safe?

well, as the superstition goes, bad things come in threes.

i've taken my three punches in as many weeks. it's been a helluva run at my house it seems.

i've been hiding while i sort through each happening, but hiding hasn't stopped more from happening. nothing will stop more from happening.

as forest gump so adequately said: shit happens.

i'm fortunate enough to have great friends that understand both my need to talk out and my need to hide. i've been able to reach out to my sounding boards and support systems as needed to work through some really shitty stuff. i'm also fortunate enough to have a therapist that doesn't deal in traditional talk therapy- i do enough of that on my own and it only gets you to a certain point. she is trained in non-traditional therapies (you may remember me babbling about hakomi therapy lately) and understands the way the body processes and knows physical ways to deal with and eliminate negative experiences. AMAZING balance when i've reached the limit of what logical analysis can do.

aside from the friends and the therapy- WRITING is my biggest outlet. i haven't been writing because- well. it's hard. i don't want to talk about terrible things. i don't want pity. i don't want people to look at me different.

BUT I ALSO DON'T WANT TO HIDE AND KEEP IT INSIDE.

so. here it is. the ugly, horrible month i've had:

a few weeks ago i was raped. one week later my house was ransacked (not robbed, but they made a good mess). last night my son was stopped on his way home from school by a person asking him to get in their van and give them directions somewhere.

any one of those is a pretty nasty blow to a person's sense of security. all three of them together has me reeling. the ironic (?) thing is that i *just* went to my therapy yesterday to get better tools to deal with the rape and ransacking then i get home to my son being violated. still recovering from a left right combo and the universe lands a core body shot.

i don't know how to handle all this. i want to take my son and move far away and hide somewhere. i know however that shit like this happens everywhere. there is no "safe bubble" that we can move to. there is no place that is exempt.

but what do you do when every sense of personal security is stripped away and violated? i've learned tools to work on how i respond to the individual events, but how do you regain a sense of security as a whole?

i know people would say: GET A GUN. what the fuck good would that do me? the rape was someone i thought was a friend. someone that had been to my house countless times and just...i guess decided that respecting me was not on his list of things to do. a gun wouldn't have helped. the ransacking happened when i wasn't home- if there had been a gun on the property now they might have it. not great. and what good would a gun have done my son last night walking home?

i do the easy things- i've cut communication with the rapist. i make sure my doors are locked ALL THE TIME now. i'm researching personal alarms for my son to carry on his backpack (the leading contender).

but what do you DO? i'm the type of person that worries about having the cops at my house two weeks in a row and getting on some annoying citizens list. i don't want to go crazy and install razor wire around my property and adopt 6 junkyard dogs and a personal body guard to walk my son to and from school.

i don't know how to fight back against the unkown. the rape was...easy? to deal with. i knew the person. i cut contact. done.

but when you don't know who's been in your house. when you don't know what stranger is stopping your kid. how do you fight an invisible shadow? how do you feel safe again?

but i'm not giving up this fight. i'll keep swinging even if it's just at shadows. i'm going to make sure my son doesn't live in a bubble of fear. i'm going to make sure our house feels like OUR HOUSE. i'm going to not let one drunk asshole make me scared of being touched.

but like any fight, it's exhausting. i worry too much about burdening other people or sounding like a hotbed of drama by talking about it. so i bottle it up and try to deal with it as quickly and simply as possible. i have days when i feel safe again. then days when i don't want to open my curtains or look outside. and i realize i'm still at the epicenter. these things just happened. i'm still in the first few circles of shock waves. i think (and hope and beg the universe) that all the shoes have dropped for a while. we've taken our three hits. just like when death came calling. it took our three and we found a way to make it through.

i don't know if there's a point to any of this other than just pure brain vomiting. calling the demons by name and acknowledging their presence.

it's been a rough few weeks. but i'm still here. licking my wounds and hiding but still here. staying back and plotting/figuring out a battle plan, but still here.

i have the silver linings- at least my rape wasn't brutal and bloody and violent. at least my house wasn't robbed and destroyed and left a total loss. at least my son knew to run away straight home and i'm not contacting the milk carton company today. i have my pillars of support. i have my horribly morbid sense of humor that handles dark shit like this in a terrible but therapeutic way.

this too shall pass.

painfully like a kidney stone.

but this too shall pass.

the crazy fight (aka: he's too nice)

welcome to my crazy.

today, on as the word of general (psychiatric) hospital turns through the days of our lives:

the boyfriend and i had a fight last night. it ended with him storming out and staying at his house for the evening. and i haven’t talked to him yet today.

what was the fight about you ask?

he’s too damn supportive.

oh yeah, you read that right. in my crazy world, there’s such a thing as too damn supportive.

see. last night was a bad night for me. as in complete and total breakdown. CRACKERS.

i went to look at a car and test drive it and all that junk. i didn’t want to make a deal right away because i knew that a) you shouldn’t take the first offer, and b) i’m having a fucking hard time spending money that came from my dad dying. YES, i need a new car. mine is starting to make too many strange noises. YES, the money i spend will be for a good, reliable, long lasting vehicle. YES, it’s something my dad wanted to help me do before he died anyway. but DAMN, it’s hard people! and it’s my dad…and it’s this huge- there’s not even a word for it. its this gigantic mess of emotions on so many different levels.

so i tell the sales guy i need to go home and think it over for the night. so i get the kids in bed and the boyfriend goes to see his friends and it’s just me. and i sit down at the little table where i have my dad’s hat and badge and basically all that’s left of him and my brother- the little memorial table in my living room. and i sit down to talk to my dad about it. and i look at his picture. and i just lost it. it hit me SO HARD that he’s not coming back. i know i did the service, and spread the ashes, and i’ve talked about it. but sitting there, looking at his picture, knowing that’s the only way i could see him any more. it hit like a fucking mac truck running down a san francisco hill with no brakes. it just leveled me. and i’m bawling and falling apart really for the first time. i LET myself just feel it. i didn’t have to keep it together for the kids or the boyfriend or family or general people. i just let myself grieve. and be sad. and be angry. oddly enough, that’s the first time through all of this that i’ve just let myself completely go. and it all came out in one giant mess. and i’m crying so hard i’m sick and i’m snotting everywhere and it felt good. to get it all out. to let myself really be sad.

and i finally make it through a good mess of all that, pull myself together, drag my backside to bed, and the boyfriend comes home.

so. he sees me in bed, looking like a rabid raccoon. and he gets upset. he wants to know what’s wrong. he wants me to talk to him, he’s in my face and hugging me and staring at me and asking me every 30 seconds to talk to him. now. this might not sound too bad. nice guy, right? how can i be mad at him for being worried about/concerned about me?

well. i’m a freak. so. you know. there’s that. i don’t like big hugs. i’m an in and out type person. i don’t like being stared at. forever. i don’t like someone bugging me every 30 seconds to talk. TRUST: when i’m ready to talk you won’t be able to shut me up. bugging me like that is only going to piss me off. and i try to tell him- i can’t talk right now. i don’t have words. i’m just sad and i just want to be sad for a while. but that’s not good enough. and i’ve told him before that i don’t like people all up on me and all over me. it makes me feel claustrophobic like i’m suffocating. i don’t like the touching, it’s too much for me. i go on sensory overload. if i want touch, i’ll come to you. and when my little charge port is full, i’ll back off. is it selfish? is it all about me? right now, fuck yes it is. sorry. that’s just what’s going down right now.

but he gets all offended that i won’t talk to him and keep pushing him away. so i leave the bedroom, i go to the living room to be alone. i’m trying like hell to not explode and freak out on him. trying to keep it all to myself and contain the crazy a little. but he follows me. and keeps poking the bear.

-sigh-

i KNOW, i KNOW. he’s just worried and trying to help. and i know some women would kill for a man so attentive and worried. but jaysus fuck. BACK OFF. and it just keeps getting worse. and he keeps getting more offended. and IT’S NOT ABOUT HIM RIGHT NOW. it’s about me. and i’m worried about trying to keep my sanity together. i’m sorry he’s offended, but i’m not going to focus on that right now. and he decides to go pack his shit and leave for the night and storm out. and part of me wants to stop him and make him feel better, but fuck it, _I_ need to feel better first. I AM ALLOWED TO BE UPSET. and he kept telling me to calm down. WHY? i’ve been calming down since august 16th. i’ve been being nice. i’ve been keeping it together. I AM ALLOWED TO BE UPSET AND FALL APART. I AM ALLOWED TO FEEL MY PAIN AND EXPERIENCE IT. i’m allowed to be hurt and be angry. I DON’T HAVE TO CALM DOWN.

so. he packed up and stormed out without saying anything. and i felt like an ass not trying to stop him. but i also felt like it didn’t need to stop him. if he was offended, that’s not on me. those are HIS feelings, and i’m not responsible for them. i tried to tell him. i asked for my space. i asked to be left alone. i asked for him to stop sitting and staring at me like a fucking crazy animal in a zoo.

so. he left. and i watched an episode of dexter to calm down and fall asleep. cause nothing says sleep like watching a serial killer hunt serial killers. and i haven’t talked to him yet today. and i’m not sure i want to. and i know it would be silly to end something over him being too worried about me (there’s other issues too). but part of me is already out the door. and part of me knows there probably wasn’t a right thing for him to do when i was feeling like that, but of the not right things to do, he really did pick the worst option and run with it. or…you know…sit and stare at me with it.

so. you know. welcome to my crazy.