wrapped around warm
love is not here
though soon it shall return
as I begin to forget you.
The way your touch felt
when you skimmed your hand
across my naked skin.
The way your lips tasted
sweet summer wine
hay scented air
fires to brighten the night.
Dance with me
one more time
I could not understand
why you wanted to beat me.
I failed myself.
I bled for you
allowed you into my head
into my bed.
As the year comes close
to when I was destroyed
I have to whisper:
Am I ever glad I dodged that bullet.
Picture is my own.
Good morning all.
Today is going to be a little different. Over in Facebook land I have been doing a countdown to today. Have caused not a little bit of confusion over there as I am right now. With all that goes on over a year long period changes within yourself (myself) can create a completely different person.
On December 23/17 I could have killed myself. Not intentionally but I had gotten to such a point in my life where I was trying so hard to block out the voices in my head. The ones telling me that no one cared. No one had time for me and my petty problems. So I downed handful after handful of pills that day. At one point, while at work, I took over 30 pills. To subdue the voices, to make me stop feeling. The higher I got, the less I worried.
I spent pretty much the entire year of 2017 in a depressive state. I was drinking heavily. Taking pills. How I did my job at work, as a mother, a friend, I do not know. And it is not like I did not try to stop taking the pills. But they were my out. My crutch when things got really hard to handle.
I should have realized as I became more reclusive, cut off people that I spoke to on a regular basis that something was wrong. Did part of me realize? Most likely but that voice in my head kept talking, kept telling me all the wonderfully wrong things about myself. My girls, they tried to reach out to me, they tried but I could not let them see me like that. They did though, cause I have some of the best girl friends on the planet bar none.
I ended up in the hospital that night. Was put on leave the very next day. I could not stop crying. I could not stop apologizing. Once more I had fucked everything up.
What happened to me last year was what I call my kaboom! I fell down. And let me tell you I fell hard. All those balls I was juggling came crashing down on my head. One after the other. When I woke up on the 24th, I had a massive bruise on my arm, my forehead hurt and there was a bruise and my tailbone. As you read this you are probably wondering what the hell I had done.
I literally fell down. I had pulled myself up off the floor (I had been hiding under the desk so I would not be on camera) and tried to sit on the chair. Which rolled away from me and I hit the floor while cracking my head and arm on the desk. I had been trying to make myself throw up which did not work. I was in a horrific condition. How I still have a job I do not know.
At the hospital that night, I sat in the waiting room with two friends to see the doctor. I was not considered to be an urgent care so it was almost five hours before I was called to be taken to a room. I had a variety of tests done. Bloodwork. Urine. Heart. The concern was I could have damaged my kidneys. My heart was racing overtime. Never mind that I was groggy and really just wanted to sleep.
It was after midnight, Christmas Eve, by the time I got home. The friend who drove me to get my car followed me home and went through my cupboards. To ensure that I had no more pills. I threw out everything I had when I got up later. Not the pills I had been taking but Advil, PMS meds, if it was something that could be consumed and possibly get me high, I threw it away.
My Ex came through in a big way. He supported me. Not once did he call into question my ability to mother. Not once did he point a finger at me or make me feel that what had happened was wrong. He had been through this once before with me, but this time when I hit my rock bottom, I hit it hard.
Poor T. He was so lost and feeling like he had to make me feel better. I look at him now (I mean the poor kid has witnessed not one but two depressive episodes with me) and I fear that I have caused some damage. He does not like to be away from his dad or me for too long. He will only go on sleepovers to his best friend’s home, no where else. He gets anxious and has ridged rules which cannot be compromised. I need to tell him in advance if something is going to change in his normal routine. I did that to him and I do not know how to fix it.
I was abused by my father. I knew this. My mom knew this. My brother well he knows without knowing. I charged him. I went to court and testified against him. I chose not to follow through when enough evidence was found to go to trial. Than I spent the next 20 years or so until his death, fluctuating between wanting him in my life and wishing that he was dead. I shoved everything down.
In previous posts (from the start of the year) I have detailed my account of what happened. The voice that was on repeat in my head, was his. He told me as a child I ruined everything. I was made to feel small, belittled and abused. I kept all of this inside where it ate away at the fiber of my being.
I began counselling. I admitted that I had very little recall of my childhood. I remember select things, like my brother’s birth and my reaction. However I mean a little terrorist had just moved into the family (ha ha ha) who the hell would forget that? But my life except for certain things, before the age of about 12, is a foggy blur. Memory wise.
My counsellor explained that this was not unusual in abuse cases. That my brain was hiding from me what it felt I could not handle. I was not to go poking around trying to recall anything because well my brain would not let me. I was worried too, that I was making everything up, that none of this had happened. My fears were put to rest again by my counsellor when we discussed this. Never mind the fact that I could recall my statement to the police nigh on 30 years later.
The worst for me was a cycle of three days. Three days were I was slammed with memories that froze me. That made me scream. Quite honestly, I had one memory that actually made me scream in terror and pain when it hit me. I felt like a black hole had opened up and swallowed me. I doubled over with emotional pain, pulled my knees up and was in the fetal position screaming and crying.
The other two memories were bad but not as bad as the first one. The first one is when I realized/remembered/learned that I had been younger than 12 when this abuse started. That is the one that ripped a hole in me. The other two left me shaking and in flight mode as adrenaline coursed through my body. And while they were just as horrid, by day 3 I was nearly comatose. I was going through the motions. I was a robot. I was raw. And in pain.
Now let us fast forward to today. I have been pill free for a year. I am stronger than I have ever been in my entire life. I believe in myself and that fucking voice well it is gone. I have made peace with myself. I am confident and I believe (lol Eminem song every time I say that statement ‘I believe’ I hear him in my head) that I am worth it. I am worth time, care, love and a happy life. I am worthy to live this life. The chains of my past which had shackled me, held me down, they are gone.
I am in a really great space. I have learned to trust and love. I have learned who I can count on. Who is there for me even when I am at my most ugly. I have learned how to accept my emotions, my pain, my fears, to let myself feel them and deal with them, not hide from them. I have learned how to care for the small girl inside of me, who was so hurt and harmed, we have become one again.
So, happy anniversary to me. I am so very very proud of myself.
Other than being slightly confused as to how many more days it is until October 1st, I am doing alright. In 5 more days, I will have been separated and living on my own with T for a year and a half. My marriage actually imploded two years ago in the middle of October, but that is not an anniversary that I really want to remember. Despite being the catalyst of said imploding, I am not proud of the pain that I caused my ex. I could have dealt with the situation so much better than I did, but that is for another day.
Yesterday, after spending my morning lolling about lazily on the computer, around noon I decided that I should get my butt in gear and start cleaning house. Well, what started out as my weekly cleaning became a giant purge. The only room untouched by my desire to throw out, get rid of and tidy up is T’s. But I will be putting on the Haz-Mat suit on Thursday and entering the dreaded boy zone.
Back to yesterday. 6 loads of garbage to walk down to the dumpster. 2 large boxes for self-help. 1 bag of bedding for T to take to his dad’s. I used a tool that I learned years ago and until yesterday have never applied. Has it been used in the last year? Or worn? Is it useful to someone else or broken? And with that, the clutter was gone. No more clothing taking up space that I never wear.
I reorganized my linen closet. It is actually a pantry but I prefer to use it for towels and sheets. I first began by pulling all the bags out from the bottom. And I had tons. I have plastic bags in plastic bags in a reusable shopping bag. I had tons of gift bags. I had tissue paper coming out of every corner of the small closet. And the amount of bedding. Where the hell did it all come from? Were my sheets mating and procreating? Hand towels galore. I tossed the really torn and thin towels. Kept two sets of sheets and pillow cases for T’s room. The rest is going to his dad’s.
My bed became a pile of clean clothing I kept pulling from the dryer and throwing there until I could fold it. Towels and bedding I was keeping soon followed. And then I became distracted by my bedroom closet. I began sorting and throwing into the give away pile on the bed. As the amount of clothing began to shrink in my closet and empty hangers were taking up more space, I began to feel a weight lifting.
I admit, I am a haphazard cleaner when I do a clean and purge like I did yesterday. For every time I left what I was doing, to add something to a pile or the garbage, I would become distracted by the room I had just entered.
Take the bathroom for instance. Walked in and opened the dryer to get the clothes out. Dumped on bed. Walked back into bathroom intent on putting other clothes in dryer. Instead I sat down and proceeded to clean out the cupboard beneath the sink. Than I stood up to go get a cloth to wipe out the cupboard, picked up the garbage and came back half an hour later to finish. At which time I also put the last load of clothing in the dryer.
I also did some reorganizing of cupboards in the kitchen. Cleaned the top of the fridge. Moved games out of sight into closed cupboards instead of spread all over. Slowly our apartment is going from an apartment to becoming our home. We are going to be here for some time so there is no need for us to live like transients, ready to leave in an instant.
M the ex came and picked T up early. I thanked him and explained that I was in the midst of a purge/clean. He snickered to himself and I let it pass. When we were together, I despised house cleaning. I was okay with laundry, vacuuming and dishes, but washing floors, the bathroom, made me cringe. I would procrastinate until fights were being had. Now, I clean faithfully. I have a tidy home, with everything having a place to be. Not sure where this phenomenon comes from but there we have it.
It was after 6 when I finally was done. Bathroom cleaned and scrubbed. Floors all vacuumed, swept and washed. Bed (mine) cleaned off. Everything either folded and put away or set aside for the self-help. (I had packed the car with the items to drop off at self-help and for T.) I sat on the couch for a bit, unwinding, and allowing the silence to settle over me.
I felt as though another massive weight was lifted from my shoulders. That in a way I was letting go of things I had clung to from the past. I was purging the misery, the hatred and anger that emotionally I had let go of, but still had material items that retained memories that were not pleasant.
And last but not least, my home was clean.
So today I did something that is truly out of character for me. I went on a shopping spree. I bought myself new clothing. Work pants yes, but also a cute top/cover up and not only a skirt but a dress. Both with the vibrant colors that I love. Well the dress is a dark plum but it is color. For so long I wore colors that were drab, colors that allowed me to hide and not be noticed.
Each day I gain more and more confidence in myself. Each day I see a better me and I like her. I am happy. Happy! This in and of itself still mystifies me. Happiness was something that others had not me. My ex and me are getting along. Amicable I would venture to say. He feels that it is important for T to be with me mother’s day so he will be coming home early. To make me waffles. Frozen ones because well, he is eight.
I overspent on my budget. M told me not to worry about it. So I am not. Again this is bizarre for me. And than I am at home looking at my FB page and up pops a memory. 1 year ago today was the end of the first week of my life as a single mom and woman. 1 year ago today I began a new chapter in my life and it has been wonderful.
I have grown. I have thrived. I have been hurt, I have been played. But through it all I loved T and myself. I know my worth and I know my son’s. He is my life my love. He is funny and smart, some times a smart ass but he is turning out to be a good kid. I faced the blackness of depression but rather than be sucked into the whirlwind, I fought my way back.
I have started writing again. Poetry mostly. Sometimes my words are stilted and sometimes they just flow. I am able to see now that I am a goddess of worth. That I do not have to settle for less than I am meant to have. Not in conceit but in the knowledge of my worth. I am smart, kinda cute, well read and I like to laugh. A lot. Step up or step back. LOL tonight is an anniversary of sorts.
1 year ago my new life began for real. No more unhappiness. No more despair. Just me and my son. And I have done it.
Cheers. And Happy Anniversary to me.