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Trust January 15, 2008

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Depression, doubts, lies, spousal abuse, Trust.

Today is a very low day for me. I don’t even know what to say, or how to put it in words.

My husband is lying to me. I know it and I believe he knows that I know… and it is going to be ugly tonight when I go home. I have a couple choices to make.

1.) I can confront him and let him “explain” his actions and lies. He will then proceed to twist this all around and make me the bad person. He will bring up anything and everything that he has ever thought I have done wrong. (mostly imaginary stuff that he saves for repeated arguments) You know, that I have cheated on him, which is a complete lie. Or, that I have been spending money behind his back, again a complete lie.

He will accuse me of looking at the neighbor in a provocative manner. He will bring up a guy I was dating years ago when the two of us first met. He will accuse me of sleeping with co-workers.

Basically, when he is thru trashing me, I will want to die. At this point it is not much of a push to bring me to that point anyway. As it now stands, I am not self harming directly… What I am doing instead is making myself available to harm by others. I have stopped locking the office building when I am here by myself. I no longer lock my car doors or even wear a seat belt. The house is basically left wide open.

I purposely antagonise people who piss me off hoping one of them will just ‘do something.’

Fuck, I just don’t care.

Back to my husband…

My other choice is to put my crappy fake smile on and again ACT like everything is ok. Pretend that I am oblivious to his lies and wait for another manic wave to lift me out of the shit hole in which I am now dwelling.  

I don’t drink often… but, tonight I am going home and getting plowed

Ha, I just looked at the title that I picked and realized that I was going to write about something completely different.

I suppose I could add: I don’t trust him! (now the title does not need to be changed)

Protective Coating January 2, 2008

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Depression, doubts, Pain, spousal abuse, Trust.
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He scratched thru the layers of protective coating in which I surround myself. The protective coating which stops me from feeling the pain and vulnerability.

So many times I have been hurt, that I developed a special shell to block out the pain. In so doing, I have become numb to many feelings. But, it makes it so much easier to put on the false smile and say, “Yes Sir” “No Sir” What can I do for you?”

Very rote, but very safe.  I am no longer me, but I am no longer in pain.


Ya win some, ya lose some.

Well… Monday night he scratched thru the layers leaving me so very vulnerable. Let me retrace and see if any of this makes sense in writing.

A few years back I made a mistake. Innocent thinking on my part, but no excuse to him. His younger brother had been over the day before and left a few things at our house. On this day, Jeff was at work and I was home by myself, cleaning… basically puttering around, kind of a lazy day. His brother knocked on the door and asked to come in and get his things. This seemed innocent enough to me. Growing up, our home had an open door policy. Friends, family and neighbors came and went at will. We were very trusting.

Anyway, his brother got his things and left. I went back to cleaning, thinking nothing of the event. That evening when my hubby came home, he walked right up to me and punched me in the face. He then proceeded to beat me, while cursing me for being a slut. I remember begging him to stop, and then begging God to let me die.

The next morning he told me that if I ever let another man into our home again he would kill me. Later he told me that his brother said I answered the door in a sexy nightie and ‘came on’ to him.

I think the pain of him believing his brother over me was worse than the black eye and bruised ribs.  

Trust is a major part of my life. I have learned to trust no one fully. I trust different people on different levels. And my Dad is the closest I will ever come to full trust. However, I am afraid to open up to him and have him think less of me. Crazy web I am tangled in.

Back to my brother-in-law ~ That was the first time in which he lied and I paid the price. On the second occasion, he stole something from my husband’s truck. Jeff was giving him a ride home and stopped for gas. When Jeff was inside paying, his brother removed the item from the glove compartment.

A couple days later my hubby asked if I had seen the missing item. Immediately I thought of his no-good brother and asked if he might have taken it. Jeff asked his brother, who promptly told him that I had given him the item. Without allowing me to defend the lie, Jeff came home and knocked me silly. This time I stood my ground and insisted we both go confront his brother. When asked again, with me in the same room, his brother admitted he had taken the item. Jeff then punched him and told me he would never have anything to do with his worthless brother again.

Over the next couple years I developed an intense hatred for that man. Anytime his name came up in a conversation I became ill. Slowly Jeff let him right back into his life (they are brothers after all… bs)

Fast forward to last week ~ His brother had called a couple of times, once to tell us that they had moved into our neighborhood. (SHIT) Another time to ask is he could make a few dollars washing my car. (HELL NO!) Then on New Year’s Eve he calls and talks with Jeff on the two-way radio. Hearing his actual voice made me nauseous and I got up and left the room.

The remainder of the night my emotions flipped back and forth between anger and pain. I felt like my husband had betrayed me by once again opening his arms to his brother.

Yesterday I could not take it any longer. His betrayal had broken thru the protective coating. I had to confront my husband, and ask him to at least make certain that I was not in the room when he is talking with his brother. He wanted to know why.

WHY? WHY? WHY? Why didn’t he already know the answer? Why was he making me tell him again? How could he forget?

He then told me that if my feelings were so strong against his brother, there must have been a lot more between the two of us and I needed to come clean. I became hysterical, shrieking at him. The pain was so acute that I could not stop until I was drained of energy.

This is all bizarre for me because I am very passive. I am so good about hiding my feelings. I do not crack…

Which brings me to today ~ Today I am about as low as I have felt in my life. I don’t feel suicidal. I just feel empty.

Slowly, I will repair the protective coating. Each time I rebuild my shell, it becomes thicker and tougher to penetrate. Perhaps one day, it will just be me… for I will have succeeded in forcing everyone else out.  


What is really screwed up about my thought process ~ I am full of hatred for his brother for the lies, but not mad at my husband for hitting me. I am hurt that my hubby does not trust me enough to believe me over that piece of shit. Why am I not mad at him for what he does to me? Why do I need him to believe in me? This crap is so messed up. Why does my heart break every time I think of losing him? Why do I care?

SO and other Things- 2nd try December 28, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Discipline, doubts, Music, Random thoughts, Sensory Overload, sexual abuse, Trust.
Counting flowers on the wall,
That don’t bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do.

How appropriately nuts to put Pulp Fiction together with this song. My mind is zinging around like an errant ping-pong ball. My thought process is leading me from one topic matter to the next with no bridges in between.
Driving in to the office I was thinking about an email from Scott. He stated his favorite song and group. I wanted to send him back an email with my favorites… but came up empty. I love music, I really do. But, I could not think of a single song that I could call a favorite. While thinking back over the MANY Cd’s that I own, the crazy song jumped into my head. I had to laugh because it is often on the tip of my tongue. Which is odd because it has never been considered a favorite by any measure.
But I did come up with a song that I am very fond of at the moment. “The Reason” by Hoobastank. My son bought the Cd for me.I also enjoy “Right to be Wrong” by Joss Stone
I just don’t listen to music very often anymore. I suffer from periods of Sensory Overload. Many songs with repetitive lyrics and or beats drive me batty. I become so annoyed with the repetition that I am no longer listening to the song itself.
Sometimes it is a combination of outside distractions, a clutter on my desk, a book out of place, a piece of thread on the carpet… all throwing my mind into turmoil. Add to that the noise from a television or a radio and I cannot put together a concise thought.

So, unfortunately, I seldom listen to music anymore unless I have Cds playing in the background while cleaning the house.

Yesterday I was waiting in line at the Post Office. There were about 15 people in line, all chatting either on their cell phones or with others in line. The chatter was in several different languages and I almost went bonkers. I could feel a panic attack coming on. Thankfully the Post Master noticed that I was only in line to pick up a package and he waved me to the front.

I have only had a few episodes in which the overload became too much and I felt as if I were losing control. The other times were in busy restaurants. I wish I knew how to tune out the distractions. It is a scary feeling when the room begins to swim around me. The noise rising to a deafening level, but none of it making any sense.

This does not happen every time I am in loud crowded areas. Monday I was at the Chargers football game. The stadium was packed and the fans were crazed. I loved every minute of the event. I screamed and cheered along with the 68,000 in attendance, never once feeling overwhelmed.

Changing Channels: (or new topic)  My flight back from San Diego, CA to Houston, TX was 4 hours of HELL.

Before I begin, let me just say that I love children. I enjoy getting down on the floor and playing with them on their level. I take great pride in my ability to construct an awesome building block fort! My three year old nephew with his imaginary friend are two of my best buddies to hang out with. The honesty of a young child is refreshing. Rediscovering everything thru their eyes is almost like experiencing it for the first time all over again.

That being said – I was ready to hand a parachute to the four year old seated behind me and give her a gentle nudge out the window. Parents who have absolutely no control over their children should not force the rest of us to endure their crap.

I was subjected to four hours of the little chit kicking the back of my seat; a minimum of three hours of screaming tantrums, and to top it off the little ‘Princess’ pooped her pants about mid-flight.

When her mommy asked her why she did not get up and use the restroom, the young girl defiantly stated, “Because I don’t want to be here!”

Well Hell Fire, I don’t want you to be here either, but I am not going to poop my pants in protest.

Her mommy told the little ‘stinker-butt’ that she would have to just sit in ‘it’ until they landed. OMG she was going to make all of us suffer to prove a point. Lady, you and your daughter can both grab a parachute and jump.  
I so badly wanted to stand up and tell the brat to Shut the Fuck Up! I think I could have been convincing enough to shock them both into silence. Alas, I just sat silently on and endured the repeated blows to the back of my seat. 

Another Channel Change: Parenting skills … via my Dad and Step-Mom ~ I adore my Dad. He has always been my rock. He is tough with his rules, yet fair. I did get a couple well deserved swats on the butt. yet, I never once felt anything but love from Dad. He is the type of person who commands respect when he walks into a room, yet everyone welcomes him with open arms. Dad loves people and people love Dad. 

In school I pushed hard with my studies, eager to see Dad’s smile and feel his hugs for a job well done. On the weekends I would be his shadow, following him from project to project. Handing him a wrench or a screwdriver as was needed for each job. 

On cold winter mornings, Dad would pick me up from my paper route and take me out for hot cocoa and a donut. It was our special time together.

… And then there was my Step-Mom (SM). She was by no means as evil as Cinderella’s Step-Mom, but neither was there any of the love which I so badly craved. I tried for years to please her, baking bread and cookies, setting the table, ironing, mopping floors. 

But, I cannot remember her ever smiling in my direction. Perhaps she was upset with the doting love my Dad showered upon me. In years past, I have wondered if Dad gave me extra hugs because he saw Mom’s lack of contact with me… Did his extra attention backfire causing her to push even further away from me? Maybe, I was exuding a subliminal resentment that kept her at bay.

I do remember many incidents in which she left me in tears. One being when I was 11 or 12 years of age. My best friend told me that she didn’t want to be my friend any longer. (this is traumatic news for a young girl) I went into the house in tears and told Mom what had happened. She began to laugh and said “nobody likes you, everybody hates you, why don’t you go eat worms?” 

She then turned back around and continued to prepare dinner. She might as well of slapped me across the face. The end result would have been the same, only this time the pain did not leave a mark on the outside.
I also think she knew about my step-bothers molesting me.  I often wonder if that was part of the reason for her barbs. Maybe she was afraid that I was going to tell. (I often wonder why I was too afraid to speak up) 

My  SM made me a couple soft flannel night shirts that she gave me for Christmas one year. They were fantastic. So warm and soft to sleep in during the harsh winters of Northern Wyoming. However they were not as sweet to sleep in in the hot stagnant air of the summer months.

Often times in the middle of the night, I would strip off my nightie and sleep in my panties between the sheets. On a couple different nights I was awakened by my SM and spanked for being indecent. What is so indecent about a 9 year old girl sleeping without a night shirt in her own bed in her own room? In a normal family I would like to think that little girls are safe and can sleep however they choose. 

My SM told me that I was dirty and I was asking for trouble. Yes, I think she knew.

I am relieved that I no longer need her love and approval. I don’t wish her harm, nor do I wish to spend another moment in her presence. 

Too bad I cannot send out an invitation for only my Dad to come visit. My life will crumble when it is Dad’s time to pass.  Alas, I hope I go before him. (selfish I know)    

Why I don’t share December 20, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Trust.
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Telling others about the shit in my life only gives them shit to throw back at me when they are mad. Besides family, he was the only person whom I opened up to. He was the ONLY PERSON in the entire world whom I trusted. The only person I told of the years of sexual abuse that I endured. He is the only person who knew my secret hiding place as a child. The place where I felt safe.

Now, he too is shut out.

On the outside I smile and joke with everyone. On the inside… I am not sure there is an inside anymore. Just jumbled up shards of broken me.

Shit, that sounds pathetic. My life is not that bad. Why do I insist on looking at it this way? Maybe I need to go back on the anti-depressants. I HATE THEM.

I keep telling myself that I can work thru this without help.

Can I?????????

I have not seen my doctor in over a year, have not taken meds in six months. (when my prescription ran out)

I don’t like people to ask me questions. The doctor will obviously ask me things that I don’t wan to answer and I will most likely not tell him the truth. So, I see no reason to waste each other’s time.

For now…. I will just keep writing and see if anything begins to make any sense.

Side note* No desire to end it all… Sad part, I have no desire for anything. I could sit and stare at nothing all day long. I just don’t care right now. 

Sorting it Out December 19, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Pain, sexual abuse, Trust.

 I have yet to decide just how much of my past I am ready to share…

(I typed that first line three days ago and could go no further. I think today I am stronger and ready to proceed.)

The first memory of sexual abuse was when I was five. (I wrote a short post about it here) trying to let go  I told a couple people about my brother, but they were obviously skeptical.

I would like to say that it does not matter that they did not believe me. But, it does matter. Not so much the validation of the event, but that they now think I told them a lie.

It was not easy to open up, and then to have my painful past scrutinized… Well, I can’t deal with that. Dammit, I didn’t tell you because I needed sympathy. I told you because I needed you to understand where I was coming from.

Even though I have not been back to that place in more than 35 years, I could still take you to the very spot. Yes, this is the spot

3rd base dugout…

Some things, such as this are etched deep in my mind. They don’t always sit on the surface and hurt. In fact I seldom think about them. But, when I do push them to the front it is for a reason. Telling me I am full of shit, only does one thing. It closes all channels of communication between us.

(The person who needs to see this never will. But just maybe, someone else will think twice before slamming somone who has opened up and shared their pain.)

After that day I do not recall any abuse for some time. I am not saying that it never happened. I am just saying that IF it did occur, my brain put it somewhare deeper than I can reach.

… It will take more time before I can move on to the really bad stuff. I am going to do it though, because I have found that writing ‘stuff’ down and reading it 40-50 times, makes it so much less painful for me.

Trees December 13, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, hiding, Poetry, trees.
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by J. Daniel Beaudry

Tree, gather up my thoughts
like the clouds in your branches.
Draw up my soul
like the waters in your root.

In the arteries of your trunk
bring me together.
Through your leaves
breathe out the sky.


I love trees ~  their comforting branches which offered me a place to hide, while quietly I sat far above the eyes of those who were searching for me.

The wind whispering thru the leaves, softly telling me that I was safe.

Every year I plant trees, hoping they will grow tall and strong, one day to protect others in much the same way.

A Night of Pain December 12, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, Pain, spousal abuse.
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 (What does not kill us makes us stronger???)I have no idea what fueled his rage this time. Maybe I got on his case about drinking. Maybe I rolled my eyes at him. I cannot remember.

I could feel the slow boil building and I was growing more apprehensive. My mind raced, trying to think of things to say to calm him down. Everything I uttered must have come out ass-backwards. He was livid.

I tried to ignore him, hoping he would blow off steam, maybe break a few dishes and let it go. This seemed to make everything worse. Why was he so mad at me? I had been so careful … speeding thru traffic so that I would not be late… Cooking his favorite food… Smiling politely and asking about his day.

It did not matter… I knew he was going to hit me and I could only hope I could reason with him, so that it would not be as bad as last time.

He was yelling at me now. He wanted my car keys … and would not believe me when I told him that I gave them to him when I got home. I always handed them to him when I got home. It is his way of making sure I did not leave in the middle of the night.

He grabbed me by the throat and slammed my head into the wall. As I lay slumped on the floor, he began destroying the house. Screaming that he would find where I had hidden the keys. I wanted to help him find them so that he would stop screaming at me … but, I knew better than to move.

He broke first one than another chair over the dining room table, throwing the back of the second chair in my direction. A piece of the wood lodged in the wall above my head. And still, I did not dare move. I once made that mistake.

He picked up a third chair and slammed it into the table. This time the dining room table split in half. He moved on to the buffet … pulling all the drawers out and throwing them around the house. One hit me in the arm. I tried to keep from flinching as I knew it would draw more attention to me.

He came over and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me into the office. He threw me on the floor, wanting me to watch as he threw my computer on the floor. He yelled, “You want me to keep going? Where are your keys?”

I just shook my head no. Too afraid to speak. I don’t know how long it lasted, maybe only minutes. And then he pulled out his gun and held it to my head. I closed my eyes and prepared to die. I could feel the tears burning on my cheek, but did not want him to see them.  And then everything went black. I could hear him yelling and felt the sting of his boot in my ribs. But, I could not focus.

He had hit me pretty hard with the gun and my mind would not clear… So, I stayed in a limp pile on the floor and I fell asleep, hoping I would die.

Upon waking, I cried seeing the house. It had not been a dream as I had hoped. I remained still, listening for any sound to tell me he was in the house. Nothing. How long had I been sleeping? Where is he? My mind raced…

His gun was on the desk… Why did he leave it there? He is never careless with his gun. I did not hesitate. I grabbed the gun and ran to the big walk-in closet and hid. I was not going to let him kill me. Not tonight.

All night, I stayed crouched in the corner of the closet with blankets and boxes in front of me. My muscles ached, my head ached, and my heart ached.

Twice during the night, I held the gun to my head and tried to find the courage to pull the trigger. And I cried some more because I was too weak to do it. I despise my own weakness.

I thought about climbing out the window and running somewhere, anywhere. Yet, I stayed. Was it fear of him finding me or fear of being alone?

As morning came, I decided to face life … whatever that is.

Am I now stronger because of this? Maybe one day I will be… but for now, I am not

Comfort in Numbers? December 10, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, Pain.

They cry in the dark, so you can’t see their tears
They hide in the light, so you can’t see their fears
Forgive and forget, all the while
Love and pain become one and the same
In the eyes of a wounded child

Because Hell
Hell Is For Children
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess

Hell Is For Children
And you shouldn’t have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh

When I heard this Pat Benatar song in the early 80’s, I knew that someone out there understood. Part of the depression associated with abuse comes from feeling that you are all alone with your pain.

My Mom caught me singing this song and popped me in the mouth. But, I knew I was not alone. I knew that someone else must be going thru the same Hell. The words did not just leap into Pat’s head without a reason. There had to be others.

The song offered me a small bit of comfort, a power of sorts.  

Is it sick to find comfort in knowing that other children were also in pain?

Trying to let go December 7, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, Pain.
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Not a poem… just a random thought that I need to let go of… 

“Hold still and let me get them out of there!” the fat boy insisted as he poked at me with his stubby fingers.

I was so scared. His fingers were hurting me. How did I get snakes inside of me?

The two boys and my older brother were taking turns poking around at my privates. Probing, searching for snakes. The snakes that they said I had inside.

I was a frightened five year old girl, lying as still as possible on the bench in the baseball dugout.

I started to cry… “Go get Daddy. He can get them out of me.”

The boys looked scared which made me cry more. Then my brother explained to me that Mom and Dad would send me away if they knew that I had snakes in me. Only bad people get snakes.

So, I let them continue… and I tried to be brave. I tried not to cry.

Sometimes I hate my brother.