Hearts and Brains and Unicorns

It's October 12, practically Halloween, so I've started thinking about scary stuff. There are monsters, werewolves, and zombies. Oh, my! And then there's love, the most terrifying thing of all. The heart is soft and squishy, not made to survive without being protected by organs, ribs, bones, muscles, and skin. A heart needs to be kept tight beneath your breast if you want it to keep on beating. But when you love someone, your chest gets cracked open. There's your soft, squishy heart exposed to the elements. Vulnerable. 

The only other time I was vulnerable, I was ripped to shreds, and the worst of it is that I didn't really ever love my ex-husband. He loved me and pursued me, and I went along with it because he was the kind of man my church told me I should marry and I was, according to church, of the marrying age. It didn't matter who I married, as long as they were Mormon, and I felt so much pressure to do the "right thing". (I have a rant on this, but that's another blog topic.) I was sucked into an abusive downward spiral that I didn't know how to get out of it. I was vulnerable and it almost ruined me. I lost control of my life. I gave him everything, but it was never good enough. So, once I got free of him, I toughened myself back up. I made sure my heart was locked tight beneath my chest, and I refused to love anyone and it sucked. 

At least until recently. The right man doesn't make me feel powerless. He makes me feel accepted and loved and invincible. He has shown me that love makes me stronger.  My brain is a little worried still, but that's only because to a brain, love doesn't make sense. It's messy and complicated when my brain likes order and compartments. The beauty of love is too intricate and too erratic for my brain to comprehend. Only a soft, sensitive heart can understand it. But that's what love is, giving someone the power to break you, but trusting them not to. 

When I got divorced, I made a list of all the things I wanted in a man. The list consisted of things I never thought I could possibly find: someone from my past, divorced with kids, a manly man into sports, a Southerner, tall, hot, lumberjack (he has a lot of flannel and grows a nice beard so he qualifies), funny, cool af, someone who wasn't afraid of my fire, but liked it. I needed a strong man who wasn't intimidated by my bravery, like weak men were. Someone who saw me, really saw me, and loved me for who I was with no judgement. I was told that I was basically looking for a unicorn and unicorns didn't existed. Well, I'm here to tell you that unicorns are real and I am currently dating a very hot, manly one.

Being vulnerable isn't so bad. It's allowed for the most wonderful man to come into my life and change it forever. So if you want to do something but it's scares you, do it anyway. Like Halloween, sometimes the scariest stuff turns out the be the best thing that's ever happened to you. 

The Glow of 3 AM

Edited to update: I'm in the middle of packing and found old wedding photos that I didn't even know I had. Almost four years ago, I thought I threw all of that away. I still have the scar from the broken glass that shattered across the driveway. But in that haze of betrayal and awakening, I thought to myself, maybe I should save something, just to show my kids one day if they ask to see proof that their parents were married. So I tucked a few away in a box, and forgot about it. It's amazing the things you can hide away, even from yourself. Finding those pictures did number on me. They made me sad, not because I missed him, but because these photos were the last taken of the girl I used to be. The girl I finally am again.

Years ago, on that night, at 3 AM, when I found out about everything, the affairs weren't what stung. When I asked him why he wanted to rip our family apart, he told me it was my fault. He said, "It's because I don't love you. I never did." I don't love you. I never did. Not when we were dating, not on our wedding day, not when I gave birth to his sons. Never. I don't love this man, I haven't for over a decade, but the fact that he told me that he never loved me is an unhealing wound in my heart.

The fact that despite everything I did, how I turned myself inside out and shut my mouth, how I did everything he asked, how I raise his children, cleaned his house, bowed down on my knees, it wasn't enough. I know, I know, I am enough. I'm a million times better than him. I understand that. I've overcome so much, but sometimes, sometimes his voice comes back. The scar splits open and starts to weep. It makes me question everything about myself, even though I know it is a lie.

I stay up way too late every night. It's just what I do, and lately I've been thinking and thinking in the stillness of my apartment. I don't want y'all to think that I spend my life lamenting late at night. 98% of the time, I don't think about. I live in the miraculous moments in my life. I don't let it get to me. I'm elated to be on my own, excited to be my own person, but sometimes the memories slip in and make me think about the girl I used to be.

The Glow of 3 AM

You would feed me the Bible for breakfast, shove its pages down my throat, flog me with its spine at night. You used the bright, beautiful words of God to maim my soul, the Good Book to tell me I was bad. But you always skipped over the verses condemning rape and abuse and adultery. You and God and every other man were all immune.

You told me that I was made for you. Only you. Made to warm your bed, to bow down on my knees, to clean your toilets and make your meals. So I sealed my mouth, and you took my voice. You were never good enough for me, but I followed after you like a lovesick dog chasing after its own tail. I would never catch up. I would never find love. Too much. But never enough.

In the lightless bathroom, I scratched through the thin skin of my arms, trying to find the girl you wanted me to be. I stayed in the cold tub, a porcelain tomb, wondering how long it would take for the water to turn pink. While you hid in the closet, intermediately texting other women and watching porn, destroying our marriage by the glare of a six inch screen.

On New Year's Eve, I lay alone in our bed, long after putting the children to sleep. I dodged their questions of where their daddy was. Fireworks, shards of blue and red light, flared in the distance as you crept in at 3 AM, paled skin, smelling of sweat and sin. You kissed me on my forehead and lied to me. And then I lied to myself so I could sleep.

By the bloom of morning light, I am happy now because you’re gone, memories buried in the blackest of dirt, deep beneath my grandmother’s front porch. I no longer fear you, but sometimes your darkness seeps in through the cracks in the windows or the spaces in the door jams. It sinks its claws into my heart. But I exorcised your demons. You can abide here no more.

The girl who was never enough for you is everything. My flesh has healed, my knees no longer bruised, but I will never shut my mouth now, painted red on the Sabbath. I serve no man, only myself. My God is love, not condemnation. There is only brilliance within me and without. I am glowing. I am enough. Enough.

Weightless Words

 

Words. I live and breathe them. Written words have always been my salvation, a way to express myself, a way to escape into a world I created and controlled. I love to write them and build them and feel them, but I have come to understand that words mean nothing without action.

My ex-husband drew me in with words, flowery prose that flattered me and hid the darkness inside him. He spoke so many promises when we first got together, and I was naïve enough to believe him.This is a flaw I have, always looking for the good and being blind to the red flags. I thought that if I loved him enough, he would come through. That his words would mean something. But they never did. I never did either. When I found out about the affair and said that I would no longer stay in this abusive marriage, he took back the only words that ever mattered to me. He said that all those times he said I love you, he'd lied. He'd never loved me, not since the beginning. The word love was shattered, broken up into tiny shards that left me bloody. The glass is still embedded underneath my skin. It will always hurt. 

Words can be like bricks, piled high on your chest, weighing you down, breaking your ribs, puncturing your lungs, suffocating you.  Or words can be like desert rain, falling onto scorching asphalt, an empty promise dried up before it can relieve the drought. Pointless. Useless. Futile. So here I sit, still dealing with words that don't mean much, trying to figure out if it's worth it, what I'm worth. The answer is that I'm worth a whole hell of a lot, but that's harder for me to grasp, to put into action myself. Don't placate me with flaccid phrases.

So if you don't mean it, don't say it. I deserve better. Things I've also learned this past month are that people don't change, no matter what they say. People don't change. They pretend to. They smile and feed you shit sandwiches that you didn’t ask for, telling you it's cake. They shovel it right into your mouth, but you don't have to swallow it. Don't believe them until you see it. And don't give out second chances so easily because those second chances just give them another opportunity to hurt you again. If all you have is idle words, middle fingers up in the air, tell him, boy, bye! *Beyonce singing in the distance "I Ain't Sorry".*

 

The Toxic Avenger: Surviving a Narcissist

For those of you who haven't lived in an abusive relationship with a narcissist, it's a mind-f*ck. You go from being the most important thing in their lives to nothing. Less than nothing. They will take, and take, and take, and when everything is gone, they will come back for your soul. They are so perfect at manipulating that you can't tell the difference between your own thoughts and the ideas strategically wedged into your spongy frontal lobe. They spoon feed you sugar that turns to acid in your stomach. Narcissists are toxic, and sometimes I feel like I'm Chernobyl, seething in an abandoned, tonic wasteland. 

I've been told that I'm so happy that I'm glowing. I'm more myself than I ever have been. I'm still high-fiving Jesus, but over the last week, I've been bullied, berated, and belittled by my ex. Text after, text after, after text of him trying to intimidate me into dropping this child support claim against him. I refuse to "make a deal" in order for him to be a decent human being and help support his children. I am so done with being told what to do and how to feel by him. And by others. But when you stand up to a narcissists, they will attack the things you hold the dearest. You know that they are crazy, but their words still cut you to the quick. Past the quick. I ruined his life. I broke up the family. I am a horrible mother who is damaging her kids by doing this alone. I should feel guilty for being the one who isn't a decent human being. To him, he did nothing wrong. He didn't lie. He didn't financially deplete me (Ask me about when my car got repossessed because he stopped making payments and how he had a credit card in my name that he used to wine and dine his mistress/new ex-wife). He didn't cheat. (Opps! I guess that they accidentally had sex?) I left him because he was mean. I left to save myself and my kids. I left because I finally had had enough. He ruined his own life. He is the one who asked for a divorce, but he twisted me up so much that I still have trouble telling the truth from the lies. This is all my fault.

But it's not. The abuse didn't end when I left him. He will never stop trying to control me or hurt me. The difference now is that I won't allow it. I stand up for myself. It's still straining and consuming, but the effect isn't as great. 

I'm sorry that I write about this so much, but it's something I deal with everyday. Every day. I questions myself. I remember the abuse. I relive the hollowness that comes after betrayal. I wonder if anyone will ever love me again. And why the hell do I care? Why do I want that again? The thing that nearly killed me is the thing I want most. So while I'm #winning, I'm also #kindofnotwinning. I am happy, but I'm also torn up on the inside. There's still this little voice inside me that won't be quieted. Maybe it will always there. I have to keep reminding myself that I am enough. Not only did I survive the nuclear meltdown, I flourished. While the Geiger meter will always show signs of radiation, flowers are growing again on the grounds of Chernobyl. One day it might even be viable again. Even I can stand in the rubble and be grateful for the fresh air weaving its way back through my lungs. 

When the fighting and fighting turns into #winning

Have the stars alined? Has Lord Jesus finally answered all my prayers. Has Karma suddenly turned into the bitch she always claimed to be?

Y'all, life has been up and down over the last two years, often sideways, but never quite right. Then, this last weekend, it righted itself, and I'm so gloriously happy. Remember not that long ago when I was hating on my body, how I felt like nothing, how I was letting myself be sucked back into the self-loathing created by an abuser? Something within me snapped, and instead of losing my shit, I got my shit together.

My ex hasn't paid child support in a year, and refuses to get a job (because he knows that if he does, he will have to pay), so I filed a child support claim against him. That was months ago, and I warned him it would happen, but he didn't believe me. He said that he was too depressed to work. The son of a bitch hasn't had a job in over two years. Guess what, I get sad, too, but I get up every morning and I go to work. Because I'm an adult. I also had never worked outside the home when I left him. I didn't know what I could do for income. I didn't know how to even get a job anymore. But I figured it out. I have an amazing career now, not because I sat around and felt sorry for myself, but because I went out and earned my job that pays for private school, bills, food and clothing. I have a savings account. I have a car. I have an apartment. Because I'm an adult.

Now he's blowing up my phone, begging me to drop the child support case because he's about to lose his license and go to jail. All he has to do is starting giving his children money to help better their lives. But it's not about him. It's about me being an awful person because I believe he should help support his children. He doesn't see them or talk to them (all his choice), so the least he could do is help pay their tuition or for Seth's medications. No. He's trying to belittle and guilt me into letting him off the hook for abandoning his children both emotionally and financially. He once had me so conditioned that I did whatever he said without question. This is still my initial reaction to him, to do whatever he says. He stole my voice from me. He wore me down to nothing, but I have rebuilt myself, and I'll be damned before I let him or anyone tear me down again. He can't control me anymore and it's the most beautiful thing.

And let's get back to the topic of self-love. I am fantastic, beautiful, and smart. A badass bitch who always gets the job done. I also have a pretty amazing body, and recently have been reminded of this. It's refreshing and liberating to have someone else tell you that you are in fact a woman and sexy as hell. Message me for more details. That's all I can say on that matter without making you all blush. There are also other, more personal things that have put a spring in my step, but that's my lovely little secret.

So thank you, Karma, or God, or the stars. It took you long enough, but thank you. I have been fighting and fighting and fighting and I'm suddenly winning.

The Beauty and Brains Are Nothing Without the Body

I'm having so many feelings lately. Mainly ones that knock me to my knees. There's a little part of me that thinks I'm the most amazing woman in the world, but the loud, overbearing bitch that tells me I'm not enough won't shut her her friggin' mouth.

And you know what? That voice isn't me. It's every other person in the world. It's mankind. Since birth, I have been told to be quiet. Be polite. Be accommodating. Be friendly. Be pretty. Be thin. Be smart, but not too smart. 

And most importantly, the beauty and the brains mean nothing without the body. 

The stretch marks on my hips negate the smile on my lips.
All the good, all those wins mean nothing if I'm not thin.

I can't even express to you how much I hate my body. How much I fight it, how much bitterness it causes me. I lather it will creams and tanner. I work it to exhaustion at the gym. I suffocate it in a vice of a corset, all trying to change the thing God gifted me. This thing that houses my soul, that grew two beautiful boys, that carries a brilliant brain. From the moment we arrive on this earth, girls are told what to do, how to act, what to not say. We don't stand a chance. This is why we starve ourselves, why we try to cut the fat from our skin, why we stay with abusive men.

This isn't a plea for compliments. I don't want to hear, but you're so athletic and toned! Your boobs are to die for! This isn't the body that I want, and that isn't why I wrote this. I want to you know that you're not the only one who struggles, who feels bad about yourself and then eats entire sleeve of Oreos.  And then hates yourself more. 

And I'm tired. I'm just so tired of never being enough. I'm tired of struggling. All that I want is an acknowledgment, a helping hand, a hot young, boyfriend.

A touch.

I'm going to die alone, with my apartment smelling like cat piss and birthday cake. I wrote a poem about it, but I stuck it in another post because it didn't really go here. http://laurenmarchand.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-touch.html

A Touch

A Touch

My hands were balled into fists,
Afraid to touch anything, scared of a kiss,
Of fingertips across my spine.
The world was colorless. Nothing was mine.

Then he uncurled my fingers, held on tight,
Touched me in the darkness. Awoke the light.
My hands were for more than just dishes and chores.
They loved, held his heart, his core.

But life pulled him from my grasp.
Winter retuned. The emptiness will not pass.
My fingers turned inward, resting against my palm.
Touching no one, nothing, still now, lost in the calm.

And again these hands are empty, longing for a caress.
But they are busy now, sifting and sorting through the mess.