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.
Showing posts with label morgue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label morgue. Show all posts
Monday, March 19, 2012
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 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.
Monday, January 23, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Self-Introduction
Have you ever felt like everything in your world was falling apart, only to realize, upon closer contemplation of the situation, that the only thing falling apart was your marriage? Well, I have... pretty recently, too! :-p
I decided to open this blog totally anonymously so that I might feel free to really get into the nitty-gritty of dealing with my FrankenMonster of a Marriage. The idea for this blog came to me after a good hard fit of crying, sobbing the ugly cry, after yet another painful interaction with my husband.
After deciding to write here anonymously, I also decided to do it sort of secretly. By that I do NOT mean a horrible "secret," but really the kind of sweet secret you get to hold between the time you find out you're preggie and when you tell your hubbie...and then the time between holding that sweet secret together and tell the world. THAT kind of secret. ^_^ Only this time, I rather think "gestation" may be the duration of my life. Hopefully what's left of it is LOTs and lots... so, we have time to become good friends... sort of... in an anonymous sort of way (on my side, at least)... here in internet land.
So, why FrankenMonster Marriage? Well, I don't know if this is just me being weird... I don't know if anyone else out there has had feelings like the ones I've had and I'm going to share... ... ...but if YOU get it... I hope you'll comment so I might have the chance to feel not quite so alone. That would be so super truly awesome!
I guess a long time ago I had these hopes. Expectations too. Most of them (I honestly think ALL of them, but I'll say most just to be safe) were born of words from my Love's mouth. So, I liken those hopes and expectations to living breathing human beings. They have slowly died of various maladies over the years. Most, though, have died as a result of a knife in the back in the form of lies revealed. They almost all died in moments of profound betrayal. Every one of them murdered by their best friend... my husband.
So all these individuals (still "only" hopes and expectations, of course) died. Muerto. At one point, a nondescript morning back in November 2011, I think, I realized that the morgue was plump fulled up. I also realized that I was depressed.
Now, I know depressed because I've been around some LONG "blocks" of it before, if you know what I mean. (You know, like someone might say, "I've been around the block a time or two." You know. Right?) Anyway... I've experienced hormonal depression, PPD (some might argue this is hormonal, but in my experience it was so much more extreme that I label it seperately), and situational depression. I do not enjoy being depressed. I'm definitely no Bella of Twilight fame. Would that my man had only the problem of being among the walking dead, needing to suck blood to live, and being too handsome for life. Hmmm... maybe he is in a way.... among the walking dead, I mean. :) I'll have to investigate that train of though in the future!
Back to the depressed thing: I don't like being depressed. Realizing that I definitely WAS depressed was really freaking depressing! See, in the past, it's taken as long as MANY months (read: a year and more) for me to kick my butt OUT of depression and that's just the time it took to get OUT... not including the time I was in the hole... abyss... at the bottom of a cliff in a broken mess... you know, already depressed and just didn't realize the problem. So, when I realized (that morning in November) that I was depressed, I felt myself grasping at strings by which to pull my far too fluffy self out of the dark.
Then this idea came to me to share my brokenness in all its... BROKE-ness. That felt promising. My mind and heart grasped the idea... no mere string... and toyed with it to determine how to use it to best advantage. For some reason... oh, yeah... it's because I actually feel like a monster as a result of the reason for the despairing sorrow I felt that morning; so I was thinking of monsters and trying to imagine one that felt appropriate. Frankenstein popped into my head and it felt like a perfect fit... with a slight change and some additions, of course. Thus: FrankenMonster Marriage was born; amid the dead bodies in the morgue of my mind.
The morgue full, I realized I simply must figure out what (if anything) I might salvage from all that dead material to fashion something new.
This is my place to purge... to think... to share and hopefully hear from others in similar circumstances. This is where I'm going to try to think stuff through, write some poetry (cause that form of writing just lends itself to emoting, at least it does for me), and hopefully all of it will make it easier for me to choose happiness each day. I'm going to try to figure out what can be used from those bods in the morgue to form this FrankenMonster of a Marriage and then toss the rest. I'm going to do all that only here. No one else need know I have a monster of a marriage... or that I feel like a Monster Girl....
I'm gunna try to write each Monday. Yes, I do actually know today is not Monday. I'm not saying I'm ONLY going to write on Monday. Sheesh. ;) I'm just sayin' I'm gunna try real hard to write each Monday, at the very least.
One last thing before I close for today: If you know who I am, or think you do, please do NOT tell anyone. If you think you know who I am, feel free to write to ask me if you want to know for sure. I will be honest. Even here where I'm trying to be a bit circumspect, I'm being almost completely honest both in comission and omission kinds of being honest or lying. Regardless, please don't tell anyone who I am whether you think you know or you do know for sure who I am in the real world. K? Thanks bunches!!
I decided to open this blog totally anonymously so that I might feel free to really get into the nitty-gritty of dealing with my FrankenMonster of a Marriage. The idea for this blog came to me after a good hard fit of crying, sobbing the ugly cry, after yet another painful interaction with my husband.
After deciding to write here anonymously, I also decided to do it sort of secretly. By that I do NOT mean a horrible "secret," but really the kind of sweet secret you get to hold between the time you find out you're preggie and when you tell your hubbie...and then the time between holding that sweet secret together and tell the world. THAT kind of secret. ^_^ Only this time, I rather think "gestation" may be the duration of my life. Hopefully what's left of it is LOTs and lots... so, we have time to become good friends... sort of... in an anonymous sort of way (on my side, at least)... here in internet land.
So, why FrankenMonster Marriage? Well, I don't know if this is just me being weird... I don't know if anyone else out there has had feelings like the ones I've had and I'm going to share... ... ...but if YOU get it... I hope you'll comment so I might have the chance to feel not quite so alone. That would be so super truly awesome!
I guess a long time ago I had these hopes. Expectations too. Most of them (I honestly think ALL of them, but I'll say most just to be safe) were born of words from my Love's mouth. So, I liken those hopes and expectations to living breathing human beings. They have slowly died of various maladies over the years. Most, though, have died as a result of a knife in the back in the form of lies revealed. They almost all died in moments of profound betrayal. Every one of them murdered by their best friend... my husband.
So all these individuals (still "only" hopes and expectations, of course) died. Muerto. At one point, a nondescript morning back in November 2011, I think, I realized that the morgue was plump fulled up. I also realized that I was depressed.
Now, I know depressed because I've been around some LONG "blocks" of it before, if you know what I mean. (You know, like someone might say, "I've been around the block a time or two." You know. Right?) Anyway... I've experienced hormonal depression, PPD (some might argue this is hormonal, but in my experience it was so much more extreme that I label it seperately), and situational depression. I do not enjoy being depressed. I'm definitely no Bella of Twilight fame. Would that my man had only the problem of being among the walking dead, needing to suck blood to live, and being too handsome for life. Hmmm... maybe he is in a way.... among the walking dead, I mean. :) I'll have to investigate that train of though in the future!
Back to the depressed thing: I don't like being depressed. Realizing that I definitely WAS depressed was really freaking depressing! See, in the past, it's taken as long as MANY months (read: a year and more) for me to kick my butt OUT of depression and that's just the time it took to get OUT... not including the time I was in the hole... abyss... at the bottom of a cliff in a broken mess... you know, already depressed and just didn't realize the problem. So, when I realized (that morning in November) that I was depressed, I felt myself grasping at strings by which to pull my far too fluffy self out of the dark.
Then this idea came to me to share my brokenness in all its... BROKE-ness. That felt promising. My mind and heart grasped the idea... no mere string... and toyed with it to determine how to use it to best advantage. For some reason... oh, yeah... it's because I actually feel like a monster as a result of the reason for the despairing sorrow I felt that morning; so I was thinking of monsters and trying to imagine one that felt appropriate. Frankenstein popped into my head and it felt like a perfect fit... with a slight change and some additions, of course. Thus: FrankenMonster Marriage was born; amid the dead bodies in the morgue of my mind.
The morgue full, I realized I simply must figure out what (if anything) I might salvage from all that dead material to fashion something new.
This is my place to purge... to think... to share and hopefully hear from others in similar circumstances. This is where I'm going to try to think stuff through, write some poetry (cause that form of writing just lends itself to emoting, at least it does for me), and hopefully all of it will make it easier for me to choose happiness each day. I'm going to try to figure out what can be used from those bods in the morgue to form this FrankenMonster of a Marriage and then toss the rest. I'm going to do all that only here. No one else need know I have a monster of a marriage... or that I feel like a Monster Girl....
I'm gunna try to write each Monday. Yes, I do actually know today is not Monday. I'm not saying I'm ONLY going to write on Monday. Sheesh. ;) I'm just sayin' I'm gunna try real hard to write each Monday, at the very least.
One last thing before I close for today: If you know who I am, or think you do, please do NOT tell anyone. If you think you know who I am, feel free to write to ask me if you want to know for sure. I will be honest. Even here where I'm trying to be a bit circumspect, I'm being almost completely honest both in comission and omission kinds of being honest or lying. Regardless, please don't tell anyone who I am whether you think you know or you do know for sure who I am in the real world. K? Thanks bunches!!
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