There is a season for every thing. It is interesting how I'm seeing and recognizing cycles in my own life and experience. One new-ish cycle I've only recently come to truly understand is one of the most troubling because of the great (negative) impact it has on my whole family.
The sin cycle. Okay, so that's super general. Let me get more specific... my husband's BIG sin cycle. There are the daily sins... those make an impact, but don't cause seismic shocks that the whole family is jarred by. It's the big sins... like lying, stealing, adultery through porn viewing... these are the BIG sins I'm thinking about.
I've realized that when my husband does something big there are a few things that happen. First, when I find out about it, I become full of righteous indignation (especially those that hurt our family) and freak out to one degree or another. Then I usually get depressed because, ultimately, there is NOTHING I can do to improve the situation. I cannot stop Beauty Man from lying. I cannot stop him from stealing from our family. I cannot stop him from looking at porn. Oh, trust me... I DO try. In doing so I experience a punishment for the wrong he has committed... in trying to make sure he doesn't hurt me again, I am limited because I "must" police him. I "must" because it's part of trying to feel okay with all the crud I have to deal with and trying to lengthen out the days between one earthquake and another. Anyway...
Next, Beauty Man starts to focus his negative feelings on work instead of dealing with what he's done wrong. He projects his distain on his job. Eventually he either quits or gets fired. Usually sooner than later. It's so freakin' obvious. I see it clear as day - now that things are lining up as they have at least 4 times before. Why has it taken me so long to see this horrible cycle? I have to believe it's because I just didn't want to see all the connections. Seeing them doesn't enable me to alter the situation. I can speak encouraging words until I'm blue in the face, but my husband won't hear them as long as he is determined to be down about something.
That's one of the big differences between us. When Beauty Man gets "down," there's no gettin' him up until he's darn good an' ready. Now me... if someone tries to cheer me when I'm down, I'm all for it. I may sink down when the cheerer is no longer around, but I'm not one to TRY to stay mad when there is happiness to feel. Ya know?
So, I wonder how many of you see cycles in your life? Are there any like this that you see plainly, but have no ability to alter at all?
Friday, March 23, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Seismic Shock
The Seismic Shock
January 31, 2012.
Just after midnight.
(The devil loves the dark.)
The jolt was nor recorded
on any earth-bound
earthquake
monitoring device.
But it registered at close to a ten
or more
on my own personal ricter scale.
Pornography.
Such a fancy-shmancy word
for dispicable deeds.
Porn.
Much more appropriate a word.
A four-letter word
of the dirty deed type.
He was watching.
Moving porn.
He says he cannot remember what.
"2 people having sex.
Porn.
It's all the same."
He won't say more.
He says he dozed off
in the middle.
And that is suppose to be comforting?
I know he won't say
because he's hiding
to protect himself.
That's what he does.
"Gay porn," the whispers speak to my mind.
And I cannot conot compete.
Not that I could with any sort,
anyway.
The seismic shock that hit,
when I saw what he was trying to
hide,
knocked down every part of me...
...but one.
My FAITH stands
still.
Other faceades
only a few walls
still sway
in after-shocks that hit
nearly every day.
There is no part of me
left steady standing;
But the construct of FAITH.
Strong and firm, steady and still
stands apart.
Upon closer inspection...
deeper pondering
I realize...
I come to understand.
This man should never have had the
POWER
to destroy me in far under an
hour.
I gave it him.
I trusted in the arm of the flesh.
I built most of me
on our marriage.
My FAITH, though,
built by inhuman hands,
supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff:
sunk deep into THE ROCK.
And so I see.
I need to rebuild me
with supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff
sunk deep in The Rock.
I thought I had,
honestly.
For, you see,
this is not my first
earthquake.
But apparently,
I did not sink deep enough
or connect profoundly enough
to The Rock
to be swayed, but not broken
by a seismic shock
of mega-proportions.
And the whispers urge me
to build more carefully.
I certainly intend to!
But just right now...
I'm just trying, right now...
to clean up the mess
of me
in my little nothing world.
For what he, my hubby,
and you
can't see
is the crumbled structures.
The shattered glass.
The brokeness
inside me.
He fusses, "Don't you see me trying?"
And I feel to hang my head
and whisper, "Just like every time
you do wrong... but it doesn't stick.
You don't KEEP trying."
But he wouldn't hear,
because he wouldn't want to hear.
Just like me.
You see...
we are one.
His deed now...
was my deed long ago.
He didn't care.
Wouldn't have cared.
But I still did wrong.
So now it's come back to me
in the most painful way possible
thus far.
And I wish
I had always been
a different me.
For then,
the one we are
would be different,
too.
POST-Post Note
I meant to share this immediately after the Shame post, but forgot. Sorry. I hope you appreciated it somehow.
January 31, 2012.
Just after midnight.
(The devil loves the dark.)
The jolt was nor recorded
on any earth-bound
earthquake
monitoring device.
But it registered at close to a ten
or more
on my own personal ricter scale.
Pornography.
Such a fancy-shmancy word
for dispicable deeds.
Porn.
Much more appropriate a word.
A four-letter word
of the dirty deed type.
He was watching.
Moving porn.
He says he cannot remember what.
"2 people having sex.
Porn.
It's all the same."
He won't say more.
He says he dozed off
in the middle.
And that is suppose to be comforting?
I know he won't say
because he's hiding
to protect himself.
That's what he does.
"Gay porn," the whispers speak to my mind.
And I cannot conot compete.
Not that I could with any sort,
anyway.
The seismic shock that hit,
when I saw what he was trying to
hide,
knocked down every part of me...
...but one.
My FAITH stands
still.
Other faceades
only a few walls
still sway
in after-shocks that hit
nearly every day.
There is no part of me
left steady standing;
But the construct of FAITH.
Strong and firm, steady and still
stands apart.
Upon closer inspection...
deeper pondering
I realize...
I come to understand.
This man should never have had the
POWER
to destroy me in far under an
hour.
I gave it him.
I trusted in the arm of the flesh.
I built most of me
on our marriage.
My FAITH, though,
built by inhuman hands,
supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff:
sunk deep into THE ROCK.
And so I see.
I need to rebuild me
with supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff
sunk deep in The Rock.
I thought I had,
honestly.
For, you see,
this is not my first
earthquake.
But apparently,
I did not sink deep enough
or connect profoundly enough
to The Rock
to be swayed, but not broken
by a seismic shock
of mega-proportions.
And the whispers urge me
to build more carefully.
I certainly intend to!
But just right now...
I'm just trying, right now...
to clean up the mess
of me
in my little nothing world.
For what he, my hubby,
and you
can't see
is the crumbled structures.
The shattered glass.
The brokeness
inside me.
He fusses, "Don't you see me trying?"
And I feel to hang my head
and whisper, "Just like every time
you do wrong... but it doesn't stick.
You don't KEEP trying."
But he wouldn't hear,
because he wouldn't want to hear.
Just like me.
You see...
we are one.
His deed now...
was my deed long ago.
He didn't care.
Wouldn't have cared.
But I still did wrong.
So now it's come back to me
in the most painful way possible
thus far.
And I wish
I had always been
a different me.
For then,
the one we are
would be different,
too.
POST-Post Note
I meant to share this immediately after the Shame post, but forgot. Sorry. I hope you appreciated it somehow.
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Window Revisited
So, enough additional stuff has happened since I wrote the Parable of the Window that I've made some changes in my "room". Perhaps it really happened when I became Monster Girl and I just didn't realize it until now.
Last night I realized that I just don't care any more if Beauty Man comes in to open the window enough. I think I'm not truly in apathy about it all, but I'm definitely on the verge of it... and rather glad to be where I am - emotionally speaking.
I think I hear you wondering what changes I've made in my "room". Well, I imagined myself in my "room" the other night. Surprisingly, instead of seeing myself curled up almost dead, as has so often been the case, I saw myself curled up in a corner (as I've "seen" before) and realized I wasn't in complete fetal position. My face was turned oddly. Upon closer consideration, I realized I was breathing through something like a straw, sort of. I realized, as I studied the situation, that I'd scraped a hole through the wall in my "room" and the straw-like object was pushed through the hole into the world of air. And I was breathing. Not totally naturally, but breathing just the same. And the breathing requires mega-focus... but still breathing!
Additionally, I saw that my fingers were busy working around the straw-like think to make the hole bigger. The hole I'm carving out of the wall will only be big enough to allow a free flow of air. I'm not trying to get out of the room. I'm just trying to create a way to stay in the room that is not dependent upon someone who has proven unreliable and uncaring.
How does this analogy compare to real life. I'm not really sure, to be completely honest with ya! Odd, aint it?
I will tell you, though... my husband has done some nice things lately. What he has done has been totally inconsistent, though. And because of how close (in time) they are to unresolved issues (for me they are unresolved)... Anyway... it just doesn't matter to me. Not a bit in my conscious caring mind. In the back of mind it registers... but I'm just so focused on breathing that I can't deal with anything else.
For instance, Beauty Man called to tell me he loved me (in the middle of his, probably 14 hour, day at work) and tell me he missed us a lot. Yeah, that used to be nice. I used to like that kind of thing. I used to look forward to it and hope for it. He USED to do it pretty regularly. Now... don't care a bit and, in fact, it's annoying because I was trying to finally eat my lunch (3:30pm!) and it was then he called. Probably I should've just had my eldest ask him if he MUST speak to me, and if not for her to take a message... but given our past, I knew he would probably be completely miffed by that. So, I answered the phone. Told him thank you for trying to be thoughtful and that I'm sure the children missed him, too. I don't miss him. Not a bit. In fact, I think it would be simpler if he would just work 14 hour days 6 days per week. And I only say six and not seven because I believe firmly in keeping the Sabbath Day holy. *sigh*
This is from the woman who has been fighting with her man to be home more because the children need him. I'm not even worried about that anymore. He's been too much a jerk to them too often that I can't help but think it's all around better for him to work more than less. Not that his hours have ever really gotten to BE less... he's been steadily working 63+ hours since he started this job too long ago.
Is that totally mean? Probably. But I just don't even care right now. :(
I probably need to study the stages of grief/mourning. It just seems highly likely that this anger is part of a mourning process. Mourning the death of another hope. *sigh* I'm so tired of this full morgue!
Last night I realized that I just don't care any more if Beauty Man comes in to open the window enough. I think I'm not truly in apathy about it all, but I'm definitely on the verge of it... and rather glad to be where I am - emotionally speaking.
I think I hear you wondering what changes I've made in my "room". Well, I imagined myself in my "room" the other night. Surprisingly, instead of seeing myself curled up almost dead, as has so often been the case, I saw myself curled up in a corner (as I've "seen" before) and realized I wasn't in complete fetal position. My face was turned oddly. Upon closer consideration, I realized I was breathing through something like a straw, sort of. I realized, as I studied the situation, that I'd scraped a hole through the wall in my "room" and the straw-like object was pushed through the hole into the world of air. And I was breathing. Not totally naturally, but breathing just the same. And the breathing requires mega-focus... but still breathing!
Additionally, I saw that my fingers were busy working around the straw-like think to make the hole bigger. The hole I'm carving out of the wall will only be big enough to allow a free flow of air. I'm not trying to get out of the room. I'm just trying to create a way to stay in the room that is not dependent upon someone who has proven unreliable and uncaring.
How does this analogy compare to real life. I'm not really sure, to be completely honest with ya! Odd, aint it?
I will tell you, though... my husband has done some nice things lately. What he has done has been totally inconsistent, though. And because of how close (in time) they are to unresolved issues (for me they are unresolved)... Anyway... it just doesn't matter to me. Not a bit in my conscious caring mind. In the back of mind it registers... but I'm just so focused on breathing that I can't deal with anything else.
For instance, Beauty Man called to tell me he loved me (in the middle of his, probably 14 hour, day at work) and tell me he missed us a lot. Yeah, that used to be nice. I used to like that kind of thing. I used to look forward to it and hope for it. He USED to do it pretty regularly. Now... don't care a bit and, in fact, it's annoying because I was trying to finally eat my lunch (3:30pm!) and it was then he called. Probably I should've just had my eldest ask him if he MUST speak to me, and if not for her to take a message... but given our past, I knew he would probably be completely miffed by that. So, I answered the phone. Told him thank you for trying to be thoughtful and that I'm sure the children missed him, too. I don't miss him. Not a bit. In fact, I think it would be simpler if he would just work 14 hour days 6 days per week. And I only say six and not seven because I believe firmly in keeping the Sabbath Day holy. *sigh*
This is from the woman who has been fighting with her man to be home more because the children need him. I'm not even worried about that anymore. He's been too much a jerk to them too often that I can't help but think it's all around better for him to work more than less. Not that his hours have ever really gotten to BE less... he's been steadily working 63+ hours since he started this job too long ago.
Is that totally mean? Probably. But I just don't even care right now. :(
I probably need to study the stages of grief/mourning. It just seems highly likely that this anger is part of a mourning process. Mourning the death of another hope. *sigh* I'm so tired of this full morgue!
Monday, March 12, 2012
His Shame IS My Shame
Part of the reason I need to keep this blog anonymous is because of the main lesson of the Spirit (God's Holy Spirit), which keeps thrumming away in my mind and heart. The lesson is about unity. I see every so clearly that his, my Beauty Man's, shame is actually MY shame.
The Spirit keeps whispering to my heart and mind, "You are ONE."
"We are ONE."
"If ye are not ONE, ye are not MINE."
You see, what I like to think of as many years ago now, I had a thing with pornography. It was a nasty dirty thing that I hid from everyone - even myself, in a way. I liked it. Both the standard as well as gay porn. So, you see... the anonymity is to shelter me AND my man.
I do want to add that as soon as I realized viewing porn was a form of cheating, I did stop. Beauty Man never knew I looked at it. He really wouldn't have cared. I masterbated AFTER we had sex for the whole first year of our relationship, after the "honeymoon" ended, I suppose, BECAUSE he didn't care enough to give me an orgasm when we had sex... and, honestly, I didn't care enough about myself to demand it for all that time. (Currently we have MAMA-Daddy fun time. Mama coming first (literally and in the wording-way) otherwise she might not get to.) THAT should've been a BIG indicator that I was thinking/planning to marry a man that would not care much or think much about me over the course of the intended marriage. I guess, when you're a Monster Girl and someone actually wants to marry you, you jump on the opportunity. I sure didn't think I was doing that, but perhaps I was. I don't even know anymore.
anyway...
I am learning so much about how we humans choose one another... husband and wife. Even though we may not know it, there are key samenesses. Perhaps the reasons we attempt to become one with those things we don't know are in whomever we do marry... maybe it's because those hidden bits must be revealed (especially to our own consciousness) and what better way to recognize our own "mote" (or "beam" as the case may be!), but by viewing the beam in our spouse's eye.
Tori, my "twin" online friend, has a great post about this very topic. Since we think so much alike and (I think) we write similarly, I think you'll like what she says about recognizing our faults in others and what happens. She's got a couple posts about that sort of thing.
Next time I'm going to share a poem about this stuff. Please don't laugh too hard. :)
P.S.
I know I almst didn't make my MONDAY posting today... yikes. Need to do better. I really am striving, ya know!
The Spirit keeps whispering to my heart and mind, "You are ONE."
"We are ONE."
"If ye are not ONE, ye are not MINE."
You see, what I like to think of as many years ago now, I had a thing with pornography. It was a nasty dirty thing that I hid from everyone - even myself, in a way. I liked it. Both the standard as well as gay porn. So, you see... the anonymity is to shelter me AND my man.
I do want to add that as soon as I realized viewing porn was a form of cheating, I did stop. Beauty Man never knew I looked at it. He really wouldn't have cared. I masterbated AFTER we had sex for the whole first year of our relationship, after the "honeymoon" ended, I suppose, BECAUSE he didn't care enough to give me an orgasm when we had sex... and, honestly, I didn't care enough about myself to demand it for all that time. (Currently we have MAMA-Daddy fun time. Mama coming first (literally and in the wording-way) otherwise she might not get to.) THAT should've been a BIG indicator that I was thinking/planning to marry a man that would not care much or think much about me over the course of the intended marriage. I guess, when you're a Monster Girl and someone actually wants to marry you, you jump on the opportunity. I sure didn't think I was doing that, but perhaps I was. I don't even know anymore.
anyway...
I am learning so much about how we humans choose one another... husband and wife. Even though we may not know it, there are key samenesses. Perhaps the reasons we attempt to become one with those things we don't know are in whomever we do marry... maybe it's because those hidden bits must be revealed (especially to our own consciousness) and what better way to recognize our own "mote" (or "beam" as the case may be!), but by viewing the beam in our spouse's eye.
Tori, my "twin" online friend, has a great post about this very topic. Since we think so much alike and (I think) we write similarly, I think you'll like what she says about recognizing our faults in others and what happens. She's got a couple posts about that sort of thing.
Next time I'm going to share a poem about this stuff. Please don't laugh too hard. :)
P.S.
I know I almst didn't make my MONDAY posting today... yikes. Need to do better. I really am striving, ya know!
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Hurt to Blind the Pain
Hurt to Blind the Pain
I just want to pull my hair
out at the roots
And stare at the mass,
lay it on the grass.
Notice the contrast.
Brown and grey
on brown and green.
I just want to scratch
and bruise and cut
me.
To make places of hurt
ON me,
to take my focus from
the pain
IN me.
I just want to bleed.
to watch the drips
drop.
To feel the warm life
fall out & hope
that it'll take
the pain
away.
How could you wound me
thus?
How could you look on another
and lust.
Cheat.
Then lie.
I just want my feelings for you
to die.
Oh, how you hate me.
Let me count the ways.
You hate me in the morning
when you make food for everyone,
including the dog,
but not me.
You hate me bright and early
when you neglect prayer and scripture reading
saying that you think I would be angry
so you don't dare.
You hate me just before you go to work
when you avoid me
saying nary a word to me
and leave without speaking
to me.
You hate me when you return
at night
when you say not even one word.
Just do what you do
and think nothing of me.
You hate me through the night
by not asking to be near me.
By not "daring" to touch me.
You truly do
hate me
In actions AND
words.
You hate me
with every puff you take.
You hate me
with every curse you hurl
at me.
You hate me
with every click you make
that leads to a view
of another's body
you view.
You
hate
me.
I
love
you.
I just want to pull my hair
out at the roots
And stare at the mass,
lay it on the grass.
Notice the contrast.
Brown and grey
on brown and green.
I just want to scratch
and bruise and cut
me.
To make places of hurt
ON me,
to take my focus from
the pain
IN me.
I just want to bleed.
to watch the drips
drop.
To feel the warm life
fall out & hope
that it'll take
the pain
away.
How could you wound me
thus?
How could you look on another
and lust.
Cheat.
Then lie.
I just want my feelings for you
to die.
Oh, how you hate me.
Let me count the ways.
You hate me in the morning
when you make food for everyone,
including the dog,
but not me.
You hate me bright and early
when you neglect prayer and scripture reading
saying that you think I would be angry
so you don't dare.
You hate me just before you go to work
when you avoid me
saying nary a word to me
and leave without speaking
to me.
You hate me when you return
at night
when you say not even one word.
Just do what you do
and think nothing of me.
You hate me through the night
by not asking to be near me.
By not "daring" to touch me.
You truly do
hate me
In actions AND
words.
You hate me
with every puff you take.
You hate me
with every curse you hurl
at me.
You hate me
with every click you make
that leads to a view
of another's body
you view.
You
hate
me.
I
love
you.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Licking My Wounds, the Legion
This is another continuation post. I know... it's getting old to not get the whole thing all at once. This is the last one that is specifically part of the whole story of the Can in the Bag and all that jazz. I highly recommend starting at the post in which I began to tell about this particular dead body and then mosy on over the the subsequent postS.
Perhaps this is the point! Maybe my whole life I've been prepared to become Monster Girl!?? I mean, it's not been a bad thing. Ever since I had the idea for FrankenMonster Marriage I knew I simply must be called Monster Girl here. And I felt really quite liberated and powerful in a joyfully peaceful way.
But for weeks before knowing I needed to start this blog and become Monster Girl in my heart, I experienced pain more on than off. And it has continued since, just not in the unmanageable and daily tearful way of the early days... before the empowerment of accepting my monsterness. I literally cried every day for at least a week. My poor kiddos. They tried so hard to do things to help me feel better. They really are my gems!
It hurt so bad I wanted to hurt the outside of me to alleviate the inside pain. I actually wanted to cut my hair off (bald) after pulling it out sufficiently. I'm telling you what I wanted to do. I didn't do it. My hair is one of my few "pretty" physical attributes. It is down to my butt, brown and is the only thing about my physical appearance that people ever compliment. I'm really totally okay with that... it being the only thing peeps compliment... but it's also something about which I feel an attachment... I feel able to sort of hide in my hair. And I just wanted to pull it out and cut it off to hurt me after I found my husband watching porn.
In addition to the hair pulling and cutting... I wanted to cut myself. I've NEVER understood that behavior before. I do now. All I wanted to do was cut my skin and watch the blood roll down and hope that some of the pain inside would roll out of me with it. Yes, I do realize this sorta really doesn't make any sense... but this is how I felt!!! I didn't do, but I sure wanted to.
'Surely,' I thought and still feel, 'I'm hideous even with my hair. Elsewise, he would not seek to view another naked woman instead of coming to me who lay a short walk down the hall. Yes, I'm hideous. My husband has proved it to me. He would rather obtain an erection by watching another female than being with me.' These and other horrible thoughts have run through my mind and tormented me as a result of finding my husband watchin porn. Writing poetry about these feelings really helped. I'm gunna share one next time. I hope you like it a little. It's raw me... not lovely, but really real. And safe... cause I don't think cursing is helpful... it requires more energy and thought to describe in productive ways than to hurl curses regardless of the medium, in my opinion, anyway.
I still feel repulsive. And we have had sex since all this went down. I might, in a few moments during and/or immediately after the act, feel some bits of acceptance and attractiveness... but it goes away super fast. I feel tremendous shame. How could I not be enough for my man? For surely, THAT is the problem. I'm not enough. I'm not pretty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, thin enough... I'm not enough so he clicked into a movie to watch others have sex. Never mind that I am totally available and waiting to have intercourse....
It's just too much. There are all these thoughts and feelings and trying to express them doesn't convey the profound nature of the turmoil. Words just fall short of capturing the essence and extent of how this has impacted my psyche.
I'll keep trying because I feel compelled to do so, but right now I need a break. However, I do consider this the official end post to the Saga of the Cat and the Bag. K? I hope you feel some sense of completion herein.
REMEMBER:
If you know who I am, shhhh. I need to live in anonymity. Monster Girls like me prefer to hide in the dark because we are so very hideous.
Perhaps this is the point! Maybe my whole life I've been prepared to become Monster Girl!?? I mean, it's not been a bad thing. Ever since I had the idea for FrankenMonster Marriage I knew I simply must be called Monster Girl here. And I felt really quite liberated and powerful in a joyfully peaceful way.
But for weeks before knowing I needed to start this blog and become Monster Girl in my heart, I experienced pain more on than off. And it has continued since, just not in the unmanageable and daily tearful way of the early days... before the empowerment of accepting my monsterness. I literally cried every day for at least a week. My poor kiddos. They tried so hard to do things to help me feel better. They really are my gems!
It hurt so bad I wanted to hurt the outside of me to alleviate the inside pain. I actually wanted to cut my hair off (bald) after pulling it out sufficiently. I'm telling you what I wanted to do. I didn't do it. My hair is one of my few "pretty" physical attributes. It is down to my butt, brown and is the only thing about my physical appearance that people ever compliment. I'm really totally okay with that... it being the only thing peeps compliment... but it's also something about which I feel an attachment... I feel able to sort of hide in my hair. And I just wanted to pull it out and cut it off to hurt me after I found my husband watching porn.
In addition to the hair pulling and cutting... I wanted to cut myself. I've NEVER understood that behavior before. I do now. All I wanted to do was cut my skin and watch the blood roll down and hope that some of the pain inside would roll out of me with it. Yes, I do realize this sorta really doesn't make any sense... but this is how I felt!!! I didn't do, but I sure wanted to.
'Surely,' I thought and still feel, 'I'm hideous even with my hair. Elsewise, he would not seek to view another naked woman instead of coming to me who lay a short walk down the hall. Yes, I'm hideous. My husband has proved it to me. He would rather obtain an erection by watching another female than being with me.' These and other horrible thoughts have run through my mind and tormented me as a result of finding my husband watchin porn. Writing poetry about these feelings really helped. I'm gunna share one next time. I hope you like it a little. It's raw me... not lovely, but really real. And safe... cause I don't think cursing is helpful... it requires more energy and thought to describe in productive ways than to hurl curses regardless of the medium, in my opinion, anyway.
I still feel repulsive. And we have had sex since all this went down. I might, in a few moments during and/or immediately after the act, feel some bits of acceptance and attractiveness... but it goes away super fast. I feel tremendous shame. How could I not be enough for my man? For surely, THAT is the problem. I'm not enough. I'm not pretty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, thin enough... I'm not enough so he clicked into a movie to watch others have sex. Never mind that I am totally available and waiting to have intercourse....
It's just too much. There are all these thoughts and feelings and trying to express them doesn't convey the profound nature of the turmoil. Words just fall short of capturing the essence and extent of how this has impacted my psyche.
I'll keep trying because I feel compelled to do so, but right now I need a break. However, I do consider this the official end post to the Saga of the Cat and the Bag. K? I hope you feel some sense of completion herein.
REMEMBER:
If you know who I am, shhhh. I need to live in anonymity. Monster Girls like me prefer to hide in the dark because we are so very hideous.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
To Build a Home
I have not been successful in building up my home lately. I have been trying to get out of the funk and get back to focusing rightly, but I have to tell you, it's been nigh on impossible. There are many reasons for this, which I will be sharing in future posts (I'm still trying to share the basics and just can't deal with it all at once, for crying out loud!).
There is a scripture that says something about a wise woman building up her home while a foolish one tears it down with her own hands. I don't, honest to Father God, know which I am. I'm trying to be wise, but my husband takes everything I say - regardless of tone of voice - as the other! I know who I'm trying to be, but if my efforts are not perceived as they are intended... I'm not succeeding somewhere. *sigh*
So... I'm trying to get things more balanced. Instead of spending all my time looking for a job I can work from home, I'm trying to get some cleaning and grocery shopping in, too. I'm so thankful that our pantry has been well supplied because our fridge was almost empty until today! That made it possible for me to do some cleaning with greater ease, though.
This may seem small and silly, but I don't get enough time all at once to clean the fridge really well. So, I decided to do what I could do. I got a small-ish rag wet and left it on the difficult spots until I opened the fridge again later. Doing that throughout the day enabled me to get my fridge really quite clean... Then I had a few minutes all together while I was waiting for Beauty Man to get home from work and I used that time to wash the bottom shelf (which, if that comes out the drawers must come out, too). So, now a good bit of the fridge is all sparkley! Yeay for the bits that can get done throughout a day!
Next time, I think (hopefully Friday), I'll finish dealing with the Cat coming out of the bag. ;)
There is a scripture that says something about a wise woman building up her home while a foolish one tears it down with her own hands. I don't, honest to Father God, know which I am. I'm trying to be wise, but my husband takes everything I say - regardless of tone of voice - as the other! I know who I'm trying to be, but if my efforts are not perceived as they are intended... I'm not succeeding somewhere. *sigh*
So... I'm trying to get things more balanced. Instead of spending all my time looking for a job I can work from home, I'm trying to get some cleaning and grocery shopping in, too. I'm so thankful that our pantry has been well supplied because our fridge was almost empty until today! That made it possible for me to do some cleaning with greater ease, though.
This may seem small and silly, but I don't get enough time all at once to clean the fridge really well. So, I decided to do what I could do. I got a small-ish rag wet and left it on the difficult spots until I opened the fridge again later. Doing that throughout the day enabled me to get my fridge really quite clean... Then I had a few minutes all together while I was waiting for Beauty Man to get home from work and I used that time to wash the bottom shelf (which, if that comes out the drawers must come out, too). So, now a good bit of the fridge is all sparkley! Yeay for the bits that can get done throughout a day!
Next time, I think (hopefully Friday), I'll finish dealing with the Cat coming out of the bag. ;)
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Cat Runs Away
This is a continuation post. I recommend you start at the beginning of this mini-story, the move on to the middle, and THEN come on back here here so that you'll understand what "cat" this is all about. Next post will actually be the final. I know... I keep drawing this out, but I can only do so much of dealing with the crud at once.
That night one of the many murders was accomplished. Thus far it is among the most gruesome for me. I know this whole thing may be "no big thang" to you. I do, truly, know that lots of women have more horrendous trials than this. I do.
But you know, the THEORY OF RELATIVITY* (the star is a totally different link, fun, right?) is not exclusively applicable in Physics. All too often folks try to apply it to morality... doesn't work there, but humanistic relativism would argue it does, of course. If you know God, you know that just aint so. I'll leave THAT there and move along.
The wounds I have sustained are legion. I actually hurt myself when beating up the speakers, but didn't know it when it happened. I had a scratch on one shoulder, a cut on an ear lobe, and a huge bruise on one calf that took more than three weeks to heal up and go away entirely! But the worst of the damage is internal... contained and defined in my emotions and thoughts. Oh, would that the only damage was to my flesh... and a result of my own actions!
As a result of this whole thing, I completed a metamorphosis from sort of cute girl to Monster Girl. And, unfortunately, I don't see it as a reversible sort of thing. Christ's Atonement has (and is) bringing to pass healing of the pain. It's mostly gone, most of the time (when I allow His Atonement to work in me), but it will not erase the image I saw or the knowledge of what Beauty Man did. It is this that has finished up a process (this metamorphosis) begun when I first learned and knew for sure about his lies... and knew the whispers were true.
I guess, in a way, it's sort of liberating to feel truly ugly. Perhaps this is a stretch... and yes, I am trying to make something good out of crap. But maybe if I can simply accept my ugly Monster Girl-ness, I can do something truly good with what has happened and make beauty from my own personal Monster ugliness.
I need a break. I'll finish up next time.
That night one of the many murders was accomplished. Thus far it is among the most gruesome for me. I know this whole thing may be "no big thang" to you. I do, truly, know that lots of women have more horrendous trials than this. I do.
But you know, the THEORY OF RELATIVITY* (the star is a totally different link, fun, right?) is not exclusively applicable in Physics. All too often folks try to apply it to morality... doesn't work there, but humanistic relativism would argue it does, of course. If you know God, you know that just aint so. I'll leave THAT there and move along.
The wounds I have sustained are legion. I actually hurt myself when beating up the speakers, but didn't know it when it happened. I had a scratch on one shoulder, a cut on an ear lobe, and a huge bruise on one calf that took more than three weeks to heal up and go away entirely! But the worst of the damage is internal... contained and defined in my emotions and thoughts. Oh, would that the only damage was to my flesh... and a result of my own actions!
As a result of this whole thing, I completed a metamorphosis from sort of cute girl to Monster Girl. And, unfortunately, I don't see it as a reversible sort of thing. Christ's Atonement has (and is) bringing to pass healing of the pain. It's mostly gone, most of the time (when I allow His Atonement to work in me), but it will not erase the image I saw or the knowledge of what Beauty Man did. It is this that has finished up a process (this metamorphosis) begun when I first learned and knew for sure about his lies... and knew the whispers were true.
I guess, in a way, it's sort of liberating to feel truly ugly. Perhaps this is a stretch... and yes, I am trying to make something good out of crap. But maybe if I can simply accept my ugly Monster Girl-ness, I can do something truly good with what has happened and make beauty from my own personal Monster ugliness.
I need a break. I'll finish up next time.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Still Dealing With the Bagged Cat
This post is a continuation post. If you want to totally understand what I'm talking about, read the first post first. :)
Pick up from the point at which I knew he'd been lying for years and jump forward in time to not so long ago. Certainly not long enough ago!
I found Beauty Man looking at porn. I didn't clearly see what he was watching. All I saw was a screen that looks like the end/stop pictures/ads at the end of a YouTube. You know, the images that are all advertisements for the other YouTubes you might like if you liked the one you just finished watching. The one image frozen in my mind is naked boobies about 10 times bigger than mine. Yeah... real self-esteem boost that! Especially knowing that my man considers himself a boob guy (who married a not-so-well-endowed Monster Girl!).
I feel the need to give you the blow-by-blow of that night. I promised gorey details of this murder... so I'm gunna give 'em.
I woke up because of Beauty Baby (our youngest child). I used the toilet. I felt strange and Beauty Man wasn't in bed even though I knew he'd been home for a while. It was after midnight. He really should've been in bed. He had work the next day.
I made my way down the hall to the rest of the house. The door was closed between our bedroom hall and the rest of the house. It is practically unheard of for this particular door to be closed. But I can think of another time that it was closed a couple weeks before... instead of checking on him, I went to get some water from the kitchen first... but he was doing something to change what he was looking at and did so in a furative manner... THAT is a huge clue. Dumb trusting Monster Girl. :(
I opened the door fast. There is weather stripping on the bottom of this door, so regardless of how you open the door, it's going to be noisy. I immediately made my way to where Beauty Man sat. I was carefully watching his hand on the mouse the whole time and he was obviously trying to click out of something. The screen wouldn't close, though. And that's how I saw what I saw.
I freaked out, but with an absolutely quiet and calm mind. It was truly an interesting experience as far as that goes. I remember thinking, 'This is completely unaccetable. He's broken his word AGAIN. He's lied to me. And he's doing THIS! It will not happen again. I must show him how completely and utterly unacceptible this is. I must DO something. What can I do?' All of that flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds because I know in physical reality I moved seamlessly from seeing, to screaming the question, "What are you doing?" at least three times, to pulling one of the speakers out of the computer, carefully putting Beauty Baby down on the floor and then I proceeded to bash the speaker, swinging it by it's cord, into the floor to smash it to smithereens. I stopped only when I was certain it was in numerous pieces. I proceeded to pull the other speaker from the computer and doing again to it what I'd done to the first.
I know exactly what I looked like. I could hear him thinking that I was in a black rage - the kind of rage during which you black out and cannot remember things you did. I had a couple of those as a teen, so I DO know about them from experience. This was NOT that. I remember all of everything I thought and did with a kind of clarity that is uncommon to me even in my daily life. He did, in fact, accuse me of being in a black rage during the beating of the speakers, so I know when I felt him think it that he actually DID think it.
What followed the speaker's mutilation? Oddly and surprisingly (to me), Beauty Man stood up from where he'd been sitting (it occurred to me just now that he probably needed that time to lose an erection :( grrr.), slammed the computer screen to the ground, and proceeded to stomp on it. I stood back and felt a measure of pleasure that he would destroy that which he had used to sin and cheat on me with. I also felt an increase in anger because he was destroying the tool I used and needed to complete work for the work-for-money job HE wanted me to do.
When he was finished stomping, we yelled back and forth. He told me if I ever acted like that again, he would take the children and drive. I told him he would never get the chance. I feel certain that in those moments I sealed off a portion of my self and my heart to him. I don't think he'll notice the difference... or care, if he notices.
I must take a break.
Pick up from the point at which I knew he'd been lying for years and jump forward in time to not so long ago. Certainly not long enough ago!
I found Beauty Man looking at porn. I didn't clearly see what he was watching. All I saw was a screen that looks like the end/stop pictures/ads at the end of a YouTube. You know, the images that are all advertisements for the other YouTubes you might like if you liked the one you just finished watching. The one image frozen in my mind is naked boobies about 10 times bigger than mine. Yeah... real self-esteem boost that! Especially knowing that my man considers himself a boob guy (who married a not-so-well-endowed Monster Girl!).
I feel the need to give you the blow-by-blow of that night. I promised gorey details of this murder... so I'm gunna give 'em.
I woke up because of Beauty Baby (our youngest child). I used the toilet. I felt strange and Beauty Man wasn't in bed even though I knew he'd been home for a while. It was after midnight. He really should've been in bed. He had work the next day.
I made my way down the hall to the rest of the house. The door was closed between our bedroom hall and the rest of the house. It is practically unheard of for this particular door to be closed. But I can think of another time that it was closed a couple weeks before... instead of checking on him, I went to get some water from the kitchen first... but he was doing something to change what he was looking at and did so in a furative manner... THAT is a huge clue. Dumb trusting Monster Girl. :(
I opened the door fast. There is weather stripping on the bottom of this door, so regardless of how you open the door, it's going to be noisy. I immediately made my way to where Beauty Man sat. I was carefully watching his hand on the mouse the whole time and he was obviously trying to click out of something. The screen wouldn't close, though. And that's how I saw what I saw.
I freaked out, but with an absolutely quiet and calm mind. It was truly an interesting experience as far as that goes. I remember thinking, 'This is completely unaccetable. He's broken his word AGAIN. He's lied to me. And he's doing THIS! It will not happen again. I must show him how completely and utterly unacceptible this is. I must DO something. What can I do?' All of that flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds because I know in physical reality I moved seamlessly from seeing, to screaming the question, "What are you doing?" at least three times, to pulling one of the speakers out of the computer, carefully putting Beauty Baby down on the floor and then I proceeded to bash the speaker, swinging it by it's cord, into the floor to smash it to smithereens. I stopped only when I was certain it was in numerous pieces. I proceeded to pull the other speaker from the computer and doing again to it what I'd done to the first.
I know exactly what I looked like. I could hear him thinking that I was in a black rage - the kind of rage during which you black out and cannot remember things you did. I had a couple of those as a teen, so I DO know about them from experience. This was NOT that. I remember all of everything I thought and did with a kind of clarity that is uncommon to me even in my daily life. He did, in fact, accuse me of being in a black rage during the beating of the speakers, so I know when I felt him think it that he actually DID think it.
What followed the speaker's mutilation? Oddly and surprisingly (to me), Beauty Man stood up from where he'd been sitting (it occurred to me just now that he probably needed that time to lose an erection :( grrr.), slammed the computer screen to the ground, and proceeded to stomp on it. I stood back and felt a measure of pleasure that he would destroy that which he had used to sin and cheat on me with. I also felt an increase in anger because he was destroying the tool I used and needed to complete work for the work-for-money job HE wanted me to do.
When he was finished stomping, we yelled back and forth. He told me if I ever acted like that again, he would take the children and drive. I told him he would never get the chance. I feel certain that in those moments I sealed off a portion of my self and my heart to him. I don't think he'll notice the difference... or care, if he notices.
I must take a break.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
My Twin
Pre-Post Note:
I know I said I'd continue with the bagged cat, and I will on my next planned blogging day (Friday). Right now I'm just going to share something sort of extra. Thus the non-planned blogging day.
On to the post:
I have my first follower! This is seriously something special to me because I'm not sharing this blog with anyone I actually know. So... how would anyone find me? I've wondered... and wondered if I was chatting at the air, as it were. I haven't heard from anyone. So, I figured it was highly likely. I decided that it didn't matter one bit, though, because writing here has been helping ME so much... even though it's been way more infrequent than I planned (especially in the beginning).
So, I've mentioned her a couple times. I don't even remember how I came across her blog. But I did. And I love it! I'm pretty sure I shared a link to it before because I loved it so much. And she's got the Amazon store I was hoping anyone who reads here would jump over to use when purchasing from Amazon. She found me as a result of my link to her blog. And do we're becoming friends! Email/internet friends, but still friends. Based on what she shares and how she writes on her blog, we could be twins! Maybe you'd disagree, but I think she is amazing. I love that her family picture is not up-to-date... makes her real and that much more likeable and similar to me! :)
My first follower, as mentioned at the very beginning, is my twin! We are not literally twins, of course, because we DO have 2 totally different parents. If it were even remotely possible, I would think we were literally identical twins seperated at birth. But both of our Moms did the whole natural labor thing - so they were both very aware of how many babies did and did not come out of their whoo-haas. So, I'm left to believe that it's just kizmet. We both think we were best friends in heaven before we were born.
We're twins right down to the way we look. Tori (my twin... and she did give me permission to talk about her!) has said she's sure I'm prettier, but since I can see HER picture and she has no idea what I look like, I say with absolute authority that we could be twins. We think alike, too. Definitely more like twins seperated at birth than those raised together! ^_^
We are both "into" and knowledgeable about Conspiracy Theories. I odn't know which of us suggested it first, but it is possible that we are clones! I'm totally joking, of course. But it is fun and funny to talk about it.
Obviously I like Tori. If I didn't, dislike would certainly spring from some form of self-loathing because we are so much alike!
I told her I wanted to share about her blog, and she gave me permission. I did let her know that I really don't know how many people actually read my blog. I know how to look at STATS and all, but that doesn't tell me who actually READS what I have to say. I mean, I don't have loads of pictures or anything. And the likelihood of anyone reading all I write... well, a Monster Girl can hope loads of people want to and do... but any of kind of girl, even of the monster type must also remain aware of reality, too! She wasn't sure if she would share my blog because she was worried that others might think it's her own - since she's going through a really difficult time currently. I totally feel for her because our stories are so VERY similar. *sigh* Just another example of how the one who seeks to detroy souls is aiming at the family... and perhaps most often the heart of men via their carnal desires. grrrr...
If you want to know what I look like, notice her family portrait. That's darn near exactly what I look like. We seriously could be twins!
I know I said I'd continue with the bagged cat, and I will on my next planned blogging day (Friday). Right now I'm just going to share something sort of extra. Thus the non-planned blogging day.
On to the post:
I have my first follower! This is seriously something special to me because I'm not sharing this blog with anyone I actually know. So... how would anyone find me? I've wondered... and wondered if I was chatting at the air, as it were. I haven't heard from anyone. So, I figured it was highly likely. I decided that it didn't matter one bit, though, because writing here has been helping ME so much... even though it's been way more infrequent than I planned (especially in the beginning).
So, I've mentioned her a couple times. I don't even remember how I came across her blog. But I did. And I love it! I'm pretty sure I shared a link to it before because I loved it so much. And she's got the Amazon store I was hoping anyone who reads here would jump over to use when purchasing from Amazon. She found me as a result of my link to her blog. And do we're becoming friends! Email/internet friends, but still friends. Based on what she shares and how she writes on her blog, we could be twins! Maybe you'd disagree, but I think she is amazing. I love that her family picture is not up-to-date... makes her real and that much more likeable and similar to me! :)
My first follower, as mentioned at the very beginning, is my twin! We are not literally twins, of course, because we DO have 2 totally different parents. If it were even remotely possible, I would think we were literally identical twins seperated at birth. But both of our Moms did the whole natural labor thing - so they were both very aware of how many babies did and did not come out of their whoo-haas. So, I'm left to believe that it's just kizmet. We both think we were best friends in heaven before we were born.
We're twins right down to the way we look. Tori (my twin... and she did give me permission to talk about her!) has said she's sure I'm prettier, but since I can see HER picture and she has no idea what I look like, I say with absolute authority that we could be twins. We think alike, too. Definitely more like twins seperated at birth than those raised together! ^_^
We are both "into" and knowledgeable about Conspiracy Theories. I odn't know which of us suggested it first, but it is possible that we are clones! I'm totally joking, of course. But it is fun and funny to talk about it.
Obviously I like Tori. If I didn't, dislike would certainly spring from some form of self-loathing because we are so much alike!
I told her I wanted to share about her blog, and she gave me permission. I did let her know that I really don't know how many people actually read my blog. I know how to look at STATS and all, but that doesn't tell me who actually READS what I have to say. I mean, I don't have loads of pictures or anything. And the likelihood of anyone reading all I write... well, a Monster Girl can hope loads of people want to and do... but any of kind of girl, even of the monster type must also remain aware of reality, too! She wasn't sure if she would share my blog because she was worried that others might think it's her own - since she's going through a really difficult time currently. I totally feel for her because our stories are so VERY similar. *sigh* Just another example of how the one who seeks to detroy souls is aiming at the family... and perhaps most often the heart of men via their carnal desires. grrrr...
If you want to know what I look like, notice her family portrait. That's darn near exactly what I look like. We seriously could be twins!
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