Abuse

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The Curse of July 4th

Published July 4, 2017 by dividinguplife

I used to enjoy July 4th for a multitude of reasons. I love the summer, I love fireworks and how they light up the night sky in a beautiful display of color. As I got older, I loved that I had the day off of work to do nothing – which is exactly what I’m doing today. 

But last night, as I sat in the sunroom with the windows open, and listened to the crickets and cicada’s singing their nightly song, I realized just how cursed July 4th has become for me. Not all memories are bad, but the residual leftovers are sad.

 

July 4th, 2004

My daughter was a month old. My husband at the time (her father) and I were on a trial separation. Probably from the lack of sleep in a colic baby, probably because I was nineteen and had no business being married in the first place. Probably because neither of us had yet to grasp the idea that parenting meant we had to grow up.  The night before, my ex-husband had gone out with his friends while I sat at home with our daughter. This night would be my night to go out and do what I wanted. I was staying with my mother for this period of  time, while my ex-husband and I tried to figure out what our next steps would be. 

Naturally, I ended up at my current husbands house. My need to see Blue Eyes (Now, my brother-in-law) fueled my desire to reclaim some of my freedom. It was at a time that I still drank when I had a free weekend (and before the legal age to do so). Blue Eyes had just moved back to this state from his home state, and I hadn’t seen much of them for six years. I was convinced that he was the love of my life and that I would find a way to make him see me. I wasn’t a scared thirteen year old anymore. 

The party became a neighborhood party. Somewhere inside my mom was getting drunk off her ass, which would later having her clinging to the toilet, wishing for death. I stayed outside in eye-proximity to Blue Eyes, watching him with a fondness that I had always had for him, but staying aloof because I knew that being clingy would just push him away. Playing hard to get really was the answer to this puzzling game of men and women. The more he drank, the more his eyes found mine in a sea of people. I tried to act like I didn’t see him or notice him in the least, but my heart pounded in my chest every time I could feel him looking at me. 

tim

Eventually he pulled out a huge tarp that covered most of the backyard. He poured Dawn Dish Detergent all over it, sprayed it down with the water hose, and made a neighborhood slip-n-slide. Clothes were shed, there were naked drunk people running all over the yard. Blue Eyes launched himself down the slide, a free bird of balls and biceps. He threw himself on the tarp with so much speed that he kept going once the tarp ended, which resulted in a white ass in the air, face-first in the bushes that lined the woods. 

Meanwhile, my current husband had shut himself in his room to game on the computer with his friends. That is how he spent his time. Eventually it got late. The cops were called for disturbing the peace, and Blue Eyes walked around with a towel wrapped around his waste. The neighborhood dispersed and went to their respective houses. Blue Eyes and myself sat on the front porch, while he massaged my feet, and I half-slid out of the chair. We were both past the point of drunk, but I had his attention. At some point my current husband came outside and looked at me and told me that I needed to go home. Blue Eyes told him to take his ass back inside to his room and to mind his own business. This was back in the days of my not being able to really tolerate my husband very much. I never understood his hostility towards me. It kind of hurt my feelings that he wouldn’t want me around. 

Eventually, Blue Eyes and I crawled our way into the living room and made it to the couch where we collapsed and tried to keep the room from spinning. Some time passed, but I remember becoming coherent because his proximity had lessened. Then he was over me, and his mouth was on mine. His lean body was pressed into me. I told him that I wanted him and heard him groan under his breath. He told me he would take my ass into his bedroom if I didn’t watch what I said. I told him I dared him to.

I don’t remember getting to his room, but I remember clothes being shed, and his ceiling fan being on high, because as he approached me, the air was blowing my hair in my face. He brushed his hand across face to move the hair, and his mouth claimed mine again. 

I remember parts and bits of having sex. I remember falling asleep afterward to “Killing Me Softly” by The Fugees playing on his computer. I remember waking up at some ungodly hour of the morning and stumbling around to drive home. I remembering thinking that this was the start of something I’d always wanted. 

I wouldn’t see him again for another six years. 

 

July 4th, 2005

It took me an entire year to get over the fact that Blue Eyes and his family moved away again, without saying goodbye. This was the second time they had done this to me, and I was just as devastated at nineteen as I had been at thirteen. At the end of that July their house had caught fire, and they decided to return to their home state, ten hours away from me. 

My ex-husband and I had split up for good after we realized that we couldn’t make our marriage work, no matter how hard we tried. I was finally owning up to the fact that being a mother meant my kid came first. He hadn’t quite gotten there yet. I moved out and into my own place with our daughter. He got her every other weekend if he could manage, or if he didn’t have plans to go riding with friends on his motorcycle. (Now, he’s a fantastic father. It didn’t take him very long to get his shit together and figure it out.)

I signed up for match.com and put my profile picture out there. The night of July 3rd I received an e-mail that piqued my interest. This man was recently separated. His wife packed all of her things and moved out while he was at work, leaving him devastated. He liked my picture. I replied back explaining things about myself, and also told him that I was a bigger girl – to not be fooled by how photogenic I was in my picture. He said he didn’t care about that. We agreed to meet in the Circuit City parking lot the next day since we were both spending the 4th of July alone. I was still heart-broken over Blue Eyes leaving again, but I had a determination to move on from him hurting me again. 

I arrived first, and waited a short time for him. He looked angry and awkward. I could tell that when he pulled up, he wasn’t very impressed with what he saw. My heart deflated. I was going to have a difficult time finding someone to love me. Still, he got out of the car and we talked for a bit, then I got into his car and we went to Subway and had lunch. We went back to his house and sat there in awkward silence for a bit, and then he drove me to my car and that was it. I knew I would never see him again. That night while I was at the store, my phone rang, and it was him. He asked me if I wanted to come back over. He was lonely and he enjoyed talking to me. I agreed and thanked my lucky stars that someone was interested in me. This is the man that I refer to affectionately as The Abuser 

Today would have been our 12 year anniversary. I spent last night digging through old pictures on photobucket. His login crept into my mind – and I’m sure he hasn’t even used photobucket in ten years. But I tried logging in, and I was able to. Immediately I was overwhelmed with pictures of us. 

ChesChes1

There are days (like today) that it still hurts. I don’t miss his abuse, and I don’t miss him. I don’t regret my marriage to my husband in the least. But I will always feel like a failure with this one. I don’t know if it’s residual emotional abuse from him. I don’t know if it’s my overachieving ways that my ego is still bruised from not being enough for someone. I don’t know if maybe it’s because he was the first person I loved in my adult life that had such a pull over me, that I will always think about him. 

He beat the shit out of me for three years, and then he cheated on me and threw me out on the streets. He never loved me. He moved on to marry someone else and have a child with her. Someone that treats him exactly how he treated me. He had it good with me and didn’t realize it until he had thrown me away.

I find myself wondering if he even remembers what day this is. If I was enough to cause him to remember this day for the rest of his life, like I do. 

 

July 4th, 2015

On June 25th, 2015 I was sitting in my living room, scrolling through Facebook when a picture of my uncle popped up on my wall, from my Aunt’s boyfriend. All it said was “Please pray for Dennis, he has been in a serious accident.” My face paled and I immediately sent a text to my Aunt. I was confused as to why nobody had reached out to me. My aunt was in a daze when she answered the phone. They were up at the hospital. She apologized for not calling me, but said she couldn’t even think straight. I rushed up to the hospital that night to sit with the family.

I returned nearly every day for the next week. He was in critical condition. His brain was swelling, but he was responsive to commands. He could move his hands when asked, and make a peace sign when prompted. His eyes were still swollen shut, but he knew we were there. His fifteen year old daughter, my cousin, stayed glued to his side. She was about to be sixteen. She said she didn’t care if she had her sixteenth birthday party in the hospital as long as she could celebrate it with him. They were inseparable. 

My Uncle had a craniotomy done to allow his brain to swell comfortably. Shortly after that he was brain dead. I went in to see him one last time before they pulled the plug on his life support. His hands and legs were still doing involuntary twitching, giving us false hope that he would recover. The nurse explained that it was just his body’s response, but that there was nothing going on in his brain. When we pulled the plug, he would be dead. 

DennisDennis1Dennis2

His organs went on to save six people. Everything had changed the moment that seventeen year old didn’t check his blind-spot and sent my Uncle careening into a telephone pole. Our lives were affected. He left behind two kids, and a grandson that was a month away from birth. He was 45 years old. A survivor of cancer, a business owner, an incredible human being. 

That night, my husband and I took his kids downtown to see the fireworks. I stood there in awe and shock, wondering if any of this was actually real. I prayed that my Uncle had a better view of the fireworks from Heaven. I prayed that he would always be around us. I prayed that his children would recover from losing a man that was so incredible. 

 

Today, I’m staying home. I’m not going anywhere, I’m not doing anything. The memories of years past are enough to make me want to shut myself away from everything. My husband is working until five. I have no desire to celebrate this stupid day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet as A Mouse

Published June 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

From a young age, I was conditioned to be very quiet. My mother always had one ailment or another that required very little noise in order for her to get through the day. I had to keep my little brother occupied and out of her hair so she could nap for hours at a time. As a result, my brother and I grew very close and to this day he has nothing to say to our mother. 

Into my adult life, I have learned that my problems are my own, and nobody wants to be burdened with them. Usually that isn’t true, but it did prove to be true when I was with The Abuser. One time I had abscess cellulitis in my left breast that became infected. My breast was as hard as a baseball and very painful. I drove myself to the hospital, was injected with medication, had the area cut open, and they had to dig the infection out. When I got home, The Abuser was fast asleep. He never asked how it went, he never cared that I was in pain. 

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I went into preterm labor. My ex-husband was sleeping when it happened. I woke him up and told him that something didn’t feel right. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember driving myself to the hospital while he continued sleeping. They gave me some meds to stop my labor and I drove myself home a few hours later, once everything settled down. 

This week I pulled something in my upper back. I haven’t felt pain in my back like this in … well, ever. I pushed through work while slamming Aspirin down my throat. When I got home I barely moved, took a Flexeril and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up with pains shooting into my chest and the feeling like my spinal cord was about to rip out of my neck. The shooting pains alarmed me enough that after I got dressed for work, I drove to the hospital (which is across the street from my work) and went to the emergency room. Thankfully, it was only severe inflammation with muscle spasms. I was glad to hear that my EKG was normal. He gave me a script for more Flexeril and Percocet, and told me to go home for the day. 

I probably should have woken my husband up and told him what was going on. Chest pain scares me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt pain like that before. But that voice in my head; the voice that has been there since I was a child, told me to handle it myself, to not burden other people with something that may not be a big deal. So, that’s what I did. 

I wish I had a way to record the verbal words that I say in one day. Not during a work day, because I have to talk and engage with my patients. But on a weekend. I’m a very quiet person. My mind is always racing with thoughts, and I’m always listening to everyone else in the house when they are talking. Last night I was cooking dinner and trying to tell a story to my husband that recapped my day helping my grandpa pack. My grandmother went with me yesterday, so I was trying to tell him about the things she was doing over there. Instead, my grandmother interrupted me in mid-sentence to say something and my husband responded back to her, and they started their own dialogue. I never got to finish my story, but I did remark on the fact that I’m tired of being invisible. I don’t speak a lot, so when I do, I would hope that people would want to listen to me. I guess not, though. 

My husband also loves to watch these stupid ass SJW YouTube videos. He enjoys laughing at the absurdity of the things that come out of their mouth. This second-wave feminism shit just pisses me off. I hate watching those videos because I hate listening to stupidity. I don’t care that you’re pissed off because Marvel makes movies directed towards men specifically. I don’t care that you’re overly excited that Wonder Woman was directed by a female. I think you look ridiculous screaming about how men can’t be raped, and that only men do the raping. I hate all of it. I ended up going upstairs and lying in bed to watch something that didn’t piss me off or get me depressed. Yesterday was just a weird day for me, I guess. 

Add that to the fact that our receptionist is pregnant and is using that as an excuse to come in late, leave early, and basically do fuck all of nothing to help us out. Not that she helped much in the first place. She didn’t even want a baby. Once her husbands visa was approved for him to move from Algeria to the States, all of a sudden she wants a baby. And she’s the biggest fucking baby about being pregnant. I don’t even know how she’s going to do the mothering thing. She can’t even handle shit with the baby inside of her. I guess my tolerance for weakness has never been there. Especially with people that have had it all handed to them on a silver platter, and then whine and complain when they have to do something on their own. 

Here’s to hoping this coming week will be better. 

Tiring Minds

Published May 4, 2017 by dividinguplife

Yesterday was a weird day for me. This empath thing was in full-blast at work. By 11:00 I felt like I had 12 ton weights pulling my legs down. I have never felt so tired before. After we finished morning clinic and our patients cleared out of the office for our lunch break, the feelings went away and it was as if nothing happened. 

There are days that I wonder what is wrong with me health-wise. I figure that something must be going on internally with me and I’m probably dying. Then I go to the doctor and have blood work done, and everything looks okay. I try to stay away from frequent trips to the doctor because they can’t explain why I feel the way that I do, and I don’t want to look like a crazy person that “thinks” they are ill all of the time. I can’t exactly sit there with a person of science and say “Oh I’m fine, I can just feel what other people are feeling.” I can only imagine what kind of things would be written in my chart, followed with a suggestion that I seek psychiatric help. 

I saw a video put up on Facebook last night by The Abuser. His wife was in it. The one he cheated on me with. Eight years later and she looks like she’s strung out on crack. They live in some dilapidated ghetto. It’s not that I see this and reflect back on our relationship. I guess it’s just that I still can’t believe he chose her over me, and tossed me out on my ass. The man made me feel like I was nothing for three years, and then proved it to me by so easily dismissing me from his life, after cheating on me multiple times. 

Ewwww

I just … I don’t get it?? I was too fat, but this isn’t too skinny? Not to mention that she loves prescription pills, alcohol, and weed. Not that I have a problem with weed, even though I haven’t smoked it in a while. But still …. that shit still hurts you know? There are still days that I hate who I am because of the things he said to me. Oh well. I bet he can pick her up and fuck her against a wall, just like he always wanted. 

Is my life better? Absolutely. That’s not the point. The point is that I spent years crying over someone that now lives a life of miserable means and with someone that hasn’t improved it in any way. All of that hell and torment and he lives on the wrong side of the track. It just makes me bitter. 

But make no mistake; I fucking love my husband so much that it hurts. But this shit pisses me off.

Empty Room

Published April 28, 2017 by dividinguplife

This week has been total and utter hell. I finally broke down into weeping tears last night when I went to bed. 

I get up at 5:15 every morning. Work by 7:30. Then, work coupled with jerk patients has been asinine to say the least. Totally overbooked and over-busy, being pulled in six different directions at once. Staying late, and then getting home to have your grandmother ask you to go to the store, and go to drop off and then pickup her prescription meds, and then having to run to a third store to pick up fruit cocktail for my husband, because he only likes a specific brand sold at one store. Get home, the guinea pig cage needs to be cleaned out. The dog needs a bath because she ran into the mud and she’s an all white dog. Dinner is half-way cooked but needs to be finished because my Grams “just can’t” as she disappears upstairs to sleep. I finally sit down for the first time at 9:30 at night and then I’m in bed by 10:00. I’m not sleeping, though. My brain decides at that particular time to start trying to figure out how I’m going to pay the bills on time. That’s always a fantastic time to start figuring out how to produce more money from the sky than what you will actually have. 

Last night, after I had done another nightly store run to pick up sugar (Grams can’t live without sweet tea), my husband and I were sitting in the sunroom and I was looking through old pictures of myself and of my daughter. I scrolled past one of me when I was a lot thinner, shortly after The Abuser and I split up. My husband joked “You used to be pretty” (we always make fun of each other in the worst ways) and I was like “Yeah, I know.” Then, in a serious voice he was like “Honey, you could look like that again if you wanted to.” 

That destroyed me. It messed me up so much that when I went to reach for my drink, it went shattering to the ground. I was like “What did you say??” He was like, “You know that’s not how I meant it.” In my head, there was no other way to mean it. I told him goodnight and went to the bedroom and cried myself to sleep. He sent me a text just before I fell asleep that said “I don’t care what you say, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” I didn’t have it in me to reply. The voices in my head were loud, and they were harsh. The Abusers word ran through my mind over and over again. 

“The first time I saw you, my first thought was that I should have kept driving.”

Me

I will rub your back when you get down to the weight you’re supposed to.”

Don’t smile, it isn’t attractive.” 

“You will never be anything without me.” 

Me3

“I want to be with someone that I can pick up and put them against the wall and fuck. What kind of boring sex will we always have if I can’t even pick you up?”

Me2

You should be able to see the knuckles on a woman’s hands without her making a fist. You can’t see your knuckles because of the fat on your skin.”

Me4

“If you can’t see your collarbones, you’re too fat.”

Me5

My mind has replayed all of this shit plus more, all day today. When I looked in the mirror last night, I hated myself for the first time in a long time. On the way to work this morning I thought about getting Gastric Bypass surgery, then realized that requires recovery time out of work, and I don’t have the kind of job that I can afford to miss work. 

The other day my daughter told me that her step-mom said something about the age in which my daughter can start dating. When my daughter told her step-mom that both I and her dad said a different age, her step-mom remarked “Well, your mom started dating at 14 and look how that turned out.” 

Man, that shit really hurt, you know? I mean, step-mom grew up in a very VERY well-to-do family. Her parents paid for her private school, paid her way through college, and still pay for them to go no expensive trips. My dad abandoned me at birth, my mom was a drug addict, I had to raise my brother when I was eight years old because my mom was too drugged out to get up and take care of him. I left home permanently at 16/17 years old. I had my daughter just before I turned 19. I’ve worked since I was 15, I graduated high school despite all of that. My mom had drug addicts live with her that stole all of our shit, down to our clothes. I mean, I think considering the fact that I didn’t have the same life that she had, or the same opportunities, I’m doing pretty damn good. And it makes me sad to think that she see’s me that way, because I always thought we got along pretty well. 

It has been a very bad week. I feel ugly, unwanted, stupid, and an all-around failure. I just want to sleep. I want this to just go away. I want to wake up and be flawless so nobody can tell me what it is that i need to improve about myself. I want to make the voices of my past go away. I want to undo the damage that has been done. 

Exes and Ohh’s

Published April 23, 2017 by dividinguplife

It’s unusually cold today, with rain forecast for the next three days. I’m fighting the urge to take a nap, because if I do I won’t sleep for shit tonight. That doesn’t make for a very happy person on a Monday morning with a schedule full of asshole patients. 

Facebook is becoming less and less interesting. So much political drama. I find myself on there less often than ever before. After The Abuser friend requested me, his wife blocked me for whatever reason. Then a few weeks later she unblocked me. If I ever comment on something that he puts up, his wife is sure to comment as well, just to make her presence known. It just makes me laugh. She will never again be able to sleep a full night wondering if her husband really misses me (he does), and wonder if I’m the one that is on his mind (I am). That, my dear, is what you get for being a homewrecking, cheating, slut. Enjoy the rest of your life. I get pleasure in showing The Abuser that I’m happily married, despite his warnings years ago that I would be nothing without him. I enjoy seeing that they live in a shit house. I enjoy knowing that his wife doesn’t work, and that he does all of the cooking and cleaning, and raising of the kids because she’s a lazy cunt. I enjoy knowing that he cheated on me and married below me. I don’t have a lot of self-esteem because of him, but at least I know this much to be true. I know he looks through my Facebook and my pictures, because I know him. I’m willing to bet she logs onto his Facebook and looks, too. He has blocked me on messenger (I would imagine at her request) so we can’t really communicate … but I know him as well as she does. 

Why do I maintain a friendship with him? I forgave him of the abuse. I had therapy for it. I know that he can never physically hurt me again. And truth be told, I WANT him to see how great I’m doing. Yes, the fat girl that you thought “had potential” is doing well for herself, even though you threw her and her daughter out on the streets with nothing. I’ve sure come a long way from homelessness, haven’t I, dickhead? And you know what? I did it all on my own, before my husband and I got together. Nothing puts the boot up your ass faster than having absolutely nothing and a small child to take care of. I lost it all because of his infidelity and her low morals. You slept with my then-fiance you fucking bitch. I hope karma gets you in every way possible. She did me a favor, yes. But the point remains that she absolutely destroyed me eight years ago. They both did. I have never felt so ugly and torn down as I did when I found out he was fucking her behind my back, and then left me for her. 

Country Boy has been in steady contact over the last few weeks. He’s had a few meltdowns because things are continuing to go downhill for him and that girl that is dating and living with her baby daddy. She keeps flip-flopping back and forth between wanting to leave this guy and be with Country Boy, and wanting to stay with baby daddy. I’m at the point that I’m about to block him on messenger because I am just tired of repeating myself and him not listening. She isn’t going to leave the guy, she isn’t going to get with you on a steady thing, she is using you for what she needs in the moment, and then she goes home to her man. This isn’t new shit for cheaters. This is cheating 101. Get with it, man. Rather than him feel thankful for having a job and a roof over his head, he complains about everything simply because he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and hasn’t had one in nearly two years, since we dated. I don’t know if he’s ever stopped to consider that his shit-ass attitude matched with his horrible temper may be the problem. Whatever the case, I’m tired of hearing about it. He doesn’t have a lot, but he still has so much more than other people have, and he acts like he’s the only person that has ever lost anything in his life. 

People just get on my damn nerves. Especially those with entitlement issues. Life owes you nothing. Work hard for what you want. No excuses. 

Way Down We Go

Published March 1, 2017 by dividinguplife

I find it funny – the last blog that I wrote and how it ties into something I discovered last night. 

I don’t know how many women keep tabs on their exes and the partners that they left them for. I’ve always done it. Ever since The Abuser threw me and my daughter out, I’ve always kept tabs on his life and the ups and downs of it. To say that he and his wife have had a tumultuous relationship would be an understatement. A year and a half ago, once he realized that I was getting married and not changing my mind, he went back to his wife and blocked me on Facebook. After this having happened for the hundredth time in our pseudo-friendship, it just made me laugh. I was the one that wanted to maintain a friendship with him once we split up and I had therapy to understand why he was an abusive dickhead. He wanted that friendship too. With our friendship came the jealousy from his wife, even though she always stated that she had no problem with us being friends. I guess when you are part of the reason a relationship is homewrecked, it must be difficult to sleep at night wondering if the relationship you helped destroy, may one day find its way back together. So, The Abuser and I could be friends, but only on her terms, and only when she wasn’t pissed off at him for something. 

Anyway. I’ve been blocked on Facebook for a year by The Abuser. Last night I was suddenly unblocked. Why? I don’t know. If I had to guess, it was because his wife was somewhere that wasn’t at home and he got curious as to how I was doing. He got to thinking about something. I know how his mind wanders. He’s never happy with what he has if he thinks he can have better. I would imagine they haven’t gotten their tax refunds yet if he is catching thoughts about me. When he has money, he is in his element. He’s never happier than when he’s spending money. 

I hope whatever he was looking for, he found. I hope that it was like a punch in the stomach to see that I’m still married, that I’m happy, and that I’m doing okay without him. I remember when he left me, then found out a few months later that I was dating someone else – he had to the nerve to tell me he was irreplaceable. He honestly believed that. But he has been replaced. And I am better off for it. I told my husband last night that I was suddenly unblocked. He found that interesting. But I told him just so that he would know. Just in case The Abuser tries to call me or messages me on Facebook, at least he’d know what was up.

Do I still think about him? Yeah. Do I remember good times with him? Of course I do. I carry a lot of memories with me on a daily basis. I would never want to part with them. Not even the bad ones. 

I saw a video last night that ripped me apart. It’s called “Hurt” by Johnny Cash. Trent Reznor wrote it, but Johnny Cash was born to sing it. 

Johnny Cash – Hurt

When I watched the video, and listened to the lyrics, it made me think of him. I have a feeling that when this life is said and done with The Abuser, he is going to have a life of regret that he can’t ever take back. I hate that for him. I hate that for anyone. 

It even made me want to hug Johnny Cash and tell him that everything was okay. That man was a grade-A asshole in his youth. But it seems as if it all caught up with him in the end. And the pain that’s in his eyes in this video? It’s enough to rip your soul out. 

What have I become? My sweetest friend. Everyone I know, goes away in the end. And you could have it all – my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt. If I could start again, a million miles away. I would keep myself, I would find a way.

Rock Bottom Isn’t So Bad

Published February 15, 2017 by dividinguplife

I always feel like I have some profound shit to say, but when it comes time to write, there’s usually nothing there. Oh well. 

Work has been rather grueling this week. A lot of difficult patients with a lot of specific needs. I’ve been trying to anticipate what the doctor needs before he asks for it. It helps my critical thinking skills, and also saves me from stopping what I’m doing for one patient to run around like a chicken with my head cut off, for another patient that I thought I was finished with. So far this week and last week I have done a pretty decent job at figuring out what he is going to want before he asks for it. 

I was messing around with google maps tonight. I figured I’d take a trip through the old neighborhood my husband and I grew up in. It made me giggle that I could still see the same route I took when I would sneak out of my house at night and tear through the back yards to climb through my brother-in-laws window. 

The top right was my house. The bottom left, my husbands. 

map

I ran that same path a hundred times during the summer of ’98. 

In the summer, when the smell of wet, fresh cut grass finds its way to my nose, I’m instantly 13 again. The sound of the crickets on a muggy summer night, and I can hear my childhood laughter as I was tearing through the woods, bright-eyed and excited for the freedoms that I had while dreaming of a future that turned out so completely different than I thought it would. 

How much heartache and disappointment must one endure before they get their happy ending? I consider myself lucky to have found what I have at the age of 31. It is rather amazing to look back and think of the bullshit and hell I’ve been through with abuse and cheating and heartache in the last 13 years. 

Honestly, though. I wouldn’t change one bit of it. The emotional, physical, and mental abuse? It taught me how to and how to not treat other people. It wore down my self-esteem, yes. But, now I know what it feels like to be made to feel like you’re worthless. I could never intentionally say something to another human being to hurt them with regard to how they look, dress, or feel. 

Being cheated on multiple times? Another blow to my self-esteem. A lot of hours of therapy. But it taught me the pain of another persons selfish actions. It taught me that at the end of the day, every single one of these men always asked for me to come back to them; that they’d made a mistake. It taught me about the proverbial fence and the color of grass. It taught me to continue to be the person that I am, because someday someone would appreciate all of the positive things I bring to a relationship. 

13 years of weeding through the assholes, through the bullshit, through the pain. I’ve cried an ocean of tears. I’ve written more journal entry’s, spent more nights in deep thought and reflection, and lived mature lives well before I was supposed to be old enough to do it. I grew up poor. I became co-dependent on men. I’ve lost everything and been homeless. I’ve rebuilt my life and learned the hardest lessons. I’ve survived. 

I still live paycheck to paycheck. But I made it a goal of mine to make sure that my daughter never had to grow up in the environment that I did. I have busted my ass to ensure that she lives in a home that has a permanent foundation as apposed to the trailer I grew up in . She goes to a private school. I take her and her friend skating and to the movies on the weekends when we have the extra money. She even admitted the other night that I was “cooler than most parents” – which was a compliment of the highest regard coming from her almost-teenage self. 

So, if you find yourself careening towards rock bottom – allow yourself to fall. Allow yourself to learn from it. There are so many lessons to be learned if you turn the focus from you to everything else around you.