It's Over

I am tired, but I must write just a few words.

Tonight I told him...once again...but for the last time.

"Our marriage is not working. We can't live together anymore."

"What is it that you feel is not working?", he wanted to know.

I simply could not bring myself to go through all those reasons again. I no longer want to take that emotional trip.

"We have gone over this ad nauseam.", was my simple reply.

"...I'm not going to stop you. I'm not going to get in your way. I'm not going to get violent..." These words were surprising to me, considering the response that I got from him the last time I tried to deliver this message to him. Even more surprising, however, was when he asked this question, "Are you willing to go it alone? Like with me completely out of the picture?"

"I would rather you would not be completely out of the picture...for the girls."

"I don't want to hang around and be an appendage...part of your operation. As much as I will miss the girls and as much as they will miss me, I have to do what I need to do to survive, and that means living somewhere else."

I don't have the energy tonight to explore how I feel about that, but I certainly did not expect to hear that.

I am too numb to feel, and tomorrow I must speak to my daughters.

I Want my Mom

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could just come in, I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

(from The House That Built Me, Miranda Lambert)

Sometimes we just need our moms. "We never outgrow our need for good parenting", shared my therapist with me yesterday as I cried and cried in his office, because for goodness' sake, I just want my mom!

I want for her to come and be with me. I want her help. I want her to be that grown-up who quietly guides me and lets me know that I'm doing the right thing...because she went through this also, and she was afraid also but ultimately her courage shone through and won.

...but she wanted her mom too...and she went to her.

I want to rest in her house...lie in the bed in her spare bedroom and rest, sleep protected and trouble-free. I wonder if she would be troubled if I held nothing in and cried for a long time. There are so many tears left to cry, and I don't want to hold them in...it hurts so much to do that.

I want to let them flow freely down my cheeks like a stream coming down the mountain to feed the river below...and then sleep in the shade of her life-giving tree.

Tactics and Stretegies

During my session earlier this week, my therapist explained a little bit to me about tactics and strategies. In the military, there is an overall strategy - the big picture, and there are specific tactics that are intended to lead to the big strategy. Sometimes the tactics contradict the strategy...but they still work.

This is the metaphor that he used when I spoke of my turmoil of feelings and the  contradictions that I sometimes see in my actions. This has troubled me...in fact, has brought much pain and anxiety.

The strategy is to end this marriage as peacefully as possible, while protecting the children from as much upheaval as possible. "It's going to be war", he has already told me. The tactics, therefore, have become actions that contradict my true feeling and intentions...it sickens me.

I must point out that using the term "tactic" connotes that my actions are planned out and purposeful. That is not entirely true. Specifically, what troubles me is my response to my husband's attempts at affection and overt sexual advances.

To be perfectly clear, I have not been sexually involved with my husband since the night last September when he forced his way on me. I have, however, acquiesced at times to pop kisses and hugs...against my will, but at times to keep the peace and at others to simply get him off my back.

This is where the tactics come into play. It was last October when I decided that I could no longer be married to my husband, but I was counseled by my attorney to wait until after Christmas before proceeding, for the children's sake. After Christmas came birthdays, Easter, an overnight out of state field trip and, of course, piano and dance recitals...all events that I could not bear to ruin for my children.

Although I have been very direct with my husband in expressing to him that I will never again lie in a bed with him and that I will never again feel the same way about him as I used to, he has continued to pursue me sexually in many different forms. Consequently, I have found myself in situations where I have said yes to a hug or a kiss, because his persistence has worn me down or perhaps to avoid a fight or a cold environment surrounding one of the above mentioned events...tactics to help me arrive at the final outcome without putting the kids through a dragged out war.

I find all of this sickening, revolting and nauseating...the same way that I feel every time his lips meet mine or I struggle out of his confining arms. If it is difficult to make sense of this post, it is because I myself am having a difficult time making sense of this entire situation. Once again, I have used my writing to try to work through turbulent emotions and a chaotic life.

...I am still working at it.

My Mind Hurts

My mind hurts. I am exhausted from dragging this burden. I want to yell out "IT'S OVER!!" and be done with it.

My soul hurts. It is shriveled from imprisonment and longs to live in truth. Where is my joy? I seem to always be lost elsewhere.

I am constantly and continuously tired...my mind cannot form words for the page, so the writing is sporadic and difficult to complete. Yet, I crave the self-expression and emotional relief.

When I encounter moments of quiet alone time, I want to sleep. I want to rest and escape from the thoughts, the planning, the organizing and the strategizing. Currently, my idea of rest is to sit and think absolutely nothing...or sleep...a long time.

Peace and rest seem so close that I can taste it, yet there is a rather tall wall to scale before I can reach that.

Love is Dead

I know that I should write. I wish I could speak this rage to someone. I burn with anger, yet at the same time I am tired of the arguments. Nothing between my husband and me matters anymore to me. There is nothing anymore worth arguing about.

...but I am angry that he would ask...and expect a different answer.

"Do you love me?", he asked.

"This is a bad question", I warned him.

"No, it isn't. Do you love me?"

"Love is dead."

Did he think that I should lie? What does he think that I have been trying to tell him and show him for the last eight months?

I can't explain what angers me. All I know is that I long for a different life.

The Octopus

My husband has two modes now: one in which he does not speak to me or acknowledge me and the other where he turns into an "octopus". Currently, he is in the octopus mode, grabbing me and touching me at will regardless of my verbal no's and physical rejections. While I am pushing one hand off of me, he is grabbing or pinching my breast with the other one. I feel humiliated and certainly objectified when he does this. Or he might stand in a certain place while I am getting ready in the morning, so that I have to walk by him as he steps closer to me and I am forced to rub against his erection. How does he think this is OK??

"I love you, and I want you to love me and want me too", he says.

"This has the opposite effect", I reply. "It repels me!"

"This is dead", I told him this morning, "and I will never feel about you the same way that I used to."

Yet, this evening he was making plans for the future and showing me furniture for the kids' room. What a convoluted life I am living, and I am exhausted from it.

I want to unlock the door to peace and rest...

Nightgown

I can't wear my nightgown anymore.

The nightgown of which I speak is a long-sleeve, delicate, down to my ankles, soft cotton garment that my husband gave to me as a gift some years ago. It was his compromise between my fleece pants pajamas and the lingerie that I refused to wear in the dead of winter. I enjoyed wearing this gown.

Because this past winter called for nothing less than my fleece pajamas, I had not seen this garment in quite some time. After the ice and snow gave way to the lamb of March, I pulled it out from under all my fleece and wore it to sleep about a month ago...mistake.

What happened?? This was the scenario:

After doing a little writing and a little reading, I closed my laptop and slid under my covers ready to slip into unconscious oblivion. As I did so, my gown rose up leaving my legs uncovered. I started to pull down on my gown, and suddenly I was not just fixing my clothing, but I was fighting off my stepfather and fighting off my husband.

When I was a child, he came into my bedroom, reached under my covers, pulled up my nightgown and pulled down my panties...not all the way down, just enough for him to fit.

I don't know why I feel the need to write this. It is incredibly painful. I feel raging anger towards him and am heartbroken for the child. Yet, I believe that if I don't write it, this memory is trapped in my mind, surfacing at will and triggering flashbacks and self-destruction.

He touched me with his hands first, then he rubbed his penis on me. He must have masturbated, because after a while, he would erupt somewhere between my vagina and my panties. Then he left me, my panties filled with his sticky mess.

I had to get up and clean myself...wash him off...go back to bed...fix my nightgown again...pull the covers tight over me.

We will GO FAR!

If you ever get the opportunity to run with a GO FAR team, do it. If you ever get the chance to coach a GO FAR team, more blessings to you.

I ran another 5K with my daughter...and what was different this time? I ran it with both of my daughters! This was my 10-year-old's second GO FAR race and my 6-year-old's first! For ten weeks, we trained at Big Sister's school two days per week. I picked up Baby Girl after school and we drove to her sister's school, where we changed into running clothes in the back of the van and met the team at the track, ready for action.

With her iPod plugged in her ears, our baby sprinted when she wanted to (she has no patience for the steady long distance jog) and walked when she got tired. There were no rules for her, and although this particular GO FAR team was comprised of only 4th and 5th graders (she is in kindergarten), special allowances were made to permit her participation. She quickly became everyone's pet.

Meanwhile, I trained with my older daughter. I became "assistant coach" by virtue of being there all the time...and because I always had a little posse running with me. My daughter chatted with her friends. I listened...and encouraged them to run until the coach blew the whistle...and to walk briskly when it was time to walk...and to breathe...and drink water...and never say "I can't". It takes your breath away, and you need all that breath to run.

For race day, I asked a teenager from our church to walk/run with my youngest so that I could run with her sister.

...and we did it! Through hills and cramps, these children persevered. "I can'ts" were quickly silenced, and I may have even pulled someone by the hand up a hill. We stopped to stretch out cramps and massage tight muscles.

...more encouragement...more encouragement...and we were almost at the finish line! As we say in running, it was time for our strong finish...that means gun it! sprint to the finish line! I cannot explain the pride and the emotions that go through me as I am crossing a finish line with my daughter. The exhilaration of the accomplishment is overwhelming, but the joy of having done it alongside my daughter is beyond words. She is strong and she is beautiful, and to see her summon the energy to finish with everything she has is...well...breathtaking.

We hugged and we high-fived, then we waited for her sister and our teenage friend to come through. And she came through with the same look of determination that her sister wears. She ran beautifully and swiftly across the finish line, showing us all that age and size do not matter in a race like this. The ability to finish comes from a strong will, determination, and an inability to say "I can't".

I am immensely proud of all the children who ran in this race, and I am still basking in the sunshine of having done this with both of my girls.

At Night There Are no Rainbows

Sometimes I just want to write all the dark thoughts that are in my head. I don't dwell on these throughout the day. I try to get through the day by allowing other people's rainbows to touch me.

...but at night there are no rainbows. It is dark, and I can't pretend anymore. At night, I remember that I feel like I am the monster and there is no way I can love myself. I remember the nightgowns that I cannot wear, because they are triggers...they never were before.

At night, I want to hurt myself (thank God for the ice). I want to cry. Pain engulfs my heart, and I hate myself for just living the life I live.

Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes I forget...truly, I forget. This happens when I am talking or writing...when I am on the verge of speaking or writing something painful or otherwise difficult. When I finally organize my thoughts and build up the courage enough to expose my pain, my thought swiftly disappears. I can almost see and feel it drifting away from me...leaving my mind like a beautiful soul would leave a dead body. I am left alone and bewildered, knowing that seconds ago the memory was mine to reveal. I appear to be lost in thought, but really I am grasping the empty air for that lost idea. "How is it possible?", I think, "that I cannot retrieve the words that were so ready to flow just seconds ago?"

When this happens, I feel robbed and, yes, crazy. I know that the more I try to retrieve the words, the more my mind will shut down and refuse to yield, so I have to leave it alone. I sit silently with my therapist, or I close my blog post and leave it as a draft, hoping one day the memories will feel safe enough to emerge out of dark silence.

Does anything like this ever happen to anybody else? I would love to know how others handle this kind of phenomenon. I imagine it is some kind of protective or coping mechanism. I know that stress can affect memory, and I have certainly been experiencing this lapse more frequently of late. Still, it makes me feel crazy, and I would hate feel like I am the only one on this bus.