Tuesday, February 26, 2013

on falling out of love....

So everyone told me it would happen...and I never, ever thought it would. I thought the pain would just continue forever. The pain of heartbreak, of wanting, of not knowing why shit went wrong. And then one day I just realized I didn't really hurt anymore.

Do I still hurt? Oh yes. . . . just a minor sting where there used to be a gaping, oozing wound. I didn't even notice the process of being stitched up. . .

Eventually I knew that all of the lies and pain and hurt and yelling and screaming and abuse would add up into something unbelievably disgusting, so disgusting that sometimes it hurts to look at him, but I never thought I would end up falling out of love with him.

Andrew was my first love, my only love....ever. So for people to say "move on", "forget him", "he waas an asshole abuser", yeah I realize all of those things, I know all of those things, but the heart is a fickle thing and it wants what it wants and the heart can take much abuse. It can break and rebreak and unbreak and then put itself back together again. It can shrink and shrivel and become bitter and cold or it can expand to love more people and warm up. The heart is a most amazing thing.

But there is a point, a simple point, where the heart talks to the head and says "no more", "I can't deal with anymore". The heart hardens against that person who has caused them so much pain and the heart says "wait you make me swell now but I'll bleed later and it's not worth it".

So my heart has had enough. And with every angry word, with every insult, with every nasty comment and look and bad memory, my heart has let him go and my head has now been given most of the responsibility of dealing with him. And my head doesn't like him at all. My head knows he is a liar and cheat and a nasty person.

I fell out of love with the only person I have every completely loved. The only person I have ever chosen to love, a person that wasn't forced upon me due to the conventions of family. A person I chose to have as my best friend and partner for ten years.

I chose to love Andrew. I chose to accept him. I chose to do his dirty laundry and cook dinner and clean for him and I chose to have a child with him. I even chose to marry him...we just never got around to that part.

I got the drunk dial last night. Yeah I would have never expected that at all. Andrew's not a drinker, in ten years I've seen him drunk once...make that twice now.

He called me and he was low, very low. And I hate to say this, I hate to think it. . . I felt very conflicting emotions. One part of me was happy because he had hurt me so much and I wanted him to feel pain. . . another part was hurt that the person I had taken so much time and care for was hurting.

But I didn't comfort him, I didn't console him, I didn't become the normal loving Shanna  I normally do or did.

I told him to vomit, drink some water, take some Tylenol and go to bed...and so he did...

And in the morning he called me and apologized.

Huh? I mean huh?

I wish this were the end. I wish drunk dials were it. . . but this person is Seth's father and this is a lifetime I have to deal with him.... a lifetime. . . . at least Seth's lifetime.

But I choose not to love him any longer. I choose not to have him hurt me. I choose to heal. I choose to fall out of love with him.

I choose happiness...and I choose to fall in love with myself.

Monday, February 25, 2013

on mothers...

I have a bad relationship with my mother. . . . the worst kind. We smile at each other, we laugh together, we live together in fact, but we don't like each other. We never have. We don't get each other. We don't respect each other.

I live in a world veiled in fakeness. Fake smiles, fake laughs, fake concern..........just all fake.

And then there is the criticism. The narrowed eyes, the forced sighs, the snide comments......it all comes out eventually.

I'm never going to be good enough. I'm never going to be the daughter that she wants. I'll still never have mother that I want. I'll never get what I need from her.

I would even venture far enough to say that if my mother were any other person in this world other than my mother...I would hate her. Straight up hate her.

She never admits her faults, never apologizes for anything. She allowed me and my siblings to grow up in a house riddle with domestic violence....she never took us out...she never got us away. She favored two of us....I'm not one of them.

She took out all of her hurt and anger and lost hopes and dreams on us. Some of us she tried to live through, others she tried to oppress so she always had someone to fall back on.

I was opressed. . . . because I love my mom and I always, always, always wanted her approval. As a 30 year old woman I still want her approval so much.

I want my mom to be proud of me...of the parent I've become. To say "hey you are awesome".

I'm always going to give Seth my approval, my love, my heart, because I know how much it hurts not to have those things.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

on memories....

I'm sitting here with my mom, two aunts, and their old family friend, I'm thinking..I'm going to be here again one day with my sisters....I hope.

And it made me realize another thing. . . dysfunction runs deep. They talk about their memories, their good, bad and ugly and believe me there is some real ugly....and it's amazing. I wish I wish I wish I didn't know dysfunction, I wish they didn't either. I wish we could have a lineage of good. . . of pure...of not knowing what abuse was, whether it be sexual, emotional, physical, mental, etc......

Deadbeat dads, drugs, alcohol, starvation, so much more that has happened to my family growing up. To my mom and my dad, to my aunts and uncles, to people I care about....to people I respect more than anything. To people that I'm astonished constantly at their strength and bravery and love.

The fact that these people are still able to love after the pain they have experienced astonishes me. It makes me incredibly sad and absolutely proud to call these people all at the same time.

I never knew that at one point my lineage came from privilege. . . I always assumed that all the way back we were poor, uneducated addicts with mental illness....little did I know that at some point in my family lineage we were "okay".

One person can change a family's history. ONE PERSON. One alcoholic, one drug addict, one person who was sexually molested, one person who was hit or yelled at or hurt....one person can make the whole genetic line spiral down into oblivion.

It makes me think of all the things my family could have been or done if not for the dysfunction that has gone on for four generations now. Four generations is not much of a long time but long enough for fuckedupness to set in, long enough for dysfunction to become the norm, to twist people into shadows of the humans they are supposed to be.

One drink, one smoke, one needle in the arm....it's all it takes to go down into this deep abyss that is almost inescapable.

And sometimes, like Bane in the Batman movie, just sometimes, the person who emerges is not the good person they used to be. They emerge from the dark abyss and they are animals, they are scraps of what they used to be. They've had to fight and snarl and suffer for their success...that suffering breaks you. It takes away from your humanity.

One day I do wish I am sitting here with my sisters talking about our dysfunction. Because my aunts and uncles and parents are now talking about their dysfunction.....they are admitting to it, they are facing it....they are surviving through it.

The one big problem with family is that we hide stuff...we don't face things. We stuff them away in some place in ourselves and try not to look into those deepest corners of ourselves.

And to imagine that years later these women are finally sitting around with coffee, with alcohol, with a karaoke machine and smiles and are able to talk about these very painful, real memories....it's amazing. It's absolutely inspiring.

I know now why I'm in therapy. . . because these emotions, these memories, these realities are so difficult to deal with, so stressful....I couldn't do it any other way. I've just begun to heal myself and I do talk to my sisters about my struggles and they are very receptive and are amazing women themselves, but I don't want to sit in the dark forever.

I don't want to be 50 years old with a lifetime of baggage that I never got rid of.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

On Seth having a father...

Wow the response to my last post has been nothing but supportive. I finally feel so free because I made my situation known to everyone in my life, in person friends and online.

So a comment was made on my last post asking if I had gotten away from my ex....yes I have.

But have I completely? No, because Seth is his son. And as much as my ex has hurt me, as much as he wasn't the greatest father, Seth loves him and needs him. And Andrew does indeed love his son. I've always said that love isn't enough, I realize it now, Seth will realize it later on in life, but perhaps, just maybe, Andrew will be the father he needs to be. Because love does run out....if what is needed to be done doesn't get done. I view it as a bank....you can't take love out if you don't give it in and giving love is more than words, it's actions, sacrifice, hardships, it's so much more than a hug or kiss or three seamingly meaningful words.

I've been terribly ill the last four days. Strep throat.....fever, chills, all around feeling like death. . . And I called Seth's father and said you have to take your son, I just can't do it....and he did.

Now for any other father this is normal, there would be no question of taking your child for the weekend, but with him there always was. So he surprised me. And he's more attentive to Seth's needs lately. He's been doing the medicine thing, keeping up with doctors appointment information, he even plans on coming to Seth's IEP.

I will never forget what he did to me. I will never forgive him either. I will do what I think is best for Seth.,..and I think having two parents that love you is best. I grew up in a very dysfunctional home, but I always had a mom and a dad and I loved that about my family. I don't want to deprive Seth of a father.

Friday, February 8, 2013


I thought that other posts were going to be the hardest posts I have ever written...in fact each blog post seems to take something from inside of me and pull it out from that deepest part of myself and just when I think I've gone deep enough, I manage to go even deeper.

You see I lied to myself for so many years...and I've lied to all of you. Seth's father, that man that I told everyone was great, well he wasn't. He was/is an abuser.

Imagine for years thinking you aren't good enough, feeling like you are crazy, like you can never do enough or be enough or win enough love to make it through. . . those were the last ten years of my life. I was never enough.

I was verbally, emotionally and physically abused for the last ten years.

I just deleted that sentence twice, no more than that, because I can't stand to look at it....I can't stand to face that reality.

there it is. . . the truth.

I was called a cunt, bitch, whore, slut, told that I was a bad mother, that I didn't care enough, that things weren't clean enough, that I was stupid, that I didn't have enough sex....I was abused for so long that it became normal.

I was told that everything that went wrong was my fault, everything, it didn't matter what it was. I was told that things that happened really didn't, that I had remembered wrong.

Abuse was my normal.

It seems so easy now, so easy to realize that I was abused that I don't know how I didn't know. I'm a smart woman, I've witnessed abuse in others... why couldn't I see the same in myself, in my relationship?

I waited this long to end the relationship with Seth's father and I only did it because he refused to stop being "interactive" with a female friend of his...a friend that quickly became his girlfriend after I broke up with him.

To imagine that I would have never broken up with him otherwise boggles my mind. To imagine ten more years in that prison makes me sick to my stomach.

Ever have a friend or family member who tells you that something that you know happened didn't happen? It's called gaslighting... and it's been happening to me for years. YEARS. I had a nervous breakdown last year, thought I was going crazy... I wasn't crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm abused. I was abused.

Panic attacks, anxiety, weight gain, depression......symptoms of years of abuse.

It's no wonder that when I broke up with him that I lost 45lbs and cut and dyed my hair and bought new clothes. It's no wonder that I can't stand to play video games anymore because I'm disgusted at the memories. It's no wonder I'm terrified to trust people.

This is literally heart-wrenching to write... and it's making me sick to my stomach, but I have to get it out. I see no other choice. I've been nothing if not brutally honest on this blog and that's not stopping now. So if you are someone who is truly disturbed by domestic violence, please skip the next paragraph.

Imagine chairs being thrown, walls being punched, being held down to a bed, being unable to leave your own house. Imagine being terrified.....and then imagine being completely numb. Imagine cleaning up the mess that you didn't make, and walking around on tip toes because you are terrified of any remaining burst of anger. Imagine having sex with someone you love and being treated like a piece of meat, being held down forcibly and being hurt. Being ashamed. Being subjected to what feels like rape but somehow you convince yourself it's not. Imagine holding something and refusing to let it go and having your spouse take a pair of scissors to your shirt so you are forced to let the item go...imagine him doing that in front of a group of people.

Imagine every birthday, every special day you ever had being made all about him and his wants and needs. Imagine just giving birth to a child with special needs and doing his finals and papers the day after. Imagine trying to finish college with an 18 month old with special needs, coming home doing therapies, cooking, cleaning and walking in the freezing cold to do laundry and then come home to finish college papers and make lessons plans.

Imagine every day of my life for the last ten years.

I can't. That's not even the half of it. That's not even a quarter of it. That's a drop in the fucking bucket.

I can't fix those ten years. I can't go back and change them as much as I wish I could. And I can't help that these insensitive asshole abuser is Seth's father. . . but I can change tolerating abuse.

I am no longer tolerating abuse.

I will no longer be cursed at.

I will no longer be yelled at.

I will no longer be held against my will.

I will no longer be called stupid.

I will no longer stand for your shit.

Because I'm worth so much more. Because through it all I still managed to be an amazing person and mother to Seth. Because I'm fucking strong. Because I have God by my side. Because now everyone knows the truth about you and it can't be denied any longer. Because you are nothing more than a scared piece of shit who uses his insecurities as a reason to hurt others.

I'm sorry Shanna. I'm sorry I let you go through this for so long. I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry I didn't speak up sooner....and I forgive you.