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.

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.

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.

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.

The Choice (poem)

I'm gunna be
     in a wrecked marriage.
So the question is:
     will I be miserable in
     this wrecked marriage?
OR
           will I be happy in
           this wrecked marriage?
     The choice is mine alone.

The marriage will be
              wrecked
          so long as Beauty Man
                 refuses
          to make the necessary
                 repairs.
          No matter how often
                 i try
          to get him to look under
                 the hood,
          none of it matters if he
                  refuses
         to see what is there
                  when he looks.

So, I need not be miserable
             THOUGH
that is definitely the easier emotion to
              feel;
given the circumstance.

           So, I must choose happiness
                 each moment.