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 refiner's fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label refiner's fire. Show all posts
Monday, March 19, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
You Can Call me "Monster Girl"
I haven't had the question yet (I don't think anyone knows I'm here), but I imagine it'll come, so I'm going to just go ahead and tell ya so you don't have to ask. The question I've imagined goes a little something like this: "Why are you called Monster Girl?"
Honestly, it has everything to do with one of those hopes... or beliefs... that died. I'll give the details on THAT and then link back here later. Suffice it to say that since the most recent and really very gorey death, I've felt like a horrible, ugly, shameful monster. Yes, I DO, in fact, know that these feelings have been inspired by the enemy of my soul. I know this intellectually. The truth definitely has NOT sunk down to my heart yet, though!
Compared to the American ideal of beauty, I am rather monsterous, really. You may disagree if you could see me. But since you can't and won't.... probably ever... well, you'll just have to trust me on this. I don't look like a hottie. I'm not sexy. I'm definitely NOT "One Hot Mama." I'm nobody's (no, not even my husband's) idea of any kind of pin-up girl. I'm just not.
I am easy to get along with... for most people. Not my husband (obviously - else this blog would never have come into my life as a sweet secret and lifeline out of depression).
By-the-way... did I mention that as soon as I woke from the nap I took right after I had this idea, I felt like a switch... like a light switch had been flicked on? It's true. I felt excited and purposeful. It felt really rather strange to feel so very "done" with depression as I felt then. I got up quickly (not my normal mode since that episode of depression hit), got dressed, got kiddos moving and we went out for only the second time in weeks - except for Sunday services at church. Those don't really count as "going out," though. So, I feel wonderful! I'm so glad to have this new place to meet Sisters in this fire*!
Remember: shhhh, don't tell anyone who I am if you think you know or you Do know! Please. :)
*Malachi 3:2 But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers’ soap:
Honestly, it has everything to do with one of those hopes... or beliefs... that died. I'll give the details on THAT and then link back here later. Suffice it to say that since the most recent and really very gorey death, I've felt like a horrible, ugly, shameful monster. Yes, I DO, in fact, know that these feelings have been inspired by the enemy of my soul. I know this intellectually. The truth definitely has NOT sunk down to my heart yet, though!
Compared to the American ideal of beauty, I am rather monsterous, really. You may disagree if you could see me. But since you can't and won't.... probably ever... well, you'll just have to trust me on this. I don't look like a hottie. I'm not sexy. I'm definitely NOT "One Hot Mama." I'm nobody's (no, not even my husband's) idea of any kind of pin-up girl. I'm just not.
I am easy to get along with... for most people. Not my husband (obviously - else this blog would never have come into my life as a sweet secret and lifeline out of depression).
By-the-way... did I mention that as soon as I woke from the nap I took right after I had this idea, I felt like a switch... like a light switch had been flicked on? It's true. I felt excited and purposeful. It felt really rather strange to feel so very "done" with depression as I felt then. I got up quickly (not my normal mode since that episode of depression hit), got dressed, got kiddos moving and we went out for only the second time in weeks - except for Sunday services at church. Those don't really count as "going out," though. So, I feel wonderful! I'm so glad to have this new place to meet Sisters in this fire*!
Remember: shhhh, don't tell anyone who I am if you think you know or you Do know! Please. :)
*Malachi 3:2 But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers’ soap:
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