Woe is me and other things

That was officially stupid hard.

I made the call today to go home and end my marriage.  For years it has been harder than it needs to be.  I still feel terrified even though I think that this is the right thing to do. The Sergeant planned to just remove him from the house until he/we could get counseling until I told him what happened.  My aim was never to get him in trouble, but I was afraid ro be in the house with him. I do not believe that counseling will help the situation. I have tried to ask him to go to counseling with me before, and his answer was, “Why are you doing this to me?”

The Sergeant told me it wasn’t my fault.

I know it wasn’t.  J says otherwise.  And I’m a smart girl. I know what J is doing even if he doesn’t realize it.  But the reassurance made me feel a little bit better.

That doesn’t make it not hurt.

And that doesn’t make it easier.

I almost said, “I am mad that I have become another statistic”  but we all are, in one way or another, so saying otherwise seems silly.   If I get to choose, though, I would rather be the alive kind of statistic. I knew that verbal abuse has the chance of becoming physical.  But I never thought it would happen to me. (they always say that) And I know that in many cases, physical abuse does not stop until one of the people involved are dead. (but that would never happen to me, right?)

This is not the only time that he has hurt us. This time is the last time.

I know that it is pathetic, but when the military people were explaining to me what was going to happen, that they were going to go file their report and to tell J that he wasn’t allowed to come home or contact me, I wanted to tell them, “Tell him I’m sorry.”

So I am here, alone in this big empty house save for two very small children who aren’t really clear on the whole, “Mommy just changed the course of our lives forever” front.

And all I can do is cry.  Last night he told me that if I loved him, I wouldn’t think he was some sort of monster.  He told me that if I loved him, I wouldn’t think about leaving.  I wanted to tell him that if he loved us, he would not have picked our four year old son up by the neck twice a foot off of the floor just to bring him closer to his own face so he could yell directly into it. That if he loved us, he wouldn’t have tried to smother his two year old daughter. That if he loved me, he would not have strangled me. That if he loved me, he would not have told me for years how lacking I am. That he would never have caused us harm on purpose.  And repeatedly.

But I was too afraid to.

I don’t want to be a big whiny baby about this.  There is only so much complaining one can do before everyone that has heard it over and over is sick of hearing said complaining.  And it’s not like I was in a loving relationship that suddenly turned sour.  I cried all the time.  I was told how inadequate I was all the time.  It’s not like it can get worse.  I worry about providing properly for the kids.  I worry about being a failure and them being ashamed of me.  I worry about them being embarrassed of me. I worry about saying the wrong thing in front of them.  I don’t want to slip and say bad things about him in front of them.  I don’t want them to feel like they’re in the middle of this. 

But it’s my responsibility to keep them safe. They can’t grow up thinking that it’s okay to treat anyone like that. They can’t grow up learning that they should be treated less than they deserve. I would rather be alone forever and raise my children in a home full of love and laughter and music and magic than to keep them here where they grow up afraid and in constant danger.

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Granola, Oatmeal, And Forgiveness

I’m trying to learn how to be okay with who I am, to sit down with myself and look at all my flaws, all my quirks and weirdness and to honestly really like me anyway. Not so much in spite of, but because of. I’m trying to learn how to be gentle with myself. I’m trying to let go of the shoulds. I’m trying to give myself as much respect and kindness and honesty and care as I can. Because I have SO! MUCH! of that stuff, and I love to give it to as many people as I can. I just sort of looked around recently and was amazed that I wasn’t giving that same courtesy to me. I guess it just never occurred to me to do so. Which seems silly to do, until you realize you need to and then it seems really silly not to.  I don’t want to be one of those chicks that carry around baggage for the rest of my life, for my past, and for the stuff that others have pushed onto me. Because that stuff is heavy.

It’s funny, sometimes I like to look at photoshop pictures, of before and after, of people and places and things. And 98 % of the time, I really like the way they are BEFORE the touch-ups. To me all those little flaws and imperfections are more beautiful than the smoothest skin and the most perfect hair and everything else that is “beautiful” and “sexy”.  I’m not sure why in my mind, those same rules don’t apply to me. Not just physically, but in the way I act and feel and move and breathe. I understand that not everyone thinks the same way as I do, otherwise they wouldn’t have to photoshop and airbrush and makeup so much. But if I want to meet my Right People? Those other people that are quirky and weird and also sort of dig flaws? If I want to really and truly surround myself with people that I need to be around, then I need to be honest with who I am and who I want to be. Otherwise, how will they find me?


I got my dog Oatmeal in I think 1998 or 1999, she was a Corgi that I picked out from the humane society. I named her Oatmeal because she was sort of the khaki creamy oatmealy color. When she played outside and got dirty, my brother kenny called her Malt -o- Meal, and she was a wonderful companion. She was one of the most intelligent dogs I’ve ever seen, and she was bright and fun and loved to snuggle. She would let me fall asleep hugging her like a teddy bear, and she had the fuzziest ears in the history of dogs. J’s parents live in the country, and they were keeping Oatmeal for me while I was away. Yesterday she got out and ran off and got the highway, where she was hit by a car and killed. I will miss her very much, she was an awesome friend, and a great soul.

My heart aches for my Oat-doggie. Being angry will not bring her back. It won’t fix things.

Just remain calm. Lay quiet a while.I swear there will be funnier things to talk about in the future.

It’s just a phase,


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