1 12 2015


I am the sobbing determined mess
struggling up that hill
The mountain cliff
With sun, sweat, and tears in my eyes
Blindly– I push forward
Hoping to see just for an instant
The view from the top, before I fall





And try once more,


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.


Why I hate Paul

30 01 2014

I hate Paul. Paul is in many ways one of the first Christian theologians. I know that he’s considered scripture and all, cannon what not. But, let’s be honest here, a hallucination is not walking around with the guy you claim is god. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not back on the Christian band wagon, I’m merely stating that other people that are in the christian canon have a better claim to the words of christ, and god’s will and what not. 


I hate paul. I said that already, oh I’m sorry, but I’m going to make myself clear. I. HATE. PAUL. 

There are many, many reasons I hate Paul, but it wasn’t until recently that I had an epiphany as to why. 

It’s pretty simple really. That verse Philippians 2:3 “Do not act out of selfish ambition or conceit, but with humility think of others as being better than yourselves. ” NIV, not that any of the other versions are better, they’re all a pretty shitty concept, really. 

Here’s the thing. That verse, was POUNDED into my head, it was in the very core of my being. And I do not doubt that there was some infinitesimal amount that did have a positive effect, maybe. BUT. Consider this: if one grows up in an abusive environment, and is told by the one who is the source of terror, that you should consider other’s better than yourself. Others would include the one who causes terror. The abuser. 

So, my dear friends, imagine then, how it is that you feel about yourself, when you realize logically (considering the situation) you are therefore, worse than those who cause you fear. You are worse than the ones who make you afraid that they might harm you, your pets, or others out of blinded rage, a rage which you have no idea what will set it off. 

So if that person is better than you. What does that make you?  

And I wondered why for so long I had no self worth. 

Abuse: a guide

11 12 2013

Abuse is owning some one. Abuse is doing whatever you want with some one or getting them to do it.

For this to happen here are some helpful tips:

Tear that person down constantly. Dash their hopes, belittle them, poke holes in their beliefs, tell them how their good qualities are their flaws

Then, put them on a pedestal. Tell them that their perfect, that you couldn’t live life with out them, tell them that you have all the power, that you can make any one do anything if you really wanted, all you had to do was open your legs. Tell them that you can’t help yourself around them. Tell them that they saved you.

Then, tell them that they’re too needy. Tell them that they don’t really have any friends, that their friends only hang out with them because you’re there. Tell them that you don’t even really care about those friends because you can just toy with them.  Tell them that you make all the money.

Tell them that it’s their fault that you’re peeing on their clothes, while  you were drunk. And then laugh about it later.

When they get angry tell them, remind them, that no one else would have waited as long. That you aren’t worth the wait. Remind them that all those other people would have left long before if they hadn’t gotten to fuck you. Remind them how that makes you such a good person.

The trick is to make that person an object. Strip them down till nothing exists except what you say exists. You have rolled them out, forged the cookie cutter, and pressed down. Now you have your perfectly shaped customized abuse toy.

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.


8 02 2013

So over the weekend, M and I had our first real argument borderline fight.

Last Friday night right before we went to bed I said something stupid. Something that I think I have a legitimate reason to run over and over in my head, but then never say out loud, because its my scumbag brain that needs to unlearn some things.

Here’s what I asked, “Could you do me a favor? Could you introduce me as L, my girlfriend, instead of my girlfriend, L”

To me(scumbag brain that needs to learn that I’m not in an abusive relationship anymore) the whole girlfriend before name thing was literally putting my identity behind my being M’s girlfriend. EVEN THOUGH, he has done nothing and I do mean NOTHING to suggest that he thinks he’s better than me automatically because he’s a man.

But you see here’s the thing my stupid brain hears/sees/feels/remembers initially with that kind of repetition (I seemed to have been getting introduced a bunch as of late)

So, first off. When I was in middle school, I was sexually harassed EVERY. SINGLE.DAY. And GROPED. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. So much so people stopped using my name, and simply referred to me as my ass. No joke. It was rather dehumanizing. I did not matter, only my ass. What a horrible feeling for anyone, but especially a person who’s at the stage in their life where they’re learning who they are.

Then, enter ex-husband, who at the start of our marriage referred to me as the wife or wife actually in a fairly possessive way, and used my name, less and less. And by the end of our marriage just referred to me as bitch. And then in our separation, bitch, whore, cunt, all of those were very common.

There are other things too, but really that’s enough for my brain to freak out now just for being in a relationship/opening up to some one emotionally and sexually. And there’s this part of me that is in full belief that everything will turn to shit, and I’m going to be the one getting hurt again. And I’m not sure how much more hurt I can handle. But at the same time, I also don’t think that I could ever put myself in any situation that would let me be as badly hurt as I was with my ex or that stranger.

Any way, I KNOW that M is different. Very different from anyone I’ve ever been with and most people I’ve met. But my stupid brain hasn’t unlearned that not every relationship is an abusive one. And so there is sabotage about. And before I had really stopped letting this all spin about in my head, and realize that I’m triggered and acting from a point of being triggered out, I spoke those words.

He said he could do that, but then pointed out that I was the one that had specifically brought up, “What do we call each other conversation.” And once we started talking I realized that I had listened to my victim part of myself triggered self, and not really me. Not the me that knows M, and knows how much he cares for me. And I apologized profusely, but the seed was there for the epic shit show that was the next night.


We both had, had really super shitty days, and went and got food to take to my house and make dinner. I had forgotten that one of my roommates had said that he was going to have a few old buddies over. Well I thought that he meant like two or three at most. Not what was it, four? five? Anyway, doesn’t matter, what does matter is that they got very drunk very quickly and one in particularly large in stature dude grew to be an even bigger asshole.

He quickly got black marked by me, by trying to explain to me that I don’t know how to cook because I didn’t know what a BTU was and some how more importantly that I didn’t know the difference of BTU’s for a gas stove vs. an electric. I told him, that I knew that gas burned faster, and that I knew how to cook, and then wait a minute I don’t have to explain or defend myself to you, I don’t KNOW you and YOU SIR, DO NOT KNOW ME. And then proceeded to start making cookies.

M, was very uncomfortable, this guy was very big, loud, and domineering.  I went into my dissociative survival mode and fixated on making these cookies that we had talked about making for a few weeks now. Actually this was the entire reason I wanted to go to my house versus M’s because I have a stand mixer. I did my best to ignore basically everything, looking up ever so often to see M, talking and or laughing about something, I thought he was having a better time than I was expecting. Little did I know that he was just putting on a good show. He sure fooled me. I mean, eventually neither of us could keep it up and we went up stairs to my room. And I asked him if he wanted to leave and go back to his house (which I had actually asked him a few times before we started cooking) And when we finally did decide to leave, we were packing up in my room, and it was revealed just how long he had been keeping face.

He vented on for a few minutes about how the same societal norms and stereotypes are forced upon men that are forced about women. Obvs he didn’t mean the exact same, but there are still these roles that men are “supposed to” fall into, which M, does not. (A good part of why I like him so much) And he was upset, about what I had said the night before, and why was because he felt that I was calling him that dick that was downstairs. I immediately felt horrible that something I had said had caused him so much pain. I told him again that I didn’t mean it in that way and that he was completely right that he had never done anything to indicate any of those things. And I just felt worse and worse and I tried to explain about my stupid scumbag brain that didn’t understand that I wasn’t in those situations anymore. But it wasn’t helping. I told him how wrong I was, and how sorry I was.

But he was also angry with himself. Angry that he felt the need to placate people like that and that it was best to do his best to fit in until he could get out of there. I told him to say fuck those people, if they didn’t like him for who he was, and that he should be proud of who he is, because he was so awesome and different and well spoken, and smart, caring, and just such a good person. And besides, I liked him for who he was, and if he was anything like that guy, I wouldn’t have looked at him twice.

I mean seriously, my biggest, and possibly only disappointment with M so far is that he doesn’t like massages.

Anyway, we made up, it was tense for a minute, but we did make up.

But there’s still that stupid stupid brain in my head that’s now whispering, “I told you so”. Because we had a squabble. One squabble.  And I’m doing my best not to listen to it. But man does it make me anxious.

But hey, I’m still not running away screaming, so that’s progress.


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.