It is Done

"Six:  I can slay a jabberwocky."

The divorce was signed June 15, 2011.  I wouldn't have minded waiting two more days for the poetic justice of having it signed on my 17th wedding anniversary, but hey, the judge's signature is the most important thing.  As a truly, deeply personality disordered person, I expect his narcissism to raise it's ugly head and engage in battle again.  But I have triumphed once and will continue to do so.  Eventually he will seek refill and supply elsewhere.  It is a very doable thing, Ladies.  Time to don your armour, conjure up your inner Alice, and slay your jabberwocky knowing you are never alone. 

Painting the Roses Red

Narcissists attract sycophants like poop attracts flies.  (Sorry, if you thought a sweet smelling rose analogy was coming.) It’s the simplistic way to state it and actually, it detracts from the forceful, magnetic symbiosis that occurs.  The narcissist cannot exist without his sycophant/s.  If a narcissist bitches and rages and there’s no sycophant to hear, does he exist?  Nope.  I've seen mine try to rage in the mirror.  Doesn't work.  Back to my point and I have one, the narcissist fuels his twisted self-view through the sycophant’s approval and compliance.  The sycophant receives inclusion, purpose, and connection in return hence the closed-loop symbiosis. 

In a perfect world (all the narcissists would be dead or incarcerated – heehee!), no seriously, the narcissists and sycophants would inhabit a world apart from the non-personality disordered and feed from each other.  Instead, they walk among us, most frighteningly, alongside our ex-husbands in the human form of their attorneys.  They will perjure themselves, opening themselves up to personal, civil cases and bar reviews.  They will walk into open court and repeat the lies of their client with no thought to protecting their own integrity.  Were my ex-husband an intelligent narcissist, he would have no need for a spokesman.  Instead, he remains the puppet master with a hand shoved so far up his attorney’s backside, I can  practically see him waving from his mouth.  In court, I have to refrain from giggling because the whole set up reminds me of The Letter People.  People my age will remember Mr. T for Taaaaahhhlll Teeth.  Yeah, his lawyer looks quite a lot like that and responds as a puppet might - no original thought, simply a mimic of his client. 

Today, my attorney and I both read in wonderment the responses crafted from his lawyer.  Essentially, they add up to this – well, we lied before, but we’re not lying now and we are going to spread lies and vileness about you both as everyone knows the best defense is a good offense.  I’m having that “Painting the Roses Red” moment from Disney’s Alice In Wonderland.  The actions are so incredibly ludicrous, how do you ever react? (See?  You knew if you waited you'd get the rose or Alice reference explanation.  Besides, a picture of flies on poop doesn't have the same je ne sais quois as our heroine, Alice, does it?  ;)

Narcissist Tuesday

Living with a narcissist, cultivating some of the less flattering traits isn't difficult.  Think of a gaggle of old women together talking about other old women, the insults fly fast and furious.  When the barrier is broken by the narcissist, no one is off limits and back biting can become a family event.  Developing empathy for the "poor, misunderstood" narcissist becomes one ineffective coping mechanism and defense.  Thankfully, mine beat every last bit of empathy out of me long, long ago, but some of the more pervasive bad habits remain.  Not only am I ultra critical of myself, I'm incredibly critical of others expecting, even demanding, Herculean efforts on their parts, none of which I wouldn't destroy my own self to produce, but unrealistic nonetheless.  Demanding perfection is part of my family culture.  Battle Cry of the Tiger Mother?  No, Tiger Mothers pale in comparison to Mormon Mothers. 

I've always believed my upbringing created in me an easy target for the narcissist.  Take one young girl who believes in an absolute patriarchal rule, add to her endless "Pursuit of Excellence," and weigh her down with childbirth and rearing in quick succession and you have the perfect mark for an evil man.  There's simply no time left in each day to consider something might be terribly, mentally wrong with your spouse because you are too hyper focused on what is fundamentally wrong with you.  Have you fallen to your knees first thing upon waking in the morning to pray?  Have you read your scriptures?  Have you prepared your lessons for church and visiting teaching?  Have you fed and dressed your children?  Have you properly prepared your husband for his full day of work?  Have you done your temple work, your genealogy?  Have you washed and canned and cooked and sewn and...and...and???

Long, very long and tedious, story short, I woke up one day, decided the church that told me to respect my husband, to pray for and serve the monster that molested me, was decidedly wrong and quit.  I quit the church.  I quit my marriage.  The only thing I didn't quit was my children, the truly blameless victims of this hideousness. 

So my gloomy, rainy Tuesday thoughts turn to narcissism as I contemplate my Big Day in court tomorrow with my personal, hellish N.  Wish me luck....

Know Your Enemy, Know Yourself

 It is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles; if you do not know your enemies but do know yourself, you will win one and lose one; if you do not know your enemies nor yourself, you will be imperiled in every single battle.

- Sun Tzu 

The only way to conquer your narcissist ex is to know him.  No matter how much time you spent with him, you know this is not an easy task.  If it came out of his mouth or was written by his hand, it was a lie.  His actions were the only true insight into the real man.  Knowing your enemy is the most effective battle strategy. 

Few, if any of us, will be privy to any meaningful reason behind our abusers' rationales and motives.  Honestly, the reason why doesn't matter too much, does it?  Instead, we can rely on others for insight.  I don't know the back story, but I do know that Sam Vaknin defines himself a narcissist and interprets for us what is unbelievable and bewildering.  

From Sam's Facebook page:  "The most dangerous class of abusers is the paranoid-delusional.  If your ex is one of these, he is likely to:  

Believe you still love him (erotomania). 

Interpret everything you do or say -- even to 3rd parties -- as "hidden messages" addressed to him and professing your undying devotion (idea of reference).  My ex found my profile on a local social group.  He interpreted my public reservations with the private group (he must have joined under a fake profile) for parties, events and social nights out as invitations to him to join me and would show up unannounced in public venues as "coincidence."    

Confuse the physical with the emotional (regard sex as "proof" of love and be prone to rape you.  We call that "Tuesday."

Blame the failure of the relationship on you or on others -- social workers, your friends, your family, your children.  Check, check, and yes, check.  Currently, he has fixated on a friend of mine.  While the action is disturbing, he has created the story that were it not for my friend, I would be with him right this very minute.  That is so disrespectful of me and my wants and intellect.  

Seek to "remove" the obstacles to a "happy" and long relationship -- sometimes by resorting to violence (kidnapping or murdering the sources of frustration).  Ummm...yeah.  Working on preventing kidnapping and murder.  They're just not part of my five year plan.

Be very envious of your new found autonomy and try to sabotage it by reasserting his control over you (for instance, B&E your house, leave intrusive messages on your answering machine, follow you around and monitor your home."  Or my particular favorite, while you are on vacation over a thousand miles away, call and leave a voice mail screaming at the top of one's lungs profanity at the children and then state breathlessly that although he hasn't harmed the children, God he wants to.

Harm you (and sometimes himself) in a fit of indignation (and to punish you) if he feels that no renewed relationship is possible.  I do not have enough fingers or toes to tally the amount of threats of suicide.  I don't have enough cells in my entire body to calculate the amount of times there was violence directed at me.  

Develop persecutory delusions.  Perceive slights and insults where none are intended.  Become convinced that he is the center of a conspiracy to deny him (and you) happiness, to humiliate him, punish him, delude him, impoverish him, confine him physically or intellectually, censor him, impose on his time, force him to action (or inaction), frighten him, coerce him, surround and besiege him, change his mind, part with his values, victimize or even murder him and so on.  Can't even begin to touch on this one.  Of course, everyone is out to get him.  He is HIM, the All Mighty.  Everyone wants to take him down for being Him, Glorious Him.  I cannot imagine living in this manner.  

Currently, my ex, my children's father, my abuser exemplifies the above description.  No, of course, that doesn't make me happy to point that out.  It saddens me as much as it sickens me.  I need the reminder because I am so close to happiness, so close to being rid of the life described in the last paragraph, that constant vigil of everyone after us - his work, his parents, my parents, even at times, our children.  I forget sometimes how horrid it was.  I need to be reminded how dangerous the situation remains until I am totally free.  Until then, I have only been granted probation, not a full pardon.  

Be safe!  Be happy!

(From the book "Malignant Self-love: Narcissism Revisited" by Sam Vaknin - Click on this link to purchase the print book, or 16 e-books, or 2 DVDs with 12 hours of video lectures on narcissists, psychopaths, and abuse in relationships: http://www.narcissistic-abuse.com/thebook.html)

 

RIP Liz

"When people say, 'She's got everything', I've got one answer - I haven't had tomorrow."

Elizabeth Taylor 1932 - 2011

An Open Letter to Mike Huckabee - Bastard of the Day

"Most single moms are very poor, uneducated, can't get a job, and if it weren't for government assistance, their kids would be starving to death and never have healthcare," Mike Huckabee during a radio interview. 

Here is the damage controlling clarification:  "My comments were about the statistical reality that most single moms are very poor, under-educated, can't get a job, and if it weren't for government assistance, their kids would be starving to death," he wrote. "That's the story that we're not seeing, and it's unfortunate that society often glorifies and glamorizes the idea of having children out of wedlock."  (For the record, he was speaking directly about the actress, Natalie Portman).

Now here's the truth.

78% of all single parent women are employed (Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2002-2003). 

45% of all single parent women hold down more than one job. (Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2002-2003).

Single parent women experience the highest rate of unemployment, and receive the lowest rate of pay regardless of their education. (Economic Roundtable, 2004).

While the hourly wage for women without children is 90% of a man’s, the comparable figure for women with children is 70%. (Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2002-2003).

And the Winner is.....Fewer than 17% of all single moms receive government assistance even in the minor form of food stamps. (Economic Roundtable, 2002).


Mr. Huckabee,

When I was living with my abusive, employed Army Soldier husband, we earned exactly HALF of what I make today as a single mother.  With my husband, we received tax payer funded healthcare in the form of Tricare and many, many tax free military benefits, again, a gift from the taxpayers.   

I want you to look me in the eye and repeat your former statements.  I want you to tell me that as a single mother my four, Yes, FOUR college degrees don't exist.

I want you tell me I do not make double what my soldier ex makes. 

I want you to tell me that I do not have an excellent, secure career and that I do not receive unsolicited job offers at least weekly.

I want you to tell me my children do not have healthcare.

Repeat your urban legends to the face of this well educated (going for degree #5 as we speak), well employed Single Mother of five children.  Tell me and my children that we should have stayed with my abusive husband because a broken hip and pelvis is preferable to the calm and peaceful life I have created for us.  Tell me I need your government aid.  Go right ahead and tell this Mother your deceitful, incidiary untruths.  Coward, tell her if you dare.

Today I'm Feeling ___________.

I saw a picture today of two women on horseback.  Not too original, but the horses where chest deep forging a river.  The women riders wore safety helmets (Honestly, I come from a state where motorcycle helmets are optional so I am aware of the repercussions, but how far of a journey is it from horse helmet to short bus?)  and were relaxed and smiling.  The horses were more concerned with keeping their nostrils above the water.   The lead horse, a gorgeous, grey Appaloosa harbored a look of deep resignation in his eyes while ferrying his oblivious, smiling passenger.  Today, I am the horse. 

I'm usually so optimistic.  Hey, 16 years of violent, physical abuse, I'm either going to be one helluva an optimist or beat so senseless as to not know or care!  I'm having a hard time bouncing back this AM.  I started a newish job on Monday.  Plus side - more money.  Minus side - more responsibility, more restraints, less time.  My truck broke down on Monday.  And on Tuesday.  And on Wednesday.  I need a new place to live having outgrown our smallish home and my lease is up.  I definitely need new wheels.  I can't shake this Eeyorish doom and gloom today!!!  Guess I need to make a list of all the things going right to remind myself.  Number 1.  I am not in an abusive relationship any longer.   Honestly, this Little Miss Doom & Gloom act needs to GO!  As I wrote the sentence above, all the "buts" flew to the foreground, but you owe this and this and this, and you need to do this and this and this....

ACK!  Girlfriends, anyone else having a blah, punky kind of week???

PB&J

In the area where one of the last offenses occurred, there are more verdicts than simply "guilty" or "not guilty."  There is also "probation before judgement," or PBJ.  A defendant can resolve his trial without receiving a conviction.  PBJ is usually reserved for first time offenders.  The criminial admits he's guilty or kinda guilty and is placed on probation without supervision.  Upon successfull completion of probation, the criminal will not have a conviction on record.  I'm not entirely certain how the military views a PBJ.  We shall see....

But Girlfriends, chalk this up as a win for the Good Guys.  Karma, you are beautiful.

Update:  A PBJ is about as useful as a sandwich.  He has since "shielded" all of his DV charges and passes a background check with flying colors.  He has never and probably will never answer for any of the damage he has done.  Teflon Douchebag is he.

The Joy of PTSD

In speaking with a new therapist this week, (Remember? I’m too fucked up for short term therapy and had to switch to a new therp for the long haul.) I realized that being a military wife aided the violence. Due to our frequent PCSs, we constantly moved; changed cities, changed states, changed countries...8 moves in 16 years of marriage. I checked because I didn’t think that was possible but yes! 8 moves in 16 years. Sometimes we moved because the Beast had so worn out his welcome with his unit, he had to seek an assignment elsewhere. He wasn’t just an ass to me; his assholiness knew no boundaries. Moving so frequently meant we couldn’t establish close friendships. There was no one to bear witness to the culture of our household or to do anything about it. Rarely did we live near family. We didn’t associate with anyone other than church members who thoughtfully looked the other way and his co-workers. As is the case, when I was allowed to work or go to school outside the home, I was not allowed friends. They would distract from the very important business of taking care of Beast, the children, and the home. Our gypsy life maintained our abusive relationship.

The abuse went unchecked for over a decade. In that time of broken bones and torn flesh, I was more concerned with a broken soul. Thanks to the Joy of PTSD, there were many times when I couldn’t feel, literally couldn’t feel any emotions at all. Without that escape, Beast would have broken me. Apathy and humour; never underestimate the power of laughter. One ghastly time, I can’t remember if I’ve written about it here, but who cares? I’ll lay it bare again, open to the daylight. One time, Beast was sitting on me, straddling my abdomen and chest making breathing labored. I was panicking at the thought of losing consciousness, not so much from fear of the lack of oxygen as fear of the sexual assault that would follow should I be rendered helpless. Anyway, picture it:  Beast, full weight pinning me to the Pergo floor below, me, gasping for breath.  Beast then lifted my head with a thick hand on each side and began to systematically bang it onto the floor. I gave over then. Always at a point in his assaults,  my physical body couldn’t take anymore. I liken it to assault victims that say they feel themselves floating away, watching the event from up high. I let myself forget the difficulty breathing and fell into the blinding pain and rhythmic thumping of the back of my head on the floorboards. Not aware, I began counting. Seeing my lips moving, Beast leaned in closer because the sound of my voice begging was an aphrodisiac to him. Instead what Beast heard was, “One potato, two potato, three potato, four....” over and over in time to the head bashing.  I laughed at the absurdity of the scenario, a grown man sitting on top of his wife banging her head into the floor.  Where my tears had fueled his fire, my laughter doused it completely. That day I learned the antidote to his abuse.  I remembered that lesson and returned to it again and again until the day I was strong enough to leave for good.



Happy SAD!

Happy Single Awareness Day!

This morning, I'm thinking of all my beautiful, strong girlfriends!  Today is a GREAT day to remember all of the people who truly love you - your mom & dad, sisters, girlfriends....  We are strong, independent women!  Today, we love ourselves.

PTSD is My Bitch

PTSD is growing increasingly common in our society. That one statement speaks loudly enough about the true state of our Union. The National Institute of Mental Health estimates that approximately 7.7 million American adults age 18 and older have PTSD.  A study conducted in the early '90s, The National Comorbidity Survey estimated the lifetime prevalence of PTSD in adults to be 7.8%. When the figures were broken down along the sexes, the average for females was 10.4% twice that of the male rate of 5%. Those surveyed reported experiencing four or more traumatic events in their lifetimes. The most frequently reported traumatic events included witnessing the death or injury of another person, involvement in a natural disaster, personal involvement in a life-threatening accident, and military combat. Other traumatic events reported included rape, childhood neglect and physical abuse, sexual molestation, and assault.

In the first list, the events were traumatic, life altering, one-time occurrences. Hurricane Katrina. The Battle of Fallujah. A violent rape. The Mayo Clinic defines PTSD as “a type of anxiety disorder triggered by a traumatic event….when you experience or witness an event that causes intense fear, helplessness or horror.” http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/post-traumatic-stress-disorder/DS00246

And this is why I love Wiki…..
Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) is a psychological injury that results from protracted social and/or interpersonal trauma with lack or loss of control, disempowerment, and in the context of either captivity or entrapment, i.e. the lack of a viable escape route for the victim. C-PTSD is distinct from, but similar to, PTSD. The category is not formally recognized in diagnostic systems such as DSM or ICD. Forms of trauma include sexual abuse (especially child sexual abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, domestic violence and/or torture. (I added the “and/or” because I’ve found in DV, those options weren’t an “or” thing. They all went hand-in-hand. The only difference was who was partnering up on which day.) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Complex_post-traumatic_stress_disorder

PTSD is "a normal reaction to abnormal events." The nightmares, cold sweats, flashbacks – those are all the reactions of a normal person to abnormal circumstances. Remember, NO reaction is a little bit questionable. Think I’m wrong? Imagine a spy movie where the captured agent does not respond to water boarding. Now that’s abnormal. Some therapists have described PTSD as being difficult to diagnose. There are new ‘brain signal tests’ among other differential testing options that I won’t bore you with here. Quite simply, if it quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. I remember how viciously I fought this diagnosis. Some people believe PTSD is an excuse for the weak and the simple minded. “If only you would just put it out of your mind….Why can’t you stop thinking about it?....When are you going to forget about it?” I have neither the time nor energy to discuss those people and suggest if you encounter them, wish them a very warm, "Go Fuck Yourself" and move on.

There was a Zen moment in finally giving in to the diagnosis and letting go. Like living with PTSD, accepting the diagnosis is a submersion, a baptism into the cult of the walking wounded. Submersion is a good word for it. Remember the black, alien goo from Spiderman? Okay, yes, I’ll admit it; its name is Venom, okay? He’s like the Bizarro Spiderman. I’m an unapologetic comic book geek. Moving on….If any of you are geeks too, you’ll remember the insidious, slow seepage over everything it touches.

Thesaurus.com yielded a treasure of synonyms for drowning: asphyxiate, deluge, douse, drench, engulf, flood, immerse, inundate, obliterate, overcome, overpower, overwhelm, prostrate, sink, stifle, suffocate, swamp, whelm, wipe out, and my personal favorite – to submerge and die. No sugarcoating! Drown is a verb, an action, and so is PTSD. At first, the startle reflexes at the sound of car doors are slight. Then they join with other ambient sounds to create a heart thumping cacophony in your veins that threatens to drag you down. Eventually, there has to be a joining with the creature or you will surely drown and die. Acceptance of your “new normal” slowly illuminates the cracks in the Venom and allows light to shine in. Or maybe it allows some of your light to finally trickle out once again.

Name the alien and own it. Remaining fearful and in the shadows allows it to engulf you.

Little Miss Freakin' Sunshine!

Hey!  Here's a novel thought.  Let's not focus on damaged, bruised souls today.  I had a completely awesome, fantastic Tuesday.  Tuesdays are inherently evil as they are His dinner dates with the kids.  Rush from work, take specific kid to therapy, rush to police station, and exchange children for dinner visit.  Waste time for two hours, back to police station, collect kids, rush home, homework, late bedtime for kids, complete exhaustion for mom.  I know!  Sounds fun, right?  The Custody Hustle.  But yesterday, I was in my groove the entire day, all through the evening.  Shout out to Panera's Bread for the *FREE* Valentine's sugar cookie.  Eatin' it for breakfast, Y'all Rock!  So to honor my inner Leslie Knope (God, I love her.  She's who I used to be in my naive, pre-abuse, pre-all that other horrid shit state) we're going to keep on the theme of totally good Karma and channel the greatest girlfriend of all time. 

I very proudly share with you America's BFF, Vicki Iovine.  She's completely awesome and light years ahead in the relationship/mommy curve.  She forged the way for me, and countless, clueless others, through pregnancy and stretch marks, breastfeeding, the terrible twos, potty training, puberty, and beyond!  Lately, she has navigated the murky road to recovery from divorce and leaving a long-term partner. Thankfully, her ex was not the violent ass most of us here had the pleasure of leaving, but we can still benefit from her wit and wisdom and unabashed ability to share fully of herself.  After all, at it's core, divorce is a loss and universal regardless of circumstance. 

From Vicki's Girlfriend's Guide:  The Ten Biggest Misconceptions About Divorce

http://www.girlfriendsguide.com/site/?p=300#more-300

(P.S.  #10 is the reason why she is my "Girlfriend" and I love her!)

Beautifully Broken

She's so beautifully broken

Shaped by the wind

Dangerously twisted

Here I go again

Lyrics courtesy of Gov't Mule

Taking a cue from the Brit Brits and Xtinas, even an Ashlee was in on the act, "I'm beautifully broken and I don't mind if you know it.  I'm beautifully broken and I don't care if I show it," those of us so "beautifully broken" use the phrase to describe the horror we have seen and have survived.  Google the term and 735,000 results appear, but Google the definition and you'll find only 58,000 results.  Know why?  The term is simply a euphamism for a hideously mangled, emotionally disfigured, tortured soul.  Beautifully broken?  Fuck no!  What you are is quite simply - Fucked Up.  FUBAR, my dear, in the truest, purest sense. 

As with all things, there is a time and a place for it.  In the beginning, you may need to consider yourself beautifully broken, a fragile spirit, an angel with clipped wings.  Do it.  Love yourself.  Protect yourself.  But at some point, the victim needs to shed her broken, old self and rebuild.  Maybe he did break you.  But never, ever forget you are still alive and where there is life there is hope.  Shed the damaged, broken image.  Replace it with a tangible one.  Think of your grandmother's china, mine had that ruby red, Depression Era glass she would use to serve the grandkids Jell-O.  Find a tangible, breakable image of an item of worth to you and consider all you would do to repair it if it were broken.  Then find your emotional Super Glue.  If Grandma's china or Depression Era glass is worth gluing back together then isn't Grandma's granddaughter worthy of the same treatment?  Sure, there will be visible cracks and maybe even a few pieces missing, but how precious is that china after being lovingly restored? 

You OWE it to yourself to stop the "beautifully broken" thinking today (if you're ready, Ladies) and replace it with your own personal vision of a strong self.  If you cannot envision yourself stronger, borrow the image.  I'll share mine, but of course, those of you who know me, already know my strong, powerful mentor is the awesome Ms. WW, Princess Diana, the Amazing Wonder Woman herself.  Hell, pick Margaret Thatcher if that does it for you or even Michelle Obama, but I'd lean more towards Hilary even though her name is kinda weak.  She does exude awesomeness and does have a shitty husband, all the more for us to relate.  Pick your persona and imitate, imitate, imitate until it becomes innate for you. 

Here's a poem to get you started taken from The Experience Project:

I Am a Strong Woman and I Will Not Apologize For It

A truly strong woman is a force that is so very dynamic.

A woman whose strength comes natural and is somewhat majestic.

It is an innate inclination, impulse and drive.

She loves and accepts herself completely, knows shes not perfect,yet and still she strives,

Strong women need strong men, strong men feel strong women is what they're made for.

It seems fitting to see word of mouth reveal that muscle in true form weighs so much more.

Some men need a woman weaker than they.

So they can partake in a staged 'save the day'

There is no courage no strength and no valor in that.

If you ask me, I say that ***** pretty wack.

A real woman needs a real man to stand up and say

"I'm attracted to your strength, it's a challenge to me

A chance for me to show you and I both how strong I can be."

A man's strength is not defined by his ability to control.

Nor his ability to dictate, write, or moderate a show.

If youre looking for the definition of a strong man go back a few lines.

An individual's strength is defined the same way across gender lines.

For one to be strong enough to hold another.

Support must be given, much more than a lover.

Its constant giving of your self but by giving, receiving

And the security from knowledge that neither is leaving

Because both forces are required for each individuals breathing

Therefore neither would cause the other's heart grieving.

I am a strong woman and I will not apologize for it.

Some men gain superficial strength and revel in a womans pain

Like a childhood bully playing elementary school games.

He gains false esteem from a woman who is stregnthless

As if her inability to move were an indication of his greatness.

I am a strong woman and I will not apologize for it.

I know admission to my heart and emotions is a prize.

A man must treasure it while he has it because he'll lose it with lies.

A strong woman can bear all the strife in the world,

But will only choose to do so for a man who'd never imply she could would or should.

I am a strong woman and I will not apologize for it.

A strong woman is no more in control of how she feels than anyone else;

She's merely choosy, for she knows completely the full value of her self.

She is not foolish, nor unintelligent, unreasonable, short-sighted or vain.

She recognizes clear fault lines, indicating inability to bear substantial strain.

If giving of herself, her emotions and heart proves to be painful more often than not

And all that she is, is more than he can hold compounded with lack of appreciation for the all that he's got

Then here lies the choice to cross a line that divides many women

You see, some women would simply stay and keep right on giving.

Some might even confuse their choice to endure sustained pain

With strength, courage or love, but that's really a shame.

Because its the woman who has love of self paired with strength and courage deep in her being

That is able to stand and walk away so securely, its almost as if Gods given her a higher level of seeing.

She is able to see for her self, that she must pull it all right back in;

Her heart, love, emotions, yes all that she has given.

I am a strong woman and I will not apologize for it.

The strong woman is not bitter, not angry or scorned.

She mearly yields to her wisdom as if shes been warned.

She does not blame anyone and is grateful for the love that she shared.

She is comfortable on her own, she need not be paired.

She knows that what she wants, needs, desires and deserves

Exists somewhere, and until it finds her she'll take what life serves.

I am a strong woman and I will not apologize for it.

This poem is found here:
http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Wrote-A-Poem/463277

The Codependency Tango

Usually when I leave my therapist's office, I feel lighter and brighter and definitely more hopeful.  This week, I learned I'm more damaged than I had originally believed.  My life is a veritable smorgasbord of psychotherapy from which to pick and chose.  I'm certain a good social worker or psychotherapist will want to select one diagnosis or painful experience and start with that.  That's fine for organized therapy, but for me, I'd like to work on the problems as they pop up and affect my life.  For example, right now, I'm starving and my choices are left over Swedish Christmas cookies or chili lime almonds.  NOT a happy camper! 

In my head, I picture my issues as one of my kids' long ago, infant, pop-up toys, bump a button and a random toy pops up.  So it is with my problems, a random mental jostling, a scent, a sound, and my issues burst forth unbidden.  Lately my pop-ups have been, in no particular order:  PTSD, co-dependence, and lack of self esteem.  As my PTSD is remaining mostly in check:  nightmares and startle reflexes few, I've been researching co-dependency (still pisses me off!) and self esteem.  There are a lot of theorists who link low self esteem to issues that occurred in childhood.  Let me share the following quote so you can see where I am going with this.

"This dance of Codependence is a dance of dysfunctional relationships - of relationships that do not work to meet our needs.  That does not mean just romantic relationships, or family relationships, or even human relationships in general.  The fact that dysfunction exists in our romantic, family, and human relationships is a symptom of the dysfunction that exists in our relationship with life - with being human.  It is a symptom of the dysfunction which exists in our relationships with ourselves as human beings." - Codependence: The Dance of Wounded Souls by Robert Burney

It would seem that Burney is saying codependencey begins with our dysfunctional relationships with ourselves, in other words, seeing ourselves poorly or low self esteem.  Feeling that we are unlovable in our primary relationships and more importantly, unlovable to our very selves sets the stage for codependency in our relationships with all others.  Burney's theory for treating codependency is largely one of healing your inner child.  Now don't shake your head just yet.  I was right there with you doing the  Daily Affirmation With Stuart Smalley, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit, people like me!" (Don't forget the lisp; it's just not the same without it!)  The more I read, the more I'm coming to believe there may be something to this "inner child" bullshit.

"In order to start being in the moment in a healthy, age-appropriate way it is necessary to heal our "inner child." The inner child we need to heal is actually our "inner children" who have been running our lives because we have been unconsciously reacting to life out of the emotional wounds and attitudes, the old tapes, of our childhoods." Robert Burney

I'm certainly not advocating one particular method of therapy and I am definitely NOT taking a one-size-fits-all view of treatment for abuse victims.  We all need to come to our own healing in our own time.  We may find that healing in a textbook or by talking to a friend.  Whatever form it takes, it is innately personal and individualized.  My goal is to share what works for me and to allow you to share my journey.  In this way, I am not alone.  And neither are you. 

We'll chat more about the ridiculous but strangely therapeutic loving your inner little girl tomorrow.  Till then, if you need me, leave a comment.

The Best Advice I Didn't Take

*Update*  Fuck the co-dependant shit.  He was a diagnosed psychopath and narcissistic personality disordered monster.  I wasn't co-dependent; I was a hostage.

I research a thing to death.  If I can define it, I can control it or so I like to believe.  For many years, I wouldn't give a name to the events occurring within my marriage.  I would not call it "abuse" or "domestic violence" or "assault".  To do so would open up the possibility that I was a victim in the situation, a condition I could not bear to acknowledge.  Being afraid to give a name to what was happening prevented me from finding my voice and finding a "cure".  Even worse, failing to acknowledge the hideous damage done to me prevented me from seeing that the friend I leaned on for comfort and support would eventually reveal himself to be more of the same.  How does the children's song go, "Second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse"? 

I allowed my issues, the co-dependency and the absolutely crippling lack of self-esteem blind me into believing I could not leave my dangerous marriage by myself, could not take care of myself.  Raised in an extremely patriarchal culture, I believed if I was simply a good enough wife and good enough mother, I was good enough and my husband would take care of me.  Well, if by take care of you mean rape and batter, then I was definitely well taken care of. 

I've attached a link, an eHow guide to rebuilding your life after domestic violence.  The instructions seem deceptively simple.  Do not disregard.  They are true and work if followed.  Today, I will reapply the instructions and get back on the path to recovery.  http://www.ehow.com/how_2310911_build-life-after-experiencing-domestic.html

Today, I will tell myself:

• I am proud of all I have accomplished.
• I am my own best friend.
• I love and forgive myself for all past mistakes.
• I recognize my many strengths and acknowledge the existence of ones I've yet to discover.

Today, you will, too. 

"I am so buying this mug."  --Betty aka Wonder Woman

Christina Aguilera - Oh Mother (With Lyrics)

Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer;

nothing is more difficult than to understand him.

-- Fyodor Dostoevsky

Happy Thoughts

Some days I receive more phone calls from the police and attorneys than I do friends.  And friends, well, I have "air friends" but not any human friends.  Having friends was a risk the abuser couldn't take.  Someone might see.  Someone might know.  Better to keep her in her Ivory Tower where he can have her all to himself.  The Ivory Tower offered a measure of safety.  In it, I didn't have to deflect comments about men looking at me.  In public, he wanted me to wear suggestive clothing and then became angry when flashing flesh drew attention.  Never been a big fan of having it both ways.  Never been a big fan of showing off my bod either, but hey, it wasn't my body. 

I digress (I think that's my middle name).  Today, the phone call was to emphasize that acording to some sort of domestic violence algorithm, I am in immediate danger.  I'm not certain how to approach this.  On a cop show, I'd be wisked away in a fluffy wig and dark glasses to a safe location.  But I am not a witness in a mafia drama and this is my reality.  As an educated adult (at least my student loans seem to think so!) I am uncertain what my next move should be. 

If I am missing or dead....

Amy's Courage

Public shout out to Janine Latus, author and advocate.  http://www.janinelatus.com/  Without her book, I would have stayed in the cyclone.  If you plan on donating to charity this year, please consider Ms. Latus' organization, AMY'S COURAGE FUND http://www.nnedv.org/projects/amysfund.html.

The Abuse Addict

People are consistently surprised at how “normal” they appear. They aren’t. Yet they aren’t all identifiably insane madmen, macho misogynists, or anxiety ridden neurotics. In fact, they look no different from the man who delivers your mail, who bags your groceries, who writes your prescriptions, who catches a game winning goal. We expect that hurtful people will look the part. We want them to. We need them to otherwise, all the tiny whisperings of something not quite right go unheeded because he looks so normal.

And he acts normally, too. When indicated, the abuser plays the part he wants the public to see: helpful neighbor raking leaves, adoring father cheering from the sidelines, loving and attentive husband. To the abuser, there are three sets of people: those he abuses, those he can abuse, and those he can’t.  For each group, he must memorize the part to be played never forgetting his lines.  The abuser is always “on.” For those he can’t abuse and for future victims, the abuser is pleasant and witty, always charming, always misunderstood. To his victims, the need for pretense was lost long ago. He appears as he is:  angry, intense, agitated, edgy. He remembers the last conquest, the feel of the surge of adrenaline in his veins at the start of confrontation, the smell of his victim’s sweat and tears heavy with fear, the consuming power and excitement seeing his victim defeated and broken. This is his drug.  The abusive man is an addict. He is addicted to the brutality as a form of self-maintenance. The only time his shaky self-confidence is intact, the only time he feels powerful, the only time he is whole, is valued, is loved, even, is when he is locked into a violent conflict.
Defeat is not enough. Total annihilation of the victim’s psyche is the goal. It is not enough to merely batter. The abusive man becomes sexually excited at the height of his confrontation and many will culminate the abuse with sexual assault. "Look," he says to her, "I have beaten you and will take what is mine. Neither you nor anyone will stop me, I am that powerful."  Spent, the cycle begins again.

For more on the Cycle of Violence, please click the link.  http://www.shelterforhelpinemergency.org/page19.html