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.

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.

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.

Taking the Cat out of the Bag

Have you ever done it?  Taken a cat out of a bag, I mean.  Heck, have you ever got one IN a bag?

I haven't.  So, I'm just imagining what it would entail and what the consequences might be.  I do have an active and vivid imagination, though!  So, I'm thinking that one who would be so brave... or foolish as to put a cat in a bag would sustain numerous wounds regardless of the outcome of the endeavor.  IF such an one were successful, I would imagine that said person would rather let the cat stay where it was than deal with trying to get it out again.

This is where you find me.

I got the cat in the bag and have been loathe to get it out or even let it get out.  But it's coming.

Just know that I DO, in fact, KNOW that lots of other women have faced this same challenge.  I'm sure with more grace than me!  I mentioned a girl a while back... I'm going to share more about her in a while.  Anyway... She coule be my twin.  She is not, actually, but we're so similar she could be!  Anyway... she, just as one example, is dealing with the problem I'm trying to share in this post, too.  It's just difficult!  I guess a bit like stepping into the sun after a confinement in the dark and cold.  It's eventually a gift and relief to be in the sun, but it's a bit miserable and painful right at the beginning.

So,  I was trying to get rid of the internet at our house because I found my husband watching porn.  I realize there are lots of folks (guys AND girls) who would scoff or mock me for the pain this discovery has caused.  But like all doozies, this is a multi-faceted gem of darkness.

Before I explain further, I have to tell you aobut some really religious sort of spiritual stuff.  I haven't written about that part of me so much here because I don't want to "turn anybody off" to reading my story.  What I'm goint to share is absolutely pertinent to the story of my husband watching porn, finding him doing it, and all the resulting fallout for me.

For three or four months before I saw him looking at porn with my own eyes, I heard whispers to my mind that Beauty Man was doing it.  I asked him, point blank, if he was.  I even told him I heard (he KNOWS what this means) he was  and asked again if he was.  Each time he told me he was not, had not, did not... however he said it, he always said no.

Back up to the very beginning of us.  That's been long enough, now, for us to have four children with the youngest being around 1 year old.  I found him looking at porn way back in the beginning.  I was a different person back then.  It bothered me.  It hurt my feelings some.  I felt slightly mistrustful of him, but I believed him when he told me he would stop.  I asked him to stop because it hurt my feelings.

Skip forward a few years.

He promised me that when we found out we were preggie, he would quit smoking.  He did.  But then, unbeknownst to me, he started up again.  I knew it, though.  I heard the whispers (not audible, but to my mind).  I heard the Holy Spirit tell me what he was doing, but I would not believe.  I didn't want to believe my husband was lying to me.  I WAS told and warned, though.  I asked him point blank, numerous times.  He lied in reply.  Repeatedly.  And for years.

The truth didn't come out until he'd move me away from my parents and brothers.  He'd lied to me for 3 years by then!  And since?  (I hear you wonder.)  That's part of the huge problem in this FrankenMonster Marriage!  He's NEVER completely stopped lying!!!!  Not only has he lied, bu he's also stolen money from our family.  He's still more in a habit of hiding the truth than TELLING the truth.  It's very painful for me.  Remember how honest, how truthful I like being?

The story isn't complete, but I really must take a break from the telling.  I'll resume very soon.  Promise.

Bad News; and Worse

Pre-Post Note:
I think, if I can, I'm going to post Mondays AND Fridays.  Monster Girl Mondays and FrankenMarriage Fridays.  Sounds nice!  :)  Don't you think so?  Anyway, thus today's post.  I may post other days of the week, too, of course, but I'm not going to commit to that.  Heck, I've only just been able to get two Mondays in a row!  HA!

On to the Post!

My husband came home from work with bad news.

The cycle, it seems, is revving up for a repeat ride again.  This is the bad news.  The cycle is, of course, cyclical in nature.  But I sure do wish the thing would get considerable bigger (last years rather than months!).  In this stage of the cycle that we seem to be experiencing, the boss begins to become excessive in his expectations, demands, and eventually (sooner or later... usually sooner) fires Beauty Man.

He's not assertive enough.  He doesn't stand up for himself vociferously enough.  I know this absolutely because this is how he is with me, too.

I really thought it would be different this time.  But I see the writing in the sand clear as day!  I've seen it before in exactly this way.  His boss has hired someone (hiring is supposed to be one of my husband's responsibilities) who will, supposedly work with Beauty Man.  The boss is demanding certain planning forms to be set in place, though the plans he desires are not realistic... not in a kitchen with the staff relative to volume that this kitchen has, for sure!

As I ponder on the matter, I realize that he simply isn't changed enough for the cycle to be different.  *sigh*  So it goes.

Also, it usually happens this way... soon after my man does something really wrong and/or stupid and that wrong/stupid thing comes to light.  I haven't always known his wrong-doing when he was fired... but it's there to view in the perfect vision of hindsight!

The Beauty Man's solution to this problem is to work from home on the internet doing a job he's heard about on the radio, but doesn't know whwat it actually is and doesn't know what (if any) investment it will require to get started.  This suggestion is a HUGE problem for me for many reasons.  ALL connected to deaths and especially the one(s) sustained most recently - over which the computer died and the internet was removed (or, at least, I was going to cancel it) by me against Beauty Man's desires.  (Read: internet is a huge aspect of the problem I still haven't explained.)

I need to tell you about this most recent death... as well as all the others, really.  But even in anonymity, it is SO difficult to come out of hiding.  Next time.  For sure.

The Things I Do

Pre-Post Note:
YEAY!  My second Monday in a row!  Can you believe it?  If you knew what I had going on in my head, you'd be cheerin' me on, for sure!  :)

First and foremost, I am a Mom.  I love being a Mom now.  It's still the toughest job I've EVER had, but I do love it.  I mentioned that I don't wear jewlery in a previous post.  That's been the case for a while, but since I've had children, I have desired jewels less and less because I see my children as the adornment which beautifies me.  They are almost always with me.  And, as with other women who wear their jewelry, I feel a bit naked without them!  :)  Plus, I know somewhere in the Bible it says something about how children are like unto diamonds and a man who hath many is rich indeed.  (I know I could look it up and link to the verse and/or get a direct quote, but I'm sharing it the way it's written on my heart: imperfection and all.)

My kiddos really are beauties.  I say this as a matter of fact.  I used to wish that when I had children only I would see them as beautiful.  I definitely didn't get my wish.  People comment on their beauty almost everywhere we go.  Maybe you wonder why I would wish such a thing.  It's silly maybe... but I wished it because I felt certain that if I was the only one who thought they were beautiful, then surely they'd be safe from predation or kidnapping.  Stories like Elizabeth Smart's have had a tremendous impact on me... obviously!

So, my number 1 calling in this life is Motherhood.  I do know that my husband should come first in my heart and life.  I do recognize that I need to change my priorities back to the way they should be.  They've shifted due to the multitude of deaths (my hopes and expectations)... I'm working on making it right... this man of mine definitely does NOT make that easy, though!  Nor, I suppose, is he here to do so.  I am, after-all, HIS helpmeet... not he mine.  ahwell...

Unfortunately, I do have a work for money job.  I place Foreign Exchange students in American families.  It's a good job.  Doens't pay much in money, but it's a good job for me.  I like the work of it and it is the kind of job I'd do for free if I felt I had the time.  I do NOT feel like I have the time, but do it because my husband wanted (still does) me to do something to help with the finances.  I don't get paid as we go... it's a lump sum at the end of the students' stay... so it's a bit difficult, but it's income.

If I could make money at whatever I wanted to do, I would write and paint!  I love to write.  Can you tell?  I also love to paint.  My work in either art form is not of the high art sort.  It's just a reflection or projection of me.  And I've already shared THAT.  I'm not the American ideal of beauty AND I've also shared details about HOW I'm not a beauty.  So... the reflections and/or projections really aren't either.

Even though I don't make money (yet?) at writing or painting... I DO have a hope that some day I may.  It could happen!  Stranger things have, ya know.  A girl... even a Monster Girl can hope, anyway, right?!!

I also like to crochet, read, learn, exercise, daydream, cook, and bake.  Those last two I loved to do when I was young.  But I lost the pleasure in it as I became an adult.  Thanks to teaching and working with my eldest, I'm loving it again.  The unfortunate part of that is the eating that comes after the baking and cooking.  Obviously my explanation of how I look should easily reveal two things to you.  1: I have some severe problems with self-control.  And 2: I like to eat.

Eating and/or food is said to be the addiction of choice among Christians.  This is true for me, unfortunately.  I have reduced my problems within this overarching problem by quitting chocolate.  When I first quit, I really thought it would be a short-term thing... like for Lent or something.  I've been off the stuff for almost 18 months now.  I've definitely felt Led to keep away.  MAJOR bummer if you ask me because I still think about it almost daily.  Yes.  I am a recovering chocoholic.  I know people joke about it, but it's not a joke for me.  It's an actual addiction from which I'm recovering.  Seriously.  And I think I'll be in recovery for the rest of my life... oh... this is the first time I'm really realizing that I probably cannot have chocolate again.  Oh!  The torture!  *sigh*

The Man... My Man... Beauty Man

Pre-Post Note:
I'm getting better... And today is a Monday, too!  :)

So, I was thinking about what I'd like to know next if I was you.  Maybe we're totally different, which is completely possible and even likely, in which case this post may be TOTALLY un-interesting to you.  But if I were reading along here instead of writing, I'd want to know more about the guy I have been and will be talking about.

My husband.  You already know we met online.  It's been a few years now.  Long enough for us to have four children, the youngest of whom is right around a year old.

He's a few years younger than me, but had done more in his life when we met than I could imagine.  I figured that made up for the few years difference.  Maybe.  Maybe not.

He has light brown hair, green eyes, which are actually green and not hazel.  He weighs around 150 pounds, stands just under 6 feet tall and IS as thin as that sounds.  Once, he started to take on some weight.  The main way I could tell is that his belly button became slightly more than just a depression in his belly region.  There was actually a dip and enough of a depression to catch a good bunch of lint each day.  Ha!  The only time I can ever remember seeing the deepest part of my belly button is during the last month of pregnancy... and not even every one of those!  HA!

My husband is handsome... really, actually... he is a beautiful man.  This is where the name I use, Beauty Man, instead of his real one, comes from.  He has a James Dean-ish* look.  His nose (and I never really noticed noses, except for my own, before I met him) is perfectly straight, smooth, slightly slender, but not too narrow and makes me think of a "Roman Nose," though I've never been completely sure what THAT looks like!  My husband had a nice "V" shaped bod when we met.  Not now.  Not that I'm bothered, really.  Heck, I was a size 9 when we met and more like a 24now.  Seriously.  But he DID look GOOD with those well developed lats and pecs!  :)  He still looks good... but you know what I mean, right?

One thing I noticed and loved from REALLY early on is his crinkley-eyes.  He was 20 when we met (turned 21 before we met in person).  But even so, he had a whole bunch of crinkles right at the temples when he'd smile.  I've always thought those smile-eye wrinkles were among his most beautiful physical features.

He's got skinny legs.

He's hairy, but not sweater-hairy.  At least, not yet.  ;)  It seems, since we've met, the hair is multiplying and spreading at an exponentially increasing rate.  He hasn't lost any off his head, so it's not migrating, but he has more now in the funny shaped patch above his butt, on the top of his upper arms, in and on his ears, and on hisshoulders than he ever did when we first met.  Funny how that heppens, huh?

He's very strong.  He doesn't look like he could lift as much as he can.  He was still able to pick me up when I was 200 pounds.  I won't let him try anymore.  I bet he could, but I'm afraid it would hurt him.

He smokes.  He is not a member of my church.  He and I don't have many (if any) of the same interests or hobbies.  I know many of our temporal goals aline, but I don't think our Spiritual goals mesh... if he has any of those at all.

He is a Chef.  He was in the Navy when we met, got out and went to Culinary School.  Now he's a Chef.  He hates it.  He hates the industry and the caliber of people he is most often in contact with as a result of his employ.  He works way too many house for a little salary.  Salary.  It's rough.  Thankfully he IS employed and THANKFULLY, he keeps doing it.  He is, after-all, the primary breadwinner in this family!  I hope one day, that the things I can do from home will supply all our needs and he'll be able to work 'cause he wants to, or go back to school, or work the businesses I'm trying to grow.  A girl; even a Monster Girl, can dream, can't she?!  :)


*James Dean Pictures that look like Beauty Man to me

Yes, Beauty Man does wear glasses, though his look a bit different than those in the picture.  And, as I mentioned, he does smoke.  :-p  Beauty Man is aptly named, don't you think so?

The Parable of the Window

Pre-Post Note:
YEAY!  I'm posting a week later than my last one!  YEAY for some all vitories.  Okay, so it's not on the day I'm trying to do it regularly, but still.  Baby steps ARE steps!  :)

Last time I mentioned sharing with you a Parable I've written.    I call it: The Parable of the Window, which you can see is the title.  Obviously.  :)  Now, this Parable has to do with my Love Languages, my man, and how he does or does not speak my Love Languages.  If you don't know anything about Love Languages.  I encourage you to read the book entitled: The Five Love Languages.  I've been reading a blogger I really like, so the link for that book will take you to her Amazon store.  Every little bit help!  I hope, if you're interested in that (or any book), you'll search for what you want through her store, which you can find by the links I've included and also on her BLOG.  It is a really great blog!  Of course, I may like it so much because she writes (and maybe thinks?) similarly to me.  At least, that's how it seems by what she writes and how she expresses herself and the way she names things.  I just think it's always fun to read from others who seem to be kindred spirits!

On to the Parable:

I am in an air-tight room.  There is no ventilation ducting to this room.  The door is sealed tight.  There is one single window in this room.  The seal around it, too, is airtight.  Only one person has the ability to open the window.  My Beauty Man, my husband.

When he opens the window, he allows fresh air to flood the room (my heart and life).  He opens it by touching me lovingly, speaking to me kindly and encouragingly.  He can open it by calling to say hi and tell me he was thinking about me while he's at work.  He opens it when he rubs my feet or shoulders - especially when he does so without being asked.  He opens that window when he gives me specific compliments about the things I'm trying to do, my appearance, something that he loves about a food item I've prepared.  There are myriad ways he opens the window.  But it is not held open permanently.  Opening it requires effort on his part.  When he stops making the effort to hold the window open, it falls closed and seals air-tight-shut again.  Oftentimes, my man not only stops holding the window open, but also leaves the room entirely... shutting the door firmly on his departure.

Leaving the room is figurative because my husband hasn't physically left me in any permanent way.  But every time we have a disagreement, he usually stomps off in a huff.  This is one form "leaving the room" takes in our marriage.  He also leaves the room when he refuses to have a conversation.  Or when he refuses to answer a question and says, instead, "I don't know," or, "I don't remember."  Clearly these are unacceptable answers.

And I am left alone.  Initially, I often don't realize he's actually departed.... he sneaks out as often as he stomps out.  I'm just so relieved to breath again... and he takes my state of distraction as his cover for walking away.  When I realize he's gone, I usually (especially in the beginning), would just think something like, "Oh, he'll be back soon!  He won't stay away long!"

But then he does.  And I start to really miss the fresh air... I miss his presence and his effort.  So, I start to knock on the door.  I almost always start with soft knocks... trying to get his attention.  Eventually it moves to louder and louder knocking and on to pounding on the door... just hoping to get my man's attention in hopes that he'll come visit my room and open the window.

The room IS air-tight, please remember, so eventually I start to feel difficulty breathing.  My breath comes with greater and greater difficulty.  I stop pounding on the door.  Actually, I stop trying at all.  It is at this point, at some stage of me sitting in a corner of my room (or lying in foetal position about to die of asphixiation) that my man comes in the room and opens the window.  Almost every single time...  I'm about to die in our marriage before he does anything about it.  :(

You may wonder why I don't open the door myself.  You might ask, "Does the door NOT have a knob on it?"  Those are appropriate questions, I suppose.  I hope, though, that you are not married if you ask them.  If you are, perhaps you simply have a different idea of marriage than me.  That is, of course, totally possible.  For me, though... if I open that door, that means I'm looking for some outside source to affirm me in ways that ONLY my husband should be doing.  And, honestly, I would rather die in my marriage than break my covenants, which I have made to my God and husband.  So, I don't touch the knob, though there certainly IS one.

There have been lots of times when I've been sitting in the corner... at some stage of dying or about to die-ness that I look at the knob a lot and wonder what it would be like to turn it and go outside my little room.  I know this is dangerous territory.  I am working on NOT looking at or contemplating that knob when things are at their worst.  Every once in a while, though, it has been kinda good that I looked... cause things actually do NOT look greener on the other side when I have.  Not overall... there might be patches of greener... but not the whole lawn... at least... when I've tried to see without seeing.  And since that's the closest I'm gunna go to checkin out that grass... well, I think THAT sort of knob-lookin' has done me good.

So, that's my Parable.  Definitely NOT amazing and minimally put as The Master parable-teller's.  But it's mine.  :)  Monster Girls can be pleased with their silly efforts, too... can't I?

The Morgue

Before I begin today's post, I'd like to address my posting habit.  It hasn't been what I planned.  I'm sorry for the randomness.  I haven't been able to get as consisten as I hoped and planned.  At least this time I'm writing on a Monday!  Hopefully I'll be able to write again next week... and even better if it's on a Monday!  :)  On to the show:

I never did get around to sharing the contents of my heart last time.  You know, the pen outline of the heart on sketch paper filled with characteristics of the man I hoped to marry.

So, NOT in order of importance to my heart, here's who I thought my man was before he started murdering my hopes and killing my expectations one by one:

1. Muscially inclined, skilled, and/or music lover.  He was and still is.  He plays guitar by tab.  He never learned to read music.  He is resistant to trying - even to learn just the basics (which is really all I know anyway).  He's satisfied with the level of proficiency he has attained.  That's disappointing to me because I see this life as a time to constantly work toward perfection.  I did say TOWARD, mind!

2. Intelligent.  He was and still IS intelligent.  Just... he doesn't apply his vast intellectual abilities to make things good between us.  Why?  I have my hunches... but basically I think it boils down to two things. 1: laziness and 2: lack of feeling worthy of something better.  Just as a note, I never would've thought of #2.  Someone else suggested it and it just felt RIGHT.  I had a huge paradigm shift when the practical stranger said what she said that helped me see this part of my man.

3. Communicative.  He was and still is about superficial and really unimportant topics.  He's a GOOD chit-chatter.

4.  Honest.  I thought he was.  Basically, he just is NOT honest with.  He is basically honest with any and everyone else in the world.  Just not me.

5. Trustworthy.  Obviously, as the former dies, so the latter follows.

6. Talented.  Yes.  Was and is still.

7. Hard-working.  Selectively.  I didn't see this clearly when my "in love" glasses were on.  Those dang things are like lookin' though glass smeared with vaseline!

8. Affectionate.  He was.  He still is when he's building up to tryin' to get "some".  He says he still would be if I was.  Ummm... nope.  I stopped being affectionate because every time I was, he thought I meant something to come later in bed.  I like that and all... sex, I mean.  But I DO want to be held and UNsexually touched on a regular basis, too!  Ya know?

9. Honorable.  I thought he was.  Not so much.  As it happens, one cannot be honorable if you are neither honest nor trustworthy.

10.  Loyal.  I sure thought he was!  Found out he definitely is NOT oh so painfully recently.  That's when my hope (faith?) that he was loyal was murdered by him.  Yes, I'll tell you that story soon.  It's super gorey, though.  I hope you're ready for some TMI, cause you'll get an eyeful!

11. Playful.  He tolerated my playfulness, but never instigated play with me.  This was a disappointment from the very beginning, but it seemed like a really minor thing.  Thankfully, he IS playful with our children.  The sick thing... THAT's where/how I've felt jealous or envious of our kids the most!  :-p

12. Loving.  He was and usually still is.  But since he doesn't do what I prefer to feel loved, I know in my head when he's doing something loving, but rarely FEEL loved.  I recently wrote a Parable to illustrate this.  I'll share it next time I'm able to write.

13. Kind.  He was.  He is... most of the time.

14. Helpful.  In the very beginning, he was.  But that petered off before we were even married.  It's a big deal when he's helpful now-a-days.  Often enough, him bein' helpful is him doin' his FEW 'round the house jobs!  :-p

15. Thoughtful.  He was.  Rarely is any more.

The Paper Heart

When I was a teen, I hear a lil' something about visualization, goal setting, writing 'em down and making 'em real.  The Young Women's Program in my church really is something wonderful.  Periodically, there was much reference to these subjects in my youth program.

Some of it must've sunk in sometime because I make a paper heart when I was 17.  To be more preceise, I drew a heart on a piece of sketch paper and proceeded to accomplish my rendition of artistic letters within the heart.  The lettering formed words (of course!).  The words described the man I hope to find... or who I hope was looking for me.

I lost that heart for a time and some.  And then it found me again.  The years had passed, but my hopes remained unchanged.  I marveled that I could know, so young, the qualities I'd still want in a spouse years later.

My husband found me a year or so later.  On matchmaker.com, as a matter-of-fact.  It's still up in the air with us, in a way... but I believe that kind of meeting REALLY can work.  When he found me, by what he told me and what I was able to observe, I believed he was thefulfillment of that heart.  He truly seemed to be the physical embodyment, in a man I could touch, of all that I desired in a man I could/would marry.

Unfortunately, many of those qualities were intrinsically part of my hopes and the expectations I formed.  You know, those hopes that are waiting the scalple in the morgue right now.  So, obviously most of my hopes and expectations are new or long dead.  And the most recent death is still SO very painful that I cry when I speak around it... cause I'm not speaking directly about what I'm dealing with the people in my daily life.  I just can't face showing them that I truly am Monster Girl!  :(  I just don't want them to see me as I really am.  *sigh*

My Beauty Man does still fulfill some of the less important traits.  And, when it's all said and done, he is a good man.  Not good to or for me at times and in many ways, but obviously all of that is part of my fire (great link to a post that expounds on just what I mean by "fire" in that sentence!).

I do believe visualization as well as goal setting and writing can and DO work.  Sometimes (OFTEN in my case) not quite the way I thought or hoped they would, but still.