Just One More Day

Just  one more day, in fact, only until noon tomorrow, and the toxic tenant who lives below me will be moved out. Well I have been assured and reassured by the new apartment manager that yes indeed she will be moved out by noon tomorrow. I am not celebrating, and I probably won’t be celebrating until there is silence and the manager confirms that she has moved out. She’s banging around downstairs right now. She was quieter over the weekend, I had called the police on her in the early morning on Saturday, due to marijuana smoke. I think she got scared from that and then I had one whole day of wonderful, respectful peace. Then she smoked cigarettes all day on Sunday and there were several incidents of marijuana smoke. And then the noise started up again, so I think she is recovered enough to be an unbalanced whack job once again.

I saw my therapist today and we talked about her some and all the negative tenants who violate their leases and how little that has been enforced in the last 18 months, due to very bad management. We talked about lots of other, more important issues, most importantly going into more detail about my siblings and mother’s varied and all-encompassing emotional and verbal abuse of me.

I talked to her about all my efforts to have boundaries and enforce boundaries with my family. She was encouraging and supportive of that. That was nice. I like the validation. It is a part of my healing work that I don’t get much from my family. She agreed with me that reaching out to others and forming new involvements and potential friendships are good use of my limited energy.

I talked about the Myer-Briggs personality test and how it showed how different I am from my family. Beyond the fact that most of them are introverts and I am an extrovert, they are incredibly inflexible in understanding that other people are different than them and that that too is normal and acceptable. They have a rigid and inaccurate perception that they are the norm and everything else is worthy of rejection, stigma, exclusion, and scapegoating. Their perception and beliefs of reality and the world are really diametrically opposed to my beliefs.

They don’t have a lot of tolerance for accepting and adapting to differences from themselves. In that too I am different from them. I am very tolerant of others, of cultures, and of accepting all the ways that people are. They are rigid and intolerant in a lot of ways and it has never occurred to them that from my perspective they are the ones who are different, not me. I told her that I believe I got these personality traits and differences from my ancestors.

My family have a whole belief system that is entrenched and rigid and pretty unmoving. It is the basis, the foundation of all the emotional and verbal abuse that my family perpetuated on me all my life. I object to it. I have always objected to it. But reasoned, rational argument has never moved them. Appeals to my heart and emotions have never moved them. Familial appeals have never moved them. Gender appeals have never moved my mother or my sister. They say, at times, that they love me, but very little in their words or actions could be defined as loving. They suck at this.

As I was leaving my therapist’s office she brought up the tenant again and I said, I wish her well, just somewhere else as far away from me as possible. And I guess that is how I feel right now. Go in peace, but just go.

Dr. Strange was just released today on Netflix streaming. It’s a good movie to watch on perceptions and beliefs and changing reality. I saw it once before, but I was definitely ready to see it again. I’m watching it right now. I hope you all are doing something fun for yourself too.

Good and healing thoughts to yous.

Emotional Work

All my life I believed that I was meant to guide my family into a better way, since I seemed to know the way and wanted them all to change for the better, since I tried so hard to love them. This was emotional work that I was not meant to have to carry around for decades.

At a certain point in my healing they stopped having that much power in my life and my work as a healer. I learned boundaries. Each of them fought me on boundaries from the first time I pushed one of them away from me, told one of them no, said get away from me, fought back, yelled at them, and all the other ways that I tried to establish boundaries throughout my childhood and adulthood. My brother, at my birthday celebration, was still crossing boundaries and this old geezer is in his mid-60s and has grandchildren, but no he is no respecter of boundaries. But I am not a respecter of boundary violators.

I learned that it was not my job or my destiny to heal or help my family. That was their jobs. I figured out that it was their jobs to heal, to get therapists, and to learn how to be decent human beings.

It’s tough having a moral and ethical core and trying to be the moral and ethical core of your family, since both your parents seem to lack their own.

Expecting a child to do a major portion of the emotional work for a family is emotional abuse. It is so very common in an alcoholic family system. Children are assigned rigid and random roles that have very little do to with their lives or their personalities. Some roles children in my family of origin include: golden boy, best daughter, scapegoat, and black sheep. In my family the golden boy was a sexual offender, not really true to reality. Being a scapegoat meant I was young and innocent and vulnerable to abuse and being singled out. The black sheep was someone who acted out the dysfunction of the family. He became a focal point, just like he did when his older brothers singled him out for physical abuse.

One way that I think that I did a lot of emotional work for my family was that I was a scapegoat in my alcoholic family system. I got abused and blamed for many things. I had nothing to do with any of what I got blamed for. I was a little child. My parents were the adults and yet, they did not do adult things. They were irresponsible. They were unloving. They were unkind. They were cruel. They verbally abused all of their children to make themselves feel better. I guess all those things come under emotional work for my family. We all did that, all us children were victimized and used by adults who should have managed their own lives and their own emotions rather than using vulnerable, innocent little children to prop up their addicted and abusive lives.

I did so much emotional work for my family, that at a certain time in my life, as a young adult, I gave up on so much emotional work for them, my sister did that stuff, like going to family funerals and pretending to be happy. She was best friends to both my parents. I would not do that. I would never do that. I had to take care of myself as a child, I would never give myself away to them when they had given me nothing.

On another level, and for all time, I have been the one person in my family who hoped and wished for the best from all of them. Still, I work on healing my family and my family ancestral line through praying and through Reiki healing energy sessions for them. Those methods of healing them and helping them to heal are better than any other methods I have ever used.

It says this is my life, I have a right to my life, I am a healer, there is the whole world out there that I can help to heal, but I won’t give up my life to help you, It’s not my job or my destiny to heal you, that is your job and responsibility. I won’t let you cripple me. I will give to you what I decide to give, not what you demand of me.  I won’t be your victim.

I won’t be their victim.

Emotional/Verbal Abuse is Abuse

I have expressed a hatred of teasing and emotional/verbal abuse to my parents and my siblings all of my life. My parents and some of my older siblings gave us children very abusive nicknames. Some were given to my older siblings when they were teenagers. Mine was given to me when I was three. My siblings around my age were given their nicknames when they were older children. Just based on the age when abusive nicknames were given,  you can see they started after mine in age and in time. I was named two nicknames filthy and abusive and my siblings had very less damaging and abusive nicknames and they were done when they were much older than I was

My mother, who I used to confront often on this issue, would gaslight me and say, well all your siblings have nicknames they don’t like either, like well they are all being treated like shit and I am normalizing shit, so you can’t complain and have no right to complain and have no rights  that you can appeal to, because this is normal, they are all treated like you are treated, it is not mistreatment, it is normal, it is okay, no one is going to stop. And if you want to stop them, if you want this to end, then what you have to do is not be hurt or complain or say anything. They are getting a reaction and that is why you are to blame for the perpetuation of their treatment of you. My mother was a master at blaming victims for being abused, even while she abused them.

When the only person that I could go to for relief from emotional and verbal abuse against me by my siblings was my mother, who was my sexual abuser and my emotional/verbal abuser and who encouraged and perpetuated sibling emotional and verbal abuse against me , that made life very hard for me. Still, I was very determined that they should stop and that I deserved better treatment by my siblings, that I persisted. I don’t know where I got this strong belief in myself and that I deserved good treatment, but I had it, all my childhood. I think that is very strong of me and I am very proud of myself.

I knew that I deserved better from them all, even though none of them agreed with me. I knew that none of them should be called nasty and vicious and filthy nicknames. Some of the nicknames were not very bad, compared to mine, though they were all emotional and verbal abuse.

I didn’t just ask my mother to intervene and stop abuse. I asked other siblings as well. I don’t recall any of them trying to stop.

I don’t remember ever asking my father to stop. I don’t believe that I thought that he would, since he was the one who gave me the nicknames and the one who spread it all around the family and who allowed it to continue without ever once commenting about it or ever once trying to stop it.

When I was ten years old my father retired and was at home all the time, all day long and all night long. That was when the two nicknames about me stopped. I know that he did nothing to stop it. I just think that having him around, as a witness, is what stopped others from abusing me as much as they were. I suppose it was a shock to him to see how bad it was, how much of a scapegoat that I was, and how much I was being verbally abused.

I know that he enjoyed mistreating others, especially with words, especially with his children, but the bad nicknames stopped. I don’t believe that he ever lifted a hand to stop it. In fact, he started verbally abusing my brother more directly, who is 18 months older than I, during that time period.

It’s hard when this is the closest man in your life; someone who cruelly enjoys mistreating you with words and mistreating your emotions. It’s horrible that this was the closest example of an adult man that I had. It’s sad and pathetic that this is the best that he could be for his own children. I didn’t have a male teacher in my life until sixth grade, and that was a physical education teacher who was verbally and emotionally abusive to students. So not a good man or a good human being either.

I never felt that my father was on my side. I never believed that he would protect me. never felt that he loved me, though there was a time in my childhood when he would say that, though that had been some time before that.

If only there had been one person in my family who loved me and was good to me through my childhood. That would have changed my life so much. But none of them were willing to stand up for me and to suffer the consequences. With my mother, there was always consequences. I know that I deserved their love and loyalty.

Dysfunctional Family of Origin Interactions

The thing about being in a family that is dysfunctional, mine was due to abuse and alcohol addiction, is that you are all divided from one another. Children in the family are often put into restricted roles within the family, which helps perpetuate and enable the sickness and dysfunction.

My mother encouraged this division and bad feeling among all us siblings. She seemed to really enjoy it a lot. I know that she felt more confident and in control when we were all divided against one another. She really didn’t like or encourage family feeling or devotion or connection with all of us. On the other hand, she got to decry that we didn’t get along and that we didn’t manage to have any solidarity, so she got it both ways.

Now my father emphasized the opposite, but he wasn’t around much, what with work and drinking. My father loved family and seemed to always emphasize doing good for your family. I suppose a lot of that family feeling was because he lost his mother when he was still a young child. Since she died young, he only had one sibling and always said he wished he would have had a sister, because he would have been so good and loving and kind to a sister.

He would tell our brothers to be good to their sisters and how important that was to do. I don’t think that they liked being told to do that. I wish so much that he had been better to me and more protective of me, most especially that he had stopped drinking and became a better man.

When you teach and encourage your children to call one another filthy nicknames and to insult and demean and bully one another, you will get results. When you never stick up for your own child when she is being bullied and chased and hit, well you get results. When you practice favoritism with two of your children while denying what everyone can see, you get results. When you use some of your children as though they are adult caregivers to their younger siblings, you get results. When you treat your children abusively, you get results.

One of the worst results to my family is the one thing that I hate the most about our family of origin, we are still divided. Here is the thing; I don’t care about being with anyone who was sexually abusive towards me, so I would never reconcile with my second brother and my first brother is dead already. But the rest of us are still trying to cope with divisions over and over again.

One of the biggest things that I hate the most about our family’s division is that siblings grew up, went away, and didn’t give back to the younger siblings. That left us at a terrible disadvantage. The worst part of it is that they did give extensively to their wives siblings, in-laws, and extended family, instead of to us younger ones. Now it is right that they didn’t owe us anything, but we were their family and they should have had helped us more than they hurt us. And they hurt us a lot.

I believe in taking better care of the younger peeps in my family. I do the best that I can. My first nephew was born when I was sixteen. Although I had never had parenting from my mother, I tried to be an extra positive influence in his life. I helped raise him, loved them and told him repeatedly what a great kid he was and why, spent time reading to him and playing with him and babysitting him, bought him lots of books and toys. I’ve done the most that I can possibly do for all of them. And now that the next generation has grown up, I am giving and loving and good and kind in the same ways to their children. My great nephews and nieces are great.

I give them a lot of my love and yes gifts and good words too. It is what you do for family, in my opinion, give them everything that you’ve got to give. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have other stuff to give to other peeps that I love. I choose to take after my father’s best thoughts and beliefs and actions.

My Creative/Artistic Self and Dysfunctional Family Stuff

My family has never been supportive of my artistic or creative work. After a long period of that, being diminished and ignored, I really would not look to them to be supportive, loving, kind, or good about anything that I really care about. I tend to share less and less as the years have gone by and I have to say they don’t seem to notice that I don’t share about my heart and what fills me with joy with them. Since that is so important to me and to my life, it makes it hard a lot of the time to find something to talk about, since so much of it is private and needs to be protected from them.

One time I did try to describe the inner creative process to one of my brothers and he burst out laughing and after my asking him repeatedly to share what he found funny and why, he made fun of me and the way that I had chosen to talk about my collage artwork.

I really have to admit that he broke my heart. That’s my family… and that in no way is diminishing how much he and they have hurt me and hurt my heart. That’s my family… they break my heart. Interacting with them means being self-protective of my life, myself, my creative self, my thoughts, my emotions, my beliefs, and so much more.

Sometimes it just leaks out of me, and I can’t stop myself from sharing, and it doesn’t go good and it doesn’t lead to good. It’s sad to me that sometimes I can’t stop myself or us from sharing things with our family and that it leads to more pain, more hurt, and more of a broken heart. It’s so sad to me that this is my family.

I don’t tolerate anything from my sister and when I started seeing her again almost three years ago, after not associating with her for almost ten years,  I promised myself that I was not going to endure another incident of emotional/verbal abuse from her and that if it happened I would never see her again. She hasn’t. Bizarrely she hasn’t. But I can’t talk to her about all the pain that she has caused me and how all that pain is still inside of me/us and how much it still hurts and how she derailed my life, many times, and made it so hard for me to have self-respect or self-love, because she undermined and humiliated me and verbally/emotionally abused me all my life and how my mother was my primary abuser and bully and how my sister was her toady, until I cut her out of my life. Part of her doesn’t know, part of her doesn’t care, part of her loves being clueless, part of her loved and still loves being both of our parents favorite little girl, part of her has cut me off when I’ve tried to explain in the past, and part of her would hurt if I tried to talk to her about it all now. I know, because I have tried.

One of my other brothers routinely makes fun of me, the things that I say, my politics, my beliefs, facts that I relate from studies, if I have to pause while finding the right words, etc, etc, etc. I limit him in my life, but even a little bit means emotional and verbal abuse. He only gets a little bit of me. After a few conversations in the last couple months I have decided to start hanging up on him again, it is the only way to have a healthy boundary with him.

The worst part of this all is that these are the two brothers who have the most interactions with me in my life right now. They have collectively done the most for me and at different times been my best support. They wound me and that is the best I am getting. Saying no means absolutely nothing.

My brother that shouts at me on the phone refuses to stop shouting at me, insulting me, demeaning me, misrepresenting me, and mischaracterizing me, no matter what I say to him. If I thought the things about him that he thinks about me, I would never have anything to do with that kind of person, I would hate that kind of person, I certainly would not have even one phone conversation with them.

I know all of it is lies, but it makes me wonder why he feels the need to be thinking so little of me and still associate with me. I don’t want to have anything to do with him, but then he acts like he cares about me, but then turns around and treats me like excrement. I know he finds it highly enjoyable, but I don’t. He is going to get the click on the phone line the next time we talk, if he goes there.

A Question

What is your favorite color?

My favorite color, as long as I remember having a favorite color, has been blue. I read recently that blue is the most popular color in the world. It represents peace and serenity; actually being able to lower the pulse and blood pressure. I’m pretty sure that those reasons contributed to my having blue as my favorite color. I sure needed a lot of peace and serenity and consider my strong attraction and favortism of blue  helped me in my daily life to survive my mother abuser and my family. If I had to say what I get from the color blue, I would have to say happiness, I get happiness from the color blue.

I remember being five years old, in kindergarten, and getting ready for photo day at school and insisting that I get to wear my sailor dress, which was dark navy blue. My dress got damaged that morning, I think it was my mother who did it, and it got thrown away. Instead I wore a very pale blue dress for my school photo. It literally paled in comparison to my beloved sailor dress.

My stated preference and love of the color blue was so strong that I wore the color blue more than any other color. By third grade it became a strong constant in my life, so much so, that my father gave me a nickname with the word blue in it. I loved being called something that felt good and that made me feel special and identified me with my love of the color blue.

My previous nicknames, used by all my family, were disgusting and abusive. They were used until I was ten years old, so it was nice to also have a nickname that was sweet instead of repulsive and insulting and abusive.

For me this is the perfect example of the enduring damage from verbal and emotional abuse, even the good moments and memories are surrounded by all the bad abuse, from all sides. I know that a lot of people want to pretend and assume that emotional and verbal abuse do not cause much damage or that the damage can be just shaken off. My mother was one of them. They are wrong and their bullying of those who have been damaged are further examples of emotional and verbal abuse. We have been damaged. We deserve to have a space to be validated, assisted, and to work on healing from this, rather than being further bullied into believing that the damage is not real.

Blue is still my favorite color, though I have a marked preference for some other colors as well, especially purple and green. As well being multiple means never having to say you are one definitive thing. One of The Littles told me recently that orange is her favorite color. That might explain why I end up with orange tshirts. 🙂

My current favorite shade of blue, for the last 25 years or so, has been baby blue. It truly seems to feed my soul. I wish the same for you. So, what is your favorite color?

 

I’ve Missed You All

Well I’ve missed  you  all. I’ve been sick a lot  these past two  weeks. My sinuses again. I went to the hospital  clinic that is closest  to  me and since i didn’t  have a high temp they refused to give me zpack, the antibiotic that kicks it out of me. I’ve been dizzy with horrendous vertigo for about a week.

I really should have stayed home alone for the holidays, cause I was so sick and in so much pain.  I was too stubborn and too positive that the meds would help a lot, they didn’t.

The holiday interactions went well, mostly, but I ended up saying things that I should have kept silent about, because they are long standing hateful  patterns and no good comes from trying to deal with that with family, as I  have  experienced  lo these many years. So again I  got  denials, stress, bad and hurt  feelings, and no resolving of the old wounds.

Same shit, so no surprise that I still get gaslit by siblings each holiday season. And when I  confront any of them I still get to see how they refuse to connect the dots to childhood patterns of gaslighting, emotional and verbal abuse and how they treat me now.

They truly expect me to not see those patterns  repeating over and over.  They truly think I  am supposed to disconnect from myself as a  child and not be hurt or harmed by their current or past emotional and verbal abuses.  I told my sister, that was me, not another little girl, those things happened to, I am that girl, those things happened to me. It hurts when someone repeats those behaviours now. Then we had an argument that when she is frustrated with me and raises her voice and/or tells me what to do that I  should not experience that as anger. I told her frustration is an anger emotion.

Its like living in the dark ages on an emotional  level with this kind of stuff.

That is a whole  bunch of posts when I  am  feeling  up to it. I don’t  feel heard or validated. So I  tried to be clear, the only coping I  have  for this is to distance myself. I realize I’ve  spent  too much time and need to draw back, because I don’t  want to be bossed or teased and to have it called normal and my reactions out of proportion to what  is happening.

The dramamine doesn’t seem to be working this past week, though I  suppose it is fair to say it is only half working, though I’ve  had much better  results in the past.

I’m using  a lot of remedies but not much is helping. I started adding more and more things each day.

I started using hydrogen  peroxide in my ear yesterday, a home remedy I’ve used in the past for liquid in my ears and it has decreased the pain and pressure in my ears right away.  You put in a small smount of hp and leave in for one minute, turn over and drain. If it is potentially bad for me I don’t  have anything else that works as good. Today I am feeling the best in over a week.

 

 

Verbal and Emotional Abuse

One of my brothers is still verbally and emotionally abusive. We have very little to do with one another. Unfortunately, though, in the last two weeks we have spoken three times on the phone, which is a lot. I think that he is bored a lot and wants me to entertain him. I wouldn’t mind if he treated me with respect and kindness, like a normal human being would treat me.

We don’t share a lot of common interests and our political views are opposites, so there isn’t a lot that I can talk to him about that is neutral to him or that he doesn’t use to turn around and insult me.

Today it was to make a negative comment about my having a college degree. I hate when people do that to me. I worked very hard to get my degrees and I hate when someone tries to insult and demean me for working hard and getting myself further educated. Having college degrees is not something to be humiliated and stigmitized over.

I have had a few people do this to me as well. I just assumed that they are so insecure, uneducated, and paranoid that they cannot keep their rage and shame to themselves and instead have to spread it all over someone else who is innocent and learning something.

My father used to do this to my brother who I was closest to, and it was so cruel and evil. He used to make fun of my brother when he would say something that he had learned. He would be belligerent, yell, and laugh at him. I don’t know how much you have to hate your 12 year old child to treat them like that, but my father did. He was so hateful. Although I wasn’t the object of his verbal and emotional abuse, during those times, it hurt me so much to hear it, to see it, to remember all the times that he had done the same thing to me, and to know it is what he would do to me too given any little opportunity. After that time period I would not talk about things I had learned in school, in books, or on tv with my father around. My father was very cruel to all his children verbally, for tons of reasons. All my siblings have been like that, as children and some of them as adults.

My brother is loud and I have good hearing, so it hurts to listen to him yelling at me. I have told him repeatedly that I have very good hearing and that I realize that he doesn’t, because of loud music he has damaged his hearing. But I tell him I know he can tell when he is yelling and he needs to stop it. He yells over my talking and interrupts my sentences. He tells me to stop talking and he will repeat something over and over when he is being demeaning and belligerent to me. I tell him to stop that.

There are some people he doesn’t act like this to. I’ve told him many many times that I expect him to stop acting like this to me. I told him again today when he called me and quickly degenerated into yelling at me and telling to stop talking. So I was very clear to him that I did not want to be treated like that. He said yeah right, yeah right, which translates into yeah fuck you I’ll do whatever I want to do. That is based on knowing him and having already being very clear on what I am willing to tolerate from him and what I am not willing to tolerate from him, not that that seems to have much of an effect on him.

I picked several other topics and we talked about them for a while and that went sort of okay. That always seems to be much more effective, to use subterfuge and guile to divert him and his inner turmoil. I have told him many times I am not his therapist, that if he wants to have a conversation with me, then he has to shut up long enough to listen to my sentences, long enough to know when I am done talking and not keep interrupting me.

He said lots of stuff that I normally would have made comments on, but when I engage in a real conversation that is what seems to make him blow up at me, so I let a lot of it go and didn’t say anything. He doesn’t like me when I am real, when I feel, when I think, when I talk, because he is not in control of me and he is not subjecting me to his narrow expectation of what he is willing to allow when he interacts with me. It is like it is not a conversation and perhaps I am like a doll to him that he can talk to but one that is forbidden to have views, beliefs, experiences, words, and personal power. But I am not a doll. I am not his dollie. I am a real human being. I have my own thoughts, and beliefs, and feelings. I deserve to have them. I am not his dollie!

Healing Quotes 701

“I see the words “I know he would never hit me/physically harm me” in a lot of letters I get. Far more than I could ever, ever, ever answer or publish.

Those words break my heart, every time, because the people who write them are offering them up as an example of how the relationship can be saved and how I shouldn’t judge their partner too harshly. They mean “he’s not ABUSIVE-abusive (even though he does all these abusive and controlling things to me). I’m not like those abused women, I would leave if someone actually hit me.” They break my heart because the letter writers have had to do the calculus, the calculus called Would He Hit Me? and they offer the answer up as proof that he wouldn’t but all I can see is proof that he almost did, that he’s thinking about it, that he’s a week or a year or a hair’s breadth away from it. It’s proof that she’s thinking about it, too, that she’s had to do the math. Nathan wouldn’t hit you, but he’d punch a wall in front of you, so you can see the force of how his fists slam into things., so you can see how hurt his hand is afterward, so you know that the damage is your fault. When I read those words about how the partner doesn’t harm or hit, I can hear the echo of the guy saying them, too, like “Well, it’s not like I physically hurt you! Come on! Be reasonable (and do what I say)!“(Mentioning how “at least you don’t hit” someone kinda sorta exactly like reminding them that you could hit them, that you might hit them, that hitting them is on the list of possible things that could happen, you are a fucking goddamn hero of a man for making the difficult heroic choice not to. Someone saying this to you should always make the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and prompt you to look around for the exits).

And then the letters, like your letter, contain the most heartbreaking question of all, which is how, how can I be better/fix it/make it right/not make him scary and angry anymore. How can I be perfect (give up caffeine), how can I show him (check in with him by cell phone every time I change locations or company) that I’m worthy? Because the abuser-logic has worked. “When you make mistakes it’s your fault, when I make mistakes (like scaring you) it’s also your fault.” Someone doesn’t have to physically hurt you to harm you.

People in non-abusive relationships don’t have to do this constant calculus. Non-abusive dudes don’t get described as “intimidating” by their girlfriends, because non-abusive dudes, even the big strong burly ones who might look pretty intimidating to a stranger don’t intimidate their girlfriends. They don’t punch walls, or throw things, or put 10,000 tiny conditions around everything, or monitor their movements or their phones. When those dudes feel lonely, they fucking call a friend, or they muddle through those lonely feelings. Non-abusive dudes don’t pat themselves on the back for not hurting women, because it doesn’t occur to them to hurt women.”
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~ Captain Awkward, #640: “I Know He Would Never Physically Hurt Me” and Other Fairy Tales.

Been there, done that. I’ve seen a boyfriend that I loved, who claimed to love me, hit the steering wheel over and over, when in a rage at me. I went numb. I froze, I didn’t react, I was shut down, there was nothing in me to react. It took me four years after the relationship to understand this too is abuse.

He had lots of rages, in lots of places, for lots of reasons. He always blamed me.

I don’t recall explaining him or calculating in my mind how to explain it all to someone else, just didn’t tell others what he was doing to me and how it felt and how it affected me, changed me. And yes, he hit me, he physically assaulted me, and that was the last he got to see of me. I always told him never to hit me and that in itself shows how yes he was calculating it in his mind, and so was I.

Ghosts of Roommates Past Part 3

I hated living with my brother, five years ago. He too had lied to me and just wanted my money. He didn’t want to give me a place to live, he didn’t want me there, he couldn’t be nice to me, he refused to be loving to me or kind to me. It hurt so bad, it was like being punched in the chest. I stayed primarily in my bedroom and got out as much as possible.

Even if I went into the kitchen for three or four minutes he would try to start an argument with me about religion and politics, yelling, belligerent, mean, hateful, vengeful, raging.

He tried to kick me out of the house, twice, the first time happened when I had only been living there three days. He became enraged at me.

I had moved there, across half the country, spending all the money that I had on his promises, taking two and a half days to get there by bus, without any sleep and he refused to heat the house the first night I was there or to take me to a store to buy a space heater that evening, even though it was not far from the bus station, so that I got sick, a cold, he kept the house unheated and cold, yeah that again, but at least it was southern California but still got cold overnight, usually 50 or lower and colder as time went on, even many times going below zero, so that I had one warm and comfortable tiny room to live in.

He was mad that I got a cold, not my fault. He was mad that I was not happy and upbeat. Yeah sorry I just had to move across country in order to get away from abusive freaks that I had trusted. Yeah sorry I am disabled, and poor, and not happy and not doing so well. Sorry that is harshing your buzz dude. He was mad that I had anxiety, something I had been dealing with the reality of all of my life, but okay since my anxiety is bothering you and you want me to shut up and pretend to be happy while I am sick and can hardly breathe and talk, okay dude, whatever.

He got enraged because I did not want to stay in his freaking cold tv room and watch the second half of a Larry the Cable Guy special and said something that he took to be derogatory about white southern racists. Cause according to him many of them are wonderful people, though I don’t agree, racists by definition are not wonderful people.

But what really teared it, according to him, was that I refused to thank him and his on-again, off-again girlfriend for Thanksgiving dinner. Which I don’t think that I forgot to do. So apparently I am an ingrate, an accusation that I have had from my family of origin all of my life, but I don’t believe that I am ungrateful, just humiliated over their grandiose concept of how much they do for me and how little appreciative I am. I am appreciative, it is just that they seem to expect and demand that I put on a dog and pony show for them, and they are not satisfied until I do so. But they naturally seem to accept that everyone else is appreciative without all the bells and whistles.

But after traveling across country for 60 hours on bus without any sleep, being forced to sleep in the cold, getting a cold my first night in a new place, the rude awakening of how he was treating me and the fact that his secret plan, which I found out the second day that I was there, which made me burst into tears when I was in my bedroom alone, was to coerce me into working for him for free, doing things that I was not trained to do nor capable of doing basically and especially due to being disabled, I might have forgotten to say thank you, but I think that I did. I tried to explain to him over and over the definition of disabled and unable to work. He harassed me over and over until I broke down and called his son asking him to intervene for me.

So when he told me I was getting all my stuff and taking it outside, I told him that I couldn’t move out and live on the streets, I had no money and no check for another ten days, I was disabled, I needed somewhere to stay and there wasn’t a homeless shelter in the town where we lived. When he relented I told him that I would rather go home once my check was deposited into my checking account in ten days and live in the streets, in the middle of winter, rather than stay and live with him. He said that he would rather I stay with him than live in the streets in the middle of winter. I think that was all about and only about how the family would feel about him and treat him if he didn’t try to reconcile in some way with me.

He was loud and played his music and tv shows loudly.The second day that I was there he did take me to the store and borrowed me money to buy some food and a space heater. I had trouble sleeping due to his loudness and tried to avoid him. I would sit in my room as long as possible before leaving it, after waking up. I would stay up as late as possible and sleep as late as possible to avoid him, because he was a morning person.

The second time he insisted that I move out and live in the streets I decided that I had to limit all my money spending in order to get the fuck away from him. He got into a rage with me and was jumping up and down and rushing towards me and shouting. He made me fear for my safety, that he was going to attack me, and perhaps even rape me in a rage. I had never feared rape from him before, but his rage was out of control and I could not feel safe near him, in any way, after that. Seeing someone that out of control shattered me and my confidence that he was a human being, he looked and acted like an animal. I was not safe and I wanted to get as far away from him as soon as possible.

The argument he escalated over his rage at me and his deciding to take computer access away from me, the only access I had to anything in the outside world. I had a crappy unsmart phone with limited minutes, based on cards I had to buy. I insisted that he allow me to keep using the computer, since I was paying for half of the internet fees. He took the keyboard and locked it away in a cabinet in his bedroom, and kept his bedroom door locked as well. It took him a couple of days to leave me a note in my bathroom, saying that i could use the computer once again. I had already cancelled my internet company so had to pay again for a re-connection.

After two months of living there I finally bought a bike from Target, which was a huge money compromise, but necessary to get away from him and that house, and used it to get away from him, as much as possible, which was difficult and challenging because I did not have extra money to spend out in public, so most of the time I was at the library or as an extravagance a cup of coffee somewhere.

All I wanted was to save up enough money to get away from him.I was there five months. Everything revolved around saving enough money to get away from him and to find a place to move to once I got home. Again, none of my family, offered to help me financially or to have an emergency place to stay. Still, no matter what I wanted to go home and as far away from him as soon as possible.

He lied to me about the house being sold, it hadn’t, insisting that I had to move out in a month, but he lived there for another year after I moved across country to once again be in my home state. He was shocked and amazed that I wanted to go home.