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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 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)



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.


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

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“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know.”

I had an amazing counseling visit today. I walked out feeling pretty good about myself. I do not have the air of burden, stress and mental exhaustion as I usually do. There were just a few things that were said tonight that made me feel really good about myself. It’s great to be heard, and observed, by someone who does not know me, relay to me her view of who I am. I feel validated.

The one comment she made that resonated the most with me, “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know.” How bloody true is this? Seriously. When a person comes from the chaotic, negative childhood that I have it is no wonder that I got involved with the partners in my life that I have. They’re the demons that I am familiar with.

There are many times I have stated, “I can understand why women go back to their abuser.” This does not mean that I WILL or that I AM, going back. It simply  means that it is far easier for me to deal with the demons I am all too familiar with than trying to learn the dance with any new devil trying to feed on my vulnerabilities.

I have come to an impasse where I have decided I want to stay sensitive and compassionate without being vulnerable or a victim; prey. I need to learn to regulate emotions in the moment. I need to learn to stop, listen to the fallacy I am telling myself, weigh out the reality and react accordingly. The best part of all of this, is that I am at that point in my life where I want to. I am that point in my life where I could do one of three things:
A. Become my mother, self medicate, drink myself retarded, cause fights and push everyone around me away so I will eventually die alone.
B. Realize the reality of what is going on inside of me, and how it is effecting my life externally and internally, and seek guidance to help recognize and regulate all of this.
C. Be completely depressed, numb and suicidal.

Well, option A is No Bueno. I do not want to become my mother. I do not want to die alone, with my child hating me to my grave. I do not want to drink and use that as an avenue to create chaos and blame the drink. I’m stand behind communication and accountability.

Option C is not an option either. As much as I have contemplated suicide over the last two years, and even in the hospital last July for a 6 hour suicide watch, I know that this is NOT an option. I have too much inside me fighting to survive. My passion, my heart, my soul is fighting those demons in my head telling me I suck and death would be easier. I have a fighter in me. It’s about damned time I embrace and thank her.

Option B is best. I can do this. I want to do this. I am at that juncture where I am able to do this. I think the path laid out before me is meant to be cohesive so that I can complete my inner workings. I’m working part time. I have minimal responsibilities. I can pay my debt down and work with counselors to heal my insides.

This, after raising my son, is by far my biggest adventure yet.

And finally, an observation about myself. I need to stop justifying with, “I’m just trying to…” I just want to…”
The word “just” needs to be removed from my vocabulary. I need to stop prefacing anything I might feel will hurt the other person with, “I just..” to me it is no different than, “Just kidding.”




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Anger… justified.

After going out last night and “living” a little without fear of ridicule or belittlement, I woke up today angry. ANGRY of what has taken place over the last two years. ANGRY at myself for allowing it. ANGRY at him for causing it. ANGRY at my past for enabling it. ANGRY at my predisposition. 



:: stamps feet :: blows steam ::

Now, in the natural healing that takes place in humans, anger is just a step. Unfortunately, for most of my life, I get stuck on the “anger” step. This will truly be a lesson in how to learn and grow. I refuse to get stuck on the angry hurt like I have my whole life.

I am not angry where I’m lashing out and need to calm down. I just have this internal burn. I am reading, A LOT. Especially the workbook and handouts from domestic violence group. I have like 7 books I’m reading. I need to learn to properly release and let go. Not to dwell on it. Not to hold that shit in…. for DECADES.

Guidance and suggestions encouraged.

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Catching up.


As you all know, I’ve been depressed. Deeply and cuttingly depressed. I have been stuck in a tug o’war of fighting to live and fighting to defend my right to be alive on this planet. Those who truly follow my blog also knows that I created this blog back in the midst of a huge depressive wave some years ago. I am back, but I feel the need to write out what has happened over the last two years to forge and define me, my depression and my existence on this planet. This is my blog and this is my story. It is not an avenue to cry victim; or cry wolf. I am no seeking sympathy. I am not looking to be coddled. I just need to write out the events, my counseling, my progress… I just need to journal this era of me.

I am a 37-year old woman who has had a lifetime of problems. I grew up in a home that was abusive. I grew up and married some one who also had a different form of abuse. I never knew what I was going through with him was another form of abuse. Seriously. I just thought he was stoic and unemotional. My depression when I created this blog was with him. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. Why there was no drive to be “with me”. He was just void of all emotion. I fought to get him to care. I fought with him to see any spark of “life” in him. I struggled. I cried.

We received a hand out in therapy tonight from the book, “Healing the Trauma of Domestic Violence”, I learned about two communication “low roads”. The second low road is “…conflict avoidance. Responding to conflict with passivity. Peace at all costs. Sweep it under the carpet.” This was him 100%. Though he never “beat me”… he just avoided me. I felt like the plague. It made me chaotic inside. I fell into a depression and sought counseling because I thought I was broken. I am elated to find out that it wasn’t me. Yes, I had a hand in it. I was not broken, I was hungry for love, appreciation, being wanted. That doesn’t make me guilty, that makes me a depressed wife whose needs were not being met. Having been neglected as a child from a mother who really did not like me, caused my self image to be nearly nonexistent. I wanted my husband to fill the love in me that I never experienced as a child. Through years of counseling, I finally was able to leave him so that I could work on myself. Little did I know that I was actually at my weakest, eager and totally vulnerable. Enter my recent ex-partner.

The last two years have been hell. I met him in January 2012. Things moved really, really fast. Too fast for me to notice time speeding by, because I was totally blinded by “him” and who he presented himself to be. He filled every void I felt from my ex-husband. He is charismatic, smooth talking, attentive (at first). He was everything I thought I “needed”. It didn’t take long for another side to start to show. I don’t even know what the argument was over, but we argued. We fought good. Next thing I know he hit me in the face. To this day he says it was open handed, but it sure felt like a fist. He hit me hard enough to knock me off my feet. This was my Mother’s Day gift. From that moment forward, I have walked through my life in automation. I became a zombie. That was the first year. Void of anything that could cause or create happiness in me. I heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me constantly growing up that this is what I deserved. “You will never find anyone to love you. You’re pathetic.” I truly felt I had finally come full circle to what God’s plan for me was: Living the life cursed upon me by the one person who was supposed to teach me unconditional love.

Although, up until September 2012, it was the only time he had hit me. I did, however, hear every negative thing from his mouth that tore me down even more. “Fat Cow.” “Stupid Bitch.” “Toad.” “C**T.” “You’re too ugly, no one will want you.” “Unbreedable and unworthy.” He would say it to me, leading me to believe I should feel lucky that at least he wants me. I was so broken down that I did believe. I mean, truly, who would really want me? I don’t even want me. Self loathing was the at the top of the charts. A record tune that played so much in my head it was like that annoying song pushed on radio stations. It’s not even a catchy fucking tune, but it’s there in your mind over and over again. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I’ve got a hormone problem that grows hair on my chin. I can’t have kids.

In  September 2012, the second physical attack happened. We had relocated across state. He had three job offers. We had to relocate, no jobs were biting on our resumes’ we put out back “home”. We were there for about a month or so and we found our first apartment in town. We had just moved in, literally just moved in. I, again, don’t even know what we fought over, but we were arguing. He shoved me. Shoved me hard enough to knock the toilet paper rod off the wall. I fell into the tub and bruised my ribs. Over apologetic he was. Crying, broken more so and bruise, I was. I can’t do anything right. I can’t clean right. I can’t cook right. I can’t breathe, live, be right. Everything is pissing him off. What the hell could I do to make it better? I became all too familiar with eggshells, but not for cooking, for walking on. My God did my soul ache. Every fiber of my being wilted. I wasn’t being nourished, not even by myself. I was no longer the assertive, confident, beautiful woman. I was a flower that lost light, air, soil..everything to make it grow healthy. Somewhere in 2013, I switched gears. I was tired of being treated worse than our dogs were being treated. I found the fight in me.

I confused the fight, however. Or maybe I didn’t. I was fighting for my life. The “me” inside was fighting to regain control of me. My fight to survive because my fight against him. Everything I vowed to never become I became. I never wanted to be violent and abusive like my mother. I never wanted to use pain and hurt to gain control. But, I did. Something switched in him too. He gained control of his physical tendencies. He started pushing verbally more. He actually stated he was pushing me to get me to react first. There were a lot of threats on me, my life. He threatened to stalk me, find me. He could make me disappear. He’d kill me then himself. “Murder suicide.” I was no longer afraid, however. “Fuck it. Killing me has to be better than living this lie. Living this ‘life’.” I repeated in my head often. He verbally and emotionally pushed me one day. I flipped out and threw something at him. He shoved me, hard, on the stairs. I fought back. (This is me taking accountability for my actions). I hit him back. At that point, if I ever felt that I couldn’t die anymore inside, I did. Every bit of “me” hanging on, withered away. I became a batterer. I was fighting for me, for control, for civility. Cops were called and he went to jail. I was supposed to get out. I chose to stay. Big mistake.

Around November 2013ish, I had a mental breakdown. I went to the hospital and told them that if they don’t help me, I have a plan to end my life. I spent 6 hours on suicide watch. That was the moment I realized I needed out. I just didn’t know how to make it come to fruition.

In January 2014, he hit me in my face again. It was the last time he hit me. He woke up in a foul mood. He was being mean. Just so mean. We had an errand to run and he was relentless. I turned the car around to go home. I told him to do the errand himself, he was a man he can do it himself. He begged me to come with him, I was the one who knew where we were going. So… instead of doing the RIGHT thing, I turned the car around again. We headed out. We were on the freeway and he started again. Running his mouth and insulting me. Being totally cruel. I put my arm out and said “stop it”. He interpreted it as me “hitting him first” and he socked me in the face. He caused me to swerve the car into the oncoming lane. I socked him back. I hit him in his mouth and nose. Violence is never the option. I had had enough. I was done. We got home, I went upstairs to pack my clothes. I was leaving. I was done. He shoved me into the closet. I yelled. Neighbor called the police. He went to jail again. I used Sat. – Tues. to get my list in order and headed out.

I am now in a safe place. I am many hours away staying with really close friends. Their concern about me is foreign to me right now. It’s so foreign it’s frightening. I have no idea how to respond. I am doing so with gratitude, for it’s the only thing I know how to do. I thank them daily. I am learning to love me again. I am in a domestic violence group. I am learning how not to become a prey again. I have come to realize that no matter how ‘strong’ I seem to people, right now, I am at my lowest. I will find me again. I will be a rock star. I will be the creative, writing, loving, odd duck again.

I have learned that he did not break me, just bent me into an unrecognizable shape. I had gone back to him many times in the past, all because I felt I wasn’t worth anything more than what he was giving me. I am not crying wolf. I am not going back. I have had a few people in my life “question” this. I have had a few say to get over it. I have had a few say “pull up my big girl panties.” It’s not that easy. You wouldn’t say that to a Veteran of a war. This was my war. These were my battles. These were just as damaging. My psyche is broken.

But I will dance again.
I will love again.
I will love me first and far most. I, just as everyone else, is worthy of my love and respect.

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Perfect explanation to what’s inside my head.

I found this on a tumblr/blog that I follow. I could not put into words what depression any better than he poetically does. I guess he’s from a TED talk. Any help on who he is would be great.

tumblr_my0xx26gDP1qedf7ko2_r1_500 tumblr_my0xx26gDP1qedf7ko6_r2_500