My complex about the man…

I have been largely absent the last few days here on WordPress… not even my usual stalking of the reader pane that occurs most every day… one or two posts read only and certainly no writing to be had.

I’ve wanted to desperately, but at the same time did not have the mental capacity nor the motivation to do so when I’d sit in front of my laptop.

I’m not going into details, but this weekend my husband and I seemed to be at a crossroads – we’ll just say he is now fully aware of all of my damage, I think, and I feel like he is well with in his right to ask for a divorce… but we’ve worked through a lot these past three days and at this juncture intends to stay with me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: thank god he loves me…

But I didn’t come here to explain all of that… I came to tell you all something I just found out at quarter past two AM last night…

Jason told me for the first time that the night David threatened me, what was said on David’s side of the conversation with him. 

Apparently David’s response to Jason telling him to stay TF away from me was to threaten to come to our house. Then when Jason asked what Army unit he was with (information he already knew) that David responded with the police code for homicide: 1-8-7.

There is in fact the 187th in that area, but Jason said it was clear the way he responded that David was in fact threatening to kill me (or us.) 

He said he had prepared himself in the event that David might show up and promised me that David would have never made it past the driveway… but still. 

But now that I’ve fed my complex about the man… 

I went on to explain to Jason why I got so much into the Martial sports and why I also pushed back when he was thinking about a job in Alaska many years ago, I explained about my dreams and my St Patrick’s based depression cycle – it’s my fear of David. It’s always been my fear of David… and while I have in more recent times convinced myself that perhaps there had been nothing to really fear and it was silly of me to hold onto all of that… Now I feel my fears have been legitimised. So that’s something I guess….

No Longer Woefully Tattooless

I’ve been wanting a tattoo since I was 17. I’ve told you all this before. I was never the type to jump in for such a permanent addition to my body without being absolutely sure I would love it forever… So I gave myself time limits to think on ideas and if I had any doubts by that time I would write off the idea.

That is why, at 19, when I started to date my tattooed husband, I was still woefully tattooless. …And he wished it to remain that way.

Mid-last year I recall telling you guys that I finally decided what I really wanted. I had been thinking about it for years and had yet to change my mind. So I brought it up to Jason again. At that time – after 13 years of marriage – he agreed that he wouldn’t mind anymore if I got one. The only conditions were to not do it in Alice… I had to wait until I was back in the US at a minimum. It would not only be cheaper, but I’d have more options as far as locations/artists, and most importantly the place in Alice was supposedly notoriously unsanitary – having been shut down more than once.

Deal.

I have since tweaked the tattoo I wanted last year – still has the same image; I have just added to it. I have also since moved to Marinette, WI. Once we settled I looked up reviews of tattoo parlours in the vicinity, and it turned out the one in Marinette itself had very good reviews and the art posted on their Facebook was impressive. So I made a consult appointment on my birthday (Jason will be paying for my tattoo as a birthday present.)

The appointment has been made for April 12th with “Ryan 2” …I’m über excited, naturally… but… Much closer to Paul’s April 6th birthday than my February 7th one 😛 Sooo… Yay! Happy Birthday, Paul, present for meeeee!

Srsly though, I have been trying to remain patient. I’ve waited 17 years after all. Well, today the parlour posted on Facebook that they had some walk in times available.

I had been thinking about a particular phrase I wanted as well, thinking I’d wait till after my other planned one… but… the opportunity presented itself… and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have my first tattoo actually be a small one, before I settle in for a bigger one.

So I strolled back into Main Street Electric Tattoo Co in Marinette, WI

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I got a spot with “Ryan 1” – the owner of said business – and handed him my slip of paper. It had the phrase I wanted, in my handwriting to keep it as one-of-a-kind as possible. I wanted the phrase “Nevertheless, she persisted” except… with it being such a prevalent quote at the moment, I don’t trust that other women wouldn’t get essentially the same tattoo. I would at least hope my body art will be more unique than not.

So I wrote it down in Swedish: “Hon härdade ändå”

Not only do I love the quote in as far as the words having been said in the spirit of reprimand, yet the world has latched onto these words and turned them into praise. I have also connected with these words on a personal level.

I sent a bracelet to my sister, Finding Reverie, for her birthday this past week – yes we are both February babies – with “Nevertheless, she persisted” as well. My feeling was that regardless of the popular connotation, that she would be able to take those words as her own. Take those words as a reminder that she is a fucking strong woman that has made it through a hell of a lot in her 24 years. Like a Viking, Huah! …and hey, our people are Nordic… 😉 Truth is, Reverie was in a very abusive relationship more recently that I. She still struggles with anxiety and the like because of it.

Side note: SHE LOVED IT. I am the most awesome biggest sister she has in the world! 😀

As we know, I too have had my struggles with my past abusers as well as the depression. These words remind me somewhat of the semi-colon movement… Though I have never wanted one of those tattoos because at this point soooo many people have essentially the same thing. I’ve showed you Vollie-Dan’s… My friend Mitch has one… another friend Tiffany has one (though to be fair hers is more elaborate, so that’s cool.) As I’ve said… I’ve never wanted matchy-matchy type tattoos.

Anyway, that is my reasoning behind this brand new tattoo… and, naturally, I have pictures for you. Enjoy!

My stenciled wrist drying and eagerly anticipating the start… and Ryan 1 at work. It was… uh… stingy. LOL… Stingy, but manageable.

My view from the chair – Ryan 1’s work space.

Ryan 2’s work space and the wall behind the register… I just love their decor.  Unfortunately I did not take pictures of everything. Check out their FB page linked above for further examples if you are so inclined.

Oh, of course… I need to show you the finished product!

Hmmmm… apparently I need to update my manicure. Ignore that, why don’t you? 😉

So anyway, now all there is to do is let it heal and wait patiently for my bigger tattoo. I’ve got my salve… and… the only fragrance free soap I could find in my house was a Swedish egg soap …fitting? LOL. I’m ready to go…

and Hey! Stinging subsided quite awhile ago; regardless, it was worth the pain and worth the ability to say “I persisted” despite it.

Bring on the Tacky Shit

“I dream he has his hand around my neck, his face close to mine with that determined gaze of his. I know he doesn’t ever think about me anymore. I know that these dreams are irrational, especially now that the likelihood of us ever being in the same city again is slim – that’s what I tell myself anyway when I wake up in a cold sweat.”

That is a quote from the very first post I wrote about St Patrick’s day. The first time I told the world why I’ve hated the holiday so passionately for the past 9 years. (Oh My God, has it really been that long??? Counting… Math… Yup… Had just enough fingers to figure that one out….)

JESUS! 9 Fucking years!? I wrote that post exactly two years ago, February 17, 2015. At that point – 7 years in – it was still especially intense; as you can see. Even so – 7 years was way too long.

Writing that post was the start of working through it. The start of me recognizing in myself what was really going on in my head, as well as why my depression had gotten so much like clockwork – starting every Lenten/St Patrick’s time frame… and lasting through to April usually. Over the past two years, since I’ve been letting all my shit out on the internet and in my books, it’s been steadily getting better. I’ve let a bunch of emotional baggage free – release that shit y’all… Write it out. Talk about it frankly. Does wonders, I tell ya. Also, getting the resolve to actually do something about your own sense of self preservation does wonders in such cases as well… Particularly, as you can tell from the quote above, cases in which you have a deep seated fears – especially those rooted in abusive situations – kickboxing, Jiu Jitsu, MMA… Self -Defense… all those kinds of training classes do wonders as well.

That year was rough, last year was much less so. This year I’ve resolved to get over the hump. I won’t let it be 9 years. Certainly not a decade. I used to adore Irish things in general… Love Celtic music… Irish Gaelic has long been a language I want to add to my list of skills. As a kid I loved the simple pleasure of getting to pinch my sisters if they forgot to wear green on March 17th. Ha… I remember dying my hair and eyebrows green temporarily in 1999 – at the time I was dating Andre. It was supposed to wash out as it was only hair mascara… but my eyebrows seemed to decide that they wanted to hold on to the pigment a tad bit longer LOL.

I didn’t repel from the glittery green this year. In fact, I considered buying something thoroughly tacky. Then I thought, no… Perhaps I would buy something slightly more tasteful. Something that would vaguely remind me of St Patrick’s day, but something I could easily wear anytime of year to remind me of the journey I have taken so far. Remind me that mistakes can be righted, remind me not to beat myself up so much, remind myself never to get involved with a man such as David again. Remind myself never to let a man manhandle me again – not without a fight anyway.

So you wanna see what I got?? 😀

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While this is a Pennsylvania Dutch hex, it has a shamrock on it obviously. Makes it not overtly Irish – I’ve always like Penn Dutch stuff anyway – and hey Shamrock symbolizes luck here – as do the two distelfinks… so double the luck, hey? 😉

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I also ordered this, but it hasn’t arrived yet… Again not outright Irish (It’s an antique Scottish bangle) but if you’ll notice there are shamrocks in the design around the sides.

So there you go. While I’m showing y’all jewelry, I might as well show you the two items I just got in the mail today – bought them with a gift card my father sent me for my birthday. Note on the watch – I was really considering the Ariel (because Red Hair, duh.) or the Goth Tinker Bell (both similar art styles and style of watch (though different metals) to the one below) …Goth Tinker Bell would have been so me as well… But ultimately I decided on Sleeping Beauty because she was always my favorite princess growing up. It also reminded me of a water color I did for girl I knew for her birthday years ago. That little girl adored me and her favorite was Sleeping Beauty as well. I painted it and put it in a frame and she literally squealed when she opened it… and kept it by her bedside… I digress… I’m sorry… anyway:

I also am all about retro cassette tapes – I have a dress and a jansport backpack with cassettes as well as a belt buckle that I need to find an actual belt to use with it. I was seriously considering the earrings that match this necklace as well LOL.

Okay, well I’ll wrap it up now. I’d just like to note about my featured image… I have very much resisted the urge to display my bitstrips/bitmoji crazy here. Haha, when Bitstrips was still an active app (sooo bummed they shut it down) I would annoy the ever living fuck out of my FB friends with it – though… I must say… I was freaking hilarious. It’s a small comfort I still have Bitmoji to use LOL

That being said… I am super tempted to get it all out of my system and prep a post now with a bunch of my old Bitstrips… HAHAHA ….Hmmm……

#WeAren’tJustStats – Guest Post #RapeCulture — The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise

Guest blogged over at Carla Louise’s site again… check out my post “A Woman Only Good for One Thing”

CW/TW: Sexual assault, harassment, abuse, rape NSFW I have recently started a series of blogs following the #TrumpTapes and the #WeAren’tJustStats hashtags on Twitter. The first three, When I Was Twelve, When I Was Thirteen and When I Was Fifteen can be viewed by clicking on the links. In my post We Aren’t Just Stats, there is an explanation as to […]

via #WeAren’tJustStats – Guest Post #RapeCulture — The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise

Intense As…

I have a new friend you guise. Another American that recently moved here, and we have so much in common, it seems. I went to her house yesterday for an Art date (Just sit around and chat while being creative – it’s been a good 7ish years since I’ve had a friend to do that with.)

We got to talking about stuff… as you do… learning about each other’s parents, childhood, past relationships. We talked about blogging and our other creative endeavours over the years.

One thing she said that struck a chord with me is that even though she has had some dramas in her life, she feels like she hasn’t had anything so intense as stories such as David. (I am of the opinion that some of her experiences could be close if not on par with much of my drama…)

I’ve always felt like my life is relatively drama-free compared to other people. At least, maybe, events having been spread out enough that it doesn’t feel as frequent in nature. Sometimes I now think I wish I had more to draw upon for my writing, haha… though I’m sure at the time I wouldn’t appreciate further dramatic events.

I told her I still have a hard time thinking and relaying the fact that I’ve been in abusive relationships and situations – actually calling them as such –  because I know there are women who have had it worse than me, or for longer term than me.

I especially struggle with saying Wyatt was sexually abusive – though I know deep down he had the control and it started as such. Sometimes it feels as though there is some grey area there. I got to a compliant stage and did as was expected. I believed it was right for our relationship after awhile. Sometimes I still feel some fault for that. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I was compliant. I convinced myself eventually that I did want it all. I embraced the “promiscuity.” Sometimes it almost physically hurts to say those words and admit that it wasn’t always my choice; I wasn’t always in control of my own body, or that I was manipulated.

Wyatt was abusive overall. I have no need to explain other events right now – it’s well enough explained in older posts and in my book… But I at least didn’t feel in actual danger with him. If it had gone longer term than the two years I was with him, if it had escalated as we got older, I have no doubt it would have gotten worse and eventually I may have found myself feeling in more immediate danger…

I always call Wyatt “my abusive ex” in real life now because I don’t prefer to use his first name. I referred to him as such to my friend, and then realized after detailing events with David that she might be confused – so I explained in the moment.

As she stated, David drama was intense. David was a whirlwind of just a few weeks and I was married so I never thought of him as an “ex.” We never actually started a relationship as such. But he actually made me feel in danger. He’s the reason I finally took up martial sports; because there is still a fear – remote though the chances may be  – that I would run into him again one day. It hadn’t occurred to me until she stated it that there would be other abused women that think that my story is worse than theirs. I suppose it is the physicality of it. Types of abuse the abused feel they can rationalize away easier; emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse in relationships are harder to wrap our minds around – especially when comparing it to physical domestic violence.

Sometimes I think “If only I had other dramatic events to write about for my blog…” Sometimes I feel like maybe apologizing to you guys for making loops around to the same topics and the same men frequently. On the other hand, people seem to respond well to these stories… My friend said that I am open and make it relatable… so I suppose that’s why.

I’d apologize for writing about Wyatt and David again, but you know… Deep down I’m glad it wasn’t worse. Deep down I’m glad I don’t have further past drama to have lived through and to write about. Deep down I know I was abused, though I still sometimes try to rationalize to myself that it wasn’t that bad.

Deep down, I am still scared of David and I have no other outlet than to tell my stories… and then go kick a punching bag.

Come on, dude. WTF?

When I was 25, later in the year after shit went down with David and then Dane and they were gone – I had one of my good friends invite me over to meet her new boyfriend. I had told her I wasn’t feeling well (turns out I was pregnant with my first child, but didn’t yet know that.)

She insisted and said that we’d just hang out at her place and take it easy. She just really wanted me to meet her new guy. She was in the midst of a divorce – her husband had been a military man and a serial cheater. Finally it was falling apart and she had taken up with a new guy.

I agreed because it seemed so important to her that I meet him and apparently like him too.

Minutes after I arrived, another guy arrived too. Boyfriend introduced him to me and said something like he had REALLY wanted to meet me.

Umm… Ok? Like how would he even know he’d want to meet me?

This guy was in his 30s, wore a backwards baseball cap, and had baggy jeans with TuPac’s image printed on the left leg. Classic white guy trying to look gangsta… and much too old for that shit, in my mind. He was instantly flirtatious.

I was told he worked for a carpet cleaning service along with the boyfriend…. and had been doing it for several years.

I apologized, because I’m too polite I guess, and said that I wasn’t interested. I told him I was married.

Boyfriend seemed to have known that, but apparently assumed my husband was military and therefore open to be cheated on.

Come on, dude. WTF?

He asked me where my husband was.

“About two miles down the road… at home.”

“Oh!” He looked surprised…. But then said we could still party or go do something.

I don’t know if I audibly sighed… But I felt like one big sigh at that moment.

I told them I wasn’t interested in doing anything and that I wasn’t feeling well anyway.

I was so annoyed. I dunno if boyfriend assumed I’d want to cheat simply because he assumed I was a military wife as well or because friend had mentioned the David shit to him.

I didn’t say this to them because I have tact, but I was seriously thinking “What the Hell…” I know this is about to sound snobby, but I don’t know how else to phrase it… I thought if I was going to cheat again, I would want to be damn sure I was ready to throw everything else away. If that were to occur, I wouldn’t throw it away for a carpet cleaner.

Don’t get me wrong, I respect people that work in the service industry. You do what you gotta do… But my husband had a good job and ambition. Apparently, if I wanted to, I could get with Officers – why would I even think of stepping out with this man?

Besides which I had gotten myself so sick over doing my husband wrong earlier that year anyway. I was not about to even attempt to do that to him again – regardless of the stature of man that might propose anything illicit to me.

As I walked out the door, my friend came and hugged me and said she was sorry – she hadn’t been aware that her boyfriend was going to do that.

Later, when they got more serious, I couldn’t abide by them being together. She thought it was because I objected to her divorce or something. No… It wasn’t that. I wouldn’t begrudge her leaving a man that cheated on her so much and brought repeated STDs home… I objected because I thought she could do so much better. I guess when a girl is in love, her friends opinions don’t matter as much.

Heartbreak On Display

I have never heard of this museum… But it looks fascinating. We all have those things that remind us of exes – some mundane, some strange – at least in other’s views. What do you have or have gotten rid of that reminds you of an ex? Me? I still have that small glass jar of glitter to remind me of Wyatt (previously written about), and a CD that David gave me that I can’t seem to toss either. …and that’s all I think I have. Wow. WTF is wrong with me that I only have items that my abusers gave me? (To be fair, though, any other mementos I might have had did get lost in hurricane Katrina… Though I hadn’t kept mementos from all of them in the first place)

Pinot & Peep Toes

A Reflection on the Museum of Broken Relationships

When we part ways with someone, we’re left with more than a broken heart.

We’re left with objects – his oversized t-shirt we sleep in, her bobby pins we later find in the shower, ticket stubs from movies and athletic events, and photo booth strips from happier times – that most either retire to a box high in the closet or toss in the trash. These ordinary objects become relics of our romantic past.

Whether they’re seeking for the closure they never got, hoping to simply free up space, or wishing to have the final word, the donors of Hollywood’s Museum of Broken Relationships are ordinary people like you and me.

People who have had their hearts broken.

People who have fallen out of love.

People who have been cheated on, lied to, underappreciated, and even abused.

People who have been dumped in restaurants, over the…

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