Broken wings

She felt like a child still in so many ways…wondering why the world always seemed to roughly push against her when she tried to stand up for herself and expect to be treated like an equally important member of society…  It was so uncomfortable to stand up for herself against anyone for any reason at all and the slightest resistance or push back and she just crumbled…feeling more and more weak and pathetic. She often wondered why she was so easy to knock down?

As a child, she hadn’t been permitted the luxury of finding her own way, questioning authority, having opinions, or expressing  any type of individuality.  These things simply had not been permitted or tolerated in any form.  What evolved from this was a fearful person; one who fit smoothly into the world and so many lives of others merely because she wasn’t equipped with a backbone to go against the grain, much less, stand up for herself.  Although it sometimes seemed to her that she’d been born without a back bone, a genetic deformity of sorts, logically she understood her mother had removed it entirely over a slow and degrading 17-year-long process. A few times when it seemed  one might be trying to develop in her, it was quickly squashed and eliminated.  One did not question adults, either respectfully or otherwise.  No questions whatsoever.  One liked whatever one was given, one liked what other people liked if one wanted to BE liked or ever hope of being loved.   Always just smile and go along with it.  This made her an easy target for all types of abuse and manipulation. 

So at 5, she didn’t question the teenage boy who insisted she go into his bedroom with him every day.  She didn’t question the other babysitter either, an even older teenage girl  who manipulated her even further.  She didn’t question the elementary school janitor who groped beneath her panties after school.  They were so much older and she desperately wanted to be a “good girl”.  She wanted to be liked and thought well of and maybe if she was ever good enough, someone would come along who could love her.  And anyway, she learned from a very early age that if you didn’t like something, you’d better keep your mouth shut and pretend to or it promised to get far worse.  Plus, she didn’t want to be the fussy, problem child.   God forbid she be an insolent, precocious type child who disgusted the adults with sass or youthful curiosity! She longed for love and acceptance..ached for it actually from her earliest memory on…  Thus, she never questioned or argued, never pushed back against any type of authority…no matter how uncomfortable or wrong it felt.  She didn’t suffer from a lack of identity, inner strength, or sense of righteous indignation, she simply never was permitted to develop any from the beginning.  She was always a chameleon, learning to quickly change colors and quietly blend in with whatever color seemed safest in any given circumstance or moment.  Somewhere buried inside her was envy of those people and children who had no trouble speaking their minds or pushing back against an authority figure if they did something which seemed wrong.  She envied them the security that came from knowing if they just did the right thing for themselves, someone bigger and more powerful would be there to support and protect them.

Ironically, the catch-22  started hitting her early.   She was so hungry for love and affection, any type of acceptance would be welcomed. This must have been obvious and she was often treated cruelly by her peers or friends.  She early on became the common door mat for many to wipe their frustrations and insecurities.  When she was hurt and tried to  discuss this with her mother, desperate for some consolation, compassion and perhaps even just a little sense of support,  mother would yell at her for letting people treat her badly.  This was always so confusing! She wasn’t supposed to expect better, much less demand anything better, right?  Be quiet and content with what you have, or else…it will only get worse.  All she knew for certain is she wanted to feel loved and had to be quietly unassuming and accepting so it  would not get even worse.  

After she left mother’s home and had her very first official boyfriend, she soon realized she had attracted a violent man.  A Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type man who worshipped and adored her more than she’d ever experienced before, but also would get very angry if she upset him intentionally or otherwise.  This was especially hard for her to handle with any self-respect.  There was the back-bone issue of course, mixed with the open affection and love that flowed freely in moments when her boyfriend wasn’t angry with her.  She knew she wanted more of that, in fact she felt a bottomless pit of need for this love.  How could she walk away from the first person who loved her enough to defend her to others, even if he did physically attack her himself?  At least he didn’t allow anyone else treat her badly.  He loved her most of the time and at least this way the cruelty only came from one person, instead of several.  This was better than anything she had ever known before!

After a few years of his random and violent beatings she realized she must escape soon when he started openly threatening her life if she tried to leave.  She turned to her mother for help… scared and begging for a place of refuge.  Mother said, “You’ve let him treat you like this for years now…so you deserve what he dishes out. You must like it to have stayed so long.  Give it a few years and then if I can believe that you’re really not going to go back to him again, maybe I will help you at that point.” 

Give it a few years?   He had recently forced her into his car and kidnapped her for an afternoon and another time recently had threatened her with a gun.  She never once called the police on him (not wanting to get him in any trouble), and when concerned neighbors would hear and called the police, they never helped.  In spite of her obvious busted lips and bloody noses, they would always say something like, “You two need to separate for a while and work this out on your own.” 

Dad would take one look at her black and swollen eyes and say, “Honey, what did you do?  You know how sassy you can be…you must have said or done something to really set him off this time.  You have to learn to watch your mouth, girl.”

Give it a few years?  The violence was escalating amazingly fast.  She had no where safe to run and she didn’t believe she would last another few years.

In this desperation, she did what she had to do to get free and after a few years of counseling later in life, she realized that mother hadn’t allowed her to have a backbone or to develop any self-respect and then punished and criticized her further for being “weak”.   No one was ever going to stand up for her and she didn’t have the strength or self-confidence to ever stand up for herself, she wanted to be loved too much to ever take that chance.  It was a no-win situation.  She was the world’s punching bag, literally and figuratively… and she could never lose the fear that if she didn’t learn to accept this, it could always get worse.

With this innate sense of constant fear and drastic lack of self-respect or entitlement, she set out in life, mostly hoping not to be noticed much and praying someone safe someday would.

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Warning: this post rated “R” for inappropriate language and (possible) violent tendencies

What the FUCK is WRONG with this idiot world???  Is the ENTIRE freaking world on the offense-as-a-defense team?  And how in the HELL did I get on the other team anyway?  Why in the FUCK am I on the “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you”/Golden Fucking Rule Team when every other person in this sick twisted world is on the “Fuck You Before You Even Get The Chance To Fuck Me” team????

I’m hating my kindergarten teacher for ever teaching me the Golden Rule!  I clearly bought into that literally and signed up for that losing team before I had any fucking clue what the hell I was doing or what it takes to come out “ahead” in this world.  When the smart people apparently just took that as advice on how to get a “Kick Me”  bullseye on their back and declined, waiting for a better offer…I was pinning it right on my damned self. And dammit, I can’t switch teams now, it’s too late.  That stupid rule is ingrained into the very fiber of my character…. the bullseye is obviously in permanent tattoo on my forehead as well as the “Kick Me” sign has been sewn into every article of clothing I will ever own…just for good measure.  That way, the Fuck You First team can catch me whether I’m coming OR going….  What the FUCK??????!!!??? 

Yes, I’m having a Michael Douglas Falling Down moment here…I just wish I had the guts and fuck-it attitude he had in that movie as well, then instead of whining about the mean screwed up people in this world, I could actually take revenge and do something about it…  Why am I such a Polly Anna Do Good spineless creature anyway?  I don’t want to be a dolphin anymore dammit…I want to be a vicious SHARK on the offensive Fuck You! team.

Wish I could swear a bit more just for the sake of swearing, but I’m already worrying that my swearing here might have been offensive to some undeserved soul who happens upon my blog today…

I want to spread peace, love and rainbows….but FUCK IT….

….at least for today.

Sleeping with the enemy

You were a vampire from the start

feeding on my innocence

I was desperate for faith

It was easy for you to lead me to trust

You – the enemy.

This rape, your rape, is within the law

A selfish persistent rape of my heart

Which your lack of conscience helps you deny

You’re good like that

I am not.

I have no blanket of emotion-less steel

to protect either my heart or my reactions.  

I was not trained to respond quietly

While being repeatedly raped

As you smile and tell me I am not.

I am raw and simple when I feel danger

I scratch and push. I yell and scream.

Yes, I fight like a girl to protect myself from

The cruel cold pain you use to slice my heart

To shreds

As you feel nothing but twisted desire

I don’t have the deceitful

Mechanisms you employ to protect yourself

And use people to get what you need.

I haven’t allowed the world or you to instill these in me

I don’t have the greedy selfish coldness you have

I fight against it.

I do not want it.

Not even with quiet predators like you.

You will kill me someday,

In the only way you haven’t already.

I will be dead and you’ll

merely move on to the next hunt.

…never satisfied.

The filthy stain on my heart

little girl

 

You know that I am quite small and my heart is big.  The only thing larger might be my  conscience and sense of guilt and responsibility.  You may be bigger than I but I am much bigger than you on the inside.

You dangle forgiveness in front of my nose so closely that I can smell its invigorating scent; almost tasting its saving grace…  But you do not let me hold it except brief moments when you drop it unexpectedly in my lap like a prize from a carnival game.  Overwhelming me with its presence and as I slowly realize it is right there, you snatch it away…running off while tossing insults at me about things you don’t even know.  Please keep your insults to what is real and fact, although I understand at this point you know very little about me and understand even less.  It must be challenging to find valid insults.  Your brief glimpses at me do not expose many of my faults, but they are there.  I am not hiding them and I am not ashamed.  I no longer chase the elusive forgiveness you dangle.  I know it is merely a tool you use to torture me, like mother dangling a moment of freedom in my face before  locking the door and tossing away the key. 

I do not want your forgiveness.  I do not need it.  I am forgiven.  I Am the forgiven.  You do not hold the power of forgiveness any more. You never did.  That was an illusion I had in the chaos of love and mistakes.  I can’t know if I see clearly now, but I do know that my eyes are starting to open and see you for what you are.  It’s so ugly it’s painful to see and it rips at my memories, creating questions of their validity.  You may be satan’s helper.  You may be the devil’s essence itself.  I may not ever know, but I know you are ugly through and through and in the presence of beauty you lost yourself and hungrily grasped at the only source of power you might ever have the chance to hold over it.

That is ugly.  You are ugly.   I leave you to dwell in the misery of your own making.  Get drunk and forget yourself.  Have sex with hundreds of unsuspecting victims or vixens in their own right.  I do not care.  Just go away.  Every time you come near, your sickness leaves a filthy stain on  my heart that takes months to scrub clean.  Stay away.  Do whatever you have to do.  Just do it somewhere else.

Thoughts and pieces

How could I ever prepare for an absence the size of you?

I came across this quote from a poem today.  Don’t know the author for certain, so I can’t give credit where it’s due.  Apologies.

I’ve been unable to write much.  The scattered pieces of my pain have finally collaborated in their separation, grown massive,  and I seem to be unable to piece them together into organized words.  I think I almost hate you for that.

Right there was everything.  You said so yourself, unless you were lying even then.  You entered paradise, filled with exotic flowers of passion, sunlight of devotion and love unencompassed, meadows of abundance and the rubbery resillience of hope. Raping the land of love like a vicious sociopath.  And I hate you for taking everything and leaving nothing. You were a greedy monster and I was the hopeful fool.  Could you not have left something?  A broken stem, a withered petal, a tiny thread of light?  Ahhhhh, but you did…and that was the cruelest of all.  It was with that which you killed me.  True to your delightful “new” character of bitterness, you left only enough rope for me to hang myself with.  And I wonder if you were you smart enough to know what you were doing?  Today, I have to tell myself you were.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell myself that too.

Should hope sustain us?  Hope is the enemy.  As long as you have hope, there’s still something left to be taken.  Hope lives in the soul and can’t be taken without a fierce fight; not without taking parts of the vessel which contains it, as you clutched and clung, grasped and lied.  The only peace is when there’s nothing left.  As long as I want for peace, I am still wanting and cannot have peace.  To reach that place where you’ve nothing left inside, but if you’ve nothing left inside, how does one continue?  There must be something in there or I would be physically dead as well.

I’d better go count my blessings.  I’ve fallen in the pit of apathy and self pity.  Yuk!  It’s horrendous in here….  Let me out!!

 

30.5

I shouldn’t have been so hateful in my messages.  Yet, there was nothing truly hateful in them from the aspect he gave the situation.  The messages responded appropriately to his hardened words and actions.  If he feels nothing, then there’s no such thing as a hateful or hurtful response.

IC response:  30.5. -> 13:  Tears and lamenting.  I guess the messages did hurt him, in spite of the cold and nonchalant exterior he demonstrated prior.  I am sorry…  Or am I?  No, I definitely am. 

Interesting interp of the fan yao: 13.5:

13.5: ” Men bound in friendship first weep and lament,
But afterward they laugh.
After great struggles they succeed in meeting.

Two people are outwardly separated but in their hearts the are united. They are kept apart by their positions in life. Many difficulties and obstructions arise between them and cause them grief. But, remaining true to each other, they allow nothing to separate them, and although it costs them a severe struggle to overcome the obstacles, they will succeed. When they come together their sadness will change to joy.”
-Wilhelm

Reminds me of his last drunken visit on January 9.  Him: Do you not understand how much I love you?   Me: Please be quiet. You love only your friends, not me.  Him:  My friends don’t matter.  Me:  You are drunk… I can’t believe anything you say, remember?  Please just tell me a story about a little boy who lost his kite. 

Him: No, I’ve a better story.  Once there was a girl and a boy who loved each other deeply.  They were very happy together for a time, but then lots of people and things came in between them, but their love was so deep, nothing could stop it. (Insert drunken mumbling here.)

Me:  What?  What happened next?  Him:  (More drunken mumbling…blah, blah, blah, kitty?)  Me:  What happened?  They got a KITTY???  (I pounce on him here in excitement.)  Him:  No, they didn’t get a kitty.  Never mind. Me:  NO…what happened then?  They didn’t get a kitty?  Him: No, they didn’t.  I said they had a child together.

Me:  Ahhhhh….they have a kid.  Was it a little boy with dark hair, great big green eyes and a beautiful smile? Him:  I think it was…   Me:  And they named him David?   Him:  No, they don’t name him David.  I don’t like juniors.  I’d never name my son Dave.  Me:  Awww, I think they should’ve named him David.  I love the name David!  That’s a shame…and they really should have gotten a kitty!

More promises and proclamations of love, etc., etc., etc throughout the night…  Several days later:  I feel nothing for you.  We only have a strong sexual attraction.  Nothing else.  I don’t know why I say those things.  Probably because I’m drunk.  Okay….whatever… jack ass.  Cruel.