Entry: Nobody's Victim.... Monday, September 19, 2011



Recently, I was accused of making myself a victim.  For me, only calling me a liar will get you more hatred.  I spent last evening trying to decide if I ever wanted to come online again.  Let alone communicate with people who really know nothing about me, yet feel they can judge me.  I decided no.  I don't want to associate with those people, but I also don't want to lose those who I consider my friends.  So I'm going to explain why there are a few things that if you ever say to me or accuse me of, it's for the best for you to never speak to me again afterwards.

The cycle of abuse can be a damn near impossible thing to break free of.  People work for years to break the triggers and attachments that lead them back to an abusive relationship.

For many it starts when they are children.  In my case, my mother remarried when I was 5.  He adopted me when I was 7.  When I was 9 my mother found out she could not have any more children.  It was within days of that Doctor's appointment that he hit me the first time.  That started a childhood of living in my own personal house of horrors.  

No, I wasn't locked in a cage or the basement.  I wasn't starved or hidden away from society.  I was never sexually abused.  For a lot of people, to them, that means I just had strict parents.  To them I say, fuck you.  

My father turned me into his personal anger receptacle.  I was told daily how stupid I was, how clumsy, how fat, everything I said was a lie, I was a lying fat piece of shit. It is amazing to me now to remember some of the things he said to me and I wonder sometimes just how much my mind has let me or made me forget.  If he came home mad, I hid because I knew the first little thing I did meant I would get smacked into next week.  Once, when I was about 12, I remember I didn't vacuum the floor correctly.  In my house you could never have vacuum lines in the carpet.  The carpet had to look perfectly fluffed.  It would take me sometimes hours to get the damn floor the way he liked it because his theory was if once small space was wrong, you re-did the entire thing.  I once vacuumed the entire house 17 times before he accepted the job.  The same went for dusting.  He found a space I had missed on a shelf once and made me re-dust the entire house 3 times to make sure I knew how to do the job right.  I digress.  

Anyway, I was about 12 when the slaps and spankings became punches.  Once I came home late from school.  Not thru any fault of my own, the bus was late.  I walked in the house and Dad was already home.  He immediately started screaming at me because he didn't believe the bus was late.  I begged him to call another kid's mom who rode the same bus.  He didn't.  I hurried to get my chores done so I could get my homework done.  When I was unloading the dishwasher the damn dog jumped up on the open door.  I had my back turned putting glasses on the shelf so I didn't see her do it.  He started screaming at me accusing me of getting the stupid dog to jump up on the door and that when the dishwasher broke he was going to take it out of me.  I argued.  I couldn't help myself.  Mom walked in the door to find me being held by my throat in the air, bleeding and crying and choking.  

That was my life until I turned 17 and emancipated myself and went to live with one of my older brothers.  I suspected Dad was abusing Mom in my absence but she denied it to the day she died.  

I saw him hit her once years later and that was the night he went to jail.  He had hit me so hard my left eye socket was shattered.  I had 5 different surgeries to fix the damage to my face.  That's why, when you se pictures of me, the left side looks 10 years younger.  You can't fix anything that broken without getting a bonus face lift.  And again I digress as this happened when I was full grown with the kids.

My first husband thought he was going to take up where my Dad left off.  He learned quickly though, I guess getting stabbed sends a serious message.  He tried for another year and I fought him like a cat.  Then I found out I was pregnant.  When I was almost 6 months pregnant, he came home, convinced it wasn't his child.  He beat the living fuck out of me.  That was the last time he did, after losing the baby, I went back to Mom and Dad's from the hospital.  I still have a few memory issues because of the head trauma.  They also told me I would never have kids, that he had done too much damage to my uterus.

Well, we discovered the hard way that I could indeed have kids when I wound up pregnant with my oldest.  Their Dad and I got married.  We did our thing.  We had three beautiful children together and if nothing else, they are worth every second of living with their Dad.  He was always the "bad boy" and that was my problem.  I was attracted to men the exact opposite of my father who was an Air Force Colonel.  A fine upstanding member of the community don't ya know.  Anyway, the kid's Dad was pretty much lazy.  He couldn't keep a job long enough to get health benefits.  He managed to keep the same job long enough for each maternity leave, but that was it.  I don't think he was a year at any job the entire 17 years of our marriage.  Well, except prison.  He did that real well.  He was just your typical stoner.  He lived for getting high and fishing.  I lived with it because even today, he was the love of my life.  I supported us working sometime two, even three jobs.  

When I was pregnant with my daughter, his sister introduced him to cocaine.  Once he was spazzing for the powder, she introduced him to crack.  She kept him high for a week.  Immediate addiction.  I didn't even realize he was doing the shit until I came home from work one day (I walked the 4 blocks to work every day, the Doctor said it was the best exercise for me) and he had sold my car for fucking crack.  I kicked his ass out.  He claimed to get straight, I let him come home.  About two weeks later I came home and he had cleaned the entire house out.  He'd left our clothes on the floor, a few of the kid's toys and some kitchen shit.  Everything else of any value was gone.  That kept him high for 6 weeks and I didn't see or hear from him the entire time.  He came home, DTing like a mofo and begging me to take him back.  I was pregnant with our third child.  They had just put me on mandatory bed rest the day before.  I let him come home, what else could I do?

Our daughter was born with serious complications (to me not her) and when I came home with her, he left.  About an hour after he left I hemorrhaged.  JW was 5.  He tried to call his Dad, then he called my mother and then he called 911.  My mom came and picked up the boys right when the ambulance came to take me and the baby back to the hospital.  Their Dad showed up the next afternoon.  He stayed by my bedside every waking second.  It's amazing what guilt will do for you.  When they let me go home, he worked really hard to go clean.  He made it until December 12th 1999.  That night he went on a binge with his sister.  See she didn't like getting high alone, so she would give the shit to John until the urge was uncontrollable.  He never came home that night.  His sister, when I confronted her the next day, went insane and she tried to kill me.  I left him that day and we never lived together again.

I had to move back in with Mom and Dad.  It was a nightmare.  Dad was drinking so much he was rarely more than a raging lunatic when he was home.  Mom drank until she passed out.  In October of 2003 the big fight occurred, the kids went to my sister's, Dad went to jail, I went to the hospital and Mom bailed Dad out of jail.

When I got out of the hospital after the first two surgeries, we went to a domestic violence shelter.  That was the turning point in my life.  I learned about a lot of things that I had been raised to keep quiet about.  I learned that my father's "strict parenting" was abuse.  That my mother's denial was her reaction to the same abuse.  I also learned that I could do it on my own.  That I was perfectly capable of raising my children without their father or any man.  Yes, I had help from the government, but I learned that contrary to how I had been raised, there was no shame in that.

That was 8 years ago.  It's taken me this long to have the confidence and self respect that I have today.  I have no money.  If you sold everything I owned you might get 5 grand.  I do however have things that to me are a lot more important.  My word, my honor, my pride.  Aside from my children, the best way to hurt or anger me is to accuse me of being a liar, of being stupid, of being less than I have worked for years to be.  So saying that, I stand proud and I stand strong because contrary to what you may try to do to me, I am nobody's fucking victim.  Anyone who thinks or says otherwise, well, for me it just means you are a voice I ignore and a person I despise with every fiber of my being.

I'm not sharing this because I want anyone's sympathy.  Do not feel sorry for me.  I'm sharing because while my reaction to certain things I know can seem unreasonable, there are very serious reasonings behind it.

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