I can't find the words to pray I'm a little down today Can you help me? Can you hold me? I feel like a million miles away
And I don't know what to say Can you hear me anyway? What I need is for you to reach out your hand You have taught me no matter what, you'd understand
Lord, move in a way that I've never seen before Cause there's a mountain in the way and a lock on the door I'm drifting away, waves are crashing on the shore So Lord, move Or move me.
I've looked every where to find A simple peace of mind I can't find nothing on my own So I got to leave myself behind
Take up this cross of mine Give away everything I hold onto Lord, I know the only way is through this Lord, I know I need you to help me do this
Lord, move in a way that I've never seen before Cause there's a mountain in the way and a lock on the door I'm drifting away, waves are crashing on the shore So Lord, move Or move me.
Out of this place of complacency To a place of fellowship with thee Cause I am weak but Lord, you are so strong And you know it's been way too long
Lord, move in the way that I've never seen before Cause there's a mountain in the way and I'll knock on the door I'm drifting away, waves are crashing on the shore
What if I were married to a man who -putting it mildly- was not nice to me over the years.
Who had been known to yell Fcuk You! Go To Hell! or call me a B!tch. Who had hit meor pushed me when mad. Who had thrown things across the room in anger.
Who made me feel unimportant, incorrect, disrespected, or stupid on a regular basis. Who, armed with his vast knowledge about me, was able to bury verbal daggers deep in my soul with pinpoint precision. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
Who was able to hurt me deeply with his words. Who attacked me as a person, the core of goodness that I am and can be.
Who scoffed at any effort I made to do something nice for him. Who immediately felt I was not doing enough, in whatever capacity, to make him happy.
Who belittled or ignored what was important to me. Who showed me less respect than a stranger on the street.
Who made me feel unsafe. Who frankly scared me in his volatility and unpredictability. Who would I see at the end of each day? The nice man or the mean man? Who made each entry to my home filled with inner dread. Who denied me a safe harbor from the outside world.
A man I could not trust to look out for my best interest if it conflicted with his. Who always protected himself first, to the detriment of my emotional safety or the marriage itself.
A man who would not guard my heart. Who would not place it on a soft pillow and keep it safe if I handed it to him. Who I could not confide in, for fear he would use the information against me when angered.
Who apologized through the years, but did not change.
Who was no Partner to me. Who did not encourage my Best Self. With whom, I felt more alone than in an empty room.
Wouldn't you tell me to Leave Him? Get The Hell Out? Have Him Arrested?
Now. What if this person is me.
My husband the abused spouse.
Harder to believe, isn't it?
I am ashamed that it is true. Mortified. Crushed. Humiliated.
He's taken much pounding. For years. He can't even pretend to trust me with his heart or his feelings. And he's had good reason to get to this point in the road. I've laid him low.
I could lace my words with excuses and justifications, and all the years I didn't see it.
But even after Seeing It, I have snapped like a rubber band right back to being a selfish, mean person. And who cares why? FcukWhy. Half my blog is an exercise in Justifying The Why.
At the end of the day, I am proven to be irreparable. Because all it boils down to is a good man knocked down long enough and hard enough to have nothing left to trust me with.
Fair enough. I don't blame him. I cannot possibly. I've been here in this house, too.
I am toxic. Me. It's me.
And don't even fcuking comment about how awful his affair was, girlfriend, and you have every reason to be mad, hateful, or ugly.
Just save it. This so pre-dates affair.
My husband stood by me for years while I was flailing about, knocking the wind out of him.
I have focused so long on all that Is Not. Seeing the holes in the colander that drained the water out, instead of the pasta that was held inside.
His affair is the One Big Wrong Thing he did in a Lifetime of Right Things. (there are other Small things but in the interest of the Big Picture, work with me here)
By comparison, I am a Lifetime of Big Wrong Things with Scant Right Things.
Years of counseling, different therapists, journaling, prayer, have all been fruitless in changing this piece of my equation.
After I've done -or said- something mean to him, he has pointed it out to me, I have seen it (especially since December 2005) and apologized. And meant it, I promise you. But the damage was already done by my actions or words, and progress stopped. And then we recycle the pattern in some other fashion. Rinse and repeat.
I need a dog shock collar that zaps me before I'm an as$hole. To stop me from doing years-worth more damage with each incident. But I don't have that. And my Decent Person filter only works about 5-10% of the time.
And now I have a husband who doesn't trust me, won't talk to me about his real feelings for fear I will really screw him with them, and is scared of me, of what I will do to him. Has been at this point, or almost, for so long that he probably cannot separate out when the relationship was actually destroyed.
I thought cutting communication with my family of origin last year was a step in the right direction. I thought being a better, more patient, loving parent was a step. I thought counseling, praying to God, people praying for me, all these things would effect a change in my life.
I thought wrong. And I don't deserve this man to do any more 70-times-7 forgiving or trusting. If he was beating me, should I forgive him each time he hit me and come back for the next blow? No. I don't think so. Nor should he have to.
I had to come to the computer to work this out in words. To see it in black and white. I've had to stop typing several times during this post to just grieve. Hard. I fcuked up. Over. And. Over. And. Over.
I told him I wish there were more words for Sorry, like the eskimos have so many different words for Snow. I am so sorry, in a myriad of ways, but my words don't ring true anymore because my actions haven't followed up. I just want a Reset button on my life. And I don't get one.
I haven't been able to sleep. I lay awake thinking of all God brought me through as a child. He led me out of a horrible life to a road on the way to Happily Ever After. I didn't deserve it. I didn't understand it. I didn't protect it and keep it safe. I went on autopilot and ruined my relationship with the one person who ever believed in me.
Every time I look at you, the world just melts away All my troubles, all my fears, dissolve in your affections You've seen me at my weakest, but you take me as I am And when I fall, you offer me a softer place to land
You stay the course, you hold the line, you keep it all together You're the one true thing I know I can believe in You're all the things that I desire, you save me, you complete me You're the one true thing I know I can believe
I get mad so easy, but you give me room to breathe No matter what I say or do, 'cause you're too good to fight about it Even when I have to push just to see how far you'll go You won't stoop down to battle me, you never turn to go
You stay the course, you hold the line, you keep it all together You're the one true thing I know I can believe in You're all the things that I desire, you save me, you complete me You're the one true thing I know I can believe
Your love is just the antidote when nothing else will cure me There are times I can't decide, when I can't tell up from down You make me feel less crazy, when otherwise I'd drown But you pick me up and brush me off and tell me I'm OK, Sometimes thats just what we need to get us through the day
You stay the course, you hold the line, you keep it all together You're the one true thing I know I can believe in You're all the things that I desire, you save me, you complete me You're the one true thing I know I can believe
A few days ago, like many of you, we had a big fat storm. Snow and wind. Wind Wind Wind.
Gusts up to 70 mph (74 mph is considered hurricane force). This was serious business.
Trees fell. All that wasn't secured went flying. People lost power.
It left all things clean in its wake.
In our area are fields where cows and horses graze, now clean and unmarred. I already thought fields were generally uncluttered areas, but they were markedly brighter, colorful, and pure looking.
And then when you saw the far edges of the fields, where fences or thick brush bordered the open areas: Trash. Debris blown up against them - dry cleaning bags, fast food cups, branches piled up where their exits were prevented.
I am reminded this week how much I need winds in my life. I may think I'm pretty cleared out, but I'm just so used to my own junk I get to where I don't see it. Only when the gale forces blow through my life do I see how much sh!t is blown up against my edges.
This past year (and a half, ugh) I would not wish on anyone. It's been chaotic, devastating, lonely, terrifying, exhausting. But it continues to clean out my junk. My edges are plastered with wreckage, but my middle field is clearer than it's ever been.
My husband would likely argue otherwise; I still defend and deflect as a Default setting in any uncomfortable conversation where I might be Wrong. My shields go up automatically, and he is tired of arguing them down again.
We don't have "normal people" arguments, and we never had from Day One. Because I don't know what that looks like. I did not grow up seeing any example of healthy conflict. You either screamed, verbally attacked the other person as a piece of sh!t, used LOTS of sarcasm, walked away, or hit them. You never admitted you were wrong.
I would give anything to hang around a healthy couple when they have disagreements. To witness this elusive holy grail in real life.
I feel completely handicapped here. I think of how frustrating it is for stroke patients who have expressive aphasia: they know in their brains the word they want to say, the concept they want to communicate, but they are physically unable to SAY IT. Their brains cannot bridge the gap from concept to spoken word. This ultimate frustration brings otherwise strong adults to tears. I have some secondary understanding of their struggle.
Last year, The Husband was at the grocery store and saw a twenty-something couple in frozen foods. They were arguing yet good natured about it, and eventually resolved their conflict - ALL in the grocery store! Within a few aisles! Sounded like a movie scene to me; that far removed from my reality. He ached for that kind of communication when he saw it, came home and told me about it, how he longs for it with me. I ache for it in the way you ache to win the lottery. You want it, bad, but you don't really know what it's like - so completely foreign to what you know day-to-day.
I feel like the biggest failure in the world here, because I want to be the girl in Frozen Foods. You have no idea. But I am clueless about bridging the gap between wanting to be healthy in conflict, and the fist that squeezes my aorta when I feel threatened.
I hate this part of me. Every time a brutal, yet ultimately cleansing, wind blows through my life in this area I think, This is It. I am going to finally be able to change, just because I want it so much. Because I am convinced that I am further along in my autobiography. But then, mere days later, not so much.
LOSER, my soul cries out. Fraud, pretender, hoax.
And then the insidious whisper: he would have been happier with she-who-shall-not-be-named. she was so much better than you will ever be. you will never be good enough for him to love.
Blow, wind, blow. Take this trash out of my field.
I once knew a girl In the years of my youth, With eyes like the summer All beauty and truth. In the morning I fled, Left a note and it read: 'Someday you will be loved'
I cannot pretend that I felt any regret, 'Cause each broken heart will eventually mend. As the blood runs red down the needle and thread, Someday you will be loved
You'll be loved, you'll be loved Like you never have known The memories of me Will seem more like bad dreams; Just a series of blurs, Like I never occurred. Someday you will be loved
You may feel alone when you're falling asleep, And everytime tears roll down your cheeks. But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet; Someday you will be loved
You'll be loved, you'll be loved Like you never have known The memories of me Will seem more like bad dreams; Just a series of blurs, Like I never occurred. Someday you will be loved...
An old, old, old entry never posted... I am weary of crying myself to sleep alone. I'm tired of being at work so much. I miss my kids. I miss having a life. A real one, with laughter, and flirting, and silent smiling eye contact, and touch. And TIME. OMgosh, ya'll, I physically ache from touch withdrawl. I'm tired of hugging myself in bed at night so I don't fly apart. I'm so sad. I need to increase my meds. I want to be something more than someone's pain in the ass. Someone to avoid each day. And each night. Continuously. Without end.
I know a lot of sh!t is my fault. I know it. But I'm tired of being so alone. Unloved. So, so tired. Just a bad night, long hours at work, not enough sleep. I'm sure people pay good money for the salty facials I give myself at night with my tears. I can't even see the fcuking monitor. A glance at his lower back in passing makes my heart hurt. I want to kiss his arms as they grip the steering wheel.
I want him to want my skin touching his. He does not. I am blessed to get a foot touching mine in the late night when he returns to bed. I am not being facetious. I am blessed to have it. I love to feel his skin, and if that is all I get so be it. I am just sad he may never want it again. That his Default mode is sleeping-with-his-back-facing-wife. Only when I leave the bed does he turn to face my side. Even while sleeping. It's that deeply ingrained to Avoid Me.
We live a life of halves. Our clean laundry barely touches in the hamper. His side. My side. I want it all mixed up together. He separates it. So I do, too. I smell his shirts before they go in the washer. I cannot even imagine him doing something like that. (Not with mine)
I see potential for so much positives, but it's like the bridge washed out and we just look at each other over the chasm and think, well, damn. that's too bad. When a quick look around and some joint effort would build something better.
I see other people light up when I walk in. He doesn't anymore. He goes dimmer. Other people used to comment about how I would light up when I saw him. Did he ever notice that? Does it matter? Save a place for me Save a space for me In your heart In your heart -Tracy Chapman
You break me open -Jars of Clay
I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past. -Thomas Jefferson
Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory –Albert Schweitzer I grew up sexually abused. I've since learned that we 'survivors' have a universal habit of looking at our situation as Could Have Been Worse Than It Was.
I do it, too. Mine has always been: Well, at least it wasn't a blood relative (because it wasn't my biological father). I don't know why we do this, but we do. In order not to drown in the Awfulness of it all? To find someone who Had It Worse?
I don't know. I do know that about 10 years ago, I was a part of a group of sexual abuse survivors who met for several months. It was my first time with Real Life other people "like me" and it was eye-opening. It also reinforced my habit of 'downplaying' my abuse. OMGosh, these women had it SO bad. Fathers and brothers abusing them, their pasts so traumatic that most of them had gaping holes in their memories where they couldn't remember everything, most of them overweight in an effort to 'hide' themselves and their bodies from being attractive.
I, on the other hand, remained thin, had no problem remembering every second of my abuse vividly, and it was 'only' my stepfather not a "real" relative. (and because my mother didn't end up marrying him for years later, he really wasn't even 'related' to me at the time of the abuse). So I concluded again that It Could Have Been Worse. When anyone hears that I was abused (it's precious few that know), and that subsequently had a problematic marriage they assume that I have "sex" problems. That my husband Wants It, but I must have some Post-Traumatic Sex Disorder.
As we all know here, that's not an issue for me. Not in my marriage anyway, but it was once a hill to climb.
I was pretty sexual early on; that seems to be the fork in the road for abuse victims: they either shut down their sexuality as 'dirty', or else go hog-wild to the other end. I threw sex around without much concern. The more the better. Oink.
Yet, I recall crying silently during The Act on more than one occasion. College, mostly. In the missionary position, I have some vivid memories of wanting to scream, to claw, to Stop It, (with a long-term boyfriend whom I really did love) -and yet I remained silent and wept secretly into his shoulder as I grit my teeth.
There was this one summer of unspecified angst, and then it somehow worked itself out. I have never felt that way again during sex. [With one exception, but it wasn't an abuse flashback, I was just having sex with someone who I wished was someone else. So that doesn't really count, but it was the same wanting-to-scream-while-crying-silently misery, so I'll include it here in my quest for full disclosure].
It did take me some years to quit being all about my partner's pleasure, to the exclusion of my own. That was just general ignorance -coupled with the desire for 'power' in the bed (residual from not having any power previously, I'm sure). Now I really love the idea of being 'taken' and controlled in a sexy, eyes-open, healthy-relationship type of way. So I've come full circle, I suppose.
I actually discovered my first non-faked orgasm completely by accident with my college boyfriend. So that's what the big deal was. Sex had been fun, but it got a LOT more fun that year. And I learned how to ask for what I wanted, which I learned (surprise) was pretty appealing. You know, I haven't done that kind of asking in many years. Shame on me. Something to change.
I think about that "bad sex" time occasionally because -in hindsight- I'm grateful for it. [Edited to Add: the time I'm speaking about here is the college-boyfriend-time. Needed to clarify] It was brutal, but it exorcised a demon out of me. I've never felt 'abused' before, during, or after consensual sex. That, I think, was a God thing. Only He could fix that so decisively. And I'm thankful to not have that issue on the table. Life's hard enough.
there were times when i was crying from the dark of daniel's den, and i have asked you, once or twice, if you would part the sea again. but tonight i do not need a fiery pillar in the sky, just wanna know you're gonna hold me if i start to cry. oh, great god, be small enough to hear me now
oh, great god, be close enough to feel you now
there have been moments when i could not face goliath on my own, and how could i forget we've marched around our share of jerichos. but i will not be setting out a fleece for you tonight, just wanna know that everything will be alright.
oh great god, be close enough to feel you now
all praise and all honor be to the god of ancient mysteries, whose every sign and wonder turn the pages of our history. but tonight my heart is heavy and i cannot keep from whispering this prayer: "are you there?"
and i know you could leave writing on the wall that's just for me, or send wisdom while i'm sleeping like in soloman's sweet dreams. but i don't need the strength of samson or a chariot in the end, just want to know that you still know how many hairs are on my head
oh, great god, (are you small enough?) be small enough to hear me now
Things are happening here. God is brewing a strong pot of coffee; I'll let you know when He pours the cup what we end up discussing. Pure love and suspicion cannot dwell together: at the door where the latter enters, the former makes its exit. -Alexandre Dumas
Marriage is like submarines: they only work if you are COMPLETELY IN. -Frank Pittman
We are told that people stay in love because of chemistry, or because they remain intrigued with each other, because of many kindnesses, because of luck. But part of it has got to be forgiveness and gratefulness. -Ellen Goodman
Ya'll. Go download this week's free single from iTunes (hurry, before it changes on Tuesday). I do believe he wrote this about me: She loves her mama's lemonade, Hates the sounds that goodbyes make. She prays one day she'll find someone to need her.
She swears that there's no difference, Between the lies and complements. Its all the same if everybody leaves her.
And every magazine tells her she's not good enough, The pictures that she sees make her cry.
And she would change everything, everything Just ask her. Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster, And she just needs someone to take her home.
She's giving boys what they want, tries to act so nonchalant, Afraid they'll see that she's lost her direction. She never stays the same for long, Assuming that she'll get it wrong. Perfect only in her imperfection.
And she's not a drama queen, She doesn't want to feel this way, only seventeen but tired
She would change everything for happy-ever-after. Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster, But she just needs someone to take her home.
'Cause she's just the way she is, but no one's told her that's okay.
Come, my beloved, let us go out into the country, let us see whether the vine has budded and its blossoms have opened, and whether the pomegranates have bloomed. There I will give you my love. Song of Songs 7:12 NAS
We decided the week before to get married. Secretly. Just Us. Two hours drive to a beautiful setting.
We booked the scene, the minister, and the time slot. We went to our courthouse to get the marriage license and giggled the whole time. I called the wedding 'consultant' to ask for local recommendations for a florist and a cake.
"Piggly Wiggly has nice cakes," she told me.
We laughed about that for years. I eventually got the number of a real baker and a real florist, and had white tulips and a beautiful cake-for-two delivered to our hotel pre-ceremony.
He came to my house at noon in a kelly green polo shirt, with a cooler in the backseat of his car. Champagne and two flutes chilling for later.
We drove a few hours, changed clothes in our hotel (listening to Enya and James Taylor) and went to our site. It was beautiful and windy. We were married.
We laughed through the ceremony, when I always thought I would cry at my wedding. I handed somone my camera, and have several snapshots that define Happy.
We walked around the water after it was over, and to a multi-star restaurant for a take-home dinner order.
After a delicious meal, and a delicious husband, we left the hotel for air near midnight. We climbed the concrete steps of a historic building and sat with a tall view of the water. He held me as the breeze blew.
Well, hell: I'm on the Personal World Tour of Disgrace and Shame, might as well continue the quest to show you more completely unappealing sides to myself. (I'm your if I can't be a good example, let me be a horrible warning gal right here. One stop shopping.)
Where were we?
Oh, yes: the 'excuse' we used to get to Glenn's house alone (fight with my boyfriend, his wife out of state for the week). Yes, he kissed me to distraction once we were there, and I kept thinking I would draw the line at intercourse. That personal dialogue never wins out though.
I can think of several times in my Lost Summer(s) of my 20's where I sternly told myself "no sex" -then completely caved in by the end of the evening. And this night was no exception. I am no one's shining example of willpower, let me assure you.
We spent several hours at his house, and then he brought me back to my house where I quietly slipped into bed next to The (sleeping) Boyfriend, hoping I didn't give myself away. A little bit of Guilt, but more a Hoping Not To Be Caught.
And thus started an adventure of escapades. Lots of sneaking around, white lies, etc. Leaving my car somewhere and riding with him, so my car wouldn't be at his house during the day. I was in school, he was in a sales job - we were more flexible in our stealth-ability. He came home from a business trip a day early, I met him at a local hotel. I would page him "6969" when I was free, and we would meet in all kinds of crazy places.
OMGosh, I cannot even begin to tell you all of them without sounding like a story for the Penthouse Forum ... the zoo, a cemetery, an empty playground, the hood of the car, the beach, the back of a taxi in Hilton Head, the list goes on. He put poems on my windshield, sent me anonymous flowers.
We would still go out as a group and, under cover of the loudness of bar crowds, he would say amazing things in my ear right at the table. In full view of everyone, and yet no one knew. I was hooked on the secrecy, the danger. Ya'll know.
We even played tennis together. His wife and my boyfriend were better players then we were, so they encouraged us to be a Mixed Doubles team (what a double entendre) at a lower-ranked league. All summer. Sanctioned time alone. No mutual friends on our team. It was crazy easy to practice and play (another d.e.), several times a week.
And I rarely thought of the Big Picture; what we were actually doing and how wrong it was. I'm not sure if I ever did, until the end of it. And even then, I wasn't the one who was married -so I still wasn't fully cognizant of how big this breach was. The gulf between Right and Wrong.
See above quote about infidelity: their sense of entitlement exceeds their ability to reason. That would be me, I think. And I imagine my husband as well. He said recently, again, that he never meant to hurt me by it.
And I believe him, because he probably wasn't even thinking about me in the Big Picture sense. I know from my experience that I sure wasn't thinking about my boyfriend or Glenn's wife much, insofar as what we were doing would hurt them deeply. Wound them gravely. Especially her. Now I am her.
