the one with a sense of humor

i was planning on making today’s blog post about anger- i seem to have PLENTY of that right about now. anger at everything- “friends”, family, kids, life, money, the universe. PLENTY of anger to go around. trust.

instead today’s blog is going to be about humor- cause that’s how i roll. i just tweeted (if you don’t know what that is, i can’t love you any more) the following: “trust: there’s nothing in this world that can’t be overcome with a smile and a slightly off color joke. trick is knowing how to do both.”

it’s true. humor has gotten me through this far. being able to find SOMETHING to laugh at, being able to find a smile, being able to do both. but it’s hard. it’s REALLY fucking hard. i don’t want to smile some days. i don’t want to make a joke. i don’t want to be happy even for a moment. and there’s been plenty of days that i haven’t been. there have been days of nothing but fear or anger or hurt or a million other things. but the days with the smiles and the jokes- THOSE are the good days. and what good is a smile if you can’t share it? right? or some other cheesy lame ass expression like that…

so. here’s a few of the smiles that have gotten me through the last few weeks, please understand some may end up being not so funny now but they were fucking pee your pants funny in the moment:

moment #1: introducing my mom to my boyfriend the morning she came to tell me about the fire. i answered the door in a wife beater (a-shirt for those against domestic violence) and underwear (incase you missed that in yesterday’s post). THAT’S IT. and i had to wake up boyfriend while crying and snuffling and being a MESS and introduce him to my mom for the first time IN MY UNDERWEARS. the uuber religious crazy person from whence i sprang meeting the boy sharing my bed outside of marriage. good moment. warm, fuzzy, family memory for the scrap books.

moment #2: after getting back from my seeing my dad’s house for the first time, boyfriend’s roommates girlfriend (did you follow that trail?) and i were making dinner and drinking. we may or may not have split a WHOLE bottle of wine betwixt the two of us in under 15 minutes. so, the two of us, slightly *cough* intoxicated, trying to cut vegetables for a roast, start talking- and she drops this bomb: “well, if he wasn’t on the international watch list before, he sure is now.” _I_ABOUT_DIED_LAUGHING. understand: boyfriend is here as a political refugee. from iraq. and speaks very good english, but even better arabic. and he went with me to the scene of the worst loss in WSP history…i’m suffering a failure to communicate the humor here…but trust: it was freaking hilarious. maybe it was the wine. everyone go drink a half a bottle of wine then come back and read this again…i’ll wait.

moment #3: finding the ONE, SINGLE, ONLY remaining piece of my dad that is completely and 100% in tact at the scene of the fire: his BRAND NEW golf clubs that were safe and secure in the back of his expedition parked in the driveway. why is this funny? my dad was TERRIBLE at golf. my brother (who took the clubs) is even worse. i’m not even allowed to play- i’m restricted to driving the cart. so, of COURSE, the one thing that survives- it couldn’t be a photo album or a treasured keepsake or a family heirloom- it has to be his golf clubs, the one thing we’re all TERRIBLE at. i mean…REALLY DAD? your final dying wish? as your life flashed before your eyes and you were granted one last request on this earth? it couldn’t be for a window to open? or a sudden torrential downpour? or, you know, not to die? your FINAL REQUEST was to save the new golf clubs? i love you dad.

moment #4: in the cars on the way to the procession, riding with a good family friend and her parents who were all best friends of my dad (he called her my other sister and spent all his time with her parents). we’re riding along and we start talking about bi-mart (turn at the bi-mart to get to where the procession is starting). and i crack up…it’s not turn at the church, or a left at the patrol office- it’s turn left at bi-mart. very fitting for my dad. and they start joking about how much they all love the bi-mart coupons. in fact- just the day before, they had been able to get four bags of doritos FREE using bi-mart coupons- and the mom suddenly says: YOU KNOW- we should have brought one of the bags- we could have had some road trip snacks! OH.MY.GOD. about peed myself. road trip snacks? in a funeral procession? of 182 police cars? of course. we should have brought road trip snacks. and what better road trip snack than doritos? because nothing says klassy like showing up for a funeral in a full black suit with orange dorito cheese all over (it always happens) and nice dorito breath for when you have to greet and talk to the governor. oh.my.god. i cracked up. road trip snacks.

moment #5: getting to the staging lot for the procession was hard. seeing all the police, the cars, the emergency response vehicles, all the people that worked with my dad, the people that hadn’t worked with him but still knew the impact of the whole event. it was moving. but i held it together. until we went to actually pull out and leave- they just HAD to release doves for us to drive under. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? there’s only so much waterproof mascara can do people! and i can’t help but think of my dad, and i can’t help but wish, if there’s any justice or sense of balance in the world- i just HOPE upon HOPE that somewhere, in one of the cages, of all the birds they released, PLEASE, PLEASE say there was one retarded dove that either flew into a windshield, “blessed” one of the motorcycle police, wandered around and couldn’t figure out how to fly…SOMETHING. please say there was one retard bird in the batch. i only got to see the first few…but i couldn’t help but laugh in my head just hoping…it wasn’t a moment i got to see, but it’s a moment i got to hope for…

moment #6: my body guard. it wasn’t so much of a moment as a WHOLE DAY with an outstanding officer that knew exactly how to make me laugh and keep me moving forward and got me through the whole ceremony. BLESS HIM for never once calling my by name. i was never trooper miller’s daughter, sherry, ms. miller- the WHOLE DAY i was: “where’s the girl with the blue hair?” ADORE. and i adore him for telling me about his son, the 6’7” 280-some-odd pound college linebacker that played all four years of college ball, graduated, then decided to go to a beauty academy. if i ever decided to cheat on my darling kati with another hair dresser it would be with that guy. because: AWESOME. and i adore him for scolding me when i wasn’t where i was supposed to be. and for reminding us that no matter how much brass or how many fancy titles, or who else showed up, WE, the family, were the dignitaries for the day. and for going against the grain and proudly wearing a flamingo on his uniform pocket for everyone to see for anne. and for keeping track of me the whole day until the moment i walked out the door heading back to the motel. and for just being everything an officer should be. and for being even more than that.

moment #7: talking to the funeral home on the phone to verify the forms granting permission for cremation: me: “ummm…is there really anything left for you guys to do? is this paperwork even really necessary?”

moment #8: speaking of ashes: getting ready to do my tattoo, asking my artist: “ready to meet my dad?” as i pulled the ashes out of my purse.

moment #9: being able, every single day, to still hear my dad’s voice in my head about EVERYTHING.

about the service: really? you couldn’t just dig a hole and kick me in it? what’s all this mess for?”

about the estate: “make sure you take care of yourself. remember, you can’t feed the world.”

about buying a house: “i wish i had a million dollars to buy you a house so you would never have to worry again.” this isn’t the way i want it dad, but you’re doing that.

i know there’s so many more- it’s been three weeks and i’m still standing, so there had to have been WAY more moments- i’ll add more as i remember them. but these are the slightly inappropriate moments that made me smile and have helped me get through to here. so. there you have it. as long as you can smile and tell (or think) something slightly off color you’ll be fine. well, not fine, but a little less of a train wreck. oh hell, you’ll still be a train wreck but at least a mildly entertaining one.

just the facts ma'am

ok kids. so. i’ve been MIA for a while now. if you happen to follow twitter or facebook you may have caught a bit of what’s been going on. if not, prepare yourselves for a few heavy blogs. it’s going to be dark, it’s going to be emotional, it’s how i roll. it’s been three weeks since i’ve even attempted writing, so prepare for a TON of blogs all smashed together- at least i’m breaking them up for you and not making one gigando blog to slog through. you’re welcome. it’s the little things.

so. i’m going to start easy for BOTH of our sakes. there’s so much to say and so much to think about- we’ll start with just the facts. plain and simple, as few emotions as possible. please forgive me if this comes off cold and detached- i HAVE to do it this way to make it through.

here it goes.

*deep breath*

on august 15th life was good. my kids and i had made it through almost the whole summer without any of the crazy from last year. we made it past the first anniversary of the loss of my sons’s step mother and baby brother. we made it past the anniversary of my brother’s accident (the head injury, not his death). we’ve stayed put for a whole year, no moving or drama. the weather was beautiful, we’d spent the summer doing things, going to river front park, hanging out, being summer time lazy. new, fabulous friends were finding their way into my life. for the first time in six years i had an actual boyfriend. things were stable, happy, normal. i felt like i could finally relax, q uit waiting for the other shoe to drop, breathe and enjoy life again. on the 15th i went on my first cruise with friends, enjoyed the lake on a beautiful summer evening, had a few drinks, danced, laughed, loved the hell out of an amazing summer night.

that was august 15th.

at 5 in the morning on august 16th i heard my phone chirp that i had missed a phone call. i didn’t hear the call, but heard the chirp that i had missed a call- so i checked my phone. my mom was calling. at 5 in the morning. so wrong on so many levels. instantly wide awake. so i called back- she answered “i’m at your front door, can you come let me in?”

oh shit.

you know that moment when you can feel the world shifting?

i answered the door and she came inside. and she told me there had been a fire. and they weren’t 100% sure yet, but it looked like no one had made it out. it was a total loss.

my dad, my step mom, and a brand new trooper that had been staying with them were killed in a house fire around 2 in the morning on august 16th.

so much for keeping emotion out…give me just a second-

my dad. his wife. another trooper- all gone. the house- gone. completely gone. all of it. gone. completely and totally gone.

i called my dad’s phone and it went straight to voice mail. but i left a message. because i had to. because it wasn’t real. it was the wrong house. his phone was just turned off. they had the information wrong. they hadn’t looked hard enough. everyone made it out, they just hadn’t found them yet. my dad would call me back. he would call me and let me know he was ok and it just took them a while to find him and get him help. it would be ok. the world wasn’t changing this much this fast. THIS COULDN’T BE HAPPENING.

but it was happening. in the early morning hours, in the darkness of my living room, my world was changing. my core was gone. my dad. my rock. gone. just that quick.

JUST THE FACTS.

ok. so. pulling it back together.

so. i went and woke up my boyfriend- which, can i just say. great time for your super religious mother to meet your boyfriend who happens to be sleeping over at your house- 5 in the morning when i’m in my pj’s (wife beater and underroos) and we’re both slightly hung over from the cruise, i’m BAWLING, everything’s a mess, and he’s polite enough to introduce himself like it’s a completely typical morning. *HEART*

i don’t even really know what happened. i know i tried to call my dad a few times. i tried to call my brother to find out what was going on. i called a family friend that lived down there near my dad and finally got a bit of information- basically that it was true- the house was gone, they couldn’t find anyone. that’s about all they knew. i remember feeling sick. i remember trying to think of all the ways they were just missing something or had the information wrong. somehow i made it into the shower and packed and headed out on the road. boyfriend packed and came along without question.

somehow we made it to zillah. he drove for the first part then i took over for a while- it gave me something to focus on and keep it together for. we made it to zillah and pulled into the gas station when the first tweet hit my phone. there’s moments when things shift. they go from real to surreal- in that moment, seeing the tweet on my phone- it was like an alice in wonderland moment- that tweet: “kxly4news: 3 WSP personnel dead in Zillah house fire. RT @kappkvew: the victims in the Zillah fire are two state troopers and a dispatcher” – that was me. that’s my story. that’s what was happening to me right now. so strange seeing it on a news feed. knowing that people are watching your life, you’re the breaking story. it took my breath away. sucker punch straight to the gut. that was me. that was my story.

we drove up to my dad’s house and my heart stopped. before we even got to his driveway i could see- cars. so many cars, trucks, vans…i had to stop and identify myself at the bottom of the hill to be allowed up. and the cars. every emblem, acronym, lights, everything you can imagine. and it hit me. to me, my dad and his wife died in a fire. to the world, three police officers had died in a fire of unknown causes.

we made it past the cars, trucks, people, and i saw it. or what was left. where the house used to be. where the porch used to be. the lawn was still there. the bricks lining the driveway, the mailbox for the newspaper. but the house was gone. not a stick, wall, burned piece of furniture, NOTHING was left. a two story house GONE. completely gone. just a smoking hole in the ground. the trees still lined the property. the garage, burned, but standing six feet from where the house was. my dads car, badly damaged, parked in the driveway. his patrol car off to the side. but the house- the house was GONE. and my heart just stopped. i couldn’t say it wasn’t real. i couldn’t pretend it was the wrong house. i couldn’t hope that anyone made it out. i knew it was gone. i knew my dad was gone. i knew everything i had been hoping was wrong for the last six hours was right. all of it. every horrifying detail was right.

ok. pulling it back together. again.

so. house. gone. big fire. all three officers gone. there were firefighters on scene, police officers, ATF investigators, accelerant dogs, red cross disaster relief, helicopters, media, attorney’s, neighbors- so many people. in the middle of my mess it became clear how big this was.

the rest of the day is a blur. i remember being told that there wasn’t much to stick around for, so i left. i wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, but i wasn’t supposed to be there- they didn’t need me in the way. boyfriend stayed by my side every minute. there would have been no functioning otherwise. we found a number to call my dad’s second wife- the step mum that i grew up with and we stopped by her house for a bit. we stopped at the café where my dad had coffee every morning to eat some lunch. we stopped at the dealership where i bought my car to check in with one of my dad’s best friends. we drove around a bit. what do you do? where do you go? finally boyfriend and i decided to just head home. there was nothing for me to do or see there. i would just be in the way and in the middle of everything.

we somehow made it home. i remember reading all the news stories online. telling myself not to, but unable to keep from looking. trying to sort it all out, trying to piece it together, to make some sense of it.

at some point during the week they were able to recover all three bodies. just recover. not rescue. not save. just recover. you learn not to ask questions. you learn there’s some things you don’t want to know.

i wanted to ask *where* they found the bodies (as much of a *where* as you can get from a situation like that). i wanted to know if they almost made it out, if they were stuck somewhere, were they still asleep? questions like that don’t solve anything though. would it have been better if they had ALMOST gotten out? no. they still DIDN’T get out, and that’s all that matters in the end. we DID find out that they all died from smoke before the flames were able to get to them. that was my biggest fear. they didn’t feel any pain. one small piece of relief in the middle of it all. as far back as i can remember i’ve been TERRIFIED of fire. i remember laying awake as a little kid watching the smoke detectors all night to make SURE that little red light blinked every minute and it was working. i can’t even imagine dying in a fire and having to feel the flames. it terrifies me. always has. so to know that they didn’t have to suffer through that- one small piece of solace to hold onto.

this isn’t the end of all this by any means, but i think this is enough for now. just the facts ma’am. just the facts. so. that’s the start of it. the initial shock. on august 16th i lost my dad. my life shifted. it’s still shifting. it will never be the same again and i’m trying to learn what that means and where to go from here. but that’s the start of it.

so. you know. that’s all for now. more to come later.

a non-descript, vague, generalized blog

ok kids. so i had this whole long three page update (and still not finished) all ready for you. i’ve been working on it all day through interruptions, a lunch break, losing my train of thought, not being able to track my ideas. i was getting really frustrated that i couldn’t finish it and get it up when suddenly i realized i was writing the WRONG posting.

whatchutalkinboutwillis?

see. someone here stopped at my desk and told me that they were talking about me and the boy and discussing it all and how they knew what was best for me.

now. if this were friends, concerned about my welfare, it would be uncomfortable but understandable. i know i’m in a tricky situation. i’m doing my best to work through it and learn from it and really put in some effort instead of just running away.

this was a coworker and someone i barely know in passing. discussing my personal life. and discussing it incorrectly. FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN TO HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT. it is my HUGE pet peeve to have people talking about me. talking about my relationships. it happened when i was married. EVERYONE else in the town knew what was going on…even before i did. i HATE HATE HATE the idea of people talking about me. especially when they’re getting the information wrong. and like i said- if they had my best interest at heart, it would be one thing. but to talk just to talk…i know. pot-kettle-black much? here i am on this blog throwing it all out there…but then when people talk about it i’m bothered.

i guess it’s the difference between information i’ve shared, and information people have decided to share for me.

confused much? sum it up by saying: i’m a freak. i can’t explain my exact freak factor or what triggers it, but you will KNOW when it’s been tripped.

and it’s been tripped.

so. here i am. i have so much i want to say. so much about what i have learned, what i am learning, how challenging and rewarding and frustrating and hurtful and healing this whole trip has been. but i can’t. i feel like my hands have been tied. i want to say it. i want to show you all how different i’m becoming. i’ve been growing and i want to show you. but i don’t want people talking about it. that is i don’t want RANDOM people talking about it. it's an invasion of my privacy. and it’s an invasion of HIS privacy throwing this all up there. when people talk about me and this whole thing they’re talking about him too. and it’s DIFFERENT. it’s more than all the douche from the past that i didn’t particularly care if it bothered them. it’s not fish guys that i've barely met (or never met) and will never see again. even if i pull the rip cord on this one i don’t want the whole process to be out there.

so. what now?

i guess…it’s almost like i’ve run out of words.

*mental shift*

i’ll talk about me for just a second…JUST ME.

here’s what i’ve learned- in vague, non-detailed, cloudy, generalized points. i don't like this feeling. ugh:

#1: i feel like i’ve been bit in the butt and reminded AGAIN why it’s an incredibly bad idea to be friends with coworkers. work is work. home is home. they shouldn’t cross. i need to learn to bite my tongue more so my butt gets a bit of a reprieve.

#2: i’m not perfect. my ideas of respect and relationships is warped. i have sharp edges that need softened, and i have hard edges that should never give. i’m learning about myself so i can tell the difference between the two and not get lost in the process.

#3: there has to be a balance to thing and i’m learning what my balance will need to be. last time i had a guy that didn’t give a flying fuck about me but we fit together and everything else worked. this time i have a guy that really cares about me but the fitting together and making everything work part is much harder. so. somewhere out there is a balance between the two and THAT is what i need to work on finding.

#4: an old cougar can learn new tricks. i’ve learned to TALK about things. i’ve learned to look at things from both sides of the coin. i’ve had my eyes opened to a while different parallel life. i’ve learned where my breaking points are. i’ve learned that some of the surface things i thought were so important can be outweighed by the true core of a person. i’ve learned that my way, while it works great for me, isn’t the ONLY way to get things done. i’ve learned to listen. i’ve learned to share. i’ve learned to trust.

#5: i’ve learned that old scars that i haven’t thought about in years can still flare up and hurt like the day you first got the wound and scars you were worried would hurt the most were the strongest in the batch.

#6: I. AM. STRONG. i’ve learned to speak my mind and my opinion in a +positive+ way. i can stand up for myself and say what is ok and what isn’t ok and STICK TO IT.

SO. that’s what i’ll stick to for now. this hurts kids. this really hurts. so much more i want to say. so many things i’m proud of and confused about and looking for help on…but i can’t let it out. so. there you go. i was able to finish this one without any interruptions. so…you know…i guess it’s what i was meant to share today.

hey kids: watch me chase my tail!

it’s getting real up in here bisches. in an effort to be completely true up in here i’m letting you in on a little secret: i’m a fucking idiot.

well…i am and i’m not.

you see…there’s this boy…

and now it’s all making sense…isn’t it?

you may have heard me mention the new boy. he’s a doll. he really is. he smart, funny, easy to be around, well respected among his peers, driven, has a plan laid out and is actively pursuing it. he’s worked hard to get here and doesn’t take anything for granted.

he’s also a gentleman- he likes to hold my hand out in public, put his arm around me, make sure everybody knows i’m with him…

he insists on opening my door for me when i get in or out of a car…absolutely insists on it…

he’s very concerned about me…you know…he really likes to know where i’m going and with whom…and it’s very disrespectful if i don’t let him know…

he’s concerned about my health and likes to know what medicine the doctor prescribed and check the container to make sure i’m taking it…

he’s never felt this way with anyone before…i’m different, i’m special, i’m an angel made just for him and he loves me…

he’s sensitive, so i need to be careful about how i talk to him so i don’t offend him or show disrespect…

and by the way…he’s a MAN. from a MAN’S culture. you know…an in charge man…

hunchback of notre’ dame having a field day in anyone else’s head? it’s like a four alarm fire up in my head…sirens and bells and whistles going off in every. single. direction.

can i solve the puzzle vanna? CONTROL FREAK.

what do i win? oh wait…

i know…it may seem like i’m just being me and bailing out early, but after all these years, i think my gut is pretty finely tuned and i may be finally learning to listen to it.

is he a great guy to be around? heck yeah. fun to dance with, dinner the other night was GREAT. i adore his roommate and his fiancé- they’re adorable to hang out with. all in all he treats me well. he’s strong, confident, lavishes attention on me. it all seems great…right?

but there’s this gut feel. the way he’s not just holding my hand, he’s marking his territory. the way he doesn’t seem to know my real name (calling me baby is NOT acceptable). the way he ½ asks, ½ orders a drink. how he refuses to be around my kids. how he HATES my cat (normally i could understand this, but most guys would just ignore, not antagonize).

there’s the way i got lectured (not yelled at, not berated, simply lectured) for going out saturday night with friends and not letting him know…according to him it was a matter of respect (or disrespect as the case may be).

the fact that i told him (**TMI DISCLAIMER**) that i had an infection in the lady parts (seriously Trojan? could you make a condom that DOESN’T cause an INSTANT yeast infection already please??) and he wanted to check the prescription and see the medicine to make sure that i wasn’t just making up an excuse to not “make the sex” with him

then fact that i’m making excuses…

yes, part of it is his culture. i do understand that it’s a male dominant culture. and i do understand that some of the things he talks about are basic respect issues and i honestly am not used to having someone to check in with…and YES, there is a difference between checking in and asking permission. any married couple or dating couple would naturally let their partner know where they’re at out of respect. they’re not asking permission- they’re just letting someone know in case of emergency, for information, to prevent worry…

but since when do i fall into that category of having someone to let know?

and part of me says that if he wants to become a citizen then he’s going to have to adapt to our culture. arrogant? probably. stupid american thinking? most likely. overly independent woman thinking? definitely.

and yes, i have PMS, so i’m reacting a little more strongly to things than i normally would. but that doesn’t give him a free pass. yes, there is a language/culture barrier and there’s bound to be some misunderstanding. and yes, i’m an abnormally independent, strong willed, out spoken female, but that doesn’t mean i can’t be taken down a peg or two and learn to be a partner as well…

oh wait…that one flipped around on me. damn.

i don’t know. there’s warning bells, but i STRONGLY also believe there’s a reason this is happening. we discovered last night that he had seen me before on the fish sight…yes, THAT fish sight. and he had even emailed me…he knew my profile- the pictures i had posted, what i had written about myself…he remembered that from months ago…so…you know…how random that i stuck out in his memory, he had messaged me then and met me now?

the alarm bells are ringing, and i’m listening. but i’m also trying to be patient and not jump ship quite yet. i’m trying to control my rip cord reflex, but that doesn’t mean i’m taking my hand off the cord just yet…

this has taken a turn…typing it all out has really made me think about it. maybe the reason we’re together is because we’re BOTH such strong personalities and there’s a LOT we could learn from each other. i could learn the difference between control and concern, and he could learn about equality and partnership. i think we might balance each other out. we’ve had a few scraps already, but not knock down drag out’s…we’ve both been able to present our side of things and talk through it rationally…not too many people i can do that with at all…and i’m guessing it’s the same for him. and i’m guessing there’s not many WOMEN, if any at all that would be willing to do that with him. we’re both strong enough to speak for ourselves and both willing to listen to the other person…damn you brain and your turning things around on me…

how do i even sum this up?

YES, i recognize the warnings, and YES, i’m paying attention to them. i’m also recognizing my need to soften my edges and let someone be nice to me and not question every single nice thing someone does.

i think i’ll take a nap now. chasing my own tail is exhausting.

Femme Writes- Abuse: Getting Out

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of August, we’ve chosen to write about Physical and Mental Abuse. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read previous installments, click here.

violence. abuse. shame. emotional scars. i’ve written about it all before in my blogs. it’s no secret that i’m a domestic violence SURVIVOR. hell, i have it tattooed on my leg. i’ll talk to anyone about what i’ve been through. i’ll try my damndest to help anyone get out of their own situation. talking to a friend the other day, long term goals came up and mine will always be that some day, when i’m all growed up, i want to own a piece of land outside of town with two houses on it- one for my little family, and one fully furnished, stocked to the gills, and ready to go for families needed a place to get away and start over from domestic violence. i want to have a place that won’t say no to people really, honestly looking for a way to get out. it will have long gated driveway that goes DIRECTLY past my house so no assholes can try to sneak in and do what assholes do best: convince the woman that just one more time…it will be different this time, really…

FUCK THAT NOISE. it’s never different. only worse. hellz no…my place is going to be a safe place. a place to start over, get your feet on fresh, solid ground, and go on to be another SURVIVOR like me. i want to turn victims into strong, outspoken survivors that go on to help more women and maybe eventually we’ll all be strong enough and outspoken enough that we’ll run out of victims to help. wouldn’t that be the perfect world? if this didn’t have to do posts on this topic? ever?

but, in the mean time, what is the point of this post? i’m not going to hash over my story again- if you want to read it there’s a few posts about it throughout my blog. i’ve never written about it from start to end…one of these days ill get around to that. but. suffice to say: shitty abusive marriage, and _I_GOT_OUT_.

and that’s what i want to talk about here- GETTING OUT. how i got out, the hope that others can get out, and the best advice i was ever given.

when i finally decided to leave i was 23, had a 5 year old and a 9 month baby, and was only working part time. not exactly the best conditions. but i knew, come hell or high water, it was time. i lived in a VERY small community at the time and i had grown up there so everyone knew me, and, by extension, knew my husband. if you’ve never been to a small town…people TALK. A. LOT. and i knew that if people found out what i was doing and started talking…there would be no way in hell i would ever get out.

so. what do you do?

you get as sneaky and subversive as your abuser, but in a GOOD way. i found people that could help and wouldn’t talk. i found a domestic violence counselor that KNEW how scary it was and how dangerous it was and was just as determined as i was to make a SAFE get away. i learned that when you call about apartment you don’t give out your name until you’re handing in the application. i learned that even in a community awash with “no room for domestic violence” posters and propaganda there are really few people willing to help when the problem is on their own doorstep. you see businesses or apartment owners with the signs in their window and think it’s a safe place to go only to be turned away or hung up on when you dare to utter the words “domestic violence victim”. i don’t know how many apartments i called where they literally hung up on me when i asked if i could quietly move in and not have people know because i was trying to get away from an abusive marriage.

and i get it- i understand…domestic violence is hard on landlords…property destruction, noise, police, disturbing other tenants…i get it. but some of us are really trying to get away…we’re not going back again, we’re not going to have the cops at our house every night to referee the screaming, we just need a little help and a safe harbor.

thanks to the good will of the universe, the hard work of both myself and my DV counselor, and a great landlord i was finally able to find a home and make my get away. my counselor helped me find a brand new (at the time) grant in our state called T.H.O.R. and i was the very first recipient- it was housing assistance specifically for domestic violence victims. sadly, the grant has since gone away- from my understanding there were only a few of us ever able to be part of the program.

i let the new landlord know what was going on and he not only made it okay, he let me know that if there was ever anything else i needed, any other way he could help, just let him know.

and: the most important thing, quite possibly the reason i’m alive today, and THE BEST advice i EVER received, my domestic violence counselor told me: “once he knows you’re leaving, never go anywhere with him alone. ever. he has nothing left to lose at that point.”

i thought she was being overly dramatic. i thought she wasn’t talking about my situation. i thought she was just doing her training. but she’s been trained that way for a reason. she knew to say that FOR A REASON.

sure enough, the day i was packing and leaving, he came home to the uhaul in the driveway and the first thing he said was: can we go somewhere to talk? just the two of us? do you want to guess what i heard in my head? the voice of my counselor: don’t go. don’t go anywhere with him. he has nothing left to lose. DON’T GO. STAND YOUR GROUND. STAND. YOUR. GROUND. and i did. that little voice kept me still. i stood there, in my front yard, in plain sight of the friend that had come to help me, and i didn’t budge an inch. i told him there was nothing left to say. he had told me hundreds of times that he hated me and wanted me gone, so i was leaving. that’s all there is, there is no more. so he left. and i packed, then i left. i wish i could say i never looked back…but there were a few moments of questioning myself. there always are. there’s a few moments of being so completely broke financially, emotionally, everything that i thought maybe…BUT I NEVER WENT BACK. thankfully all i ever did was THINK about it and write about it in my journal, i never actually went back. once i was out I. WAS. OUT. and even after i was out, i kept hearing her words- my counselor, the strong woman who made me strong by example: never be alone with him.

so…what am i trying to say? all in all, i hope i made a few points…YOU CAN GET OUT. there are people who will help. sometimes you really have to dig to find them, and that SUCKS. but you can do it. you can come through the other side and be stronger. you can learn and teach and become ok again. hell…email me, leave an anonymous comment, I WILL FIND A WAY TO HELP YOU. if you know someone that needs help, PLEASE be the one to reach out. and i know it’s hard. i know that many women say they want help only to go back to the same mess over and over again. it can be draining. it can be frustrating. but i believe it can be worth it all if it’s the ONE TIME that she actually breaks free and stays away.

and please, always remember, for yourself, for friends, for stranger, for anyone in this situation: NEVER GO ANYWHERE ALONE WITH THEM ONCE THEY KNOW YOU’RE LEAVING. there are too TOO many news stories about women who went back just one more time…they thought they were just going to have a quiet talk…it’ll be okay…it’s just one last conversation…and you never see them again. i won’t say i was lucky, because it was a damn lot of hard work, but i WAS lucky that i had excellent people that knew what to say and found paths for me to walk…but i still had to walk them.

some day kids…some day we will look back with a sad smile. we will remember what we’ve gone through. we will remember the words we wrote to help others. we will be sad that such a time ever existed. and then we will rejoice that through our words, through our help, others have been spared. other women won’t have a story to tell. AND THAT WILL BE A VERY GOOD DAY.

of toothbrushes and men...

i’m sure you’re all sick already of hearing about the new guy already, but SUCK IT. i’m gonna do it again anyway…kinda.

more to the point: i have a hard time defining things. and i know not everything needs a definition, but I LIKE THEM. okay?

so. new guy: this isn’t a forever thing. it’s an “until it’s over” thing. we’ve already talked about getting too involved and being careful about emotions and all that crap since we both know it isn’t a forever thing. TRUST: several conversations on this have already happened. in a week. which has a tendency to make one wonder…

what’s that old saying? “before you try to convince anyone else, be sure you are convinced, and if you cannot convince yourself, drop the subject.” john henry patterson

who is he (are we) trying to convince? are we trying to convince ourselves or each other that we’re not getting attached? or both? is it possible to be attached after only a week (11 days, but who's counting...)? (ps: i did not just take the time to count the actual number of day. i will deny it FOREVER. hush up).

back to the point- i have a problem defining things. more specifically, i have a problem defining “attached” or “dating” or *yikes* “boyfriend”. the b-word…that’s a REALLY BIG word for me to drop…and i’ve retracted it since i thought about having to use it last week. at first i was all worried about the cultural aspect of things and needing things to be all status quo…yeah…not worried about that any more…so the b-word is still waiting to be dropped…back burner for that particular word…BUT…distracted again: defining things: attachments:

HERE’S MY RULE ABOUT ATTACHMENT:

it’s not serious until there’s a toothbrush involved.

crazy? yes. BUT, it makes perfect sense. it’s all fun and games until someone is staying at your house long enough to need a toothbrush. that implies that they’re there for a while. either that or they’re OCD about brushing. either way. if someone is at you house for enough consecutive time to need to brush their teeth THEN it’s an issue about getting attached.

a quick shower after sex? not a big deal. or a quick shower after work before heading on a date…same thing. staying overnight/breakfast in bed? it’s ok as long as they don’t stay through lunch because eating before brushing in the morning is acceptable but to make it all the way through til lunch? not so much.

an evening quickie and gone in the morning to get ready for work? PERFECTLY FINE. an evening quickie (or *cough* you know...not so quick *ahem*), sleeping over, then getting ready for work at your house, toothbrush and all? DANGER PANDAS!

pajamas for staying over? fine…i have an empty drawer…just make sure you leave in the morning like a good boy does BEFORE the brushing of the teeth.

see, it all revolves around the toothbrush. a toothbrush is a SERIOUS commitment people! i can count on TWO fingers the number of boys (of the grown up kind you understand) who have had toothbrushes in my house. TWO FINGERS. this is a big ticket item!

and see, the new guy and i (SERIOUSLY PEOPLE…HELP ME COME UP WITH A NAME FOR HIM ALREADY) have been joking (half joke/half serious) about him staying with me full nights while the spawns are gone the next two weeks…it’s all good and do-able (*snork* do-able…it’s a sex joke…get it?) AS LONG AS HE GOES HOME IN THE MORNING TO GET READY. NO TOOTHBRUSHES ALLOWED. although…he is a smoker…so a toothbrush might be handy…i mean…considering…no…wait…

NO TOOTHBRUSHES ALLOWED.

ps: if anyone can find this toothbrush holder for me, i will HEART YOU FOREVER.

of delay tactics, spaghetti and shadows

welcome to the first attempt at delaying the inevitable- oh monday…you are a CRUEL CUREL mistress. how does the saying go? the shitteth hath hitteth the faneth…or it’s about to at any rate. it’s more of a slow motion bag of poo flying towards the ceiling and the fan blades looking ready and willing to spread the shit equally amongst all below…imagine a terrantino movie…you know what’s coming, you’re wincing already, and there’s no way to stop it…

why the monday morning drama? one of the other office gals is out for EIGHT WEEKS and i get to be her while she’s gone. she’s been in this job for 25ish years and knows EVERYTHING. i had 20 minutes with her on friday to get a tip into what’s going on…so…you know…NICE. so. instead of diving on in and just taking the bull by the horns, i’m standing on the sideline, trying my damndest to blend in with the walls, hoping the bull either never comes or wanders on past and doesn’t notice me.

delusions are nice, aren’t they?

BUT. believe it or not, i actually DO have something to say. a real point. so it really isn’t a delay tactic…oh…yes it is. BUT I DO HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.

so. the new boy (still haven’t figured out a name for him yet…) came over to dinner last night. this is pretty epic considering two things: #1 i didn’t expect it to last this long, and #2 he said he would be uncomfortable being around my kids due to the whole attachment/not sticking around long issue. whatever. it’s not like i’m all: “hey kids…meet your new daddy!” or anything…i’m more like “hey, my friend is coming over for dinner, try not to kill each other in front of company.”

like i said…delusions are nice, aren’t they?

so. it’s interesting to get a new person’s perspective on your little family every now and again. it’s like a check up or a mid-term test. see how they perceive you, if you’re doing a decent enough job that strangers aren’t sent screaming by your family…you know…make sure we’re allowed out in public and all.

so. it’s interesting getting a new perspective. it’s even more interesting getting a perspective from a different culture. see…new boy is from a different country. a VERY different country. and they have different ways of looking at things and reading things and dealing with things. you all know about my spawns. now imagine looking at them from an international perspective. it was very interesting.

so. new guy came over for dinner. our family is odd. i let my spawns be their odd little selves and don’t think much of it. we had spaghetti for dinner. THANKFULLY, the spawns were done eating before the new guy got there because really, how the hell do you explain spaghetti tacos? but my kids think they’re the greatest thing ever, so i let them have spaghetti tacos and waited for new guy to have regular spaghetti myself. but they were finishing up when he got there which was AWESOME because it delayed the inevitable curious swarm for at least a few minutes. but then the swarm hit and…fuck…it’s FUCKING ANNOYING. all the “i just need one more drink” or the “but i just wanted to ask you something” interruptions. they’re just being curious and checking things out, but FUCK it’s annoying. nothing like making someone new feel like a fucking animal in the zoo that they want to gawk at. the worst is the little one. the INSTANT someone is in our house he is a fucking super glued shadow. one of my biggest pet peeves. see…he’s not a hugger- he’s a leech. it drives me UP A FUCKING WALL on the best days and even worse in front of other people. he can’t hug me and walk away. he has to HANG on me, pet me, grope, maul, and you CAN’T GET HIM OFF. i’m trying to serve up dishes for the new guy and myself and there’s this BLOB stuck to my back, WRAPPED AROUND ME, hanging on like a bug on a windshield going 90 on the interstate. I FUCKING HATE THAT. i love my kids. i do. but i need my fucking space. BUBBLE PEOPLE. this is why i hate it when he asks me to snuggle on the couch- it’s not a normal snuggle where you curl up and watch a show. it’s MAULING. like being wrestled by a grizzly. and it’s CONSTANT MOVEMENT. he can’t sit still for the god lovin life of him EVER. there’s always some kind of motion…petting, crawling all over, adjusting position, SOMETHING. drives me fucking batty.

so. here i am, trying to get dinner with a leech stuck on me, oldest one is trying to find the most inappropriate movie to watch possible (step brothers- sex scene and offensive language in less than 5 minutes…just great for the international/under 13 crowd). off to a great start. FUCK.

so. we finally get a DECENT movie in and the new guy and i are trying to eat dinner and the kids are, by some small miracle, quiet for a moment.

*deep breath* this might turn out ok…

by the way…who puts fucking tobacco on spaghetti?? not that i’m one to talk with spaghetti tacos and bbq sauce on regular tacos and some of our other “in house” creations…but tobacco? on italian food? BLASPHEMY!

so. it’s calm for a moment. kids are normal. new guy is eating (my pasta was a little al dente’ for his taste, but other than that i think a success). then new guy looks at me and says: “the older one? he will be your smart one. the little one? he will be your evil one.”

umm…spot on anyone? in 15 minutes he had a very accurate read on my kids. IN A WAY…hold on, let me explain. i don’t necessarily agree with “evil” but partially: YES. little spawn is very mean and vindictive. he knows how to ruin a day for EVERYONE if he doesn’t get his way, and he has a habit of being extremely vindictive if he feels he’s been slighted or mistreated in any way. part of it is his personality, part of it is the aspergers. and when you add that in, in MANY foreign countries, they view things like depression or aspergers or other mental conditions as “evil”. maybe more so in older times, but it’s still a common thought today. and really, how do you explain aspergers to someone from a middle eastern country? they either don’t have things like that, or don’t have the diagnoses we have. aspergers is still a new diagnosis in the united states and we tend to need a name for everything…other countries just say sick. we say 24 hour flu or stomach virus or food poisoning. so what we call aspergers, they probably call a difficult or “evil” child.

so. intuition, observation, whatever…in just a few minutes he has a read on my spawns. he has met them one other time by the pool at my friend’s house…so this wasn’t completely a cold read…but still…DAMN!

so. we finish up dinner and his after dinner black tea (lipton had to suffice due to lack of actual black tea) and we headed outside for his post dinner smoke (a smoker…i know…ME...tells you what a doll he is). as we’re sitting out there chatting, small spawn comes out literally every three minutes with some kind of question or tattling or SOMETHING. this did not go unnoticed. at all. like i said, it’s frustrating enough when it’s just me…i can’t get anything done around the house. i can’t wash dishes or get ready in the morning or go downstairs to do laundry without a koala pack…add to it trying to talk to someone and have a little time away from a kids movie.

and people wonder why i don’t try to date. the nights i DO get to go out with anyone there’s always a huge crying/guilt fit because i’m leaving, if i stay home and have people over i have a shadow glued to my side interrupting the whole time…it’s so unbelievably frustrating. and if i say anything to the small spawn he instantly dissolves into huge tears…

and people always say…oh, they need your time and attention. yeah, but NO. they have my time. they have ALL of my time. the small spawn does it because he KNOWS it will make people leave. because he’s jealous. he’s one of those kids that you could spend a whole week with doing everything he wants to do, not spending a minute apart, cooking, doing crafts, playing games, watching movies, then the one time you go to the bathroom he FREAKS OUT that you never do anything with him and you never spend time with him. i wish i were exaggerating…but it’s really that way.

and it’s hard to make people understand that i’m not neglecting them. i’m not ignoring them. all a new person sees is the small window of time they’re there. they don’t see that the WHOLE REST OF THE DAY was spent at home with just me and the kids. the WHOLE DAY. so then the one hour when i have someone over and the spawn freaks out…oh…he just needs time with his mom. NO. he’s had 10 hours with me today. he just wants his way and wants other people gone. we spent ALL saturday afternoon, ALL sunday together. just us. no distractions. then sunday evening i have someone over and you’d think i’d locked them in a closet for the last 900 years and never paid attention to them ever.

i just. grr. and it got to the point sunday night where the new guy felt so uncomfortable that he left. he was so aware of being checked in on and watched that he made up and excuse and left. and knowing him, that will be the only time it will happen. he won’t be coming over again when the kids are awake or around. he won’t “take my time away”. he won’t. it’s just the way he is.

so then i have to go back to being a 10pm-5am girl. which is just a nice feeling let me tell you. nothing says trollop like only having people over well after dark and leaving before the spawns get up. but it’s what i’ve been doing for six years. so. you know…also makes your neighbors REALLY like you.

ok. i think i’m done venting and delaying…guess it’s time to actually get to work…none of these stacks made themselves disappear yet…guess i’ll have to do it…

oh yeah: AND HELP ME NAME THE NEW GUY. really. i can't come up with anything on this one...