Archive for August, 2011


okay, brace yourself because this is gonna suck.

Today is my birthday.  I am 42 years old, and I am sitting alone crying my eyes out because, once again, I am in a relationship where the man I am with not only won’t even give me a card or present, but he has decided that since I had the nerve to cry and tell him how that hurt me, he should go ahead and be even more cold and angry for the entire day.  His goal is to make sure I get absolutely no recognition for this day or joy whatsoever.  Since I have no family, and I tend to be a loner, there isn’t one person who will say or do anything nice for me today.  My daughters, whom I love very much, can’t help but not know because we aren’t in close contact.  It’s mostly all my fault and I have to look really closely at the situation.  Yes, it sucks.

This isn’t the first time this has happened.  I have a history of being in relationships with abusive men.  When I say abusive, I have run a the gammet of types of abuse.  And one thing about an abusive man, they HATE your birthday.  They LOVE to make it miserable, and they always have throughout my entire life since the age of 19 when my first live in boyfriend started punching me in the face when I didn’t turn over my tips from stripping fast enough.  On my birthday.

We all make our own choices, I know this.  The question is, why would anyone make choices that always lead to this kind of pain? Ahhhhh yes.  There it is right? I It’s classic, I know. Women who stay in abusive relationships, or get into abusive relationships over and over are doing this for all kinds of reasons, but I think that deep down we are all very similar.  It’s a lack of self respect.

I was verbally and physically abused as a child, not as severely as many, but like all who suffer any type of abuse, my particular situation took it’s toll on my life.

I have been with men who have beat me, thrown food and drinks on me in public places, taken all my money and spent it on hookers, pimped me out, stole my drugs, slept with my friends, kept my things and threw me out on the street, called the cops on me and had me busted, forced me to have all kinds of degrading sex when I didn’t want to, and many, many kinds of mental head games that made want to die many, many times.  Why?  Because I have a lack of self respect combined with a desperate need for love.  THAT is a really, really bad combination.

I KNOW I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE

I don’t really know what the solution is.  There are ways out, I know because I have gotten out before obviously, but the tricky, tricky part, is not getting back in.  That’s where I keep messing up.

So here I am, feeling like my heart is being torn to little bits because I have this love for a man who doesn’t show love back.  Or does he?

It’s even trickier than you think…

He met me when I was “out there”, and decided he wanted to keep me.  Over the last ten months, we have been through a lot.  My addiction to pills led me to the street more than once, and he got me out of that.  He is the one who helped me get to a doctor to get me off of narcotics, and off of the streets.  And when he did, I changed.

I cleaned up my act, I don’t go out at all, I stay home, keep the garden and the house perfect.  I work on the phone at home, and I do cleaning jobs on the side.  I keep a small amount of income coming in, but it’s something.  He pays for my doc and the meds, and then when I get money, I give it to him.

This is not to say I haven’t done anything for him.  When I met him, there was no furniture here, the place smelled and the yard was a sand lot full of ciggy butts.  Now, this place is furnished (used but decent) alive with plants everywhere inside and out, and it’s clean each and every day.  There is also one major contribution I made to his income, by hooking hin up with a business opportunity he had been looking for and was having no luck.  Now he is doing just fine.  I don’t come without perks.  Of course, he doesn’t see it that way.

So, I have laid it all out.  I am dependant on him, because I have nowhere to go, and can’t support myself.  I do a lot for him, but he refuses to acknowledge any of it because he figures I owe him.  I need him in a lot of ways.  It sucks to need someone.

Oh, and the birthday thing> His birthday is on Christmas, and I had just lost my job and my place to live, I was dead in the water and could give him nothing.  you know why he is doing this today?  I couldn’t give him a present, so he says it’s because I didn’t give him a blowjob on his birthday.

Well, what do I expect, right?

I know.

So there you have it.  I can look at this whole thing and understand it intellectually.  See it for what it really is.  But when it comes to my heart, I can’t change it.  I feel stuck.

A woman who has lived this kind of life, tends to be in damaging relationships.  I have always been this way.  Even when I was in a recovery program and doing group and individual counseling daily, I was on the computer pursuing a love relationship long distance with an old high school flame.  And when he didn’t email or text when he was supposed to?  I LOST IT.  I was constantly distracted by a man because unless I am incarcerated, I seek love relationships.

I am co dependant right? That’s the term for it these days I guess.  Well, my plate is full of a whole bunch of other terms for what I am, some of which I don’t even know yet.  As I try to sort it all out each day, I am in the real world full of people who tend to prey upon people like me.  My weakness and need for love, hell they can smell me before they see me.   Meet a good looking guy who says he loves me and wants to help me, tie that in with my addiction and the fact that I am financially unable to support myself, and have no family to turn to, and yes, you could say this sucks.

I have no intention of leaving.  I have built a life here these last ten months, and I have no where else to go.  besides.  I do love him.

There are times. weeks on end when life is great here with him and I am simply grateful to have him.  But, something changes once in awhile, and when it does, he is like a ticking time bomb.  I never really know what will set him off, but it happens and then I am in hell.

Why am I writing this?  If you are like me, listen to my banter and WISE UP WOMAN!  Stop selling yourself short, get out and find a man to treat you like a queen.  No matter where we have been, we are still God’s creatures and in Him we are perfect.  Every moment of every day we have lived has made us who we are and therefore we are exactly who we are supposed to be.  Having said that, I guess I should say that I am apparently supposed to keep learning, because I am determined to hang in there with this relationship and try to make it better.

Don’t cringe, but I really do love him.

In the words of the divine Mrs Loretta Lynn:

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman…”

Today while I was out running just before sunrise, I passed what I instinctively knew to be a woman of the evening so to speak, still out walking as the sun came up. I knew the look on her face. You’ve heard the expression, “the lights are on but no one is home”…well this is more like “the lights are out and I’m hiding in the dark.” So many mornings i can remember, after being up for God knows how many days, just walking, walking, walking, hoping to make that next twenty bucks so I can go back to the dope house and get high in a spot out back they kept reserved for me. Then it’s back out on the street to do it all over again.

So as I was out running, I was so gratful to be just out running for my health, and not out all night and still out walking to my spiritual death. I ran for about 45 minutes, and then turned around to head homeward, and about half way there, I passed her again. Poor girl.

I know, why feel sorry for her right? I’m sure most of us at least at some point in out lives have walked or rode by these girls and said a little “tsk,tsk” and shook our heads at her blatent display of degredation.

I tell you from the point of view that began with the “tsk,tsk” head shaking of one who looks down on these poor reprobates, and ended up becoming one, that you have no idea how desperate and empty and done with life you have to be, to just walk right out into public and tell the world that you are for sale for the next hit. It’s the saddest thing I can imagine besides maybe the suffering of a child or the death of a loved one. It’s so sad that it makes my heart hurt as I sit here and write.

To live like that you have to abandon all hope. To abandon all hope, you have to loose your own soul. Once you do that, God save you from yourself. I can honestly say that there were times when I had a razor blade to my jugular, and the only thing that kept me from a quick flick of the wrist to oblivion was the hit I knew I had in my pocket. It was only the next hit that kept me alive, many, many times. To keep the hits coming, I had to do things most people couldn’t even imagine, and having been there, I could easily imagine what this girls’ daily life must be like. It makes me shudder to know I’ve been there, and so many countless others still are.

I read today something that hit me hard, it said there are three types of people, patriots, citizens, and parasites, and to know that I have been a parasite on this society is a tough bite to swallow, and it was as if God punctuated what I read, with my passing that girl, not once but twice.

I am no longer a parasite, I work (although not as much as I would like) and I pay taxes when I do. I am still not much of a citizen however. I haven’t taken strides to regain my right to vote, and I could probably try harder to find more work, so that I can participate more in the economic circle of life.

I guess maybe there is one more category KC, and that would be those in limbo, a purgatory perhaps that lies on the road to being whole. I feel like I am somewhere in between, and it’s a tough road out of this place. I wonder if I am truly motivated enough to keep moving forward out of it, or if I will stay here, with one toe out the door, one step away from taking that walk.

On the subject of the road out, I am making progress on my book. The problem I am running into now, is how to flow the story line of my childhood, with describing my parents and myself, without it all sounding full of bitterness, whining and complaining. There are so many painful events though, and to tell the story, well, it just sounds bitter and I’m not sure what to do about it.

I think, no, I KNOW I am goinng to piss a lot of people off with this book. People that idolize my mom, for instance, will be mortified at what I have to say. I was told ver recently “oh my God YOUR Gerda’s daughter? I didn’t even know she had a daughter. Your mother was like a saint. Saint Gert.”

I think that says it all.

Then there’s my ex husband. There are a lot of things I did back then that he doesn’t know about. I don’t think he’s ready to find out either! Maybe he won’t buy the book, but I doubt it.

All in all this morning, I am so greatful to be typing this while I am looking out into my garden on a beautiful summer morning. I’m no where close to where I could be, and I may never get there, who knows. At least I’m not out there and that’s a miracle all by itself.