by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Infidelity, Psychological Manipulation, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, September 11, 2001 |
I dated a man that was prettier then I was, and he took it upon himself to tell me everyday for three years. He also enjoyed telling me nobody else wanted me, that I was lucky to find him (as if he was doing charity work for dating me), and that I would be alone in life forever if I did not stay by his side with my mouth shut for the rest of my life.
I felt smaller then the tiniest grain of dirt. My self-esteem and self-worth out the window. I was worthless without him. He signified my worth and my inner bank balance was $0.
When I cooked him homemade meals to prove I would make an excellent wife, he scraped half of my portion off telling me I was too fat. Who could ever imagine a size 0 being too fat? When he came home from Rome (where he is from) telling me on New Years they kiss their friends on the lips (I found a photo of him kissing a friend), I believed him (really Aimee, frenchkissing?). When he went to school in Milan for 6 months and I paid all of his bills in the U.S.A, and made all of his phone calls, and held down the fort, I trusted he was doing right by me. When I found proof of his lying, snake ways, he talked himself out of it and made me believe I was making it up in my head. I was the crazy one.
This is abuse. Abuse people never speak of, or think does “real damage”. Verbal abuse certainly does damage, and a lot of it.
We broke up on 9/10/01, just a day before the attacks on 9/11/01. I had just moved to Boston to try and regain some self strength, and he just started a new job at the World Trade Center. When the postman at my new job told me the news I freaked out. I frantically called him for hours, and I began to think the worst. He did call hours later telling me he was alright. He ran out as bodies fell from the tower windows, and jumped over body parts, office supplies, and the pavement soaked in jet fuel. He ran 8 miles as fast as he could without stopping because he thought he would lose his life if he hadn’t. Sadly so many made it out of the building that day, but stayed to “watch” and didn’t make it any further.
In our relief, we rekindled our relationship. I had high hopes this moment had changed him – that since God had let him live and gave him a second shot at it, he would find it within himself to be a better man.
I stood beside him a week later at Ground Zero holding his hand. We wept. The heavy smell of death encircled us and permeating all of our being. The city was in silence. All you could hear were machines cutting steel trying to find bodies. The hospital close by had a wall of “missing” posters filled with people that were now part of the largest burial ground in American history. He wondered why he survived and why they didn’t.
We broke up a year later when he told me about his girlfriend in Italy and the prostitutes he had slept with. I cut all ties and moved on with my life. A few years ago I got an odd e-mail from his new girlfriend asking me questions in broken English. He wrote me and said, and I quote, “If you ever cared about me and 9/11 you won’t tell her anything”.
Yes, he was trying to use 9/11 to shut me up. A day that he should have gained perspective and feel blessed, he was using to hide behind as a last attempt shield to not let his new girlfriend find out about his cheating, abusive ways. I was disgusted, and copy and pasted his e-mail and sent it right to her. I also told her every little bit I could about my past with him.
How could he go on to take this day as “his”? How can he accept emails today that say “thinking of you” or “this day must be so hard for you” and still go on unscathed. Why must I remember such an asshole who didn’t really deserve a second chance over so many good hearted people that died that day. Why did I accept his abuse for so long, and let him be all of who I am? And why must such a significant day always be about him?
I am pissed. He doesn’t deserve the day.
He once asked if I would light a candle in honor of him every year on this day for the rest of my life. I will do one better for you babe–I’ll light up a finger in the air, and you can see it all the way to Rome. Plus I will eat an entire plate of pasta in my size 14 jeans, and sit on the floor and eat up the love I have with my family. My family I created with a wonderful, loving, non-abusive man, that believes I am wonderful just the way I am.
I will always mourn that day, the people who lost their lives, and will never forget seeing and feeling the aftermath. I will always grieve for NYC, a place that will always have my heart and that will never be the same.
And for that…. I will never forget. For that, and only that, I will light a candle.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Abuse, Child Abuse, Psychological Manipulation |
I’ve always been uneasy talking about my upbringing.
I knew that it wasn’t “normal,” but it didn’t really fit the pre-defined concept of abusive. My dad never once punched me. And I only broke something once, when I hit back. My finger.
I don’t like to talk about that.
He spanked me, with implements. He pushed me. He dragged me. He screamed obscenities and names
and so did I, right back at him, an inner voice whispers in my ear.
at me.
He controlled. Oh, he controlled. I don’t like to talk about that, either.
I was 17 before I had my first non-church-event date. And that’s because I lied through my teeth to go meet with the guy.
Movies were strictly monitored, and hardly ever allowed.
Home schooled. 4H was protested. All those bad influences.
So was going to friends’ houses.
And I didn’t have friends over. The yelling. You know.
Except….most don’t. Because that’s not normal. The yelling. I don’t like to talk about that.
But I hesitate to say any of it. He’s gotten help since then. He’s been a much better father to my younger sisters. And I know he cares about me. Worries about my family. he cares, he cared then…he just didn’t know how to show you.
I hesitate to write any of this down on the page. Because my inner voice keeps telling me, he wasn’t that bad. It’s not like it was real abuse.
Most of the time, I don’t think about it. But I sometimes find myself yelling. And I sometimes find myself wanting to throw things. Or break something.
When I sit down and look at my weakest parenting issues yelling. Oh the yelling. and my most shameful moments as a parent. When I talk about being socially inept. When I start to choke up at just the thought of new people, and having to interact…..I see a thread.
I think, “real” abuse, or not…it definitely has left a mark.
But I don’t like to talk about it.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Depression, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Major Depressive Disorder, Rape/Sexual Assault |
Last year, my youngest daughter got a strange rash the day before my birthday. I took her to the ER that day because her doctor was “too busy to deal with a rash.” She was diagnosed with shingles *ewww* and I called my mom and arranged for her to take my two oldest so that they didn’t get sick. Also I wanted to catch up on my Netflix and I knew the baby would be sleeping. (Woot!)
My birthday came and went, and my husband and I decided not to celebrate.
Five days later my husband decided he was going to go out with some of his buddies. I admit to being a little upset about it, since I hadn’t been out in months. I picked up a good bottle of wine, put the baby to sleep, and got a little tipsy, before passing out in bed. I woke up sometime later to hear banging on the door. My husband habitually lost his keys while drinking so I stumbled down the stairs and pulled the door open to let him in so I could go back to sleep.
It wasn’t my husband.
I was sprayed in the face with what I believe was Lysol and got a good bash to my head. Luckily,I don’t remember much of the whole incident. When my husband came home he found the door open and I was lying on the floor in the living room with my clothes ripped off and a vacuum cord wrapped around my neck, thankfully unconscious.
Our then three year old was sleeping in an upstairs room, blessedly undisturbed. My mom came over and an ambulance took me to the hospital. I don’t remember much of this either because they had to sedate me since I wouldn’t stop screaming. After a lot of persuasion, I agreed to letting the police do a rape kit. At that point, I didn’t understand what was happening but I was scared and HURT. I felt violated and I didn’t want anyone to touch me.
They sent me home with ice packs, Valium, and a drug called Combivir, just in case my attacker had HIV. On top of the physical and mental stresses my body was already going through, the Comibivir would give me the same symptoms as someone undergoing chemo. I would be sick, and lose my hair, among many other side effects. My mom and sister decided that they would take the kids for the two months that I would have to take the medicine.
My husband and I banded together for the first time ever. He found us a new apartment because I didn’t feel safe in ours. His parents came up to help us move.
I spiraled into a depression. I soaked in it. Two months turned into my mom taking the kids for almost a year. We moved again because I couldn’t stand being in our city anymore. I still had problems getting out of bed. My husband didn’t want me to take anti-depressants because he wanted me to get better on my own and he saw the meds as a crutch. We fought. He cheated. I became more depressed. It hurt to talk to my kids, to let them see me because I’d lost a lot of weight and I looked like shit – to put it bluntly.
I contemplated suicide, and I finally found rainn.org, and their virtual counselors. I talked to someone every day, sometimes several times a day. I stopped taking two Valium an hour and started eating without the fight from my husband.
I still dream about it most nights. I still get horrible feelings whenever I smell Lysol. I still don’t feel sexy, but since then it’s almost like I crave sex. I want it more than ever. I’m sure if my husband knew that my new found randiness was due to the fact that I wanted to erase everything else, he would stop having sex with me.
I know that rape happens to millions of women but I still feel alone; I still feel like damaged goods.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Multiples Pregnancy |
You are going to have identical twin boys!
We thought we were in a dream, all the joys and fears at the same time. We got two cribs, two sets of every outfit (but in different colors), two swings, two of everything…except two identical boys.
We lost Jonathan James when he was 7 months (in utero). I was given the choice, but I never held him. I had to carry his identical brother Lewis Jordan, for an additional 7 weeks. He just was not ready to leave his brother until then. We knew about the extreme risks of twin-to-twin transfusion, how our surviving son would likely have severe brain damage as blood shunting causes terrible problems for a developing baby. We prepared ourselves for the very real possibility that our surviving son might not recognizing us, speak or walk.
We were destroyed.
I spent the next 7 weeks in a rocking chair in the nursery with TWO of everything; rubbing baby lotion on my hands and inhaling, trying to stop the sobs and the unearthly sounding wails that came from deep within my heart.
But I had another to worry about. Lewis. During all this turmoil, the grief over Jonathan could not be allowed to hobble me too badly, I could not let it, I had to be ready to care for the child that was alive and waiting to meet his parents.
Thank Christ the doctors were wrong about Lewis’ challenges. He was born by C-section on a cold January day, crying out when they removed him from his space. I know he cried out because they were taking him from his beloved brother, Jonathan. They thought it was because he was cold and the lights were bright. Fools.
His kidneys began to shut down 3 minutes after he was born. As they whisked him away from me, I demanded my husband leave my side and go with our son, to protect him, and promise to bring him back to me, healthy and safe.
The OB asked me if I wanted to see Jonathan, warning me that the body’s natural reaction is reabsorbtion, I asked only one question, “are you sure they were identical?” The doctor replied, “one sac, one placenta.” I replied with a heavy heart while still wide open on the operating table, “no, I already know what he looks like, just like his brother.”
Two hours later, my husband brought back our son, placed him in my arms and kissed my forehead. The doctors had stabilized him, no further medical issues had arisen and today he is a healthy, happy, wickedly intelligent nine-year old boy.
I will forever be happy that our son is healthy.
I also will be forever crushed that he does not have his twin brother.
I wish I could make the ache go away.
I wish that I was not jealous of other twins.
I will always wish that I had been strong enough to bring both of my sons into this world (though I followed every order from the medical establishment, I will always blame myself).
I wish I had my Jonathan.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Divorce, Divorce, Sexuality |
I was recently asked by someone who has recently separated/divorced, if, in my humble opinion, she can be considered to be “re-virginised” after only having sex about four times in seven years. Now take note ladies, because some of us have been here or are sitting here miserable and depressed, thinking the worst…
HELL, YES SWEETIE! ….and that’s a really good thing. Read on.
You see, I’ve been secretly joking for years that by the time a woman has gone without sex for a few years or more, she shouldn’t be considered frigid or past it. Au contraire! It’s probably healed over ‘down there’ and she should be considered a ‘Born Again Virgin’!
And, boy are these BAV women dangerous.
Firstly, there’s all that pent-up sexual energy just waiting to be released. Then there’s the fact that these women have probably been in a miserable relationship (cos they’ve not been getting any for starters, as well as dealing with loads of other shit) and are just bursting at the seams to have someone show them some loving, physical attention. Add to this the women who find themselves in this situation and single again, are generally in the age bracket where they’re considered to be in their sexual prime and BINGO they’re suddenly, footloose, fancy-free and hot stuff!
Here’s the icing on the cake – you’ve reached this wonderful status of the BAV in an era where it’s far more socially acceptable to go find yourself a younger man! So stuff the old bugger that you were with and go for a younger version. I was amazed and stunned when I became single again and got continually propositioned by outrageously young men. First I thought that it was all a joke, but seriously the number of young men wanting to hook up with older women is unbelievable.
Actually, a discussion with someone whom I had reprimanded sternly after they’d shocked me with a hot (and unprintable) proposition, made it all very clear. I asked what the hell it was with these young guys who pursued older women. Where they perverts or something? “Well” came the reply, “If you can get yourself a cougar, then you’re the man cos it’s like a badge of honour, a real education…..you know what I mean?”
I told him to bog-off cos I knew his mother. Which of course I didn’t, but he was so young that I might have. Now, I’m not suggesting that you go off and become Mrs Robinson or give out ‘cougar badges’ or anything, but hell woman, you could go for something just a snip younger than your last model and do your self-esteem the power of good.
Take it from me, there is nothing quite so good than to be told by some handsome hunk of a younger man that they find you sexy and beautiful. So, rejoice in your Born Again Virgin status and think of it a the re-birth of not only the rest of your life but your sex-life too. Get out there and shine like a star, cos the sky’s the limit and you’re rocket fuel baby!
