hardened to the idea of love, but my heart beats passionately reminding the rest of my body love is out there.

I could compartmentalize each broken promise. I could internalize every time a negative word was said. I did all of these. I did them all each day. But I do not want to be hardened. Hardened to possibilities.

I still hurt. I still ache that crippling, griping ache that clings to me like anxious sweat. Telling me I will never be enough.

                           But my heart swells, relearning the art of love.

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A Mother’s Pride:

Mother’s Pride, for me today, is sitting in my room while my son is in the other room practicing his tuba. What is the song that he is practicing? Misty Mountain Cold from The Hobbit soundtrack. 

My housemate’s son is practicing on his Cello. 

It’s broken and in the process of being learned, but fuck if my house doesn’t rock right now. I literally am sitting her swollen with pride that’s escaping my body in small little goose flesh all over; little mounds of mother’s pride.
This, is just pure awesome. This is my gratitude for the day. I cannot express how happy I am now that my son is home. I love my Saturday being filled with the sounds of his instrument(s). 

 

 

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I hate to do it, I hate to say it, But.. I hate you.

I-Hate-You-This-Much-Scary-Bunny-Picture.jpg
I cannot stand that even a sliver of you is still within me. I wish I could just file it away and go on, move on, continue with my life.

I know my blog is supposed to be about embracing thankfulness. I know it was originally created to finding reasons each day of why I am filled with love and gratitude. It’s kind of hard to find the wonderfulness in this big sea of life when I wade through your toxic shit you dumped in my head. Your voice is the devil’s incarnate. 

I have constant thoughts throughout my day of reasons why I hate you. Those thoughts usually walk hand in hand with the vile things you said to me. (Still say to me actually, even if it’s just an echo of time.) I have lists, so many lists,  of things said and done that caused me to lose just a little more of myself each day. I am slowly learning the triggers that cause your words to replay like a residual haunting in my soul.

I’ve been lectured to and reminded not to give you the satisfaction, strength or feed into your need as an abuser, batterer and narcissistic  by even writing or compiling a list like this. But this is how I process. This is how I have learned to shovel the decomposing rot that is steadily getting piling inside. I do not want what you did to me to be a dictator of how I live my life any more.

But, these are my reasons why I wish you would just die already.

1.  I hate you because of my music. I hate that I was not at all allowed to listen to “Someone Like You” by Adele without ridicule. Any of my music actually, but this song… this was my song. This was THE SONG I  practiced relentlessly to sing at karaoke. But you had numerous tantrums until I just finally stopped listening. You would do asshole moves like, if I put my music on just to get a taste of my enjoyment again, you’d put your music on twice as loud. You LITERALLY drowned me out of my likes, tastes, anything thing that was a representation of everything I am inside. You stole that. You stole my enjoyment of music. For two years I was subjected to your shit: Bee Gees, ELO, and stupid rap shit. There was no variety. There was no appreciation for Otis to Dead Kennedy’s. It was all about you, your childhood, and what music soothed YOUR soul. Here’s an example of how it was all about you:  I had the chance to see The Hobbit; my love, my passion, my dwarves! I fell in LOVE with “Misty Mountains Cold” and wanted to listen to it at night, to fall asleep to it. I mean, for TWO YEARS I had to listen to “Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back” on audio (no, not the soundtrack, the audio track of the whole movie) EVERY NIGHT on repeat. I know more about that movie than I ever wanted to in my life. But,  because I loved you and wanted to support your endeavors and passions, I did this with/for you. The moment I turned on my music, Misty Mountains Cold, you flipped the fuck out. FLIPPED OUT on me; irrationally. Because, “NO fucking way am I listening to sad, depressing shit when I GO to sleep.” Gee. Thanks. You’re such a swell person.  And for that, I hate you.

2. Every fucking girl is competition; yes she STILL IS. You made every woman we passed fucking competition. You didn’t make them jealous of me, no no, you made me jealous of every one of them. From snide comments about their body to physically flirting with them in front of me. Here’s a story. I went to church Sunday. I haven’t used my bible since we last went together. Inside of my bible was a note card for our old church. Written on this note card was an accusation from me, “You dig her!”  Really, because this is what I should be worried about sitting in church right? I never used to be competition with women. Instead, I was one steady on lifting my fellow sister up. You fucking stripped that from me too. I hate that I second guess who I am around any other woman. I hate wondering if I’m being judged by them, like you placed judgement on me. And for that, I fucking hate you.

3. I have panic attacks eating. It does not matter if I am eating a salad, eating popcorn in the privacy of my room, eating out with friends, or eating a burger on the go. I can’t handle anyone else seeing me eat. I hide my food while driving. I won’t take a bite of my lunch if anyone else is around. Because I just KNOW they (everyone else around me) is looking at me saying, “Look at you shoveling food.” “Fat cow.” “Ugly toad.” “Have another cookie.” I loved food; still do really but now there is a lot of anxiety around it. I hate that I can’t have a relationship with food, whether healthy or unhealthy. If I eat a salad in public now I hear, “Ya, fat girl needs the salad.” I feel shamed inside, like I’m not worthy of going out and having a good time. I should just hide because of my weight, especially if it is surrounding food. And for that, I fucking hate you.

4. “Fag” book/facebook, video games, reading, especially writing … anything that “took time away from you” has now become a stressor or trigger for me. You literally told me that you were jealous of the time I spent doing…. well anything else that wasn’t doting or worshiping you. If you had it your way, I would have cooked naked while bending over kissing your feet while you fucked me, insulted me and compared me to other women… as long as your needs were met though right? Every ounce of who I was was raped from me; every ounce. I cannot read and retain a book now, because I have panic while reading. I play a video game and become hyper-aware of the time, how much time I’m spending, any chore that needs to be done. I MISS VIDEO GAMES. I MISS vegging out with a book, game, or at my laptop writing. I wish I could find the passion in me to do the things that I really enjoy. I’m so numb and I’ve lost creativity. I try all the time to sit down and write, I lose steam about 1/4 way into it, because it’s mentally exhausting being on edge all the time. And for that, I fucking hate you.

5. I missed the boat on making some really good friends in ‘our town’. You, on the other hand, made friends everywhere. I, however, tried to and was met with physical fights from you. I could have had a good friend in her. We were a lot of like. Same ideas, outlooks, life experiences. She was strong and that scared the fuck out of you. I wasn’t allowed to be her friend because of it.

He, well, he is still my friend. FRIEND, douche’ bag, FRIEND. Just because YOU shag every thing that comes in your path, doesn’t mean that’s my characteristic. Him and I still talk, daily almost. Because he was a friend, and still is. I am thankful for him. I do have panic talking to him though. I’m super stressed out because of the fear of how it’s going to be taken by others. I question the motives of everyone trying to be a friend now, because I have forgotten what it’s like myself. And for that, I fucking hate you.

 A time will come when I am no longer haunted by your stinging nettles, your rash you creating on my skin, in my mind, on the surface of my soul. I will no longer preoccupy my mind with your pregnant words of hate and hurt. One day, I will learn to love and trust again. Before I do that, though, I will love and trust myself. I will give birth to the healing process and nurture the new me in ways I was neglected as a child. I will grow into a flower; a sunflower.

With my strong stalk, standing tall and displaying all my color, compassion and grandeur. I will be inviting the right ones in, to take harvest of every aspect of me, that makes me and that I have to offer them. 

And all you’ll ever be is the shitty manure that helped me grow.

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Learning to Love Again (Starting with Myself)

LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF

onlinecounsellingcollege:

We tend to focus on looking for love, hoping for love, and waiting for love. Yet if we look to others to meet that basic need then we’ll always be empty and unfulfilled.

That is, for others to love us in a healthy way, we must first be able to nurture ourselves … and to love and honour who we truly are. The steps below can help you work towards this goal.

1. Decide to treat others with love and respect: As you seek to bring joy into others’ lives you’ll find that they repay you with kindness and love.

2. Practice random acts of kindness: “Play it forward” by doing random thoughtful things. That will turn you into someone you respect yourself – and you’ll also find that others are more generous to you.

3. Let go of the past: What happened in the past is merely history now. Today is a new day, and you are starting a new page. Let go of disappointments, hurts and any grievances you hold against yourself, other people – or the world!

4. Forgive yourself: We all make mistakes, or we regret some bad decisions. Don’t ridicule, berate or criticise yourself for that. Instead, forgive whatever happened, and give yourself a break. It simply means you’re human – and are not infallible.

5. Practice positive self-talk: Write down and repeat affirming statements and truths … like “I am gifted” … or “I’m a true and loyal friend”. Post these statements on the mirror and repeat them to yourself.

6. Think through what you really want in life – You can carve out your own path and you choose your own destiny. Your life is a gift and you can choose what you will do.

7. Be persistent: Work wholeheartedly at loving yourself. If you’ve suffered in the past then be compassionate. Be ready to acknowledge and work through your pain. You deserve that respect – and it will help to set you free.

8. Celebrate your accomplishments: It’s easy to ignore or to downplay what we have done – but don’t be blind to your successes and accomplishments. They ought to be acknowledged as they’re part of who you are.

9. Think of someone you want to be like and emulate them: Doing that will build those qualities into your life as well – so it is easier to like, love and accept yourself.

10. Be yourself and trust yourself: Be true to yourself – and don’t care what others think. Learn to trust your instincts and to follow your own heart. Also, learn it’s OK to say “no” and to do your own thing … And you don’t have to feel guilty for not pleasing everyone.

11. Don’t compare yourself to others: Every person on the planet is different and unique. We all have different talents and different histories. Discover who YOU are and then invest in being you!

12. Work on receiving love: When someone pays you a compliment or tries to show you love, don’t quickly brush it off – but try and see it as a gift. That is, a gift that shows you’ve value and are loved, and loveable.

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Fragmented Like Stained Glass.

hands-releasing-butterfly

Fragmented Like Stained Glass.

Fragmented, she spread her wings, 
displaying beauty within her wounds.
Catching the Sun through framed and brittle 
segments strung together like stained glass,
telling a story.
Her story, 

told through veins and sinew, holding
her together better than promises and hopes.
Albeit,  fragility still noticed. 

But it doesn’t stop her. Oh no, 
that aged butterfly with torn tissue paper wings,
She is not easily stopped. Oh no, 
Stopping is admits defeat.

Defeat is not an option. Displaying
battles scars like badges of honor, 
She learns to maneuver from rock
to flower to shit.  Crippled, 
from surface to soul, she still shows
the rainbow through her stained glass
wings.