Still on Hiatus

It came and it went...without trampling me, without rolling over me, without punching me in the gut. Somehow, I got through Christmas.

It was busy, it was intense, it was exhausting. Do you realize how much planning it takes to orchestrate Christmas?? But the planning was my therapy. The work was my amnesia. My family and friends with whom I visited and who came to see me were my safety net. There are people who spend time with you and leave you feeling drained and spent. Not my son...somehow his mere presence is giving and revitalizing. Knowing he is home fills me with peace. Perhaps it is his quiet way of helping without expecting compensation. Maybe it is his way of knowing just what to do to lighten your load. They say I've raised him well, but I see so much of his own personality that I am reluctant to take any credit.

I took my son to the airport early this morning, while it was still dark and the Christmas lights on the trees lining the airport entrance were winking and twinkling. Soon all the glitter will be gone and the ornaments and decorations will have to be removed and stored for the year. My blissful interruption will cease, and I will have to face life again...but not yet. I can still hold on to this hiatus for just a little longer. There is still one more week. There is New Year's Eve and New Year's Day.

I can continue to fill the space with people. I can have a cocktail party and invite my cousin as well as my sister-in-law who happens to be in town visiting her own sister. I can, once again, exhaust myself with planning and preparations...so that I don't have to think.

Buried in Christmas

I have buried myself in Christmas. I found no other way to crawl out of the darkness that I found myself in than to hurl myself, head first, into the madness that is the Christmas Season. There was shopping to be finished at busy stores bursting with other shoppers who had no idea where I had been. I could hide within them and forget that I have thought of anything else but the present moment.

There was the hunt for the elusive Santa Clause, frequenting the mall with the children in hopes to catch a moment on his lap and whisper to him their sweetest dreams. There are 4 AM wake up calls that beckon me to "Santa's Workshop" to wrap a few gifts before the kids wake up.

There are piano recitals, dinners, and Christmas parties. There are Winter Concerts and presentations at the schools, parent observation nights at the dance studio, and even an afternoon at the ballet enjoying The Nutcracker.

There is time with my son and Christmas dinner to plan and shop for. With a schedule like this, who has time to think? This is precisely my purpose. I had to stop thinking in order to throw a rope into the bottomless hole that I was falling into. The frenzy of the holidays certainly keeps me from thinking. If I am an ostrich, then Christmas is my sand.

I don't know where I will find myself emotionally when I emerge in January, but for now, I am well distracted and enjoying this rare moment of peace on what is luminary night in my neighborhood.

Silent night, holy night...

Death Take Me

Tonight I sit here in my desperate pain and gutting loneliness. I let my guard down for just a minute and it burned me. It hurts...something just hurts to the core, and I feel like a fool.

I lose. I lose no matter what. There is no fairy tale and no happy ending. I loose. Tonight I want to sleep and not wake up. Death take me. I can imagine them without me.

A knife would suit me now...a good sharp blade...sharp enough to draw tears. I would make deep and long cuts and cry the bitterness out. Fast and furious...the pain would take me to another atmosphere. I would cut until I drop with exhaustion.

...and then I would pray for death to take me.

Emptying Out the Trash

...So continuing to empty out the trash. Please do not read this if you want to maintain your Christmas spirit. I am writing this so that I don't have to tell people who are walking around doing their Christmas shopping and joyfully humming Christmas tunes. I don't want to bring them down, because I know how they feel...I am usually that person...not that I would actually tell people any of this.

I do, however, feel like Debbie Downer, like the dark cloud eclipsing the glitter of the holiday lights. I make myself sick. I don't want to feel this poisonous, so I'm writing it down. I'm hoping that by doing so, I can somehow lift my mood.

You see, I am feeing really low. Seriously, I am trying to figure out a way that I can end my despicable life without hurting my kids. Impossible right? I know. This is why I write...to get all this garbage out.

So then there's the cutting...the other alternative...not an option, right? Well, yes, at this point it seems like the lesser of two evils...but my son will be home for Christmas...can't wait to see him. I would hate to have to deal with fresh cuts on my wrists.

So all that's left is what? Pain, anger, sadness, feeling trapped, crying at the drop of a hat...no comfort zone.

...despair.

I Want Out

Self-harm trigger warning. If you are there or anywhere near there, please do not read this post. In fact, I would be fine if absolutely no one read this post. This is just me getting the shit out. I have to blurt it out to someone, and tonight there is only my blog.

So what can I say? I'm there again. I guess it doesn't take much these days. Just one bad conversation, a decision to express why a certain e-mail disturbed me. Before I knew it, we were fighting again, and I was raging mad. Now I want to cut . My scars from this summer have almost faded, but I want to carve into myself again. I want to purge this endless hurt. One slice...two slices...whatever it takes. I crave the electrifying sting. Do I deserve to treat myself this way? Yes, I do. Don't ask me why. I feel pretty low and worthless. Really, I just want to off myself, but I guess that would be selfish. There seems to be no happy ending to my story. Why all this pain? Every road is paved with knives.

So I want out. I want off the roller coaster. I want no more of life, if this is what it offers.

Repairing the Hurt

I am the proud owner of a new...car payment!! Yes, I went out and bought another van...just like I said I would.

The importance of this event may not be obviously apparent, so I will begin by sharing that I have never bought a vehicle without the company of a man. This one I bought completely on my own...just my girls and I at a dealership looking for a minivan. What bliss!

I knew what I was looking for...the same make and model that I drove before, perhaps a different color just for the sake of change (although the other color was my favorite). This time, however, the girls really wanted the Rear Entertainment System (DVD player in the back).

So I traded in my sedan and drove home with a 2014 minivan for the price that I wanted...and wouldn't you know it, the only van in the lot with the Rear Entertainment System was the same color as our old van...we had to have it! LOL!

I am so proud of myself in so many different levels for this accomplishment. First, there is the idea of being able to successfully negotiate in what traditionally is a man's world. I held my own...I stood my ground...I got what I wanted.

More importantly, however, is the act of reclaiming a part of me that had been violated. As I drove home, I began to feel like I had reestablished a space that could not be taken away from me. This was not a gift that could be reclaimed at someone else's whim. This was something that I had obtained by my own means with no one else's hands in it.

There is still a bag left in the dining room with my belongings from the other van in it. I had not been able to approach that bag without feelings of hurt and anger revisiting me. I finally feel like I can peacefully go through those items and reposition them in the vehicle that I am driving now.

As far as my husband goes...well he's very happy for me. You see, I never berated him for having taken van the way that he did. I merely explained to him the reasons why I could never take that vehicle back, why I could never drive it again. He understood very well the hurt that he caused me, but he also understood that I was going to do something to repair that hurt...on my own.

A Manger Scene for the Children

Wreaths on the windows, stockings over the fireplace. A manger scene for the children and an Advent wreath for the family. So Christmas has begun at my house. Garland for the mantle, a lighted one for the stair rail. Red bows and Charlie Brown with his pathetic little tree.

Today was just a start, but I am no longer paralyzed with the apparent enormity of the task. Nothing was done without the involvement of the kids. They were there for support, for cheer and just to have four extra hands. They were there to remind me that all the fuss is for them, that normally I really do love Christmas, and that skipping Christmas is not an option.

I paced myself today. I allowed myself to stop and rest when I had had enough. Twice, I was overcome with inexplicable tears. I just allowed them to happen even without understanding them. Some of it was anger, I know.

I am still afraid...too afraid to even write about it. Today, however, was good. My daughter said, "Spending the day decorating for Christmas was the best day ever!", and that's all we need for one day at a time.

Simple Elegance

So we got through Thanksgiving - the first of the holidays. I cooked...as I usually do. I made all the same dishes...no variations...no surprises...no guess work. I took comfort in knowing all the steps to the dance. I have put no pressure on myself during the last two days and made rest a priority.

During the last two months, our formal dining room (where Thanksgiving dinner would be served) has become a depository for all things pending. It began with the bags of my belongings that my husband placed there when he cleared out my van. I had not been able to touch them. Looking at them only brought back the anger and the pain, so I have ignored them...and we have all been adding to the mess.

Today, I did not know how I would clear out the dining room and table in preparation for our dinner. This was a job that I did not have the emotional strength to do alone...so I enlisted the help of the children. I remembered something my therapist recently told me about taking on overwhelming tasks one small piece at a time. I started delegating. The things that I could not bring myself to touch and take into the car, I gave to the kids. They were more than happy to help with this unusual project. In no time, we had cleared the room except for one bag with some of my very personal things. Still I did not have it in me to sort through it...so I left it in a corner.

The work of setting the table I gave to my older daughter. This has been something that I have taken much pride and pleasure in before, getting creative with napkin rings, candles and centerpieces. I knew that in order to keep my inner peace this day, I would have to relinquish that responsibility completely to my daughter...and she did a lovely job.

After dinner, I remained at the table coloring cornucopias with the kids while my husband washed the dishes. (Yes, he has once again turned into model husband). After a while, I finished clearing the table of leftover food and serving dishes. Then I did something that I had not anticipated. After removing the used tablecloth and admiring the beauty of the bare wood, I took out my favorite Christmas runner and laid it on the table, its delicate white lace and gold embroidery contrasting on the dark wood. Again, just one baby step.

As I left the room, pleased with the simple elegance of this scene, I turned and softly said to the room and the house in general, "Welcome Christmas".

Blue

Tonight I need to return to my original purpose for writing this blog. Tonight I need to write like no one is reading. Tonight the writing is just for me. This is, after all, my "say anything" blog.

I can't get the words out for what I really want to write about. Another heart to heart with my husband today. I cried...and it's not what went on that I want to write about. It's these feelings that I have tonight....like darkness and sadness together, laced with a forbidden thin ribbon of hope.

I could hold myself all night long. I can't trust anyone to touch me...only me. I feel weak, vulnerable and fragile. Thoughts of my blade across my wrists are becoming more palpable...the images more dimensional.

Never mind that...just images in my head. Ocean take me away...take me the fuck away from here. Ocean swallow me fucking whole and disappear me into your eternal blue.

Today I Would Freeze Time

The Holidays are not going to kick my ass, I try to tell myself. Yet, I wanted time to freeze today. It was our town's Thanksgiving parade in which my daughters participate each year. Because they are still too young to dance through the parade, they ride their dance school's float and wave at all the spectators...absolutely precious. I look forward to this parade each year, and since they are normally at the beginning of the parade, we usually stay to watch the remainder of the participants once we have gotten the girls off their float.

The parade is a lineup of floats, dancers and marching bands culminating with Santa Clause on the last float officially designating the beginning of the Holiday season. Today, I wish I could have frozen time just before this last float.

Although I keep telling myself that I will get through the season this year just fine, something else keeps wanting the days not to arrive. Yes, I dread it. I am going through the motions thinking that the emotions will kick in. I bought the candles for my Advent wreath, but I do not know how I will find the wherewithal to put it out....or even read the readings as a family the way we normally do.

The truth is that I don't want to go through Christmas this year. I would like to take my three children and fly off somewhere far and spend the entire season there, away form all the expectations and traditions and, most of all, away form this wretched house.

...surely Santa Clause will find the children anywhere in the world!

Sometimes I'm Strong, and Sometimes I Cry

Sometimes I'm a strong man

Sometimes cold and scared

and sometimes I cry

(from Leather and Lace, Stevie Nicks with Don Henley)
 

I did not realize how intense this week has been until...well...tonight. I had been getting my older daughter ready for her first overnight field trip while also hosting my mother-in-law and working a few extra hours in my schedule. As if that weren't enough, I had to complete some live continuing education (CE) credits via webinars so that the Board of Pharmacy will renew my license for next year. I found myself all over the house with this webinar on my mobile trying to sort out clothes, pack, and put children to bed while "attending" the meeting. WTF? Who the hell does that? It was completely ridiculous, stressful and exhausting.

The entire week was pretty much non-stop, and I feel like I had been running on pure adrenaline. Now that my daughter and husband (chaperoning) are off on their trip and my mother-in-law has gone home, I am finally crashing.

There were so many emotions that came up this week that I did not have time to deal with. I certainly did not have the time or space to write. I would love nothing more than to sit with my therapist and talk (I wish I had more time to just take care of myself). There is so much that I need to get out.

I don't really feel as strong as I seem sometimes. I know that at times I am brave and at times I am strong, but tonight I feel neither of those. Tonight I feel scared and uncertain and that old nagging sense of just being inadequate.

My beautiful evening alone with my youngest ended with her having a temper tantrum, because I would not let her watch a television program well past her bedtime...ouch. The real pain, however, came this morning when I dropped my husband and my daughter off at her school for the field trip. After they boarded, I stood alongside the coach buses with a few other moms and dads to await their departure and wave goodbye. Yes, I cried. For goodness sake, this is my girl's first overnight trip without her mother! Then came the lonely empty feeling. What kind of pain would I feel when the time comes to let them have their weekend (or whatever time) with Daddy? It was a rip-my-insides-out kind of pain, and the idea of it is enough to make me want to change my mind about leaving.

...and this is where I get sick, disgusted and confused., because I know that staying with him would just be the death of me.

Under the Stars and the Moons

This weekend was somewhat difficult for me. I survived it, but I feel like it is not over yet. For starters, I was still recuperating from my intense EMDR session on Wednesday. This basically meant that my emotions were still relatively raw. Piled on top of that was the fact that my mother-in-law arrived this weekend for an almost week-long visit and that my husband has become an octopus and cannot seem to keep his hands off me.

Really I don't know where to go with this post, but perhaps I should start with a couple of things that gave me some sense of strength this weekend. I feel the need to celebrate myself.

First of all, there are my sleeping arrangements while my mother-in-law is visiting. As some of you know, I have been sleeping in my son's old room which is also my guest room. After considering different areas of the house where I could sleep, I decided that the safest and most comfortable place for me would be in my daughters' room between the two of them with their two twin beds pushed together. I decided I would not announce these arrangements until bedtime the first night.

...and so it was. At bedtime, my daughters excitedly exclaimed, "Mommy is sleeping with us tonight!!" To which my husband reacted completely surprised. His look was of genuine surprise, and he even asked me why I would be sleeping with the kids that night. REALLY?!! I wanted to say. Did he really have to ask why? What exactly did he expect? Did he forget the part when I told that I would never sleep with him again? I meant that literally. Did he really expect that a woman whom he forced into sex would ever lay in a bed with him? He truly was making plans for this. I think he thought I had no other option...I would have slept in a gutter first.

Because my children were in the room, my reply to his question was that I was sleeping in the kids' room because his room gave me nightmares. It is a response that I later had to explain further to my youngest, as she understood that I said that Daddy gives me nightmares (imagine that). At any rate, I slept soundly in my girls' little nook under the Unicorn's light show of stars and moons.

I suppose the triumph for me here was giving myself another option...an out. In another place and time, I would have felt trapped in this situation and may have unwillingly put myself in a vulnerable position. I will no longer treat myself that way. I chose safety and was strong enough to, not only voice my decision and my reasons for it, but to follow through with my plans to protect myself and keep myself safe.

As I mentioned earlier, the repercussions from this weekend are hardly over for me, but I needed to take this moment to celebrate and recognize my own courage, for a change.


This post is to be continued when I have more time...

Five

How do I describe the pain I felt in EMDR on Wednesday? It was like I was present in another time. I was overcome with something awful...like a punch in the gut that knocks you down regardless of your fight to stay strong. The memory was so real. It was physical, emotional, and palpable.

We decided to do EMDR on my 3 Musketeers trigger, and it was by far the hardest EMDR session that I have had as of yet. The memories felt more like they were in my body than in my mind, and it was very difficult to come back into the room. I could barely open my eyes, and forming words was nearly impossible. I heard myself mumbling and whispering when I tried to describe what I saw and felt. "It hurts" was all I could manage to verbalize, but those mere two words did not give justice to the place were I was.

I was in the bathroom with my stepfather, where he always told me to meet him for his "quickie". "Five", he would whisper in my ear while passing me casually, or he would simply hold out his hand with his five fingers up. "Five" meant I was to meet him in the kids' bathroom so that he could spend five minutes with his hand in my panties...it was like five hours to me. Our voices were a whisper, so that the other kids would not hear us in there.

Afterwards, he would slip out and leave me with his payment...a 3 Musketeer bar, which I was to eat in hiding so that my siblings would not notice. I would consume this chocolate bar swallowed in shame and feeling like I was his prostitute.

Shame in My Mouth

I was going to write about something more fun tonight but these nasty little thoughts just will not leave me. It 's the memories that keep creeping up. I don't have any organized way of presenting these thoughts. I just know that I need to write them down, so that I can sleep tonight.

I made the mistake of popping a tiny piece of 3 Musketeers chocolate in my mouth after Halloween. (This post has a little history on my experience with this candy bar).There were so many in our basket, and I thought it should be OK. I should be able to eat a piece of chocolate without having flashbacks...not this one. Immediately after biting into it, I regretted it. The taste of shame exploded in my mouth, and it hasn't left me since. The memory gags me...his hard penis.

Fast forward to my husband...I cannot differentiate him from my stepfather. He is in my bed pressed against me, caressing the very parts that are so vulnerable. He doesn't stop when I say stop. Please do not return tomorrow.

Doubled Over in Pain

Tonight I'm feeling crappy, and this post is just me trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head. It will probably not make a lot of sense, but I am hoping it will help me make sense of my own thoughts and feelings.

Where do I begin? Perhaps with the fact that my husband found his way into my bed again this morning. Both the girls had slept in the bed with me last night, so I suppose he thought it was safe to join them. He curled up close to me and held me. My little one was overcome with love and comfort over seeing Mommy and Daddy together again. I was nauseated.

Memories of my stepfather haunt me...walking with my mother...no car...no home. I can't touch that feeling; it hurts too much, so there is just and emptiness associated with it. No. If I think about it more, it's anger I feel...I want to scream out of this world angry. Arrrrrrgh! Too many emotions!

Did I tell you about my Boost diet? No, I did not. That's because I have been trying to hide it from EVERYBODY. I suppose I should start by telling you how I started on it. A few weeks ago when I was feeling suicidal, one of the things I spoke with my therapist about was my lack of nutrition. I could not eat and was forcing down about one meal a day. He gave me a little lesson on the abc's of nutrition and it's effects on mood and clarity of mind and suggested a liquid nutritional supplement until I was able to tolerate solid food better. I brushed off the recommendation letting him know that I could not tolerate those drinks (too much lactose).

The next morning, I found myself at work with an empty stomach and a pain in a place that was way too suggestive of an ulcer. I considered the fact that I had been exposing my stomach to gastric acid for extended periods of time without the normal buffer of food. Add to that higher than normal levels of stress, and you've got the recipe for a stomach ulcer. I immediately stopped the work that I was doing and marched myself to the nutritional aisle of my pharmacy. There I found a six-pack of Boost - lactose free! I made my purchase and consumed my first bottle. It was not long before the pain in my stomach calmed down and my brain started to think more clearly.

This has been my diet on most days for the last few weeks: a bottle of Boost for breakfast, one for lunch, and for dinner I force down some solid food because I and sitting down with my family. On the weekends, I usually eat more regular meals with the kids. Always after these "force feedings", I am nauseated and sick for a least an hour...maybe longer. Tonight, I could not stand it, and I vomited. Yes, it was self-induced.

There...I said it...just one more thing to feel disgusted at myself for.

This is really not a good night, as I find myself doubled over in pain...both physical and emotional.

The Van

I had been unwilling to write about his topic, because I was refusing to let it affect me. It was an incident involving an inanimate object, a material thing...nothing to get emotional about. The truth is that there have been some deep emotions attached to this singular incident.

The day that I told my husband that I wanted a divorce, I worked an evening shift at a location near my home. I came back from a short break just in time to see him drive up to the drive-through window with the kids...in my van. He lied and told the kids that they were taking my van to get washed. When I asked him why he needed to take the van, he simply replied, "We'll talk about it later." He left me the sedan that he had been driving, the one that I had bought and paid for and had been mine before I drove the van. 

To give you a little history, this van had been his birthday gift to me about two years ago. It was exactly the make and model that I wanted. All the features and extra amenities were precisely the way I wanted them. Nothing more, nothing less. Even the color was the one I had chosen. He knew these things because we had shopped for this vehicle together months earlier, but I decided to be sensible and hold off on a new car payment. About two days before my birthday, he showed up in the driveway with this extravagant gift...taking on the payments himself.

Fast forward to last month: when I got home that night after work...at close to 11:00 PM, I found that my key no longer opened the van and all the things that I had kept in it were stripped out of it and placed in the dining room...they are still there. I manually opened the van, and found that nothing electronic worked...lights, doors, engine, nothing. He had inactivated my key (his key still works). When I asked, he said that the van was stripped and inactivated and that he was going to return it...he is still driving it.

Whatever, I thought. It's just a car. I've had less in my life. I demanded his key to the sedan and went about my life driving the sedan. In addition to my two girls, I bring another child home from school. I think he thought I would not be able to do so without the van. I stuffed three kids, book bags, lunch boxes and coats in the back seat and went on my merry way...nothing could break my stride.

As you can see, it is not the physical loss of the van that has been bothering me. During the past couple of weeks, I have begun to realize that there is something emotional to it.

There was something humiliating and infuriating about finding all my belongings out of my van and bagged up in the dining room. There was something painful about being essentially locked out of my vehicle.

When I allow myself to pause and feel this pain, a childhood memory rises to the surface. When I was about my daughter's age, my stepfather bought my mother a brand new car. It was the first new car we had had in the family, and it was sleek and beautiful...the kind that you felt proud to be dropped off at school in. When they had severe fights, the first thing that he did was take the car keys away from her. She was left helpless and completely dependent on him. One particular time, I remember walking through our town with her (I think he may have kicked us out of the house), looking for a friend of hers who could help us get to the women's shelter. I felt homeless, stripped, and afraid.

It is this particular memory that keeps creeping up on me when I tell myself that this van is just an object. I feel like I am reliving my childhood but in a different role, that of my mother. I am going through her hell and her pain, and I wonder if I married my stepfather.

When I drove the van, I used to park it in the garage, close the door and leave the van unlocked. It gave the girls and myself easy access in an out of the van when we needed to retrieve items or load up the vehicle for a trip. After taking possession of both of the keys to the sedan, I keep the car locked at all times and the keys with me wherever I go. I feel like I have to protect that space furiously. It has become another "safe place" for me.

Although twice my husband has offered me use of the van, I have refused, telling him that the van is his now and I can no longer drive it. On another occasion, he offered to have it detailed and return it to me. I explained to him that I can never drive that vehicle again. There would be too many painful memories associated with it. As far as I was concerned, I added, when he deactivated my key to the van and removed all my belongings, he stripped the van of me and everything that represented me. It is no longer mine, and I can never take it back.

Because the sedan is high in mileage and, frankly, a bit tight for my kids and their friends, I will soon be trading it in for another van. When I made my husband aware of this, he offered to sell me the van and take back the sedan so that I could have a higher trade in value towards the new vehicle. I still refused. I do not want any part of him involved in my purchase of another vehicle. I would like to be able to drive my new van in peace, without feeling like I owe him anything for it. No one will EVER take my car keys again.

He understood my reasons for not wanting the van back. Then he explained to me that he could never feel good about using the van for anything that would benefit him, in other words, trade it in for something that he wants to drive. Anything that he purchases using the van as a trade-in will feel wrong to him...bad karma. I did not reply to this. I did not need to. Enough said, I thought. So you want to return the van to me, because you feel bad about what you have done and you don't want to keep feeling bad about it for the rest of your life? I believe those are your feelings to contend with. These are just natural consequences to your actions, and I don't have to compromise my own healing just so that you can wash yourself clean of your ugliness. This is not my cross to bear.

When I get another vehicle, I will start fresh and clean, knowing that he had no hands in this part of my life.

Sorting Feelings

Written Wednesday, November 6, 2013

I crawled through today. It was the kind of day that I spent staving off whatever is coming but kept getting winded in the process. During my six hour shift at work, I took several breaks to hide in the restroom...crouching in the corner with my face in my hands. Every interaction with each patient required for me to inhale deeply and step out of myself long enough to provide help with patience and kindness. Strangely, I found comfort in becoming engrossed in the inordinately lengthy calculations required to prepare a solution for a tiny patient.

I cried when my husband called...because he said "I love you". I was already feeling fragile, and damn him! Those words are taboo for now. I'm going down; I can feel it. I feel the lack of energy...thoughts of cutting interrupting me more often. Yes, I am scared of how low I can get. I don't want to feel the way I did a few weeks ago, but I had a very hard time holding myself up today.

I might possibly be home alone tomorrow, but I intend to spend the day cleaning up the guest room (my room) and the house for my mother in law's pending visit...no idle hands.

Tonight I will hold myself, arms crossed over my chest, and let my adult woman comfort my child. This way I will rock myself to sleep, her words a lullaby in my head.

I Will Keep You Safe

Cry little girl, cry. Cry all you want, because it's OK. You are safe with me. I will protect you.

I explained to my therapist this morning that I felt like I wanted to roll myself up into a ball in order to protect myself. I tried to describe to him the feeling that I feel on the front side of me...the way that I feel the pain from my last night with my husband all over the front of me...all over the soft vulnerable parts of me. After relaying this to him, we did a little bit of EMDR.
 
It was different this time. Instead of following his hand with my eyes. He asked me to cross my arms over my chest and tap my hands back and forth. I felt so much safer that way. I closed my eyes and visualized my scared and vulnerable little girl on one side and my strong, capable adult woman on the other. I imagined the adult telling the little girl, "I will keep you safe".

As I tapped my hands, the woman slowly approached the little girl, letting her know that she would protect her. She hugged her and held her, and the little girl cried. The woman kept telling her that she was safe, that they would always walk together. She would never leave her. She would always keep her safe...and the little girl cried - I cried. They were tears of relief. She could not believe that she was no longer all alone.

The woman enveloped the little girl. She curved her body over her, and they somehow merged into one. Then they held hands and walked together, as the woman reminded her that they would always walk together. They would never be apart. She cried...I cried...the tears you cry when you can't believe there is someone you can trust and you let your walls down and open up.

It was a remarkable session. Holding my arms over my chest was very helpful. I felt less vulnerable and more in control, as I was tapping my hands instead of following his hand. I could truly stop whenever I wanted. Closing my eyes made it easier to visualize things. I probably would have had a difficult time doing EMDR any other way today.

Tonight as I lay down, I will cross my arms over my chest and hold that little girl again. She will feel safe, loved and protected.

Words of Power

Yesterday, my husband woke up, came into my room and gave me a kiss on the cheek. After that, he spent twenty-four hours without speaking to me. If I entered a room, he would leave it. After several days of kissing me randomly, he offered me nothing more than a hand shake at the peace offering in Mass. No skin off my back, this is actually more appropriate behavior for what we are currently going through.

What fired me up was his about face this morning. Because the kids were off from school today, we had planned a day trip to a mountain town about two and a half hours west of were we live. Really, I had planned the trip, but he rearranged his schedule so that he could be off work and go on the trip with us. After yesterday, I was really dreading his company on this trip. You can imagine my relief when he announced this morning that he would be staying home instead to catch up on some chores.

...Except that our youngest begged him to come...so he changed his mind...and his attitude...and his entire demeanor.

I came out of the shower, and he was flirting with me. He asked me for a kiss. He was joyful and pleasant. He acted as if the last twenty-four hours had never happened - a complete change of script without warning.

I couldn't stand it. "What is wrong with you?" I asked

"What?"

"You haven't spoken to me in twenty-four hours, and now suddenly you want me to kiss you and you're acting like everything is just fine? Are you kidding me? What is wrong with you?"

"I was just having a bad day yesterday. Sometimes what's going on with us is just too much, and I have a hard time with it. I'm sorry if I had a bad day."

"So you had a bad day. You can have a bad day. What bothers me is that you just have this about face, and then you expect me to just roll with your emotions. It doesn't work like that. People can't just be sad when you're sad and happy when you're happy and roll around with your emotions. Nobody does that!"

"You're right. I'm sorry."

This was my moment of strength...words that I have been wanting to say to him for so many years (it's not the first time this kind of behavior has occurred). For a few seconds, I borrowed words right from my therapist's mouth and thought, "What would happen if I said...?

"Well, I really just want to go on this trip alone with the kids. I need to recuperate from your bad day, and I need some space."

I cannot begin to tell you how strong and powerful I felt saying that. I said it calmly but with conviction. There was not hesitation or fear in my voice. I felt powerful, not because I was abusing or belittling someone else, but because I was asking for what I legitimately needed at that particular time. I was so proud that I wanted to kiss myself all over!

The kids and I had a marvelous girls' day out. I enjoyed their beautiful company, and I felt lighter and more carefree than I have felt in a very long time.

A Fortress Around Me

"Have you thought about what you want for Christmas?", he asked.

"For me?", I answered somewhat astonished.

"Yes, for you."

"I thought we could just buy gifts for the kids this year."

"Why do you want to do that?"

"You know very well why I want to do that. Do not pretend."

"No, I don't understand why we would do that."

"Because I don't want anything. Just because you keep asking me to kiss you every five minutes doesn't mean that things have magically changed between us. Nothing has changed, and getting each other gifts would not be a good idea."

"Well, you do what you do, and I will do what I do. If you have not changed your heart, I am still praying for our marriage and for our love. I am still here by your side. I am still the same man that you said yes to fourteen years ago..."

Blah...blah...blah...

You mean the one I thought would never hurt me? The one I thought would protect me from others who would hurt me? It hardly sounds like the same man.

These are the thoughts that were going through my head as he spoke. These are the words that I should have said to him, but I did not seem to be able to get them out. It was hard enough to think them; verbalizing them would have hurt too much.

I can still feel that pain all over the front of me. I feel the need to constantly protect the soft vulnerable parts of me. I fold my arms in front of me and cross my legs. I often want to sit with my knees up against my body, building a fortress around my soft vulnerable parts.

The thought of being touched in those areas ever again brings me to tears. I want to push and run away.

...I suppose it is still too soon for EMDR again.

Spellbound

Oh, what a magical evening it was last night! Three families, five children, great food, lovely conversation.

It has turned into somewhat of a tradition. The families of the three children who moved from the Montessori school to the special program at the new school where my daughter attends now take turns hosting dinner at their homes. The children were all classmates last year, and they have known each other since they were four years old. They are my daughter and her two good friends.

I began this at the end of the summer, when I invited both families to dine at my house and finalize transportation arrangements that had been talked about throughout the summer. A few weeks after school began, the second family followed suit, and last night the third family hosted us. Each of us has prepared our own ethnic foods for the enjoyment of the others, and the kids with their siblings have had a fabulous time.

It was a deceivingly perfect evening. The children were extremely well-behaved, and my husband was on his best behavior....ever! He was engaged and pleasant the entire evening, never an ugly comment or expression escaping from him. It was so easy to forget last night everything we have been through during the past month (and fourteen years). It was so easy to see how wonderful life could be for us. After all, here we were enjoying an evening with friends the way "normal people" do. It was so easy to think that perhaps he could have changed forever and life would be this nice for us.

...I was enchanted.

...It was an enchanted evening.

...I was under a spell.

This can never be true. I can never forget the hurt. I can never believe that he means to change anything about him for longer than it would take for me to change my mind, forgive him and remain with him.

I can never believe that he is ever going to respect me the way that I deserve to be respected.

It's time to remove the magical veil.

Peace

Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have this
Shouldn't I have all of this, and...

 

(from Passionate Kisses, Mary Chapin Carpenter)

 

 

Mary Chapin Carpenter wants passionate kisses; I want peace. I want a safe place to come home to after an exhausting long day. I want to be able to exhale when I get home. I want it to be my sanctuary, not a place of turmoil and fear. I want to be able to close the door and know that no one will harm me. I want a place with not sarcasm, mistrust or unkind words. I want my home to receive me, cradle me and comfort me.

 

I don't want to have to wonder during my drive home what kind of mood he-who-says-he-loves-me is in. I want to be able to speak in my home without fear that my words will be twisted and rearranged into meanings far from my original message.
 

I want to be able to rest peacefully and wake without fear or dread.

I want a peaceful home.

Shouldn't I have this?...

Strength

This is what I gathered from my session with my therapist today:

I am strong, and my strength scares him. I am not the same woman that I was years ago...even months ago. Apparently, he does not know what to do with this new woman who does not allow others to disrespect her and abuse her any longer.

All his words are just an effort to bring back the equilibrium that he is accustomed to...even if it is dysfunctional and, yes, abusive. When he says, "I want you to forgive me and recommit to our marriage...and that's it...I don't have anything to offer in return.", it is precisely that...he just wants things to go back to the way they used to be, where I was weak and passive and he took advantage of that...daily.

I AM NOT HER ANYMORE!!!

I want a partner who will honor and respect me in every aspect...or no partner at all. He does not seem to be this partner, nor does he want to be this partner. He wants my forgiveness so that we can go on and continue with the same relationship that we have had. I say, "HELL NO!!" What kind of deal is that? I'm no martyr, and I have never been interested in playing that role.

Of these things I am sure. My challenge is to be aware of my strength and not be afraid of it. Looking at muscles that I am not accustomed to seeing can be frightening....even if they are my own muscles.

I have the power to refuse to engage in conversations about topics that I am not prepared to discuss, such as forgiveness. My challenge is to not be afraid to use that power.

I take a deep breath as I leave the comfort of my earphones and this now familiar café to face my life again.

The Priest

I wrote the majority of this post yesterday immediately following this appointment. Time did not permit for me to complete the post, and I intended to finish it last night. As it turned out, things went downhill for me after I came home, and my mood dropped...dangerously low. I was in no frame of mind to write. I don't know how I will feel tonight, so I thought I would finish this and post it while I'm still feeling mentally capable. Thanks for reading.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

I had an appointment with my priest today. As I have mentioned in passing on this blog, I am a practicing Roman Catholic.

I had called to make this appointment a few days ago, for no other reason than because two people had asked me if I had thought about seeing my priest regarding my marital situation. To the first person I replied, "The thought has not crossed my mind." The second person was my mother, and because the seed had already been planted, I said to her, "I'm thinking about it."

...so I made an appointment.

Now, if getting out of bed for me lately has been nearly impossible, this morning I felt like just drowning in all the sheets and blankets. Upon opening my eyes, the first thing that I realized was that I had this appointment today. I groaned with regret and would have given anything to go back in time a few days and completely undo that phone call.

I don't know exactly what was making this meeting so dreadful to me. Perhaps it was knowing that I was going to once again have to talk about this very difficult subject - why I want to leave my husband. Maybe it was because I did not know exactly what this audience would accomplish. I was not interested in anybody talking me out of my decision. Was I looking for the Church's blessing in my desire to separate from my husband? Good luck with that!

I guess, ultimately, it just seemed like the right thing to do...and it was.

I think Father is no stranger to people being nervous when they come to see him. He opened the conversation by asking about my favorite topic in the whole wide world.

"How are the girls?"

"What are they into these days?"

Well, that put me completely at ease and turned me into quite a chatterbox for a good five minutes. I was then able to ease onto the reason for my visit without feeling like I was going to loose my last meal. The words were still difficult to say but not impossible. I said them...and the Temple did not fall!

He did not offer an opinion one way or another. There was no talk of Sacraments or commitments or vows, or even God for that matter...just a genuine concern for my well-being as well as my husband's well-being. He asked me if I was comfortable with him sitting down with my husband also, if he so desired. I had no objection as long as we did not have to go in together.

He told me I had a reputation in the church for being a good Mom! I had no idea. I didn't even know anyone noticed me.

At the end, he asked if I felt comfortable praying with him. When I said yes, he held out both his hands. I started to get nervous thinking, "Oh no! He wants to hold hands! I don't want to hold hands with anyone!" Then I told myself, "Calm down, Rising. It's OK to trust for just a few minutes. You'll be OK."

We held hands as he prayed for my children, for my husband and for me, and he gave thanks for the courage it took for me to initiate this meeting. It was the most peaceful moment of my entire day.

When is it Depression?

When is it depression?

I know that I've been gradually falling...faster during the last few days. I've been upset. There have been triggers, but lately the sadness seems magnified.

There is a difference between not wanting to get out of bed because you are still tired from having gone to bed late the previous night, and not wanting to get out of bed because facing the day seems impossible. Putting one foot in front of the other is just getting harder and harder. I spend the entire day wanting to go back to bed...under the covers, with the blinds drawn and the door closed. When I get the opportunity, I do.

I am a very early riser, partly by necessity, partly by habit. Sometimes I am tired during the day, and if time permits, I may lay down for a short nap...but never before 1:00 PM. No matter how tired it is, my body just won't sleep before that time. I was awake at 5:00 AM yesterday, but it took me an hour to gather the strength to get out of bed. I took care of my responsibilities with the kids and was back in bed around 10:00 AM...sleeping...with the blankets over my head. Ugghh.

Eating - I can't even go into it...just another source of stress.

At night, when I am finally able to hide in the safety of my room and my bed, I want to cry as I bury my face in the pillow and allow all the pain that I had been suppressing all day to rise to the surface and reveal itself.

Things have been rough emotionally at my house, and I know I've got good reason to be sad, angry, hurt, etc. The question I ask is "Are these feelings just secondary to what is going on at home and therefore temporary, or am I spiraling into a deep depression that I will not know how to climb out of?"

Does it even matter, though? If I feel like shit, who cares what you call it?

One word brought this question up for me.

Suicide...the thought has crossed my mind.

It's Too Late

This is the topic that I have been trying to avoid. My husband is tripping over himself to be "nice" to me, and I can't stand it! Once again he has turned into the thoughtful, sensitive man that I wish he would have been all along, and it's too fucking late now!!

I can't stand his kindness, because I don't believe it and I don't trust it. I feel like he is trying to infiltrate his way back into my heart, but he's never coming in here again! He acts like he cares so much about my feelings now...gag me.

Gradually, he has been trying to get physically closer to me, for a change respecting my signals, my body language and my words. I DON'T CARE!! IT'S TOO LATE NOW!! I've been trying to get him to respect me that way for fourteen bloody years!

The other morning he ended up laying on my bed while I was sitting on it. I suppose he thought it was safe, since my youngest was sitting at my desk drawing pictures. Eventually, he pulled me down to lay next to him. I completely freaked out, albeit silently as my daughter was in the room. I sat up and started crying. He caressed my face and asked, "Does it hurt?" I nodded yes, and he replied, "I can tell, and I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

What do you do when those words don't mean anything to you anymore? Where was that sensitivity in all our years of marriage? Why now? Why wait until the garden is dead to start watering it?

These gestures just anger me. He has hope that I might forgive him and we would remain together. I am not able to proceed with separation plans until after Christmas. In the meantime, he thinks I've changed my mind. I absolutely hate this time. I hate him trying to get close to me. I am hypersensitive to touch...from anyone (except my kids). I don't even want anyone sitting close to me.

I can't stay with him. If I did, I might...

...I can't say it.

Lost in the Dark

I need to sleep. Why will I not just lay down? The longer I stay awake, the less I want to sleep. I am afraid of the nights again. Afraid of the dark...afraid of the pain...and yes, afraid of seeing him again.

A few days ago, I had a horrid experience in the dark. I was scheduled to provide a flu immunization clinic at 7:00 am at a somewhat remote location (one hour's drive from where I live). I was to arrive at 6:30 am in order to prepare and set up my supplies. In my latitude at this time of the year, it is pitch dark at 6:30 in the morning.

I set off with a rather large cup of chai and my trusty GPS. As I neared my destination, the directions instructed me to make several left and right turns until I found myself on a very dark and winding road. There were trees on either side of me and not a single street lamp to light the road. I had no idea where I was headed, as I could not see more than a foot past my headlights.

Suddenly, Google Girl informed that I had arrived at my destination...in the middle of nowhere! This is when I started to panic. I was on my own now. There was nothing but trees there. I could see the lights of a facility in the very far distance to my right, but I could see no road to enter through. I kept driving forward in hopes of finding an entrance or a road to turn into that would lead me towards the lights.

I found neither...just pitch darkness on a very narrow winding road. When I was younger, I used to have a recurring dream where I was lost out in murky water and could not find my way back to land. The water was always swampy or marshy so that I could not see through it and also had a difficult time distinguishing land from water. I was always terrified in these dreams, because I felt like I could not see where I was going and did not know how I was going to get back to safety.

This is exactly how I felt on that morning. I could not see where this road was taking me, and I could not find a place to turn around. The road was so narrow that a 3-point turn would have been difficult, but I was afraid of where continuing forward might lead me...a dead end? Water? A swamp? A bear? Jupiter?...you can see where my imagination was going.

I was at the point of tears...lost and alone in the dark. Fear took over, and I made what was probably about a 16-point turn, being very careful not to let my tires touch the shoulder. I had no idea how soft it may be or what kind of surface lay in the darkness. I drove back the way I had come, and because I could not find a place to pull over, I stopped at the first intersection that I encountered and turned on my emergency flashers. Like a toddler having a temper tantrum in the middle of a store, I wanted to just sit there and wait for the sun to rise and shed light on this enchanted forest where I landed.

...but I realized that might take a long time...so I made a phone call. Wouldn't you know it? At 6:30 in the morning, there was a receptionist answering the telephone at the plant where I was to hold my clinic. As much as I tried to compose myself for this conversation, there was no way that I could hide the fear and the frustration in my voice. I was incredibly agitated and found myself repeating to this woman how dark it was outside and how unfamiliar I was with the area.

She brought me right in, staying on the phone with me until I was in the parking lot. She never lost her patience or the calm in her voice, as she gently brought me to safety.

At the end of my clinic, while I was administering her flu shot, I apologized for having been so shaken that morning. I explained to her how afraid I had been, and she smiled and remained kind and non-judgmental.

There are some beautiful people in this world...even in dark remote areas.

Hellish Anger

I AM SO ANGRY!!! It was a hellish day, and I am raging mad!! Today was a day of intermittent crying, when I just wanted to break down in a full blown deluge. Sometimes I sobbed...sometimes I had to keep it together. My sunglasses are my new friend...rain, shine, clouds, or fog. I only don't wear them at night.

I saw the lawyer today, and I don't know how to describe how I felt afterwards...like curling up into a ball and crying forever...hellish...like cutting lines on my wrists until the numbness takes over...hellish.

His words last night enraged me.

"...find it within your heart to forgive me and trust me again."

Why does that sound so much like a burden has been laid on me? I can never trust him again. His behavior only changes long enough for him to know that I have accepted him again.

I have a 4:00 am wake up call, but I am so afraid to go to sleep. It will be the same routine. I will cry myself to sleep and then wake up in the middle of the night seeing him and feeling him again. Then I will bury my face in the pillow, because I will want to scream and instead I will be sobbing.

Damn him!

I want my blade...I want my comfort zone...I want to scream...I want to cry forever.

It Hurts

It hurts...

It hurts...

It hurts...

It hurts at night when I go to bed. I can see him and feel him.

...and I cry.

He asked for forgiveness tonight. He apologized for hurting me, but I don't want to forgive him. I don't want to trust him. It just made it hurt more. I cried and cried as he spoke all his words...all those words that I don't trust...that I don't believe. I cried when I told him that he hurt me and that it still hurts. I told him it hurts when I go to sleep. I wake up remembering. I can still see him and feel him, and it's just bad!

He said he didn't know that fragile little girl was in there. Really? Fourteen years of marriage, and you just don't pay attention.

I hurt.

I don't want to forgive him.

I don't want to trust him.

I don't want to return to him.

Too Much, Too Little, Too Late

Too much, too little, too late to lie again with you.
Too much, too little, too late to try again with you.

(from Too Much, Too Little, Too Late, Johnny Mathis & Denise Williams)

 

"I want to be forgiven."

That's what he said.

"I want to be pardoned."

Before he said these words, he asked me if I intended to be living in the house by around Christmas time. Because I have not seen a lawyer yet, I said that I did not have the answer to that question yet. However, I assured him that I did not see us staying together...let there be no misunderstanding.

He took this opportunity to spill his heart out. He said that being in my position, he could certainly understand why I felt the way that I felt. He explained that he should have known that I was "fragile", because I was going through therapy. His choices were poor and he should have know better than to disrespect me.

"I love you", he said, "even though you may not believe me. But you can say 'I love you' until you are blue in the face, and if you don't show it, It doesn't matter."

"I want to be forgiven, but not just the 'I'm sorry, you're forgiven type...I want to be pardoned. I want you in my life as something more that just my children's mother."

"I meant no harm...and deep down inside, you know that I meant no harm."

Errrr...back up...come again?

I had been quietly listening to him speak...just listening without saying a word. To me, this was just a classic case of "too much, too little, too late". There was nothing that he could say that would change my position.

Let us begin with the "fragile" statement. It is interesting how he absolves himself from blame by insinuating that this entire night would not have been a problem if I had not been "fragile" because of my ongoing therapy. On the contrary, friend. it is because I am going through therapy that I have been strong enough to stand up to your abuse and say enough is enough! I am hardly fragile. My voice is stronger and bigger than ever. All hail to EMDR!!

Then there is the proverbial "I love you." Let me tell you what I know about "I love you". Recently, somebody whom I know told me that you don't treat someone that you love the way you treated me that night. I understand that soundly and deeply.

He wants to be forgiven. He wants to be pardoned, yet he has not offered a single apology...not that it would make a difference to me. I'm just saying...if you want forgiveness, shouldn't you apologize first???

Last but not least: "I meant no harm...deep down inside, you know that I meant no harm." This one required a reply from me. I walked up closer to him and looked him in the eyes when I said, "Deep down inside, how could I possibly think that you did not mean any harm? When you don't stop when I push you away, and when you don't stop when I say to stop, I do not think that you don't mean any harm. At that point I am wondering what is wrong with you?"

This is the crucial piece of information that he is refusing to acknowledge. This is the crux of the matter, yet it is the one part that he chooses to leave out of all his explanations. When it boils down to it, it was forced sex.

I will not let him forget that.

The Courage to Say Enough!

Telling our marriage counselor, in front of my husband, that he has crossed a line that I feel cannot be crossed back and that I felt violated is one of the hardest things that I have had to do.

...but dammit, I did it!!

My voice shook, and my throat closed, but I did not fall apart. I did not look at him while I was talking to the counselor, because I decided that I did not care what he was doing or thinking while I was telling this story.

After relaying, without specific details, what had occurred on that night, I said that trust was completely broken and I did not feel it could be repaired. I added that I felt I could never sleep with him again and that I felt violated.

I thought she would ask him if he had anything to say. Instead, she asked me if I wanted to speak with her alone. I nodded my head, and she asked him to leave. I cannot express how supported I felt by that single action from that woman. I felt like I had an advocate without having to explain myself in detail. I felt safe and protected.

She asked me to tell her the entire story...what really happened. So I told her...the way I told it on this blog. She took notes...and said that if I wanted to ever press charges, she had everything documented. She said it was sexual assault, regardless of who interpreted the law. When she asked if I wanted him to leave, I replied that I no longer wanted to be married to him. She understood this very well. We spoke of safety and lawyers, then she gave me this option: I could leave at that time and she would tell my husband that we will no longer be working on repairing the marriage but on resolution of the marriage, or I could tell him myself in the safety of her presence. While the first option seemed easier, I decided that I did not want him to ever think that I am afraid of him or of this process, so I told him myself.

"We are finished."

"That's it?"

"Yes, we are no longer on the same page."

"Say no more." (He gets up to leave.)

"So you want a divorce?"

"Yes"

As he stood at the doorway with the door wide open, he expressed how sorry and heartbroken he was over this. He was sorry for us, sorry for him, sorry for me, sorry for our babies. He said he felt criminal (imagine that), and that if he had to be the "bad guy" again he would be, but that there was another side to this story. Once again, he was making himself out to be the victim.

After he was well out of the property, I left and immediately drove to my therapist's office (I had a scheduled appointment). When I arrived, I sat in my car and cried for a little while. I was shaking inside. I had the "Oh my God, what have I done?!" feeling, while at the same time feeling immensely proud of myself.

Once in his office, I relayed what had just happened. I was still feeling very afraid, but as always, talking with him is calming. I am so glad that I was able to use my voice exactly when I needed to. I am glad that I had the courage to say the words that needed to be said. There was a time when I would not have had the strength to do this. There was a time when I would have stayed with him, silently tolerating...everything...and allowing him to make me feel like he was right and that I was wrong to feel violated and disrespected.

I Am Afraid

I think I need a post to just clear my head. This may not be coherent, but I just need to organize my thoughts.

I am very unhappy and feel like I have to make some changes. The changes are hard and will probably make other people very unhappy.

I can no longer be intimate with my husband. After that horrific night, I will never lay with him again. Although he seems to be just "waiting me out". He said, "Eventually, you will have to let me in again."

"Probably not", I replied, and he laughed.

What I have to eventually do is tell our marriage counselor what happened. This is going to be incredibly difficult for me to do. I am so afraid...but we have an appointment on Tuesday morning, and this cannot be ignored.

What is my fear? I ask myself, remembering Will Smith's words to his son in After Earth:

"Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist."

In other words, fear is the anticipation that an undesirable event will occur, although this event may never happen.
 
I fear that it will be nearly impossible for me to get the words out when trying to tell this story in front of my husband to someone I have known for only about a year. I also fear my husband's reaction to my disclosure. Will he be angry? Will he be explosive and raging? Will he be super defensive and deny the things that I say? What about the counselor? What if he convinces her that he did no wrong? and what if she sides with him? I think I would just be sick, and I would simply have to ask her to never ever again sit where she is blocking the door, then get up and leave the office.
 
These things may never happen, but I'm just saying...I am afraid.

Music Therapy

It's been hard to write lately. I just want to keep to myself, although I think that writing all my thoughts down might help. The thing is that sometimes I just don't want to think.

...so I've taken to the piano. The fine arts - magnificent ways to express our emotions without having to think about our emotions. There is a tune that I remember from high school. It is fast, full of staccatos and impossible 16th notes. I play it angry and with force, pounding the heel of my foot on the floor to keep the time. My body is erect, and my arms carry the force and the strength that my fingers require to play those notes loudly and deliberately, so as to be unmistakably heard. It is a full body experience.

Then there is Edelweiss - new music that I am learning. Written in a minor scale, it is melancholic and flowing. The mere act of putting the beautiful notes together on the piano with my own hands and fingers allows me to feel my own sadness without having to think about the cause of it. With soft, feathery fingers and hands, I sway across the keyboard simply feeling the melody in my heart.

I know that it is not always good to block out the cause of our emotions. Sometimes, we have to identify things. I am sure I have identified my reasons. I just can't keep thinking about them. This was how I coped as a teenager. I wrote poetry with meanings that people did not understand, and I played music that expressed my feelings without anyone knowing what it was doing.

Sometimes we regress.

Playing With the Blades

Playing with the blades again.

I know that I don't deserve that. I don't deserve to hurt myself. But I am drawn to the sting of that blade. Anything to rip the pain out.

It's too late in the night to call anyone. Shit. I hate this. I feel myself falling.

...dropping

...sinking

I'll just touch the blade to my wrist.

Just hold and press. I will not slice.

He held my legs open. What a nightmare.

I can still feel his mouth all over me.

I can't differentiate him from my stepfather.

Thou Shall Not Drink From This Cup

This is going to be very difficult for me to write. I might as well put the TRIGGER WARNING on right now and apologize in advance for the intimate details that I will share. I have to write this, or I may hurt myself.

Last night my husband and I were...shall we say...intimate. The fact that we are doing this after such a crashing fall is a topic for another post, so we will ignore that issue...part of the role I play.

Let me share a little history. When my stepfather abused me, part of what he liked to do was oral sex...he on me...so does my husband. Before we married, he was well aware of my sexual abuse. I did not share explicit details, but he knew about my past. I am sorry to say that it took me ten years into our marriage to develop the courage to share with him that this particular type of oral sex was not something that we could engage in anymore. I explained to him that when we were in that position, all I could see and feel was my stepfather. We stopped...but he never stopped asking or insisting. I have always been able to say no.

...until last night. Part of my husband's "transformation" this summer extended into the bedroom. He was gentler and more thoughtful even in bed. This is no longer the case. Last night's interaction felt more to be about him having his way, and "his way" was oral sex.

Suddenly, I was there with my stepfather, pushing him away...the same exact way...it felt just the same. I tried to push my husband off, but he would not stop...just like my stepfather. At one point I went limp and didn't fight him. I felt weak and powerless...like a child. When I was able to find my voice, I asked him to stop...several times...he would not. I felt absolutely used and disregarded...unloved...uncared for...objectified. Once again, I was there for someone else's sexual pleasure.

After a while, it occurred to me that I could sit up on the bed and get up and leave. Nobody was pinning me down. I sat up, finally disengaging my husband, and turned to the side of the bed. I did not make it out of the room. I just sat on the edge utterly broken down, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably into my hands.

He called me. I could hear his voice behind me. He called me softly back into the bed, saying that it was only him there. I appreciated hearing that, because I was having a difficult time returning to the present moment. He put his arms around me and gently pulled me back in bed. He finished then held me for some time, while I shook and cried. He asked if I wanted to talk, but how could I trust him again? Eventually, I left our bedroom and came back to my own room to hide and to sleep.

The shocker came this morning. He said that we will be doing that again. I disagreed. He responded that I was not telling the entire truth and that he thinks that I really did enjoy it...in fact, he could feel me enjoying it.

Did I marry a sadist?

I disagreed once more, and told him that he seems to be having problems understanding the meaning of things. He did not change his position, the kids had to go to school, and there was not enough time to discuss things any further.

I find myself in the incredibly uncomfortable position of having to share with him the explicit details of what exactly happened to me last night while he was down under. I will have to tell him that, while he was drinking from his cup of life, I was God knows what age with the mouth of a grown man all over my tender vagina. I will have to say that I tried not to push on his face, because that is what I used to do to my stepfather...and he never liked it. I will have to tell him that he is just like my stepfather...he would not stop when I pushed him, so I had to push his face. I will have to say that I don't know which part he thought I enjoyed. Perhaps it was the part were I gave up fighting and was simply enduring...just like I used to do. Did I send mixed messages, motherfucker? Because I think my words should suffice. I DID NOT ENJOY THAT!

Some people just need everything spelled out.

It's Dark Inside

Talking with my therapist was very helpful yesterday. I just needed a place to land...and there he was. No EMDR. I don't think I could have handled it. After I left, I felt more clear headed and overall a bit stronger.

As for my husband and I...we're just going to have to find a way to coexist. Nobody can change anybody, and the kids could not stand for us to separate at the moment.

I'm angry...I'm angry that we can't talk like normal people...that our conversations tend to be one-sided...on his side...that if I do happen to bring up a topic, I am rarely able to finish my thought before he interrupts and takes over. His responses are usually judgmental and he tries to turn my words around so that they themselves sound judgmental. I'm angry that I have to put out the effort to assert myself and clarify everything that I say, to be sure that it is not misinterpreted. I'm angry that a completely benign conversation turns into such an unpleasant affair, that I am reluctant to bring up topics of conversation...so we only talk if he initiates a conversation...and then it's very one sided...he doesn't like to be interrupted.

There is a dark feeling of self-hate and self-blame inside me that I cannot exactly palpate. I don't walk around consciously aware of it, but it is there and surfaces during my quietest moments. For the life of me, I cannot manage to feed myself. I eat if I have to sit down with my family, which translates to about one meal a day. Otherwise, I slip in a piece of fruit if I am distracted doing something...like working. If I have to think about it, I assure you that I am absolutely not interested in nourishing myself. The last thing I need is another bad habit, but a part of me seems to be deriving some kind of sick satisfaction out of denying myself sustenance.

I don't know where this will go. I have never had any issues with food to speak of...in either direction. I have always enjoyed good food, and in fact, considered myself a "foodie" at one point. I cook, I eat out, I enjoy...so what's with the starving thing??