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Posts Tagged ‘abuse’

gota vaso

Rough translation….the straw that broke the camels back…anywho…the adoption has been cancelled. The old fuck really fucked up. The thing about some old school old people is that they feel they are in the right simply because they are old or older. That doesn’t cut it for me. I have systematically been reducing the nonsense that has no place in my life. Getting screwed over after going above and beyond to help someone and no appreciation as to what I’ve had to give up or juggle. My plate is full….I have no problem sharing, or doing for someone else…if it is within my abilities to do so…but to take advantage of everyone that has extended a helping hand and screwing everyone over….other people I brought in to help. countless lives affected…yeah…I can put a stop to that….and I can cut you out in a heartbeat. I’m getting better at it….along with being forceful in how I take care of what needs to be taken care of. old

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The chats are painful, disclosures of abuse, not physical, but verbal, her psyche is broken, I know things will get better, as long as there is distance between them. When they are apart and they speak to each other it tends to be somewhat more cordial. I ask her how she can put up with it, it’s a stupid question to ask anyone in that position. I know the answer too well. I could be her and I have been her and she has asked me the same in the past, “How could you put up with that?”

That horrid little four letter word called love. Take the word by itself “LOVE” it sounds pretty, it sounds hopeful, but it can be the worst thing anyone can suffer through and suffer for. I know her reticence, her reluctance to say anything, knowing that nothing she can say or do will be right. Her hesitancy to be out in public and be ridiculed or to be humiliated. We can try to dissect the why’s but the why’s don’t matter. To preserve the relationship as skewed as it is requires sacrifice, sacrifice of self, self-esteem, self-respect. I say to her I couldn’t do that, then we both laugh because we have both done it and been there and worn each others shoes. The bitch of it is is that we have both been digging into the same closet. Yet we hang on to the old, the comfortable, the known.

In a few weeks time things will get back to normal…for a while, then the same old patterns will emerge, the guilt trips, the airplane trips, the mind trips. (More like mind fuck.) Will I have to see her do this forever? It saddens me to know the answer to that…but even sadder is that I would dare venture to say I’d be willing to do the same for “LOVE”.

I have a couple of pieces of wall art that serve to remind me and those that enter my home  that we should Laugh, Live and Love. The three L’s. The impossibility of those sentiments are obfuscated underneath all the miasma that surrounds us. Demonic possesion anyone?

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He made her feel like she wasn’t worth anything as her tears fell at his feet, she looked in the mirror and couldn’t see herself anymore, she only saw what he wanted her to be…and she was only what he wanted to see….from denying her for not accepting to do as he wanted. She had to accept his terms or be fucked, figuratively not literally.

So she let her hair down, made her face up, put on her heels, her prettiest dress and walked on out. she did what few will dare to do, some look at her with envy and others not so much….in the end it doesn’t matter… she will walk toward the door, walk out, face the night, whether it is dark or lit by a million stars and the world will be hers once again. She is at peace with finding herself.

The one thought she has come to find comfort in is that she is only herself when she is alone. She doesn’t have to give herself and who she is, who she can be for anyone that can’t accept her for her. No more insecure, immature and jealous anyone’s to hold her back and hold her down.

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To read the complete series go to “CATEGORIES” on the right side and click on “THE WRITE STUFF”.

The phone, the goddamn phone, she used to love having hours long conversations with her friends and family.

make it stop ringing~

He would come home from work and pick up the phone and hit redial, at first she wasn’t sure what he was doing. A few days later her aunt casually mentioned that he kept repeatedly calling her home number and then make up some ridiculous story about meaning to call someone else but hadn’t realized she had used the phone. He was back to checking up on her, but she wasn’t going to argue with him, she began the habit of dialing her own number after she was done using the phone, this way when he picked it up and hit redial he wouldn’t embarrass her by calling her family “accidently”.

He was also incessant about the conversations that would happen within earshot, he would ask her questions about those conversations, and then he would question why she had made a certain remark. She had to replay both sides of the conversation to his satisfaction. Soon she asked all her friends to not call her if he was home, it was ridiculous to have to give out his schedule, but it became tiring to have to replay every conversation.

One day the phone rang and she picked it up, she asked the caller to hold, she went over to him and handed him the phone and walked away to continue her chores. He returned minutes later, a look of confusion on his stupid face. He asked her why she handed him the phone when the call clearly was for her, it was her aunt. She let him know she no longer was going to replay all her conversations, she was tired of that nonsense, and every phone call she ended began an inquisition. From now on he could take all her calls and let her know if there was anything of importance for her.

Sadly many of her friends stopped calling, stopped coming around, he had a way of making everyone that was close to her feel very uncomfortable.

He had accomplished what he set out to do, he had managed to isolate her even more

Disclaimer**Given the nature of the books I have been reading lately I am inspired to write a few short stories revisiting parts of my life that included episodes of domestic violence….I will be calling this series “The Ex Files” very clever right….lol….I thought so….it will be an amalgamation of my personal experiences steeped with those of others that I was very close to. The parallels are uncanny in some instances….but the patterns of abusers and abusees are almost always the same…it’s like the same behaviors are either taught to the next generation or there are some secret classes being held somewhere in some secret location.**

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To read the complete series go to “CATEGORIES” on the right side and click on “THE WRITE STUFF”.

Never make someone a priority in your life, if you're only an option in theirs

She dedicated herself to loving him, doing for him, making life easy for him. She was in a better place financially, she had her own place, it wasn’t much but she invited him to move in. He had his own place but they had both decided hers was a better fit for the both of them. They began to sort out their finances, she insisted she would continue to take care of all the expenses as she had done before he moved in. She wanted him to take this time to pay down his debt and he still had his other expenses, his car payment, his credit cards and his loans. She didn’t ask him to contribute much, at first he made an effort, but then he lost his job and took his time before securing a new job. She offered her support, she tried cheering him up, suggesting an evening out,where he didn’t have to worry about the expenses. He began to take advantage of her generosity by inviting others to join them and insisting on picking up the tab. On these occasions she would slip him her credit card to save him any embarrassment. He promised that one day he would repay her. She wasn’t worried about it, she was in love, he was her priority, he was her main concern. She wanted to see him happy.

Over time he began to  use her card more frequently, to fill his car with gas, to buy drinks for his friends and he still had not found a new job. She began to see the charges on her monthly statements and worried about how she would be able to cover the expenses. She was nervous about bringing it up in conversation but she braced herself for it. She fixed all his favorites, served him his favorite wine and as they sat down to eat she decided she would just delve into the subject head on. He became angry and accused her of playing him and accusing her of being insensitive and then moved on to guilting her about his moving in with her.

He was good at manipulations and had her feeling bad for his situation, somehow he had managed to convince her it was all her fault. His old debts, his new ones, his job loss, the fact that he had given up his own place to move in with her.

It took introspection for her to realize she had become his option, she was never his priority. She was good enough to be around when she could take care of the expenses, when she was willing to allow him the use of her credit card, when she was willing to pick up the tab for him and his friends.

To add insult to injury many of the outings on her dime did not include her. When she was included she was practically ignored, the only time he would bother with her was when he would side up next to her and ask her for another $20. The time came when she realized it was time to say goodbye, she left that evening, he never even bothered to ask her how she had gotten home.

Years would go by before she was able to admit to herself that she had lived through abuse. The insults, the verbal abuse, the emotional abuse, financial abuse, the total disregard for her as someone who had put him up on a pedestal, while he so readily made her an option in his life.

Disclaimer**Given the nature of the books I have been reading lately I am inspired to write a few short stories revisiting parts of my life that included episodes of domestic violence….I will be calling this series “The Ex Files” very clever right….lol….I thought so….it will be an amalgamation of my personal experiences steeped with those of others that I was very close to. The parallels are uncanny in some instances….but the patterns of abusers and abusees are almost always the same…it’s like the same behaviors are either taught to the next generation or there are some secret classes

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To read the complete series go to “CATEGORIES” on the right side and click on “THE WRITE STUFF”.

...try making them something they're not~

 I used to hate a lot of things around me, things like….well everything. I hated the world. I didn’t want to hate it, but I felt it hated me. I didn’t belong anywhere, because I had been everywhere….and everywhere is an exaggeration, I haven’t exactly been a world traveler, moving around after leaving home….living out of boxes, unpacking the boxes, throwing them out and then looking for new boxes to pack up yet again. I had seen, heard and been too many different things. I was a rebel, the perfect child, the problem child, the favorite child, the nerd, the angry one, the skinny one, the too tall one, the one with the bad acne problem, the one with the hair that was uncontrollable, the list of what I was and what I wasn’t was long. I was looked up to and looked down on. I was almost every type of person you could put a label on, but nobody who really knew me could fit me into a stereotype. I didn’t fit in anywhere. I didn’t belong anywhere. ..Some days I still feel that I don’t quite fit in.

I remember the first time I saw him. He looked shy but I didn’t think too much about him then. I just went on with my regular daily life. I had no idea then how much he would affect me, how much he would mean to me, how much I would love and respect him. How much he would change my life. That was before I loved him, before the long talks about anything and everything in the evenings, when we would just lay in bed, he over there and me over here, hours upon hours on the phone. We would talk about life and love and work and this and that and the other.

I remember the first time I knew I had fallen for him, no I don’t remember the day or the hour, but I just knew.  I also knew that he had started to feel the same for me, and I knew that I needed to hear it coming from him. It was torturous, the phone calls, the distance that separated us.

From then on our love grew and flourished and the distance was an obstacle we worked with- not against. Sometimes we would just sit and talk about the most random things and talk about seeing each other and we told each other we couldn’t wait to be together forever. And we couldn’t wait to see each other, it was love and it was real.

It felt wonderful. I could finally be myself. At the same time, I was scared. There was still the possibility that he, like so many other people, would not accept me for who I was. He gave life meaning.

In time reality would rear its ugly head and confirm to me that he would not be able to accept me for who I was. The desire to change me into something that I could never be, something foreign to me, a good person, I just knew that could never be.

Back to being that me that would hide behind silence, no longer an open book, no longer willing to listen to the accusations, the imagined wrongs. Back to being that person that hated everything and everyone, in that world there is no one that wants to change me and I am accepted as I am. Love me as I am or don’t love me at all.

Disclaimer**Given the nature of the books I have been reading lately I am inspired to write a few short stories revisiting parts of my life that included episodes of domestic violence….I will be calling this series “The Ex Files” very clever right….lol….I thought so….it will be an amalgamation of my personal experiences steeped with those of others that I was very close to. The parallels are uncanny in some instances….but the patterns of abusers and abusees are almost always the same…it’s like the same behaviors are either taught to the next generation or there are some secret classes being held somewhere in some secret location.**

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***To read the complete series go to “CATEGORIES” on the right side and click on “THE WRITE STUFF”.***

She realized that he was an insecure man, jealous, controlling and not all together very bright, but he also had a mean streak to him that terrified her. She had in mind that her vows were meant to last a lifetime, but would she? Every day the reminders of her stupidity were repeated, he could not let her get out of the house without reminding her that she was his.

In another world, the one where she would go to for her job, she had friends, she had laughter and she had freedom. There she could be herself, she could have articulate conversations, she could share a joke, her friends got her sense of humor, they didn’t judge her, and they didn’t want to change her. She was perfect just the way she was. She was the only one that could not see it.

He began to notice the changes in her and determined that he did not like where things were going. He could see that she had begun to rebel against him, he wasn’t going to allow that. He began to call her throughout the work day; it got to where she had to stay close by the phone when the clock indicated his shift at his job had ended. She was embarrassed that he was calling her so much; she didn’t want her coworkers to hear her conversations with him. She would have to reassure him that she was indeed at work that was confirmed by her answering the phone. When she didn’t answer he would berate her for not getting to the phone, she tried to explain to him that at times she would be assisting customers making it impossible for her to get to the phone.

One beautiful spring day was marred by the reflection hitting a vehicle out in the parking lot and shining into the store front window. Her coworkers came to her and warned her to be careful when she left home after her shift ended, they had noted the car and its driver parked around the lot in different places, but always with a vantage point into the store front. She became mortified when she realized it was her husband. Now she realized why the calls had become infrequent, she also realized why their son was always warm to the touch when she got home and picked him. He had kept their son with him in the car exposed to the hot son while he kept an eye on her.

It was a maddening situation and she knew she would be in for a long night, she had not done anything but go to work and return home after her shift. She already was aware that every evening upon her return he would go to her vehicle and check the mileage and question any discrepancy on the odometer. She dared not go anywhere else and risk his rage and accusations, she had no other place to go but to her job. She would even take her lunch with her so that he wouldn’t question the additional miles on the vehicle. When her coworkers invited her out she would make excuses about not having money on her, or not being hungry or explain that she had brought her lunch.

Her coworkers had already figured out who the stalker in the parking lot was, they had overheard her on the phone with him and had seen her being dropped off before. They were respectful of her privacy and did not want to embarrass her; they wanted to reassure her that she had friends who cared. Soon they were able to convince her to join them for lunch, no excuses allowed, they would drive her, they would pay her lunch, and they would just be happy with her company even if all she did was sit there and have a drink.

Disclaimer**Given the nature of the books I have been reading lately I am inspired to write a few short stories revisiting parts of my life that included episodes of domestic violence….I will be calling this series “The Ex Files” very clever right….lol….I thought so….it will be an amalgamation of my personal experiences steeped with those of others that I was very close to. The parallels are uncanny in some instances….but the patterns of abusers and abusees are almost always the same…it’s like the same behaviors are either taught to the next generation or there are some secret classes being held somewhere in some secret location.**

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