I'm trying really hard not to flip out on my dingus husband. He's in manstrual cycle overload and it leaves me wanting to smother his obnoxious ass with a pillow. WHY do men seem to think that they can say whatever they think, no matter how ugly, unrealistic and ridiculous it may be?!
How would he feel if I spent everyday bitching at him? I can answer that one! He'd be pissed and rightfully so. So WHY does he think that each day when he comes in from work he can take off on a stupid fucking rant because I can't read his mind? It starts every freaking morning! I can't do anything right according to him, but he "loves me so much." *Insert gag* Yeah, right. If you loved me, you wouldn't spend so much time beating me down with your words. Love is not abusive. Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, he doesn't hit me. He wouldn't dare. I'm one of those women who would tie his ass up in the bed sheet and beat the hell out of him with whatever was handy right before I drug him out the front door and left him outside in nothing but his skivvies. I will NOT tolerate any ahem, "man" laying his hands on me in an untoward way. Whoa to the dumb ass that thinks he's gonna whip my ass. This bitch fights back and I also fight dirty.
Do NOT blame me for not budgeting enough money to do things with your kids for the summer. I didn't make you spend every week at the bar getting shit faced with your buddies while I sat at home. We have separate funds so that is NOT on me. It's on YOU. I can't help it that you waited until the last minute to ask my family for use of our cabin. That was YOU. So suck it up and act like a grown up before I give you the verbal lashing that you're begging for. I'm not going to live in yet another emotionally and verbally abusive marriage. As much as I love you, I'm not going to let you beat me down. I'd rather be alone.
I just have a couple of words for you: MAN THE FUCK UP!!!! Or I will so put your ass out of the house.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Isolation and Sexual Abuse
Sexual abuse causes so much bullshit to seep into the survivors life. Many of us kept our abuse a secret and as such, have some pretty unpleasant character traits that began as survival mechanisms and are now just fucked up habits. I'm saddened and amused at the ways that my own family has perpetuated and reinforced my feelings of inadequacy.
My sister is a butt hole to me. My parents of course do nothing because we're both adults. I just have to learn to accept that I'm not invited to my nephews and nieces birthdays. I have to learn to accept that I'm not welcome at my sisters house because she's together and I'm not. I have to pretend that everything is just happy fucking dorey at holidays and family gatherings because I deserve being the outcast. Now, my gifts are required for said nephews and nieces, I'm just not supposed to call them to wish them a happy birthday or attend their parties. My ass had also better make sure that I do for them at Christmas. My kids? They don't get gifts from my sister because they aren't real family. Her words, not mine. Never mind the fact that my kids have been part of this family for longer than hers...they aren't real family.
What the fuck does that mean? In my mind, real family doesn't use someone's pain and insecurity as a way to build themselves up. Real family shouldn't think it okay to spread gossip and rumors regarding other family members. Real family should love each other. Gee, I guess that I'm not part of a real family cause last time I looked, my fucked up family has a lot of fun and hours of pathetic discussions regarding her. I have a name. I also have feelings even if I never let any of you see them.
I'm sitting here wondering why I even bother? It certainly isn't because I get anything out of this. I come home and cry after each family gathering. I cry because I never asked for any of this. All I have ever wanted was to be loved and accepted. I want to be part of. Silly girl, that is simply not happening.
I don't know what, if anything, I should do. The thing that would be best for me is to cut ties and just be done. Then I think about my nephews and nieces and tell myself that they didn't ask to have a Mom and an Aunt who still pull hair. I tell myself that they don't deserve to suffer because I think their Mommy is a giant cunt and their Mommy thinks I'm a certifiable, lying piece of trash. The truth is that they would never miss me. I've not been allowed to participate in their lives. They don't know me and I don't know them. I doubt seriously that I'm as important to them as they are to me.
And there you have it. My pity party for the day.
My sister is a butt hole to me. My parents of course do nothing because we're both adults. I just have to learn to accept that I'm not invited to my nephews and nieces birthdays. I have to learn to accept that I'm not welcome at my sisters house because she's together and I'm not. I have to pretend that everything is just happy fucking dorey at holidays and family gatherings because I deserve being the outcast. Now, my gifts are required for said nephews and nieces, I'm just not supposed to call them to wish them a happy birthday or attend their parties. My ass had also better make sure that I do for them at Christmas. My kids? They don't get gifts from my sister because they aren't real family. Her words, not mine. Never mind the fact that my kids have been part of this family for longer than hers...they aren't real family.
What the fuck does that mean? In my mind, real family doesn't use someone's pain and insecurity as a way to build themselves up. Real family shouldn't think it okay to spread gossip and rumors regarding other family members. Real family should love each other. Gee, I guess that I'm not part of a real family cause last time I looked, my fucked up family has a lot of fun and hours of pathetic discussions regarding her. I have a name. I also have feelings even if I never let any of you see them.
I'm sitting here wondering why I even bother? It certainly isn't because I get anything out of this. I come home and cry after each family gathering. I cry because I never asked for any of this. All I have ever wanted was to be loved and accepted. I want to be part of. Silly girl, that is simply not happening.
I don't know what, if anything, I should do. The thing that would be best for me is to cut ties and just be done. Then I think about my nephews and nieces and tell myself that they didn't ask to have a Mom and an Aunt who still pull hair. I tell myself that they don't deserve to suffer because I think their Mommy is a giant cunt and their Mommy thinks I'm a certifiable, lying piece of trash. The truth is that they would never miss me. I've not been allowed to participate in their lives. They don't know me and I don't know them. I doubt seriously that I'm as important to them as they are to me.
And there you have it. My pity party for the day.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Devil is in the details
I ran across my rapist on the internet. It caught me completely off guard. I almost threw up. Jesus, it's been almost 30 years and I still want to wretch. That night started off so innocently. He was my girlfriend's boyfriend. He dated several of my girlfriends and I trusted him. I was a tomboy. I liked boys but in an immature, giggle and blush sort of way. My body was much more sexually mature than my mind. Flirting to me was frogging a guy in the arm.
I'd finished playing basketball that night. I can't tell you if we won or lost. I just know that he asked for me to wait outside for a family member to pick him up. We sat on the high loading dock facing the lighted parking lot for what seemed an eternity. I was cold. We'd been there for what seemed like forever. I wanted to go inside. He needed to just call the family member but I didn't want to be outside with him anymore. "Isn't that your dad's truck?" "Yeah." "Can't we sit in it, I promise they'll be here soon." "Just for a few minutes, this doesn't feel right."
The next thing I remember is being pinned to the seat. He was on top of me holding both of my arms with one hand, the other pulling my pants down. I froze. I cried and softly said, "Please no. I don't want to, please stop." He told me to shut up that I'd like it. He pried my legs apart with his and did his thing. I went somewhere else in my head. When he was done he told me I wasn't bad for a virgin. I was in shock.
Then I saw dad coming across the lot. I was safe....or so I thought. The nightmare had only just begun. "What have you done?" he screamed. I'd never seen him so mad. I was terrified, unable to speak, who was this man? Where was my best friend? The one I told everything including how it grossed me out to think about kissing a boy. He grabbed me by my arms and began to shake me, yelling...the only thing I remember him saying was that I'd behaved like a whore and he spat on me. At that moment, I knew my life would never be the same again.
Whore? I'll show you whore. Fuck you you self righteous asshole. You think I did this willingly? I'm 13 years old! You were supposed to kick his ass! You were supposed to save me and you call ME a whore? I'll show you. I will so show you.
I shut down emotionally that night. I began using shortly after that. It started with booze and some pain pills. I never told a soul. I let the pussy who raped me run his mouth about how I'd loved him popping my cherry. I didn't care, I wanted to die. I took an entire bottle of pain pills with codeine not too long after that. I was taken to the hospital for severe stomach pain. The brilliant doctor diagnosed me with gas and sent me home. I prayed all the way home to please let me die. I woke up the next day much to my dismay.
The article. My rapist now runs a prominent Boys and Girls Club in a major metropolitan area. The article said that he was a success story. One of abuse and rising above it all to make life better for others. They refer to his broken grammar and boyish charm. Oh fucking puhleeze! HE RAPED ME and you're putting him with CHILDREN?! He has children and a wife. He's happy and changing lives and I'm still scarred by what he did to me. I'm such a coward. I should call someone and tell them. Why would anyone believe me though? It's just my word against his and I'm a basket case who still uses drugs. He's the director and obviously well regarded. How does this shit happen?
I'd finished playing basketball that night. I can't tell you if we won or lost. I just know that he asked for me to wait outside for a family member to pick him up. We sat on the high loading dock facing the lighted parking lot for what seemed an eternity. I was cold. We'd been there for what seemed like forever. I wanted to go inside. He needed to just call the family member but I didn't want to be outside with him anymore. "Isn't that your dad's truck?" "Yeah." "Can't we sit in it, I promise they'll be here soon." "Just for a few minutes, this doesn't feel right."
The next thing I remember is being pinned to the seat. He was on top of me holding both of my arms with one hand, the other pulling my pants down. I froze. I cried and softly said, "Please no. I don't want to, please stop." He told me to shut up that I'd like it. He pried my legs apart with his and did his thing. I went somewhere else in my head. When he was done he told me I wasn't bad for a virgin. I was in shock.
Then I saw dad coming across the lot. I was safe....or so I thought. The nightmare had only just begun. "What have you done?" he screamed. I'd never seen him so mad. I was terrified, unable to speak, who was this man? Where was my best friend? The one I told everything including how it grossed me out to think about kissing a boy. He grabbed me by my arms and began to shake me, yelling...the only thing I remember him saying was that I'd behaved like a whore and he spat on me. At that moment, I knew my life would never be the same again.
Whore? I'll show you whore. Fuck you you self righteous asshole. You think I did this willingly? I'm 13 years old! You were supposed to kick his ass! You were supposed to save me and you call ME a whore? I'll show you. I will so show you.
I shut down emotionally that night. I began using shortly after that. It started with booze and some pain pills. I never told a soul. I let the pussy who raped me run his mouth about how I'd loved him popping my cherry. I didn't care, I wanted to die. I took an entire bottle of pain pills with codeine not too long after that. I was taken to the hospital for severe stomach pain. The brilliant doctor diagnosed me with gas and sent me home. I prayed all the way home to please let me die. I woke up the next day much to my dismay.
The article. My rapist now runs a prominent Boys and Girls Club in a major metropolitan area. The article said that he was a success story. One of abuse and rising above it all to make life better for others. They refer to his broken grammar and boyish charm. Oh fucking puhleeze! HE RAPED ME and you're putting him with CHILDREN?! He has children and a wife. He's happy and changing lives and I'm still scarred by what he did to me. I'm such a coward. I should call someone and tell them. Why would anyone believe me though? It's just my word against his and I'm a basket case who still uses drugs. He's the director and obviously well regarded. How does this shit happen?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Who I Am
Who am I? That's a complex question with no easy answers. I am a woman who has yet to come to terms with her sexual abuse. I am the sister who is shunned, the daughter that causes shame, the niece who is labeled as trash, the wife who baffles her husband...in short, I am a survivor who hasn't yet learned to live.
My story begins with an innocent little girl. A little girl who grew up in a world that is not spoken of due to the stain it would leave on my family name. My mother was so depressed that she couldn't care for me. I ran wild from my earliest memories. Our home had drawn curtains, it was dark, it was quiet with the exception of my mother's crying. I learned to fix my own breakfast by the time I was 3-4 years of age. I grew up knowing that my being here had prevented my mother from her dream of being a nurse. It was my fault that her dreams were lost.
I was the apple of my father's eye except when I was too much trouble. Whoa to the one who had a differing opinion in my home. How can love and loathing be so intertwined? From my experience, very easily. From best friends to mortal enemies...it happens in the blink of an eye. All it took was one assumption and life as I knew it was changed forever.
I was molested by my aunt. When it began, she was a child, too. Our secret has only come to the surface on two separate occasions. The first time it was met with a blank stare and then a change of topic. The second, I was called a sick bitch. Hmmm, I'm a sick bitch? Yes, that is true but I certainly didn't ask for you to teach me how to digitally perform sexual acts at the age of four. I didn't ask to be taught to give oral sex to you. I was innocent and then, I was dirty and ashamed. I didn't ask for my family, my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles to look the other way while I was victimized over and over again. I'm not the one who chose to keep this secret that destroys me because it would be too hard for my mother to hear. God forbid that our good Christian family admit the truth. If you did, then I would no longer be solely responsible for what a child did to survive. You would each have to stand beside me and own your part of this sick play. A mother who didn't want her first born. A father who called his daughter a whore after she was raped because he projected his own sexual misconduct which resulted in my being. I didn't ask to be, you both invited me. "Let the dead bury their dead." I'm not dead, there is no correlation except in your own disturbed mind. Perhaps it would be easier if I were, but I am still here.
I am a drug addict who uses to keep all of the ugliness within from exploding in plain view. I function. I appear to be a relatively normal adult. I have a job, I attend church and feel like such a hypocrite, I even try to work a 12 step program and I cannot break free. I know Christ yet I am too afraid to step out on faith and quit smoking pot...my last means of quashing the memories. Instead, I put on the mask and pretend that all is well while I die a little more each day.
You taught my sister to scorn me. You've encouraged the competition for the label of the good child. I'm obviously not her.
It's easy to look down on those who have been slammed to the ground. Real love would be the simple extension of a hand to help me up. I won't hold my breath for that to happen. It's much more self-gratifying to tell me to get professional help. It's much easier to think that I should get over the past. Yeah, I choose to live here. *insert major eyeroll* Fuck you. Dumbass, self-righteous, pious assholes. As unkind as it is, I would love to give each of you a pinch of the pain and insanity that's come from all of these years of repressed emotions and memories and make you carry it as you've forced me to do: alone.
Welcome to my fucked up world.
My story begins with an innocent little girl. A little girl who grew up in a world that is not spoken of due to the stain it would leave on my family name. My mother was so depressed that she couldn't care for me. I ran wild from my earliest memories. Our home had drawn curtains, it was dark, it was quiet with the exception of my mother's crying. I learned to fix my own breakfast by the time I was 3-4 years of age. I grew up knowing that my being here had prevented my mother from her dream of being a nurse. It was my fault that her dreams were lost.
I was the apple of my father's eye except when I was too much trouble. Whoa to the one who had a differing opinion in my home. How can love and loathing be so intertwined? From my experience, very easily. From best friends to mortal enemies...it happens in the blink of an eye. All it took was one assumption and life as I knew it was changed forever.
I was molested by my aunt. When it began, she was a child, too. Our secret has only come to the surface on two separate occasions. The first time it was met with a blank stare and then a change of topic. The second, I was called a sick bitch. Hmmm, I'm a sick bitch? Yes, that is true but I certainly didn't ask for you to teach me how to digitally perform sexual acts at the age of four. I didn't ask to be taught to give oral sex to you. I was innocent and then, I was dirty and ashamed. I didn't ask for my family, my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles to look the other way while I was victimized over and over again. I'm not the one who chose to keep this secret that destroys me because it would be too hard for my mother to hear. God forbid that our good Christian family admit the truth. If you did, then I would no longer be solely responsible for what a child did to survive. You would each have to stand beside me and own your part of this sick play. A mother who didn't want her first born. A father who called his daughter a whore after she was raped because he projected his own sexual misconduct which resulted in my being. I didn't ask to be, you both invited me. "Let the dead bury their dead." I'm not dead, there is no correlation except in your own disturbed mind. Perhaps it would be easier if I were, but I am still here.
I am a drug addict who uses to keep all of the ugliness within from exploding in plain view. I function. I appear to be a relatively normal adult. I have a job, I attend church and feel like such a hypocrite, I even try to work a 12 step program and I cannot break free. I know Christ yet I am too afraid to step out on faith and quit smoking pot...my last means of quashing the memories. Instead, I put on the mask and pretend that all is well while I die a little more each day.
You taught my sister to scorn me. You've encouraged the competition for the label of the good child. I'm obviously not her.
It's easy to look down on those who have been slammed to the ground. Real love would be the simple extension of a hand to help me up. I won't hold my breath for that to happen. It's much more self-gratifying to tell me to get professional help. It's much easier to think that I should get over the past. Yeah, I choose to live here. *insert major eyeroll* Fuck you. Dumbass, self-righteous, pious assholes. As unkind as it is, I would love to give each of you a pinch of the pain and insanity that's come from all of these years of repressed emotions and memories and make you carry it as you've forced me to do: alone.
Welcome to my fucked up world.
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