Is it hormones? Is it menopause? Is it the looming specter of empty nest syndrome? Or is it a woman who, after surviving an abusive marriage with the help of dear friends and 6 years of psychotherapy, has finally starting rediscovering who she is and what she wants to do?
I don't know. The flip side shouts that perhaps the meds aren't working as they should.
But over the last week, I've done some fairly uncharacteristic things. And I have more in the works. I'm relatively free of my ex, although those emails still keep coming in, which I will share with you again soon, I have a good job that I like, I have dear, true friends, my kids are growing into healthy adults. Sure the shit hits the fan and I take a nose dive, but I'm starting to do things just for me. I do have leftover Ex baggage which manifests itself in my little voice telling me I can't, I shouldn't, I'm not smart enough, I'm not organized enough, I don't have the time, the stress will make me eat more, eating more will make me fat-ter....etc. You get the point.
But I've stopped listening -- most of the time.
I didn't listen when I signed up to participate in NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org) which is National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words in 30 days. I've done 1324 words as of today and have no idea what else I am going to type! I'm looking forward to the challenge and just hoping I can make it to 30,000 words. I'd be happy with that! There's always next year!
Then, I signed up through the Manilow Fund for Health and Hope (www.manilowfund.org) to attend a charity event next year which includes a "how do you do" with Mr. Manilow himself. I saw the ticket on line, I waited 48 hours, a ticket was still available and I took it. I can't believe I did it. It so isn't "me".
But I've decided these things -- NaNo and Manilow -- are good things. I'm breaking free of the victim I was and seeing things through totally different eyes. Don't get me wrong -- it's taken a long time to get here. A Long Time. But it is so worth it.
For any of you healing from abusive relationships, get therapy. Talk to your friends. Don't isolate yourself. Try new things. Realize you are going to backpeddle sometimes, but that's ok. Progress will be made.
You are worth every single thing you do for yourself -- silly or not!
Saturday, November 3, 2007
What Have I Done -- Parts 1 and 2
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Reason I Am the Way I Am
I usually don't point fingers, but I'm gonna.
I find it extremely tiresome to listen to someone moan and groan and bitch and wail about their divorce in 1990. I worked with a woman who was married for a short time, divorced for ages with no kids and she STILL talks about the moron. I wanted to Cher scream, "SNAP OUT OF IT!" at her. She didn't have to deal with him at all. My ex is the bane of my existence. No matter what kind of shithead your ex is, for your children's sakes, you must hold it together.
I was divorced in 2001, which is painfully at the edge of needing to shut the hell up about it already. Except I have one excuse: my ex still can't leave me alone. He controlled and manipulated and bullied me for 15 years and he just can't stop. I am his Lay Potato Chip.
I would like share excerpts of his emails. I've heard that one could sue me for slander for posting these gems, but who in the hell in their right mind would own up to writing them?? I feel I'm safe.
"(blah, blah, blah....) I told you, told you that this is what happens when you override my authority and my right to say no. I TOLD YOU. You allow them (the kids)the anonymity of hiding behind email where they can say anything they want with no repercussions. Then you sit back in your cozy bubble and insist everything is fine. How can you be so ignorant? (blah, blah, blah) You allowed this to happen by going against me. Now you have created a Monster. (blah, blah, blah) What the Hell!"
I know you want more. It's like watching a show you wish would never end --
"blah, blah, blah...) I wonder who's best interest is really served here. I will not agree to any further meetings with your (he means the kids') doctors. As long as You are in the picture I will never get a fair shake in dealings with my Children. (blah, blah, blah...) If this is what helps you sleep at night, how sad."
In the immortal words of John Lennon: "I could listen to him for hours." So I'll give you the piece de resistence:
"You are Pitiful. (blah, blah, blah...) Why don't you focus on your own relationships? Advancing age will treat you much better if you do."
Now I know these are taken out of context -- and he has a capitalization problem, but you get the drift. My lawyer contends he's more of a nuisance than a bona fide whack job, but I'm tired of getting slagged through the mud. And so are my kids. He sends crap like this even to Erin, who is only 11.
And I know what you are thinking: if I'm such a bad mother, why hasn't he done anything about me? Why isn't he suing me for custody? Why isn't he taking the kids to counselors and social workers to help them instead of me taking them? Because he's a self-centered, egotistical bully, that's why.
But haven't we crossed the "what is acceptable and what isn't acceptable" line yet? I mean do ex-husbands have to come and physically beat you before anyone thinks a line has been crossed? I don't know. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I don't get it. Maybe I'm supposed to take it and the kids are supposed to deal with him and when they are 18 they can do what they want. Sean hit 17 and was done. My poor Erin has at least 6 more years....and that father/daughter relationship is so fraught with angst anyway.
All I have to say is -- choose wisely when you marry and have children. And if you haven't chosen wisely, get the hell out. But be prepared. Abusers have a very hard time letting go.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Portrait of the Writer as a Young Girl
Yes, that's me. 1958-ish. Obviously winter and obviously dressed to the nine's with my muff, matching hat and burgundy coat.
In case you were worried, I still have that chair I'm sitting on.
So how, do you ask, did a cute little thing like me with devoted, kind, intelligent parents end up depressed and suicidal in WAM-ville?
Oh, wait, let's see if I can get Rose and Frank's pic in here too.
There they are. Wedding day. September, 1948. (Go ahead, check the dates. They were married years before I came along).
Q: Lara, didn't you KNOW that WAM was a possessive, nasty, control freak? You dated him for 3 years before you married.
A: Remember this and remember it well: abusers chose their victims with care. They are as persistent and well educated at reeling you in as Captain Ahab. You will almost never see through their screens. I had a few bad feelings in the pit of my stomach, which I didn't listen to...and my dad never liked WAM, which I didn't pay attention to. Perhaps standing back listening to my "little voice" and paying closer attention would have helped.
Q: What about your parents? Did you recreate your family home like so many do?
A: Nope. My mother was an excellent role model. She had her own stuff, maintained a job, took no crap from my dad, who was mild-mannered, more on the reticent side and very respectful of women. My mother had me read Thoreau’s “Essay on Self-Reliance” when I was 13. So, bottom line? No. I jumped into a whole new nightmare that I have to worry about my children recreating.
Q: So what did your Mom say when you told her about WAM?
A: Well, both my parents became ill after I got married. My mother died 366 days after I got married, my dad a year after that. So I really couldn't dump my horrid marriage on them. When I did mention to my mom that that marriage wasn’t EXACTLY what I had anticipated, she told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t to take shit from anyone. She didn’t raise a daughter to cow-tow to some two-bit moron. I was to value my own intelligence and self-worth above all, and basically bag anyone who didn’t subscribe to the same agenda. My dad concurred.
Q: What happened?
A: Maybe because I lost them so quickly and so close together, I dropped into grief and mourning and didn't have the strength to deal with WAM. Or eventually the strength to leave him. I became the antithesis of who my parents wanted me to be. I was frightened, abused, petrified, numb. I felt stupid, useless. I told Anne that in WAM’s eyes, I was FULS. Fat, ugly, lazy, stupid. That’s how I was treated and that’s how I began to see myself.
Q: Why did you believe him? You were 30 years old -- had been on your own, traveled, had a good job, had many friends, came from a strong background.
A: When I married WAM, I loved and respected him. His opinion mattered. When I realized he thought I was worthless, I became worthless in my own eyes. (Can you say "co-dependent"?) I couldn’t see that his perceptions were a result of his own problems, his own issues with women. I couldn’t imagine that I had made a mistake falling in love with him or marrying him. I was the epidimy of the saying “A woman will do almost anything to avoid facing the truth about the person she loves.”
Are you getting the idea that I was a mess? I was a mess. "Was" being the operative word.
Q: So why you? Why WAM?
A: I used to joke and say: The planets aligned, Saturn's rings were in the 7th House of Usher, we met, we got married. But the truth of the matter is, if I hadn't met the WAM-ster, I wouldn't have Sean and Erin. Motherhood is the absolute best thing that ever happened to me. I've told both my children that because of them, I know that God exists in the universe. My parents and my cousin (who lives far away) were all the family I had and after my parents passed away, I felt disconnected and groundless. Having Sean and then Erin, especially since WAM didn't want children (there's another story) was a gift. A true and real gift from God.
And you know, things might have turned out differently. If my dad had discovered the actual true nature and personality of WAM before he passed away, WAM would have been dead, and my dad would have been in jail. If the timing of this well-justified murder was bad, I might have missed out on having my kids. Sometimes, you can just feel the hand of God on your shoulder.
Q: And what about now?
A: Now, I have my kids. I have my cousins. I have friends. I went to hell and came back stronger. I really did. I am living proof that sometimes, as pitch-awful as it is, we just have to let the bad stuff happen.
Then, when we are better, when we are healed, we can extend a hand to those who are where we once were.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
You've Got To Have....
Yes, friends.
And the one I've had the longest is Anne. The attached picture was taken probably around 1962. Anne is still a cute, little cherub and I'm still a....witch. What is most notable in this picture is that not only is Anne still in my life, but so is that piano we are sitting on. It was the first piece of furniture my parents brought new in 1951 and it is still in my living room, below the same picture that adorns the wall behind us. There is something soothing in the constancy, especially when a good part of my adult life was filled with abuse.
For those of you in abusive relationships, although I've gone through it, I simply can not tell you what to do. You need to figure that out on our own, through your own power. Those steps you take to free yourself, whether it's working things out with your mate or divorcing, will give you ultimate strength to deal with what is meeting you down the road. The main thing is to GET HELP and GET IT FAST.
I don't really have bad feelings for my ex, WAM (as he is nicknamed) any longer. After 6 years of being free from him, I traveled to find myself again for my own benefit, as well as my children. But it was a long, hard, tearful road. I consistently took 2 steps forward and 4 backwards, but I slowly made progress. I was lucky to have a close knit group of friends, including Anne, who were there for me all the way. I learned something very, very important from all of them who patiently listened, who comforted, who prayed for me and also who slapped me upside the head when I needed it. I learned from them by example what a truly wonderful and devoted friend is. There is no way I could thank them enough.
I was also lucky to find wonderful, supportive counselors who helped me. To all of them, friends, my cousins, counselors, physicians, I owe an enormous debt of gratitude.
At this point, it might seem strange that as I look back, I feel like a schizophrenic. I laugh at the situations as I feel sorry for who I was then. Here, for example, was normal dinnertime conversation with WAM:
“Are you going to eat that? Why did you make that? You know it’s really not healthy. And why aren’t the kids eating that? You should not let them eat peanut butter sandwiches at dinner. That’s not a meal. It’s unhealthy. They should be made to eat what we are eating. You let them get away with murder. If they turn out undisciplined, that’s gonna be on your head, not mine. I’d make them eat the stuff on the table. (Breath) Didn’t you kind of take a big serving of that stuff? Are you going to exercise to work that off? It’s probably got a lot of calories and god knows how much fat. You should eat off a smaller plate. You know they say if you eat off a smaller plate you get full faster. We should eat more healthy. Fish is good, but I don’t like fish. And I don’t like salads or vegetables, but let's try to eat more healthy. (Breath) Didn’t you say something was wrong with your mother's liver or something before she died? Is that why she got a big belly? You know, your belly is getting big like hers. Did you ever have a blood test to check your liver?”
You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I saw Dustin Hoffman in that movie, and I realized I had the perfect name for Mason: Rain-WAM.
I know what you're thinking: why didn't you tell him to shut the f*** up? Because he controlled by threats, by the daily diminishing of my self esteem and confidence, by creating fear, by a horrid and vile temper. It was my job to quiet the waters, shut up, and keep the playing field as clear as possible. Anything could turn him nasty. Baseball team losing. Cut off in traffic. Revisiting some memory from his childhood. Didn't matter. I was the closest thing in his vicinity (because most people -- friends and family included -- had deserted the playing field long ago), and someone had to pay for his misery. That was me.
Now trust me here: all men are NOT like this. My father wasn't. Sam, my significant other, isn't like this. My son is not like this. What makes a man a mean, cruel, vindictive person? I'm not sure. He was just damaged in some way and was totally unable or unwilling to ask for help or accept the help he was offered. Accepting help was a sign of weakness....and weakness just wasn't allowed.
Alcohol was a crutch. Medication was a crutch. Religion was a crutch. Cigarettes were a crutch. Should you use any of these for relief, you were subject to ridicule and berating. As a "man", I guess you were supposed to take "everything" and then go home and beat your wife and scream at your kids. If you were a woman under stress, well, too bad. Life sucks.
I'm not a doctor, only a victim. You need to protect yourself and your children. The problem with victimization is that depression goes along with it and makes you utterly powerless to make any decision in your own behalf. Break the cycle...and get help. Use every resource at your disposal -- friends, family, counselors, physicians.
I can't tell you it'll be easy....but I realized I was worth it with a little help from my friends....and so are you.
