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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Spinning…spinning…spinning!

At last I can write – or I believe I can….  Typically, I write to process thoughts and mass confusion, as well as to ease the throbbing from the proverbial knife which stabs directly into my heart…and sits there…refusing to budge…

Seems D wasn’t as “gone” as I thought, as true to form, he has reappeared yet again…at the 6 month mark of his absence.  The “FOR SALE” sign no longer sits in his yard.  Its absence screams of something which didn’t quite work the way he had hoped…or another had hoped?  I will never know the story.  I can’t imagine I will ever ask..or learn the truth whatever it may be regardless, so I’ll not be asking!

Last Saturday, prior to any contact since June, I could not shake him from my thoughts.  His presence lingered everywhere and quite honestly was driving me mad.  Random glances at the driveway with the misplaced wondering of when is D coming home?  The chronic expectation that he would, should be arriving any moment was leaving me with the distinct feeling of mildly hysterical insanity.  “Of course he is not pulling in any moment, you FOOL!”, I consistently admonished my own thoughts.  My eldest could not shake him either and we both felt this quite odd and of course, unsettling in its random constancy.

When around 11 PM I received a text message, I still did not imagine for a moment it was him. As only 6 months ago I would have been certain it was.  And yet…..something in my gut told me….”Ahhh yes …THERE HE IS…” And yes, it was him!!  I had to look again and again to be sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me!  They were not..clear as day my phone announced “DK”.  My heart felt it would explode…my hands shook as I grabbed the phone…my head spun so fast I literally struggled to read the words.  Ohhhhh I sound so melodramatic!  And the most pathetic and embarrassing part of it all, is that if anything, I’m actually somewhat  undermining my strong, physical, mental, and emotional response to this tiny contact.

To cut to the chase and cease the temptation to provide every boring detail and subtle nuance of these text interaction that spanned a few hours’ time…  After some inner struggle and torturous indecision trying desperately to tell myself, “Absolutely not!  Under NO circumstances to you go to him damnit..NO! NO!  NOOOO!!!!”,  I went to him.

After taking me in fully in only a brief glance, he kissed me immediately…instantly…no moment of waiting or indecision on his part….or mine, in my response.  And this proved that our kiss was the same as every kiss.  In absolute mutual rhythm and complete understanding of the lip, mouth, heart, and character of the other side of this kiss.  Like an orchestra who hasn’t played together in so long and yet they pick up instantly as thought they hadn’t missed a single day of  practice… Our mouths met in perfect knowing rhythm, rhyme, and reason.  A tiny (oh-so-tiny!) part of my mind, hoped in that brief moment before the initial exchange, that we would be changed somehow and had lost this connection and I would feel (sadly) secure that what we have shared from our first kiss through every kiss of the past five years  would be altered beyond recognition.  No.

And I didn’t even proclaim any hesitation or feign any trepidation at succumbing to him.  Simple and silently clear as, “I want you still.”  Yes, I want you still, as well.   Like a drowning person finally gasping for that first gulp of delicious life-giving air, with zero embarrassment or cautionary thoughts, I gave myself yet again to the only man I have ever loved.

He spoke of his need for me..his desire…his daily fantasies of me through the past 6 months.  And I questioned nothing.  I know because I am him.  I am his every desire, his every fantasy of thought.  I am it every bit as much as he.  Logic had no place in this moment in time..nor did rationality.  Just the desperate satisfaction at finally being re-connected to my own personal oxygen supply.  I do realize that it likely and probable that no one is intended to love anyone or anything on this level, much less need them/it.  But after 6 months away from the source, I do not have the energy to carry on the farce that anything of the sort matters…or doesn’t make sense anymore…or hurts so badly later that I almost wish for death.  He spoke of needing me and spoke of tomorrow….  I cared not that it was probably lies or exaggerations…  my only thought was OXYGEN…AT LAST!!!  The world stopped spinning and made sense again for a few hours..at last…

Several days later, he ignored my follow up contact…of course.  Nothing has changed…or has it?   So I message him that this new game of his was quite sad and he should lose my number permanently rather than drag me through this again….  no response…

Dreamt of him yesterday…the first dream in SO long where we were together and happy..no complications or hidden agendas and it seems I even was handwriting our wedding invitations at one point…  This dream was luscious..with no anxieties or stress points mixed in..just the sheer comfort and security we actually shared so long ago…

Nothing at all from him though…. until last night around 11 PM again, when he texts, “I was wrong.  Sorry!” …which progresses shortly thereafter to repeated and insistent “I wantyou”  Come to me” messages.

I play the game and volley the texts and the subject as hand back and forth for several hours.  I never respond to these directly, except one simple “I want you too”.  Otherwise,  I dodge his demands. 

What I will never tell him is that I attempted to go to him, but my garage door was frozen shut, making it impossible for me to leave.  I almost texted him this, but opted instead to at least let it appear as though I have some strength against him, some will power inside that provides the ability to deny him.

And my world continues to relentlessly spin. I feel no satisfaction at the false premise of strength against this insanity which circumstances forced upon me.  I just miss him.  I only love him.  Still….

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH-B8T1JaUg

Hauntings

His ghost visited her just one week ago.  She was still trying to wrap her head around that…the things he said….the things he did…the insanity he displayed.   Would the hauntings never stop?  It’s mere cruelty and torture for him to continue showing up in this way.

And he so closely resembles the spirit of “the love” that it is an undeniable, inhuman experience to prance about for 15 hours with his beautiful ghost.  It all seems so real and so valid.  It all makes sense in that moment…but then nothing in the world makes a bit of sense after.  Nothing.  The world spins like a hurricane.  Thoughts and feelings twirl and swirl in her mind like water sucking down the drain….sucking away the fragile gasping breath of sanity and life she desperately clings to.

Why does he come?  What purpose does it serve other than harsh punishment to her broken heart?  He is so lost it’s painful to ponder his place..they why’s, the how’s, the meaning.  From following his painful path for so long, she is lost as well.  At one point they would have laughed, made a game of it and found their way together, but the forest they were now caught in is too dangerous and dark to help the other.  Faithfully following him for so long through anything and everything, she has lost her way and her purpose and no longer has the strength to reach for his hand…nor the ability to trust that it would even be there if she did…. 

She grasps at the flimsy straws, gasps for air, longs for freedom, and aches relentlessly for her lost spirit.  Perhaps his very purpose is to keep that from her…to hold her locked in dark pain and chained to swirling confusion.  It might be pure evil.  She just couldn’t know.