Two Words For You

I remember very clearly the day the abuse started. I remember being cornered in the garage, I remember the sound of the zipper coming down, I remember running around the car trying to keep him opposite me, I remember that he was faster than me, and I remember the smell of his breath- like beer, cigarettes, and green beans, a smell that still makes my stomach turn. I remember not being able to comprehend what was happening to me. I was five years old and I was scared, cold, and alone. I remember when it was all over I ran inside and curled up on my mom's lap and buried my face in her shoulder. I remember the drive home. I remember my mom asking me repeated questions like she knew what had happened even though I hadn't told her, and I remember not knowing the words to use to describe what I had just experienced. My mom never brought me there again.
Fast forward to age 14. I woke up one day, put on a purple t-shirt and a pair of black shortalls (which were all the rage then) It was summer and those tiny dark purple flowers were all over the ground in the woods behind my house. My parents were at work and I had the house to myself so I went out to explore and pick some flowers. There was a shadow that came over me, like trees blowing in the wind. The shade felt so good. Then I was grabbed from behind and forced to the ground. I'm not yet ready to share all that I remember from that day and maybe I never will, but I'm ok with that. I remember the feeling of a knife against my rib cage and I remember every detail of a gold watch that was ticking loudly next to my left ear. I remember someone growling at me and telling me to lay there with my eyes closed and count to 100. I did. After I got to 100, I went inside and showered for hours, scrubbing my skin until I bled.
After that go around I sunk into a deep, dark, lasting depression. Where there had once been a vibrant, outgoing, extremely social teenager, there was now a shell of a  person that didn't shower or leave the bedroom. My grades had always been good, but that next school year I started failing classes. My mom again started hounding me- what happened? why the change? did someone hurt you? The same questions over and over again. I didn't answer any of them, even though at age 14 I knew the words, I knew what they called it, I didn't want to be one of "those" girls. One of those untouchables, one of those dirty people. Nobody ever loves those girls, and I desperately needed to believe that someone could love me.
At 15 I met the guy I was sure was going to change my life, and he did. We were blissful and content and everything was perfect. I started to come out of my shell and I felt thisclose to being alive again. I remember the first time he slapped me. My face stung, yes, but what stung more painfully was the realization that even though I had tried to hide it and I never told anyone, I ended up being an unlovable girl anyway.
There was no hope for me. My life was never going to be acceptable, let alone good. Something was very, very wrong with me and that's why everyone wanted to hurt me, because this thing, whatever it was, inside of me that was visible to everyone except me... this thing that let them know that I was no good, it was going to haunt me forever. I would never escape it. So I had two choices- I could accept that and live my entire life as a victim to whomever happened to choose me that day, or I could take control, the only control I would ever have, and I could end my life. It seemed like the easiest decision in the world. I took a handful of pills, but apparently not the right kinds cause I woke up. I took a different handful of pills, but those ones didn't work either. The next time I tried, I used a piece of broken glass. I still wear that scar, and I'm still here. I wasn't meant to die, and trying to make it happen was exhausting. I resigned myself to being used by everyone who crossed my path and I sunk into yet another depression.
For three years I was abused by every man I came in contact with. I was sold like property behind pool halls, I was beaten, I was called names, I was threatened, I had a gun stuck in my face pressed against my forehead, and I never did anything to stop it. In my head I didn't believe it could ever stop, no matter what I or someone else did, so there was no point in fighting it. Just accept my place in this world and suck it up. After all, if I'm too stupid to even figure out how to kill myself, I'm obviously too stupid to get out of this mess.
It hasn't been an easy road, or a short one, but I've made it. I laugh- often even, and I smile even more often than that. I find joy in simple things. I wake up and most days I'm excited about life. This is due to a lot of factors- years of intensive therapy, the right drugs at the right times (although I haven't been on any for a number of years now), cutting just about everyone out of my life, taking self defense classes which taught me that I CAN protect myself, and finding two or three friends, just two or three, but they are the ones that get me. The ones I can freak out in front of, the ones that I can tell this stuff to and their face doesn't get that look on it, the look that says 'you disgust me'.
Eventually I found a man that doesn't want to make me a victim. In fact, he wants me to be strong and he wants me to stand up for myself and fight, and he tells me how proud he is when I do it. He doesn't want me to be powerless, he wants to give me more power than I ever had. He doesn't think I'm stupid, he tells me how smart I am- even smarter than him. He doesn't think I do everything wrong, in fact, it's difficult to get him to list one thing that I don't rock at....  And at first I called him a liar. I told him he just wanted to trick me into feeling safe so that I'd be easier to take advantage of. I told him I would never believe that he wasn't just like them. I told him being with me was pointless and it wouldn't get him anywhere. Do you know what he did? He stayed. He looked me straight in my eyes and told me that he'd wait for as long as it took because I was worth waiting a lifetime for. I told him every detail of my sordid past and I purposefully made it sound as disgusting and shocking as possible so he'd go away, and all he did was sit down next to me, put his hand over mine, and tell me that he loved me. No matter what I tried I couldn't get this man to see how bad I was. He just kept telling me over and over again how incredible and inspiring I am and how he's the luckiest man in the world just because he gets to speak to me, and over time he almost had me believing that too.
I have recovered. I have moved on. It is not due to this man, my husband, but it IS due to who he let me be, or forced me to be at times. When I go out on a limb and I feel like I'm going to fall, I look behind me and he's there, always there, telling me that I can do this, I can do anything. And I can, because even though I fight my own battles and I fight them alone, there's always someone there afterwards to listen to my struggles and my fears and my triumphs, and he never falters. He believes in me and through his conviction, I believe in me too, even when it's hard to do. I laugh often. I smile constantly, I love everyone and I'm working on becoming a driving force for good in this world. I'm excited about life, and I'm on my way to accomplishing great things. So, to all of the people before who tried to hurt me, I have two words for you,

                                          I WIN!!

The Fear of Being Alone

In my 30 years I've gone a lot of places and I've lived with a lot of people, but I realized something in my search of self this weekend; I've ALWAYS done my best living alone. That doesn't mean that I always had the best of everything when I was alone, or I didn't ever struggle, but I'm talking about the actual experience of living. I have always had to be alone to feel that experience fully. Maybe that's what's missing. Maybe I need to wake up excited, I need to feel my emotions, my struggles, and triumphs. I need to actually LIVE, not just exist. I'm hoping to find that again in this new chapter. I want to feel my life. I want to be immersed in myself.
I think I got so wrapped up in the roles I play for other people; wife, mother, sister, friend, daughter, neighbor, employee, volunteer.. and I forgot to save a part of my life for me.
I never talked about this with anyone because I was afraid of the backlash and judgement, but I have had self-harming thoughts for months now. I never followed through with any sort of action, but I would be driving and think how easy it would be to just yank the steering wheel to the right and end it all. I would be standing in front of the stove making dinner and think about just laying my hand down on the burner, or "accidentally" slicing my fingers when chopping veggies. I know I've said that I was "miserable", but really, truly... I was freaking MISERABLE!! And all because I, as a human being with needs and wants, was not allowed to exist. I made no time for that.
I spent the last year trying to force time for myself, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't figure out how to add me in without having to choose another role to cut out. So, I started cutting roles. The easiest one to do without was the volunteer one so I stopped going, and I wasn't happier because it turns out that's what I was using as my time away. When that didn't work I started pulling away from my friends, but that backfired. I couldn't pull away from work, the kids, or my family so I was stuck. The Makeshift Dad and I talked and talked about what we could do to fix this and he started taking time off of work and staying with the kids so I could rediscover myself, but his days off turned into catch up time for me and I spent the day doing chores... and I wasn't feeling more fulfilled.
I know when people hear 'My husband moved out last week' it brings to mind pictures of awful fights, destroyed families, and marriages in shambles. Our marriage was never 'bad'. Of course he did things that made me wanna rip his face off, and I'm sure I did things too even though he never told me, but we weren't fighting constantly, there was no big problem per se- he just married a woman who was never meant to be coupled forever. We're still a family, we're still the best of friends, and we still spend an insane amount of time together, but I wasn't meant to share my living space with another adult forever.
I am happiest alone and always have been. The triumph is greater when it's done alone and the suffering is more intense when there's no one to share it. The good and the bad, I need to experience it all.
I can no longer allow my life to consist solely of things I do for others. I need to reclaim my existence. I need to feel free to explore everything that makes me who I am. We tried and tried, and this is the only way to make that happen.
I am happy. We are happy. What everyone else thinks does not matter. My kids still smile and giggle, they're still secure with both of us, and I'm excited about what the future will hold for us all.
Sure, I'm scared. I've been alone at many points in my life, but this is my very first time being alone with children. There are some huge unknowns looming over my head and I'm definitely feeling the stress, the vulnerability, and the angst. But did you catch that? I'm FEELING those things. I am coming back to me. Slowly but surely, I am. I know I will evolve. I have no idea what that will mean for me, or who/where I'll be at the end of this, but I have no doubt that whoever I become will be closer to my essential self than I am now and that will be a gift. The greatest gift I could ever receive and I'm doing it for myself. There is power in knowing that. I have power now and it courses through me right alongside the fear. I will be unstoppable. I will be everything I was meant to be. I will be courageous and I will always listen to the power before the fear. I will not allow myself to walk around with my head down. I am incredible, amazing, strong, and I will do this. I will do this no matter what anyone says or thinks because I'm listening to me now and my soul is screaming, not whispering, that this is right.

Things That I Will Like

As you know, if you're on the Facebook page anyway, the Makeshift Mom and Dad will no longer be living together as of tomorrow, or this weekend depending on how the moving goes. I'm well aware that at first glance this post is going to look like some bitchy ex-wife had a field day, but truly I'm writing it for the reminders. To physically see all of the things that I will NOT miss because quite frankly I don't think there will ever be a day that I don't want to just lay down and die. I can't always see that I will have new, different opportunities to be happy. I don't know if I'll ever not want to cry. I can't imagine a day that doesn't hurt so bad that I don't see the point. I don't know if I'm going to be ok, and I'm not convinced that I can do this alone.. and no amount of friends are helping me not feel so completely and utterly alone. I don't remember what my face feels like when my eyes aren't burning with tears, my mouth isn't pinched, and I'm not chewing holes into my cheeks. I can't be sure when the last time was I held down food. To make that all a whole hell of a lot shorter- I'm freaking miserable and I want to curl up in a ball and never have to do anything again until I die. However, since that's not a real option and all, I'm going to remind myself of all the things that I will enjoy about my new life.

1. I will never have to sit through another Rush song! YES!!!
2. No more Adult Swim, baby!
3. I just might be able to have a blanket for one entire night. Provided the dog plays nicely of course.
4. No more tripping over huge clown shoes that get left in the middle of the floor.
5. There won't be potted meat anywhere near my kitchen ever again. Blech!
6. My laundry pile? Yeah, that'll be cut in half.
7. One less person to interrupt me every single time I open my mouth. Oh my God! Does this mean I could speak in whole sentences??
8. Who's gonna make fun of my reality show addiction? NOBODY!!
9. I will never be hit, kicked, elbowed, etc as I sleep.
10. Chances are I will never have to look in the freezer for electronics, towels, tools, or anything else non-foodlike.
11. Whatever kind of "music" MxPx sings will never be heard in this house again.
12. All of those little hairs that go everywhere when he shaves will be gone! It could be that I could go three whole days without having to clean the bathroom, and that my friends, is what we call a miracle.

To be sure, this is going to shake things up, but see?? There will be things that I will like!
Logically speaking, I know this is for the best. We wouldn't have decided on it if we didn't think so, but that emotional crap is throwing me for a loop. As long as I just deal with logistics, budgets, and lists I'm flying through with no issue whatsoever, but the other half of it.. not so much. It's a long road and I have complete faith that at the end of this journey I will be changed for the better, I just wish it didn't have to suck so bad to get started.
I am going to try to maintain my positivity, for the kids if nothing else, and we are playing well together and there is no screwing over of anyone. We're very good friends, in fact, we've been 'just friends' for a number of years now, and we can do this without causing any undue damage to each other or our family. So don't worry, there is no chance that I'm going to do something stupid, but give me a minute while I mull it over anyway.

The Fire, Revisited

As some of you may know there was a fire in my complex on Monday. It started a few houses down and stopped about 35' shy of my front door. The kids and I were evacuated and it was the scariest thing I had ever been through in my entire life.
Today, almost a week later, one of the neighbors was having a bonfire. Since the weather is gorgeous we've had our windows open all week and the smell of smoke drifted into the dining room as we were eating dinner. For me this created an instant panic response. I jumped up from the table so fast that I smashed and sliced open my knees, ran to the front door, threw it open, and before I knew it, I was on the sidewalk turning in circles and scrutinizing every house I could see for signs of danger.
My family was very fortunate. Nothing of ours was damaged and except for a slight smoke smell that dissipated within a few days we were unscathed. Our neighbors and friends were not so lucky. After all was said and done five families are homeless. One family lost everything they had, including a cherished pet, and the other families have been spending their week coming back to the complex trying to salvage whatever small amount of personal belongings that they can.
All week I've been watching my friends walking back and forth to the dumpster with their heads hanging low as they throw armful after armful of what was once treasured memories over the side. It is heartbreaking to witness. They look up and their eyes are empty and dead. The despair is palpable. The neighborhood is silent and still. No more kids riding bikes and playing loudly outside. No more cars driving. It's almost like a ghost town. All of us still here try to offer help, a smile, water, food, clothing, anything we can think of, even though we know that nothing can fix this. Nothing will ever make this ok, and nothing can erase this from their minds.
What I remember most is how fast it was, even though in the moment time seemed to be dragging on and on, when I was allowed back in my house only about two hours had passed. Two hours was all it took to completely change lives. Just two hours and life was altered with no possibility of going back to what it was before, not for us and certainly not for our neighbors. For the house where it originated, it started and everything was gone within 45 minutes. I've never seen anything be that destructive in such a short time. Yes, I realize that tornadoes, tsunamis, etc are much faster, but none of those have ever happened next door. This was the first disaster I have ever witnessed first hand.
It left an impression that I'm not sure I'll ever shake and maybe that's good. Maybe I can turn this into a positive thing. It has already made me much more aware of what's going on around me and maybe once the sadness passes it will remind me how quickly everything can be gone and I can gain some perspective and appreciate the time I've been blessed with. Maybe.
For now, I'm still scared, and I feel guilty for that every time I talk to my neighbors or help haul a box to the trash. For now, I feel hopeless. For now, I want arms big enough to wrap up the world and protect it the way I do my children. I want to heal them and I want to help them and I have no clue how to accomplish any of that.

Confessions of The Makeshift Mom

I really like lists. I have a notebook full of lists. Things I want, things I need to do, things I should buy, things I should avoid. I have daily lists, weekly lists, monthly lists, and seasonal lists. I make lists for fun. Sometimes I make lists about making lists. I will rewrite the same list 3 or 4 times just so I can get the bullets equally spaced or make my thoughts follow a clear pattern. I probably have a list disorder. That being said, here we go- (and I didn't rewrite this one so it jumps around)

I am very high stress. I am just not happy with myself unless I have multiple projects going at the same time. Projects can range from moving furniture and redecorating to getting the house set up to adopt a baby. Once a project is done I fall into a depression until I find the next project.

I am very hard on myself. I have gotten to the point with it that I have had to seek professional help at times. I have a voice in my head that never stops and it says things like, "You're stupid.".."You've got to be the clumsiest person alive".."You're ugly"... "That wasn't good enough. Who are you trying to kid? You're never going to be good enough."... "People are never going to like you." This voice has been with me for as long as I can remember.. or at least since 6, which is my first concrete memory of it. I am so hard on myself that I constantly judge how I'm sitting, how my mouth moves when I talk, how I walk.. everything. It impacts my social life and my life with my family. I have been completely alone and tried to switch on the light but missed the switch the first time and I have felt my face burn and the tears well up because apparently embarrassing myself in front of myself is just too much for me to handle. Yes, little things like reaching for something and missing it will cause me to get teary and I will replay it over and over again in my head for weeks (literally) and beat myself up over it. I will think how no one that witnessed that could possibly like me, they're going to think I'm clumsy and stupid. They're not going to want to see me again, they will stop loving me. Little things send me over the edge so when someone actually does criticize me, it's life altering. I can't get it out of my head. I remember every criticism I've ever received since grade school and I STILL listen to them over and over.

I have battled eating disorders since middle school. It started as anorexia, but on my 17th birthday when I passed out at Target and hit my head on a shelf and wound up in the hospital and my mom found out- she made me stop. Ever since then I've gone back and forth between being anorexic and being an overeater. My weight fluctuates by over 100 pounds depending on the year.

I pretend to be strong. I pretend to be funny. I pretend to be a bitch. I pretend to not care. But the truth is that, while on the outside I appear to have it together and I appear to take nothing from no one, I internalize everything and every word stays with me for years. I am fearful, I am weak, I want to be loved but I don't think I know how to accomplish it. I want to live a life that makes people sit back and say 'wow' but I don't think I'll ever get there.

I may be married with kids and living life cleverly disguised as an adult, but I'm still that broken child who couldn't save herself, and maybe I never will. Maybe I'm never going to be amazing, maybe I'm never gonna make a difference. Maybe more people will hate me and maybe my next project will fall apart. If that happens I'll pick up the pieces, paste on my fake smile, and carry on like my world didn't end. Exactly as I always have.

And maybe, just maybe, all that matters is that I continue to carry on. No matter what.

Marriage, or Lack Thereof

My husband received news today that his ex girlfriend just finalized her divorce. She was the serious one right before me and when we first started dating he was still all hung up on her. She had painted him a picture of what was supposed to be their souls entwined for all eternity (if their souls resembled cave drawings) and I slept with that damn thing over my bed for a year before I could finally convince him to take it down and pack it away. She would call and he would answer no matter what we were doing and then completely ignore me for hours while they chatted. He, and his friends, had pictures of the two of them together in their homes on display until well after our wedding. That kind of 'all hung up on her'. She's always been a source of contention for us and it took a long time before hearing her name didn't make me sick to my stomach. (And for those of you thinking I have problems with all exes cause I'm a jealous twit- my bff is his ex, the one he lost his virginity to and, no, we didn't all grow up together or anything. I met her when we were engaged, so I do take this on a case by case basis. I judge people as people, not as titles.)

Anyway, at first when he told me this I bristled a little cause, really? I kinda thought we were past this now. But as it turns out I had no need to bristle. Apparently what had happened is that her hubby was diagnosed with a terminal illness and she decided she was too... young?, or selfish in my opinion, to handle it so she walked away. Now I'm not saying that taking care of someone who is dying is easy. I watch it in my own family and I see the tears and the hopelessness, and it's heartbreaking, but to leave your spouse in their darkest hour? Wow. I just can't fathom it. I can't understand how anyone can know that someone they promised to love is scared and hurting and NOT be moved to help.. not have an emotional connection, or response, or whatever you want to call it. When did marriage become a 'so long as it's convenient and I'm having fun' thing?

I don't live under a rock. I do understand that the divorce rate is astronomical as are the rates for a lot of other things that might cause a divorce. My own parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents are divorced... I'm talking every single person for two generations. In our wedding card my grandma wrote, "Please show us how it's done." So what I'm getting at is this.. The divorce rate is high, but is that due to people mistreating each other more freely like I was taught, OR is it due to people just becoming more and more selfish and not wanting to actually do what they promised to do cause it's not fun anymore?

My marriage hasn't been peachy. We've been married for 3.5 years and we've experienced infidelity more than once, substance issues, irresponsible financial decisions without involving the other spouse, and most other transgressions that I believe are normal for most marriages and even some that I'm not ready to open up to the world about quite yet, but here we stand. Because we're somehow better? Absolutely not. Because at the end of the day we made a promise to each other and our word is important to us. So far we've never found anything we can't work through. Sometimes working through it took months and/or hundreds of dollars in counseling that we had to pull from thin air. Sometimes we had to force ourselves to work on it. Sometimes we had to talk ourselves out of leaving for good and sometimes we cried and never laughed. Sometimes we didn't speak for days. Sometimes when we did speak all we did was yell. Yet here we are.

When were we promised that marriage, or life in general for that matter, was always going to be easy and fun? When did marriage become some fleeting thing we did for a moment or two? And is it possible to get it back to the lifetime commitment it once was- at least for most of us? To be fair, I'm not talking about all divorces and I'm not against divorce all the time, I certainly think that there are justifiable reasons for it, but to leave because your spouse is dying and you don't want to deal with it? That's gotta be the most selfish, child-like thing I've ever heard. Nothing worthwhile comes to you without work. Ever.

On the upside, my husband, I think, is finally done with the past and has realized, or said he did anyway, how lucky he was that that wasn't him and that he's far better off here- not that I'm a saint, but at least he has no fear of being left on his death bed.

So what do you think? Can anything be done to save the sanctity of marriage? Should we bother trying at all?

Guilt, Plus Shame, Equals Pride

If you're on the Facebook page then the fact that I injured my hand last week is not news to you, but just exactly how I managed it was not really touched on- due to my guilt and shame. But here it is-

Monday evening I went out with a few friends to the bar. There were drunk people there as you'd expect but one of them in particular seemed to be drawn to me as someone to spew venom at. For thirty minutes I sat at the bar while he told me that my husband and son were "diseased" and "dirty" and that I was "stupid" for allowing them near me or in my home. He has never met my husband or son so at first I accepted this as the ridiculous things that fall from the mouths of intoxicated persons. After awhile however I was growing frustrated with his behavior interrupting my night with my friends and I excused myself to go outside to smoke. He ended up following me outside and proceeding to be inches from my face while screaming loudly about the males in my house. At this point I am no longer afforded the chance to respond and he continues to get more out of control. After 45 minutes I must admit that I slapped him and turned to walk away... the guilt would be bad enough if that's where the story ended, but it doesn't. He said, "I dare you to slap me again." I literally shrugged and said ok and slapped him a second time. He continued to chant 'again, again' and before I knew it I was slinging back closed fists and letting them fly with absolutely no restraint. My friend tried to pull me off, and I remember shrugging her off, but it served as enough of a wake up call that I walked away and went inside- hysterically crying. I have NEVER in my entire life hit someone with a closed fist and the last time I slapped someone I was in 8th grade. I felt subhuman. I felt that I had betrayed myself and my values, as I believe that violence is never a solution and when all else fails I should just walk away, but even scarier than that... I liked it. I LOVED IT! There was a rush, a sense of power, a feeling that I can't even describe and it drove my mind to all sorts of scary places dealing with what kind of human must I really be... What am I capable of when I don't keep myself under control?... And, the most scary, now that I know I like it, am I gonna be able to control it? I rolled that around in my mind for days and finally came to the conclusion that this doesn't have to be a bad thing if I use it appropriately.

I called a few gyms last week and ended up settling on an MMA trainer to begin this new phase. I had a meeting with them last week and I got to check out the gym and talk about what kind of classes I'll be signing up for. I'm starting with a Functional Fitness class, which is an MMA class but without much full contact. Instead it focuses on the kettlebells, battling ropes, and strength, endurance, and overall conditioning. After 6 weeks of that, if I'm still interested, I will be adding in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and a grappling class. While I was there they had me play fight with an instructor and hit a punching bag a few times. The general consensus is that while I'm certainly in need of strength training and technique pointers, I'm a "natural" and they think I could do this for real.

I figured out how to turn my shame and guilt, and I had tons of both, into a positive new direction for me. I just can't be taking on large drunk hockey players on the side of the road- this is not my essential self. However, I can take classes and develop interests that allow me to release that aggression in positive ways, or at least acceptable ways, and in the end that's really all I need. I thought by now I'd know most of what there is to know about me. I shouldn't be able to shock myself anymore, but as it turns out there are corners of my mind that not even I know about. I'm not just a boring wife and mother of 3 that spends her days cleaning, cooking, and running from one appointment to another- and that makes me smile.



For those of you wondering about the "incident"- My right knuckles and the side of my hand are still bruised and swollen a little, but at least I can now do twisting motions and open milk jugs and doorknobs, which is helpful, and although I haven't seen him since that night, I've been told that he has an "impressive" black eye, and he would like to apologize to me.