Another Memory (artwork; trigger warning)

One of these days my reserve of traumatic images will run low, WON'T IT?  I keep thinking there will come a day when I will finally have processed all of this shit. 

This particular image/memory is from early on in our relationship, before we were even married.  It started out almost romantic.  We had taken an old plaid blanket to a local state park and hiked quite a ways off the trail.  I knew he planned to have sex, and I was okay with that . . . in fact, there was a certain amount of "romance" and "excitement" to the whole idea of having sex in a semi-public place where we might get caught.

But then he started getting really rough and "weird." and I asked him to stop.  We heard some other people on the hiking trail nearby, and for a split second, I thought to myself, "maybe they could help me."  But then I felt really stupid.  Help me with WHAT?  This was my BOYFRIEND, who I had come there WILLINGLY with. . . what would I SAY to them?  The sex had started out consensually . . . I just hadn't been prepared for the change in his approach.  And when I say "change," I mean Dr.Jekyl/Mr. Hyde type transformation. 

I was terrified and did what most young women would probably do - screamed at him to get off me.  He threw the blanket over me and started choking me, telling me to "shut the fuck up" and saying "you know you want it" and that I was such a tease and he "knew" I liked it rough.  Since WHEN?  His grip on my throat got so tight I started seeing stars and thought I was going to pass out.  I maybe did for a second or two, because I vaguely remember him leaning over me looking kind of scared and saying, "oh my God!" I guess maybe he thought he killed me?

Anyhow, yeah, this was such a "fun" memory to revisit/relive.  This is going on 15 years ago and it's only just coming up.  When is this going to end?  Just when I think I must be almost done with this crap, there's always MORE and MORE and MORE.  I'm so sick of it.  I just want to get on with my life and be "NORMAL!"  Is there such a thing?

I don't want to be one of those people who spends their whole life in therapy whining about their past and using it as an excuse for never doing anything with their life.  I have dreams, goals, and aspirations (or at least I'm pretty sure that I USED TO).  I don't have time for this insanity.

And yet, I'm afraid if I don't let all this crap out now and deal with it thoroughly, that it will just come back to "haunt" me at some point in the future.  But I SO want to get on with my life, to leave these ugly chapters behind me FOREVER.  When will this end?

Standing Tall (sonnet)

I did not give up, did not cease to fight.
I chose to find a way I could survive.
I weighed the risk, did what I felt was right;
I saved myself and vowed to stay alive.
I held onto my "self" as best I could.
I fought to stay in touch with what was real.
I lived through things that no one ever should,
Experienced feelings none should have to feel.
I lost some battles, but I won the war.
I'm still not whole, but I am standing tall.
I may not understand the reasons for
The pain he caused or why I took it all.
I cannot blame myself for giving in;
By letting go, I found a way to win.

Giving up the Fight (artwork; trigger warning)

I apologize in advance if this piece of artwork is disturbing to you.  I'm simply trying to wade my way through all of the perverse images that swirl around my mind these days.  Sometimes it's so hard to fit the pieces together.  What I find the most disconcerting is that in many of these images, I see myself in such a submissive state, as though I had completely given up, as though I no longer cared what happened to me, and had simply accepted what was happening as my "lot in life."  Sometimes I will have a clear recollection of thinking to myself, "If I do this, at least something worse won't happen tonight."  It's like I had lost all will to fight back. 

I've tried to determine when exactly this change took place.  Was there a moment in time that I decided it wasn't worth the struggle, that pain was inevitable and I might as well choose the least painful thing?  Was there a day that I suddenly relinquished any right to my own body? Or was it a gradual process that incidiously ate away at the very core of my being until I had no strength left to resist?  I honestly can't say.

I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up, that I stopped fighting back, that I just lay there and "took it" like a lump of nothingness.  At some point, I guess I quit feeling.  But did I really?  I find it hard to believe that there wasn't at least some internal response to the excruciating pain, humiliation, and degradation.  It's more likely that I dissociated whenever I got overwhelmed physically and/or emotionally. 

This is a very difficult image for me.  I know it happened a lot.  Several times a week, as best I can recall. I can feel my face mashed into him and his hands pushing so hard against the back of my head that my neck hurt.  I can smell the musky smell between his legs and sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a choking sensation and a salty taste in my mouth.  I chose the swirly background because sometimes I would get so dizzy that the "room would swim" and I'd "see stars" because it was very hard to breathe.  Aside from the fact that I was probably a little low on oxygen to the brain now and then LOL, I would put myself into sort of a trance and visualize something sort of like the swirls in this picture.  I would close my eyes and points of light would go around and around in circles.

And yet, I would just kneel there. Like a robot. Like a servant.  Like it was my duty.  I can see myself just sitting there totally limp and lifeless, gagging, trying to breathe, trying to pull away just enough to take a breath and him smashing himself down my throat.  "Swallow it," he'd order, "Just swallow it."  I can feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor sometimes.  Other times, he'd have me sit on the toilet and he would stand in front of me.  That was a little "better" because at least my neck wasn't at such a crazy angle. 

Truthfully, even though I DETESTED sucking him off, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would OFFER it to him to avoid the more painful alternatives.  I hate myself for being so weak, for thinking so little of myself that I would essentially try to "bargain" my way out of pain.  "I'll give you a blow job if you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."  I don't know how many times I said that.  The sickening thing is, sometimes I'd go through a half hour of agonizing fellatio, "comforting" myself with the fact that at least for that night I wouldn't get raped, and then he'd go back on his word and wake me up at 2 in the morning ANYWAY and say, "Oh, that was just a warmup.  Time for round 2."  

How did I manage to survive?  Why didn't I go insane?  Maybe I DID go insane . . . a little . . . LOL . . . what "normal" person would spend hours on end recreating disgusting graphic images of horrible memories. 

But at the moment, it seems to be helping me "get it out," so bear with me and I apologize for the content of the "art."  One of these days I'll have to do something a little more "nice" for a change. 

Denial - Not Just a River in Egypt

For me, one of the most difficult parts of the "healing journey" has been the lack of validation from certain people. Sure, mental health professionals have been very supportive -- especially those within the "domestic violence community." A few select friends and several of my family members that I've been brave (or stupid?) enough to share some of my experiences with have been somewhat sympathetic. But there have been several key people along the way whose purposeful denial of reality has undermined the very foundation of my "self."

There was the well-meaning "Christian" counselor who told me it was okay for my
husband to do whatever he wanted to me sexually whether I consented or not because:
"As a Godly wife, your body is not your own. You belong to your husband now, and must do whatever it takes to keep him happy." You don't want to know how much she charged per hour for her pearls of wisdom!

There was my mother-in-law who SAW my husband drag me by my hair, HEARD him
screaming obscenities at me in front of the children, and physically "tussled" with him
HERSELF. When I *ANONYMOUSLY* left a prayer request in church, she scolded me and said "we don't talk about things like that outside of the family." Her solution: "Maybe if you kept the house a little neater he wouldn't get so upset. Every man has needs. Maybe if you met his physical needs more often, he wouldn't get so angry. I know there's nothing calms my husband down more than sex. You should try it. My son might have a little bit of a trouble with drinking, but you know he loves you and the kids so much."

There were my parents who KNEW he'd been convicted of threatening me with a loaded shotgun, had seen him ON VIDEO trashing the place and screaming at me, saw my broken
windshield that he'd shattered with his fists, saw me limping sometimes, but STILL let me go back to him and just let him take me and my baby clear across the country without any objection. "You're a big girl now," they said, and washed their hands of the situation, "You made your bed, I guess you gotta lie in it. He says he's sorry. Everybody makes mistakes."

There was the cop who responded to our house and took the statement from our 11 year old son saying that my husband had purposely thrown some things and broken them. I confirmed that my son was telling the truth, but the officer said to me: "it's no crime for him to be drunk or throw things if he feels like it. It's his house and he can do whatever he wants to in it. He says it was an accident, and I've got no reason not to
believe him," and then he and my husband went out on the front porch and had a good laugh.

There was the judge who told me that my husband threatening me, spanking me with a
leather riding crop, forcing me to perform various sex acts, etc was not "real" domestic
violence/abuse because I had never reported it to the police, he had never broken any bones, and I didn't have any conclusive medical records or other "hard evidence." He said that the fact that I had stayed with my husband for so long obviously proved that "it couldn't have been all that bad."

I can forgive the deluded counselor for believing that spousal rape is biblical. I can forgive my mother-in-law for not wanting to believe that her precious "baby" is a monster. I can forgive my parents for not realizing how terrified I was of my abusive husband. I can forgive the cop for being a typical chauvinistic imbecile. I can forgive the judge for being clueless and insensitive. But there's one person who's continued denial STILL gets to me.

You see, my ex-husband has NEVER admitted to anything he said or did to me -- not even just between the two of us.

He's told his family I'm crazy & made it all up. He's told our children that "mommy's sick in her mind" and should be committed to a mental hospital. Even RIGHT AFTER raping me, he'd be upset with me for sitting too long in a tub of ice cold water (numbs the pain a little). "What the f*ck is wrong with YOU?" he'd scream at me. It didn't matter if he'd held me down, tied me up, or whatever, he always insisted that I had consented.

Honestly, the last few years that we were together, I didn't even bother saying 'no' because it didn't matter. Besides, I swear he got MORE turned on by forcing me, so it was less painful to just give in.

When we first got married he'd follow me from room to room all night long, crudely groping at me and fingering me. I'd even hide in the shower. One night I slept on the front porch in winter to avoid him -- anything was better than ... yuck.

Anyhow, he would ALWAYS deny any wrongdoing on his part. He'd say I was just being a "paranoid, frigid bitch," or that I "liked it that way," etc.

To this day he doesn't believe he's done a single thing wrong and he's playing the victim role for all it's worth. "Poor me. My wife left me for no reason at all. She' s crazy. She's ruining my life."

His denial didn't just involve the rape though ... For example, one night he punched huge holes in an upstairs wall. I finally went to bed once I thought it was safe. The next morning I saw that he had stayed up all night patching the wall. He even repainted it.

The only way you could tell what had happened was by looking on the opposite side the wall (it was cracked all the way through because he'd hit it so hard). I told his dad the next day what he'd done and my husband said I was making it up, that I was just trying to start a fight & looking for attention.

He'd set a cup of coffee on the table, walk past and knock it off & spill it, and then scream & curse at me IN THE OTHER ROOM for making a mess & make ME clean it up. As if I could magically have teleported myself into the kitchen to spill his coffee?

Some of the more severe things he just outright denies & says they're figments of my imagination. Like one of several times miscarried ... He claims I "tripped" on the newspapers on the landing ... and that it was MY FAULT that the newspapers that ONLY HE READ hadn't been put away. And when I had to have surgery twice in the same year for severely thrombosed internal hemorrhoids & related injuries from his anal rapes, he blamed it on "pushing too hard to poop" because I'd been pregnant and said it was the "pressure of the baby pushing down" that had caused my problems with "bad constipation."

He denies ever spanking or beating me -- even when I'd show him the leather riding crop the next morning he'd say, "I have no idea where that came from. I bet YOU bought it. Or maybe your GIRLFRIEND did!"

Truly, he made me doubt my own sanity. And I did have a nervous breakdown 4 years ago as a result of his twisted mind games and denial.

Somehow, I keep telling myself that if he'd just admit to ONE THING he did, I'd be OK. But he never will. I tell myself that maybe he blacked out from drinking too heavily & just doesn't remember -- because that's easier for me to deal with emotionally. I simply can't understand how he could hurt me over & over again and then claim he didn't.

Lundy Bancroft's books are pure gold. I only wish I'd read them years ago -- could have saved myself a lot of heartache. I can't tell you how much time & energy I wasted trying to get him to own up to what he was doing to me -- when He simply DID NOT CARE.

Sometimes I wonder if he's just a psychopath that's incapable of empathy. I'm still not to the place where I'm strong enough to 'not care' whether or not my experience is validated. It just hurts so much to know that he got away with it for all those years without any consequences.

He always had an explanation for everything. Bruises on my hips were from me being clumsy and bumping into furniture. Pictures of bruises weren't actually pictures of me, he'd say. And if they were me, he'd accuse me of having had someone digitally alter the pictures. If a doctor would send me an order written on a prescription blank saying not to have sex because my pregnancy was at risk, he'd tear it up and take me anyhow.

Then when I'd miscarry, he'd say it was the doctor's fault, that he or she was incompetent, and make me change to a different doctor.

Sometimes I still doubt my own perception. I know I shouldn't, but there's a long way between the brain and the heart ... and when you're told you're stupid & crazy for so many years, after awhile you start to believe it. I figure since it took him so many years to essentially "brainwash" me, I can't expect to undo the damage overnight.

Still, I do get very frustrated. I hate what he's done to me and I hate that he can't just own up to it. Part of me feels like I'll never be "right" until he admits what he's done to me, but I'm not holding my breath that he'll ever face the truth.

New Artwork - Shadow Girl

This one is about how even though I'm a grown woman, I still sometimes feel like a frightened little girl that's all alone.  I get so tired of being "strong" and telling my kids that "everything's gonna be okay" when I don't know if it ever will be.   Sometimes I just wish there was somebody there to hold me and tell ME that everything's gonna be okay.  Is it?  Will it EVER be okay?

7-7 New artwork (trigger warning)

I've been having such trouble with nightmares lately.  And what I call "daymares" LOL . . . I'm awake, but it feels like when you're trapped in a nightmare and you KNOW it's a dream, but you can't wake up.  Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I can't really talk about yet, but I've been able to "draw about it."  I can't even really say much about these except that each one took several hours to complete. 

Anyhow, I hope you didn't find these too disturbing.  I'll post one in a new post that's a little bit more conventional that I've just finished today (Shadow Girl).

Does Justice Even Exist? (Article/Rant)

I was talking tonight with another domestic violence survivor about the incredible shame of being sexually abused by our husbands. It's something that was so hard to talk about -- even just between the two of us.
I think one of the most difficult things was feeling so isolated and thinking to myself -- "nobody even knows what's happening to me." We got to talking about how, even now that we've LEFT our abusive relationships, it's so hard to open up and share with anyone such intimate details about our lives.

She expressed her relief that her children are protected by a no contact order because of their father's extreme physical violence. Tears filled my eyes. My children don't have that protection because he didn't physically abuse them. He "only" emotionally/psychologically and verbally abused them. He saved most of the hell for me. And unlike my friends' children, who can testify to their father's abuse, my children didn't witness most of what my Ex did to me (thank heavens; although my youngest told her therapist this week that she remembers him chasing me with a knife so now I'm freaking out because I didn't think she saw that and I'm wondering what ELSE they've seen that I THOUGHT they didn't see because I assumed they were "asleep in bed." ).

For the most part, when they're asked about things that I KNOW they saw, heard, experienced, etc, they claim that they "don't remember."  This is true of things that happened as recently as a year ago just before we left for shelter.  I honestly don't know if they really don't remember (because they dissociated or blocked it out) or if they're just too scared or embarrassed to talk about it. Either way, it's so hard for me because I feel like I'm struggling through this alone.  I went through hell FOR MY CHILDREN . . . and they don't even REMEMBER? I feel so bad for even saying that -- after all, shouldn't I be happy if they've been able to forget?  Why can't I forget?

One of the most frustrating things is that the legal system hasn't been a bit of help.  In fact, the way one judge treated me in court was worse than anything my husband had ever done to me -- I felt like I was being raped all over again (only this time in open court, in front of complete strangers).

When I first began to testify, I felt a slight sense of empowerment. I thought to myself, "FINALLY, I will get to tell what he has done to me. FINALLY, I will get some justice." Not in a million years. The judge sort of pretended to listen as I poured out my very soul.  Tears were streaming down my face (one of the few times I had been able to cry about it).  Then, with a sickening, condescending, and almost sarcastic tone, he said to me:

"Let me get this straight -- you say that your husband allegedly raped you repeatedly over the span of 15 years. Did you ever call the police? Did you go to the doctor? You expect me to believe that you went through all of this and yet not only didn't you tell anyone, but you stayed and had more children with this man? That just doesn't make sense. I'm dismissing your restraining order on the grounds that you have not proven to me why you would be afraid of this man. You have not shown me sufficient EVIDENCE to satisfy me that you are, in fact, in any real danger. During this most recent event, you claim that he threatened you with a belt, is that right?"

"Yes, your honor, " I said,  "In front of the children.  I have it recorded here if you want to listen to it."

"I don't need to hear it.  I'm not going to waste this courts time with this nonsense," the judge said, shuffling his papers,  "Am I supposed to believe that you thought he would actually follow through and spank a grown woman with a belt? Let's be serious now, really.  You can't possibly have been threatened by that.  Even IF I believed you, and even IF what you're telling me is true, no woman in her right mind would EVER have stayed with a man like that for 15 years if things were half as bad as you say they were. I think you're just another bitter woman looking for an easy way out of her marriage. Case dismissed."

And that was the end of the hearing. I hadn't even told the judge the HALF of it ... only just a few things that I had some degree of certainty about what date they'd happened (because of journal entries, medical records, etc). One my worst fears had come to pass -- the judge didn't believe me. (Either that or he did believe me and just didn't really care or want to be bothered.) So many incidents I have clear memory of bits and pieces of it, and I can MAYBE figure out roughly what YEAR it happened (based on how old the children were, where we were living, etc). 

All I can say is this, I guess I should have run screaming naked out into the street, blood running down my legs and all, after he hurt me.  Yep, that's it.  I should have left my children alone with him so I could go down to the emergency room and have some stranger swab me down and sew me up.  Or maybe I should have tried to tell my family what was going on . . . let's see, what would THAT conversation have sounded like? "Uh, hi Mom.  Yeah, it's hot and humid here too.  The kids are growing like weeds.  No, we haven't had much rain.  Oh, yes, I'm fine.  Enjoying getting held down and raped up the ass every now and then.  Oh, and did I mention that his latest thing is whipping me with a horse whip til I can barely walk?  Uh huh.  Weird, right?  So, how's Dad doing? Can't wait to see you guys next summer.  It'll be so fun to catch up on everything.  Like how made me strip down naked and sit in the corner of the bedroom all night and he'd walk by and spit on me and call me a whore, cunt, bitch, slut.  What's that?  Why did he do it?  Oh, I don't know.  He said he was sure I had cheated on him with the mailman because he saw a package had been delivered.  Yes Mom, I'm taking my prenatal vitamins, trying to get plenty of rest.  But it's hard when he wakes me up all the time and forces me to give him a blow job whenever he feels like it.  And you know what, Mom?  Last week he choked me til I almost passed out.  Maybe I did; I'm not really too sure.  So, I was wondering Mom, when you're baking a whole turkey, do you start basting it from the beginning, or do you wait until the end?  I'm stressing out about having Thanksgiving here, what with the new baby on the way and all.  Sure, he hits and kicks my stomach sometimes and says since I'm such a worthless fucking mother I shouldn't be allowed to have any more children. But I'm sure everything will be fine.  I could call the cops if it got really bad, right?"

Yeah, that was one conversation that would NEVER happen . . .

The "strange" thing is that every time I "let him" get away with hurting me, it got easier somehow.  And when I really stop and think about it, the last 4-5 years I didn't question him at all.  In fact, I went out of my way to ANTICIPATE what he would want so it would go easier or faster.  I think I just completely shut down and ceased to be a human being after awhile.  My soul was dead.  And truthfully, I don't know if I will ever be "normal" again . . .

Maybe the judge was right -- no woman in her right mind would have stayed so long. But who's to say that I was even CLOSE to being in my right mind after what he'd done to me for so many years?

Now I have nothing. No proof to speak of. I might have internal scars or old injuries, but I'm terrified of going to the OB-GYN. I haven't gone for over 5 years. I did have rectal surgery about 7 years ago to repair damage caused by his repeated anal rapes, but my ex husband claimed it was necessary because of extreme straining due to constipation while I was pregnant. And apparently that lame explanation was good enough for the doctor (and later for the judge).  Nobody questioned him.   

So yeah, don't talk to me about justice. Don't tell me how great America is. I feel like throwing up just thinking about it ... and realizing that he got away with it all completely scot free makes me wish I could spew chunks all over him. It would serve him right. God knows he made me suck him off until I threw up often enough. It would serve him right to get vomit all over HIM for once.

What really gets me is in the custody proceedings, the judge keeps going on and on about "equal parental rights" and how my husband deserves to be "returned to a normal parenting role as soon as possible."  Excuse me?  How can he be "returned" to something that NEVER EXISTED? He never HAD a normal parenting role (unless you consider screaming profanity at your children, accusing their mother of adultery in front of them, claiming off and on that you're not really their father, and threatening to leave them outside in the cold for hours "normal parenting"). 

HOW CAN A PSYCHOTIC, ABUSIVE MONSTER POSSIBLY HAVE ANY RIGHTS AS A PARENT? 

It blows my mind.  Pardon my language, but when it comes to domestic violence (particularly the less "visible," but in my opinion more painful and damaging types such as verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse), the court system in the United States is FUCKED UP!   Most states are only just BEGINNING to provide protection from obvious PHYSICAL assaults.  And EVEN THEN,  the bastards still often wind up getting joint custody of their children and eventually unsupervised visitation. 

I'm telling you, it's enough to make me want to give up and just go back.  At least when I was with him, I could protect my children from him.  I could take the brunt of it.  I could hold them afterwards and tell them it wasn't their fault, that "daddy doesn't mean it," and try to comfort them.  But now, they HAVE TO go see him WHETHER THEY WANT TO OR NOT.  They have NO CHOICE . . . because he's the sperm donor.  And somehow, just because he has the ability to get an erection and blast a few sperm, he has the right to spend time with them until they're 17 (at which time, they can FINALLY tell him to go to hell if they so choose).

IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT!!! 

As an adult, I can say "this man is abusive.  He has hurt me.  I don't want to see him anymore" and I DON'T HAVE TO SEE HIM.  If he threatens or harasses me, I can call the police and have him arrested.  How is it that my children can clearly state to their therapists, their social worker, and EVEN TO THEIR FATHER that they DO NOT want to see him, that they're afraid of him, etc. but STILL the court can COMPEL them to be with him because it's his "right"?

I could just SCREAM; it's MADDENING.  How is a mother supposed to protect her children?  I can't go WITH them for visitation.  I've tried petitioning the court and gotten NOWHERE.  I don't have money for a lawyer, and the pro bono lawyer that has helped me out off and on isn't much help.  I won't complain, because I'm thankful for her assistance, but I'm not holding my breath that she will have any better luck than I have. 

It just makes me feel so sick inside.  It's like we've escaped hell, but I have to keep sending my children back into it . . . only now they're alone and I'm not even there to watch out for them. I'm happy for those who have gotten lucky and had good results in court.  But as far as I'm concerned, justice is a fantasy.  We will never be free of this man until he dies of old age.  And with our luck, he'll live to be 100.