Marriage Bed

7 05 2014

Through the velvet darkness
Camels and cheap beer on my tongue,
Bring me back to pain
I turn my head but you grabbed me back

 

The weight of your fat body I once loved
Now grotesque
Crushes my breath
Vice around my throat
I’m forced to swallow

 

The warm coat of black velvet washes over me
I know I’m not safe,
But here, ignorance is bliss

The struggle and agony inside my body
Lifts the curtain

 

I see my hands bound;
A knot at every eight
The dearest brown scarf
Tiny woven diamond bulls eyes
A thousand tiny eyes
Witness my torture

A thousand tiny eyes
Know the truth
No black velvet to shield them
They saw all
Every tear, every plea

 

The darkness took hold his eyes
That were once so full of life.
Making me believe in evil.

 

A thousand tiny eyes
Stare stone silent shaming
A whimper comes forth
Why are you doing this?

Because, I love you.

 





It Happened

31 03 2013

Today I realized that no matter how many scenarios I come up with that start out as, “If I had just…” will change the fact that I was raped.





Divorced vs. Temporarily Married

2 01 2013

I visited my family and my home town for the christmas holiday. And have many moments with my family that made me feel less than good, one of the ones that has been mulling over in my mind is my father’s new phrase he likes to use instead of divorced.

“My daughter was temporarily married, that’s what I’ve decided to say instead of divorced because it really wasn’t that long”

But here’s the thing. That phrase is shaming.

When he first said that he thought it would better to say temporarily married instead of divorced I laughed slightly uncomfortable but unsure why I was so uncomfortable exactly. But I listened to that discomfort and learned, just why I would much rather identify as a divorcee than some one who was once temporarily married.

Marriage is about union, partnership, maybe even love and friendship, but is is a union, a linking, and in my case-bondage.

I do not wish to identify with the part of myself that was in that bondage. I am proud of my divorce. Yes, it was painful, but it was a worthy struggle through a much of shit that gave me freedom.

I divorced myself from abuse, my mocker, bully, and rapist.I divorced myself from wanting to die and take my own life before becoming a divorcee or life with out my ex-husband.
I divorced myself from a way of thinking that with out a man I wasn’t really a woman.
I divorced myself from fear of a day that words would come to blows-that tears would flow with fists.
I divorced myself from a slave driver who identified me as, bitch, whore, and cunt.

I saved myself through divorce. I separated myself from those identifiers, and to re-identify with a union to my rapist, is putting me in a state of eternal victimhood. I would never have become a survivor if not for my divorce. I would never had been free if not for my divorce.

I’m proud to be a divorcee.





No More Apologies.

2 11 2012

You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of looking to other people to tell me things about myself.

I’m tired of looking outward and hoping to find “the right way” to look in. And I’m sure as fuck tired of explaining and apologizing for being who I am.

Because you know what? I’m amazing. I am. If I look at my life and stop and think about what it is that I HAVE done, what it is that I’m working on, and where I’ve been, I’m glad I’m alive.  And I’m tired of being afraid of being myself.

I’m pushy, nosey, borderline know it all, who’s smart, and funny (mostly unintentionally), who can laugh at herself,  can discuss the beauty of language, art, music, and has ideas that don’t stop coming. And I’m a painter. Its taken me a while to really and truly admit and identify myself as a painter, but you know what? I’m a goddamned painter, and I need to get to it. Because the biggest obstacle has been myself, and fighting to be something that I’m not, because I was too boughed down with what I saw as a limiting thing.

When in reality what I painter does and is, is vast. Maybe I don’t always take brush to my paint, and then to canvas, maybe I do weld, and make paper, sculpture, video, and a photo here and there, but goddamnit, its all painting to me.

Maybe I have a fragile, and sometimes raw emotional state. Maybe I’m impulsive, and don’t always think things through, maybe some times all I want to do is hurt myself. Maybe I’m sloppy, and could have better hygiene  maybe I drink too much, and am a bad vegetarian and crave lamb and sausage and make myself sick sometimes, because I want a giant meat load in my mouth and I don’t care about the way my body will reject it in 20 minutes. Maybe I’m not very good with money. Maybe I’m claustrophobic, and people stress me out. Maybe I’m not very good at being a daughter or a sister.

Maybe I’m too sexual. Maybe I like sex too much. Maybe I’m not as wise as some people think. Maybe I have trouble recognizing myself in the mirror.

But I’m intuitive, brave, creative, and free.

And I will not apologize. ANY. MORE.

I do not have to defend, explain, and nor do I owe you anything. I am not an object, I am not yours to touch, follow, or have in any way.

I will never give you my heart and I won’t ask for yours, because I think my heart belongs to me and yours belongs to yours. I do not believe in a savior, outside of myself. It is me that will pull myself out of the mire, and I am done, done, DONE, I tell you with being fixed.

I’m. NOT. BROKEN. 

That being said, I do have a lot to process, because lets face the facts dear, which are:

In the last five years of my life I Have:

1. Married my high school sweetheart when I was going to be a junior in college, he a sophomore, we were virgins

2. relationship became abusive

3. Went from considering doing mission work, believing in spiritual warfare, to not believing in God at all and questioning whether or not it was ethical to even be studying theology.

4. Won some big award, for the small town I was in, for a painting.

5. First solo show

6. Went to Italy

7. Separation from emotionally abusive husband, sparked by being raped by said husband for three days(and blacked it all out forgetting/burying it and not dealing)

8. Divorced

9. Graduated two weeks later with a BA in theology

10. Stranger Raped, but didn’t understand (see number seven)

11. Beloved father like mentor dies suddenly, (barely deals with death)

12. Graduated with BFA in painting and drawing

13. Have a major PTSD episode “psychotic break” end up in hospital, after a month of suddenly remembering rapes. Given lots of psyche meds that make everything like tar.

14. Finally start coping with the shit that happened. Have to change phone number and delete beloved email account/blog because fear of being stalked by rapist ex husband

15. Live out of my car, essentially for six months

16. Crash said car

17. End up living with painting professor

18. MOVE TO BOSTON!

19. Got a bike

20. Find good counselors

21. Complete a rigorous nonsensical program

22. Got hit by a motorcycle, concussed

23. Got the brief shit kicked out of me by love

24. Kept biking, swimming, and being active, learning my body’s capabilities.

25. Finally learning to love myself. For Who I AM, not what other people say I am.

 

That my friends, is a lot to process. In fact, its kinda exhausting.  But “the worst things in the world” have happened, and I’ve come through. Not unscathed, no I have scars, but I’m here. I’m a survivor. And I’m learning how to live.  And learning that I am beautiful.

 

Special thanks to a few inspiring folks.

http://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-worst-thing-in-world.html

and

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6osiBvQ-RRg

 

 





She Means Well.

2 08 2012

Yesterday I was sitting down having my coffee in the new house. My mother sits across from me with her ipad up. And starts interrupting the Tom Waits interview that was almost over.  I have little memory of what it was that she said. Just that I paused the interview. Actually I have little memory of what was said in the interview, more that Heath Ledger must have watched it in preparation for playing the Joker. Which hey, that’s sweet, and then he gets to do his last movie with Tom which is even sweeter.

My mother sits across from me drinking her iced tea. She then starts talking about the chick-fil-a pres, and the horrible things that he said about homosexuality. By that I mean “God’s Judgement”  for bringing equality to people. Some people think that it will be a slippery slope (logical fallacy) to allowing polygamy to be legal. Which Honestly probably should be legal as well. If its legal there would be less likely that people would feel the need to start compounds and be all sketchy with the young ones, and  help prevent incest. Maybe. But I digress this is not the conversation that we had.

“Were you the one who told me that the Mayor of Boston refused to have chick-fil-a in boston until they changed their policy on same sex marriage?”

Maybe- probably not, I tend to avoid bringing up the subjects of sex, sexuality, religion, my past, marriage rights, politics, foreign affairs, when speaking with any member of my family. In fact I do my best to make sure that basically everything I post on my facebook is invisible to them.

Then she started saying something defending his right to say that, which he does have that right under the 1st amendment. And I recognize this, but every one who is upset, also has that right to express their unhappiness towards the situation. And the Mayor of Boston in my opinion is right to protest Chick-fil-a, Boston is a very PRIDEful city after all, and I’m proud to live in it.

I told my mom, before saying any of that, that we should probably stop talking about this subject, and she said okay. Then in the next breath says, “But…”

She pushed me… and the words came tumbling out. My mother is so wrapped up in Jesus and the Bible that those are basically the only words she knows. It may sound like she is talking about different things, but if you listen closely you’ll hear her alternate between Jesus, jesus, jesus, bible, bible, the bible, god god god god.

I started voice recording the conversation after she started talking about the devil ruling the world, being its “prince” She used quote fingers, not me. (though I do use quote fingers, shame, I know)

I started asking her questions just to understand what she believes. And she never definitively said that she didn’t think that homosexuality is natural. But she did say that our brains have been affected by sin, and that homosexuality was a sin. She said that she didn’t believe that each baby was stitched together in the womb, because, why then do we have blind babies, deaf babies, MR, and on and on. Good job mom, compare homosexuality to being deaf, blind, and an idiot- Oh and palsy. My mother’s solution to the existential crisis, and evil is: SIN! Its all because of sin, and that simplistic answer is good enough for her. Maybe that was mean to call my mother simplistic. Let me look it up real fast…. nope sounds just like my mother.

The conversation turned from homosexuality to biblical interpretation. Then it turned into me. I said something like, ” The kind of relationship you are describing having with god sounds awfully codependent and abusive.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I guess that was my tell. But she still misinterpreted it. “I’m sorry L, I’m sorry for what happened to you, I’m sorry you’re so angry with god, that you blame god, but God didn’t do those things to you. I’m sorry you didn’t listen when your father and I told you two to wait to get married.”

“I don’t blame God” (because I can’t blame a god I don’t believe in.) What I really wanted to say was, You need to leave, now, because for her to play the I told you so card… ohhh I do not know how I did not explode at her. I think that the POWER group must really have worked a lot, because that shit, is not cool.

Then she starts to cry and say that it doesn’t just stop at you. Your parents weep, I weep, your father weeps, God weeps. There was a tiny bit of tenderness towards her with her big brown eyes filled with tears. But then its hard to forget the words she said only minutes before.

Then she said, ” I wish you had pressed charges, I don’t understand why you didn’t press charges”

I told her I didn’t understand what had happened to me until much later. And she said well you still could have pressed charges. But there wouldn’t have been any evidence. But he would have a red flag, she says. And so would I. No, why would you? Because mother, there is no scientific evidence, there is nothing but his word against mine. (Also HELLLOOO that would bring him back into my life in a really unpleasant way, and the fucking family would get involved)

They blame the victim in most rape cases. They wouldn’t blame you… when have people blamed the victim? (My mother, so out of touch on some things) I list Kobe Bryant, ( Even if she wasn’t raped, he photo was released AND her number), That French diplomat and the Maid, that lets be honest, he probably did everything she said he did. And I don’t know how many more.

But what she didn’t realize. She had ALREADY blamed me. Not on purpose. But because being in the right is soo very important to both her and my father and I understand that living with my father, the expert can cause even the most zen person to crave a need to be right on SOMETHING but at what cost? That’s the thing my mother, nor my father understand. That being in the “right” isn’t always worth the cost. That’s why I haven’t brought up the fact, that by her saying, ” I’m sorry that you didn’t listen when…” is essentially saying, I told you soI foresaw this, this is what happens when you don’t listen to your parents.

The pain I have from those words, that’s the kind of pain I had, longing to tell my mother, just to talk to her ask for her advice, before things got so bad, that Christmas that she now claims, ” I could tell something was wrong, you were like a different person”

That October she had told me, ” You’re a woman now, and marriage isn’t easy”

I know she didn’t know.

I know she didn’t understand.

But then how can she say “I told you so!” ?





Men seeking Women

28 01 2012

Preparation: Have a fake email. And maybe a glass of wine, gin, or whiskey. (depending on mood)

Step 1. Only look for the ones with pictures.

Step 2. Don’t take anything personally.

Step 3. Expand your parameters if no one with photos strikes your fancy to those with specific desires.

Step 4. Email at will

Step 5. Drink more.

Step 6. expand search while waiting for response to all personals

Step 7. Touch self to any and all photos…well the ones that you wish you were touching in person.

Step 8. Be sure to have plenty of no face nudes to share.

Step 9. Try to get them to meet.

Step 10. Realize that you don’t actually want to meet any one of these assholes because you’re just curing boredom.

(Also usually they chicken out.)

Sleep.





Late Start

18 11 2011

Got a late start yesterday, but early by comparison to plenty of recent past days. Sure I was two hours late to my three hour class, but I got there. And that was an accomplishment in and of it self.

“You’re strong”

I don’t feel strong.

“You really are. Its understandable that you’re angry, you’ve had several people treat you really horribly.”

These are the words from my therapist. I freaked out because I gave him my, “Summit Abyss” entry and he told me that I should go to BAARC which I should, but at first I felt like I was being rejected by my counselor. Like he was basically telling me that I was too fucked up for him to handle. He didn’t know what to say to me any more.

This was not the case. While he might feel inadequate as the only source of therapy, he really just meant that I needed more than he alone could give. And he made that very clear.  Which was wonderful because my last counselor I had, the Jesusy one, after I was like “I was raped by my husband (the one we did marriage counseling with back in the day), oh and that stranger…” he was like, “Whelp, that sucks…go here!”

Not, actually but that is what it felt like.

I have a pyscho-pharmacology appointment with BIT on Tuesday,  I keep telling myself It will work out. And one day I won’t need medication. One day I’ll have the self discipline to maintain my mental health.

I am working towards that day.

Everything. Will. Be. Okay.