In the Bottom of a Hole (poem)

Trying to block out the piercing screams of yesterday
Some days it seems like an eternity away
Other days,
I'm in a haze,
And it feels close
Like the nose
On my face.
Reaching for a sense of who I am,
Of who I was before . . .
Was I somebody back then,
Or have I always been this empty shell?
I have no way of knowing,
There's no easy way to tell.
I think I remember a little girl
That used to be me.
That used to believe in goodness.
In beauty.
In truth.
But that was long ago.
Where did she go?
Did I bury her with the babies I lost?
Was that part of the cost - -
Losing my soul in the midst of the storm?
I wish I could cry.  I wish I knew why.
I wish I could understand the reasons
For year after year of those seasons
Of waking nightmares in a living hell.
I wish I didn't remember it so well.
I wish I knew how to navigate this road,
How to straddle the potholes that emerge
Without falling back into some bottomless pit
That has no end to it.
I wish to hell that none of it was real,
That I could stuff the agony I feel,
That I could make some sense of it all.
But I can't.
It's just more and more and more of the same.
More leg-spreading, gut-wrenching, mind-blowing pain.
More heart-breaking, soul-bending, self-splitting shame.
And to think that to him it was only a game!
So here I sit, not knowing what to do.
I don't know when all this "feeling" will be through.
Do I hide? Do I fight it?
Is there any way to right it?
Will my mind forever be a shattered mess?
Is there any way to navigate this?
How do I let it go?
How can I just say it happened. It sucked.
And then walk away.
As though it didn't matter.
As though it didn't shatter
Every part of my soul.
I'm really struggling to see
What the point's supposed to be.
I don't want to be a victim.
I don't want to let that dick win.
But I feel so stuck here . . .
Like I'm in the bottom of a hole
That I'll never crawl out of.

Unspeakable Pain (digital collage)

Remembering (freewrite)

I was having trouble sleeping tonight because I was going back and listening to audio recordings of 3 years ago just before we left my abusive ex-husband.  What WAS I thinking? Talk about a recipe for insomnia . . .

I guess I was doubting myself, yet again ... asking myself "was it really that bad?" ...

God, I wish life made sense ... ever ... and I wish it didn't have to still hurt so much.

I need to cry, but I can't. The tears are right at the edge of my eyes. I can feel them there, searing, stinging, burning, begging to be allowed to fall. But they can't. They won't. Yet.

So many people around the world have suffered and ARE STILL suffering much more than I have/am. What right do I have to complain? None.

It's not even so much the guilt of how I know others have and are suffering worse, it's that I keep questioning why any of this has happened. I suppose I sort of know the answer to that -- my own poor choices when I was young and stupid led to this. So, in a sense, I have no one but myself to blame. I chose to date him.  I chose to sleep with him.  I chose to bear his child.  I chose to marry him.  I chose to stay with him.

But then sometimes I look at my children, and I see them suffering once in awhile, struggling to figure out the difference between "good daddy" and "bad daddy." I see them struggling with questions they can't answer ... and I don't have the answers either. And then I think, "Lord, it isn't fair. They have done nothing to deserve this. They didn't ask to be born into this nightmare. They are innocent. Punish me, if you must, but they've been through enough already."

The tears begin to silently overflow. I can envision him over me, pinning me down, sneering at me, saying: "Quit your crying. What do you have to cry about? Oh, that's right. You're a horrible worthless mother. Piece of shit -- MY piece of shit."

And I tried so hard not to cry. I really tried. Most times I didn't cry. The physical pain I could deal with. But his words cut so deep, and those words I couldn't escape. I FELT like a worthless mother. After all, what kind of a mother cowers in fear and can't keep the house tidy and running smoothly? What kind of a mother gets so distracted that she can't keep track of simple things like which days which kids have gym class and need to pack shorts? What kind of a mother can't potty train her children? What kind of mother can't keep up with the laundry and dishes? A horrible, worthless mother.

But I love my children & they always knew that. And everything I did, I did for them. And when I cried, it wasn't for me, it was for THEM ... For the mother they should have had, for the home they should have had, For the LIFE they should have had...

But I was too weak. And I was too scared. So I just rolled over and took it, because it's the only thing I knew to do. And when I cried, I heard:

"Enough with the crying. You're always so dramatic. How am I supposed to enjoy myself with you crying like that? Roll over so at least I don't have to look at your ugly fucking face. And if you gotta cry, for crissakes keep it to yourself. Shut the fuck up, I'm almost done and then you can have your fucking pity party."

What is WRONG with me? Why would I have thought so little of myself as a human being that I would have given him the keys to my soul just because he said I was smart and beautiful? Did I really need to hear that so much that I was willing to sacrifice EVERYTHING to be with him? And how could I have let myself get so beaten down emotionally & spiritually that I let it continue for so many years & simply accepted it as "God's will?"

I told myself if only I was a better wife, if only I was a better mother, things would be different. I've read back through my prayer journals, and over the years the same phrases are repeated again and again:

-Lord, help me be a better wife.
-Lord, help me be a better housekeeper.
-Lord, help me be a better mother.

Did I honestly think that if I magically became the perfect woman, that everything would be okay? How could I have let him brainwash me like that? How could I have absorbed HIS reality and made it my own ... to the point where he didn't have to put me down because I put myself down?
 
I know I have worth because I am a child of God. But right about now, I don't feel very worthy of anything. I can look back & see how far the Lord has brought us over the last 3 years, and I thank Him & praise Him for that, but I can't even accept compliments or simple words of encouragement without awkwardly minimizing them or explaining them away ...

I'm so exhausted and longing for rest. And I "hear" my Savior say, "cast your burdens on me."
So for tonight, I'll try to do that ... Thank you, Jesus!

Reality Check (article)

I found an old entry that I wrote back when I was still together with my Ex.  I'm just including it here to show how far we've come. I had almost forgotten how unpredictable day-to-day life was living with him, how afraid we all were . . . almost . . . and as I read this, my hair stands on end and all of the old feelings of fear come back up into my throat . . .
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I hear  him coming up the stairs. A chill runs up and down my spine. I never know what to expect. Sometimes he's in a really good mood. Other times he just walks in the door and starts screaming at everyone in sight.

The kids and I walk on eggshells constantly.

I switch away from my email that I had been reading on my computer screen. It was just more reminders from creditors that I cannot pay, but I don't need to give him a reason to accuse me of cheating on him yet again. Every time he catches me online, he says I must be chatting with someone, or looking for a replacement for him. I'm so sick of the endless accusations.

The door to the living room opens. He's been drinking again. I can smell it on his breath.

Immediately upon coming through the door, my husband starts yelling and screaming at me:
"You fucking lazy bitch. How can you just SIT there and let them do this? You worthless fucking whore. And I suppose you're online again flirting with all your boyfriends. Here's a fucking idea -- why don't you get your fat ass up and clean around here? This place is a fucking pigsty! It doesn't even look like human beings live here."

[He stomps into the kitchen, still ranting and raving. The racket wakes up my daughter, so he starts in yelling at her. ]
"Why don't you tell your mother to get up off her lazy ass and do something fucking productive for a change? Oh, but no, that would be too NICE. I spend the money to send her to school and does she get a job? No, she just sits there on her FAT ASS and wastes time all day long. She's a pathetic excuse for a mother. . . . .

[some more mumbling and cursing]

Fucking Pigsty!"

He continues to go on a tirade about how if we would all do thus and such we wouldn't "make" him get so upset; and how HE wanted his life to be, and how we're all "ruining it for him."

I so wish I had a million dollars so I could just pack up and leave him. I want to have a cozy house with a picket fence.

I'm so tired of holding my children while they cry, and hearing them say "Why did you pick HIM to be our Daddy?" and trying to explain to them why life isn't always fair . . . and that I love them so much . . . and that someday things will be different.

I don't know if things will be different . . . or at least I don't know HOW I can change things.

I am so tired of seeing all the "happy families" that seem like they're so perfect and have everything together.

I'm sure they have their secret struggles too, but what I wouldn't give to feel secure and loved . . . to not constantly wonder what he'll say or do NEXT . . .

I feel like I'm drowning . . .

. . . like I'm trapped . . .

. . . and living in a world that nobody else can see . . .

. . . I feel so alone . . .

Sometimes I wonder if I would have had so many prgnancy losses if things would have been different. I cry sometimes at night when nobody's looking. Yet in a way, I'm relieved . . . I feel guilty enough for bringing 3 children into this mess . . . I can't imagine having 6 more precious children live through this hell. Maybe God in his providence took them from me for a reason. But that doesn't fill the aching void or silence the questions . . .

I don't know how . . . I don't know when . . . but I WILL make a better like for us . . . I will NOT raise my children to think that this is how a father treats his family. This ends with me. One way or another.

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(the above entry was written 3 months before the kids and I escaped to a domestic violence shelter)

I Have No Clue (sonnet)

Here and there are pieces flying by --
Fragments of a past I never wanted.
Pain that sears my soul, still I cannot cry,
Despite the mem'ries with which I'm haunted.
Then and now and here and there are just mush,
A maelstrom raging deep within my soul.
The race to heal makes me feel in a rush,
And yet my heart is still so full of holes.
Particles of past and present now fuse
To create some freakish thing I call "me."
But after all the torture and abuse,
I have no clue who I'm supposed to be.
Is there a blueprint somewhere for a "self,"
Or must I put my questions on a shelf?

A Moment to Remember (sonnet)

I pause here a moment to remember
All the babies I never got to hold,
And with a mother's love, warm and tender,
I ponder memories that won't grow cold.
Though they never even had a name,
Though their lungs took nary a single breath,
Yet still I wept and mourned each one the same,
And felt the stinging pain of ev'ry death.
Knowing that a child had grown there within,
One that would never see the light of day;
Knowing its little life would ne'er begin
Caused me pain that will never go away.
As eight balloons float to the skies above,
I pray they'll know they'll always have my love.

The One Thing I Still Can't Do (sonnet)

The mean things you say just drive me crazy,
You change your mind one minute to the next.
You say that my memory is hazy,
That somehow all the dots just don't connect.
The funny thing is, I have some pictures
Of things you swear to God you never did --
Sheetrock put up overnight. What is worse --
The fact you lied or the holes that you hid?
I tell myself just to be like a duck
Letting the water roll right off its back,
But somehow I still keep on getting stuck
Having to listen to all of your crap.
I gave up years ago; I forgave you.
Forgetting's the one thing I still can't do.