Gimme Shelter

credit: ladysilver2267.deviantart.com

Oh, a storm is threat’ning
My very life today
If I don’t get some shelter
Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away

~Mick Jagger/Keith Richards

The last time she saw him was when he called her a bitch.   It was a dark, late winter evening.  She was upstairs, still in her work clothes, installing a new thermostat in her bedroom. Then the doorbell rang. Who could that be?,  she wondered.  She called out, “Who is it?” as she descended the stairs. Turning on the back light, she saw his profile as she looked out the window.

“What do you want?”, she asked, standing by the kitchen window.  “Is Peter home?” he asked.  It was their son’s 21st birthday and he was out celebrating with friends. They had already had a surprise party at home the previous Saturday (in fact the mud room door and kitchen were still decorated) so the actual birthday night was a quiet one. She replied that he was not.

“But I have a present for him,” he said.

“Leave it in the back hall,” she said. He grew enraged, tossed it in and loudly spoke his epithet as he left.

She had not realized that she was holding her breath for the entire encounter. She listened for his truck’s departure and quickly called her girlfriend (who offered to come over). Her son had not seen or spoken to his father in over two years.  He had grown tired of his ill-treatment after living under his roof for most of his teens and arrived back home on a black February night-his car full of his life.

Since then, family life had resumed a harmonious and healthy rhythm. She and her two children had come to an understanding of the various forms of emotional abuse experienced under her former spouse and their father.  They no longer saw themselves as victims. It was as if he did not exist. And because he did not exist, it was as if the abuse had never happened. And because the abuse never happened, it was as if their past life with him had happened to other people.

This is the place at which you eventually arrive with time, help and healing.  Emotional and verbal abuse is hard to put  a finger on. The former is  an invisible fortress built over time by the one in control. The verbal abuse helps fill in the cracks to keep it hidden. Eventually, you become relegated to a cage with your role in the relationship strictly enforced. Through the eyes of the abuser, nothing is ever done right. This includes every aspect of your life and your very being- your career, housework, driving, raising the children, your identity. You never look quite right either. Something is always wrong with your body. Even when pregnant, the snide comments slip out so you are made to feel fat and unattractive. So, no matter how hard she worked to please and keep the peace, he was never satisfied. Any “mistake” was met with either a derogatory remark or stony silence for days. Any attempt to break free of that role and speak her truth was met with “punishment”.  The abuse only worsened and became more and more obvious.  She eventually learned that her part was simple. Keep her mouth shut and her legs open. Ironically, her wish was not for the relationship to end-only for the abuse to stop.

The implacable mistreatment continues even when the relationship ends. In standing and fighting for the needs of herself and her sons, she was met with false charges of neglect and abuse.  He attempted to take away her shelter twice. His goal was to make her “Scratch, Crawl and Suffer.” These words from his mouth only made her more willing to never back down.  Each meeting with him during this process was like taking a bath in dirty water. It took days to purge herself of the emotional hangover he wrought.

The abuse had a trickle down effect as it was meted out in various ways on the children. Eventually, they too, separated themselves from him.  Self-protection took precedence over the appearance of a normal father-child relationship.

Any contact with the abuser is risky and fraught with anxiety. Even with the absence of physical violence, danger can still be present. Sometimes an unexpected sighting of that person can lead to a physiological reaction. The heart assumes a rapid pace, the mouth becomes arid and the hands become unsteady. The mind races as it seeks a way out.

The universe has a special way of taking care of those of us who choose to move forward. We acknowledge what happened, seek help and eventually forgive. But we never forget.  Instead, we embrace life with a renewed sense of optimism, spreading positive energy and good karma to everyone we see.

Vita da Sogno*

photo credit: www.huffingtonpost.com

“Philomena! Philomena! Why are you wasting your time chasing a sogno irrealizzable?”  Her mama’s falsetto was grating on Philomena’s last nerve. Her passion-sketching, designing and stitching women’s fashion-went against her parent’s wishes to marry Arturo, the local cheese-maker. Her plans did not include an early marriage to a man who smelled of soured milk and curds day and night.

Paris-the city of high couture- was where here heart belonged. She ran to her room and grabbed her sketch pad, charcoals and blanket. She would hide away in the olive grove and create her newest ideas. Almost as an afterthought, she took some spare coins from her dresser. The cinema was debuting a new matinee today. She could not resist the films of Sophia Loren, Brigitte Bardott or Audrey Hepburn.; women of independence and classic, sensual styles.

Philomena raced down the stairs,  ignoring her mama’s obvious exasperation (her hands on her hips and her lips in a line). She was all of these women and more-her determination far outweighing the temptation to give in to cumbersome tradition.

*dream life

Once again it is Free Write Friday via Kellie Elmore!  I wrote this while at the doctor’s office today. Feeling under the weather-kidney infection! But no matter. Imagination won over discomfort!

Here’s the link:

#FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank

by Kellie Elmore

This week’s FWF prompt is a word bank:

blanket – falsetto – cumbersome – cinema – coins

Geographical Escape 3.2: Mud Season

photo credit: info.forwater.com

The ground was squishy beneath his feet. His legs hard to lift. His lungs heavy with effort. His body soaked with sweat and muddy splatter. His clothes at one with his skin. He’d fall into a puddle of muck only to rise and have his face raked by the knives of branches. He was blind. The path a long shadow of darkness.  He could hear the pounding of feet and exerted breath of someone behind him.  Gaining ground.

He was overpowered by the force. Jumped from behind. His face planted in the mud. Hands at the back of his neck.  Legs squatted on his spine.  His words were muffled screams. “I promise I won’t tell! I promise I won’t tell! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Ella was shaking him. Her face scratched and her arms red with the imprints of his fingers. Tears streamed down her face. “STOP! STOP! TOM! TOM! WAKE UP PLEASE!

He was hyperventilating. Losing air. His heart wrenched at the sight of his wife’s wounds. He began to weep. ” I know you didn’t mean it, darling. But the nightmares have gotten worse.”  Do you want to talk about it?”  He shook his head emphatically. He would just need to get a grip that’s all.  He thought the winter’s affair had cleansed him of the stench on his soul. But the nightmare was so vivid in its action and its accompanying emotions. Fear and Guilt hung in the air.

He had begun to dread bedtime. He would creep out of bed after Ella fell asleep and wander the house. Check on the kids. The doors and windows. The rains were relentless, causing area rivers to overflow their banks. Some roads became impassable. He was unable to ride his bike for relief. Sometimes Tom sat outside in the midnight torrents not sure if the water might drown him. He was drenched in stink.

The weather became an inspiration for Ella. She painted and sculpted productively through the winter season while he was away.  The current season’s gloom lent a noir element to her art. So much so that their nearby city’s well-known gallery wanted  to show her work. To Tom’s  inquiries about her theme, her reply was simple. “All of us have a dark side, sweetheart. But it remains our choice as to how we express it.”

So here he sat in yet another downpour. Warm air moved in and with it great claps of thunder and dangerous bolts of lightning.  He knew who was on top of him in the incubus. But how could he tell anyone it was the face of his father?

Commence, Beloved.

Hi fellow bloggers!

Yesterday my oldest graduated from college. It was a beautiful spring Saturday full of life-long memories. We enjoyed a large party at the house with friends and family after the event. Festivities lasted until late in the night!

While we were waiting for graduation ceremony to start, his lovely girlfriend share a poem that she posted on her blog: JenniferAlyce.wordpress.com. The post, of course is about my son and it is an example of true love and just plain outstanding writing!

Please read it and try not to weep!

Language Love Affair

(Photo courtesy of changingwomen.org)

           

   I go to bed with words

Swimming, dancing and floating in my head

              They permeate my dreams

Flowing in and out of my consciousness

And sparking my imagination as I sleep

        They hold me in a tight embrace

              Like a red-hot lover

            I give in to the feelings

Opening up, yielding and surrendering

             Discovering and Uncovering

           Parts of me that were unknown

             Hidden deep inside my soul

Each turn of phrase is like a soft kiss on my lips

           Words whispering in my ear

                An audible sigh

               A loud cry

       Replete, Present, Fully-formed

Naked in the Bathroom*

Standing in the steam talkin’ to my ex

A forceful voice over the wireless

           I hear it now:

         My son taking sides

Being fed information based in lies

     The conversation drags on

      The steam disappears

      We start conversing

about what happened over the years

     The voice becomes softer

     The heat lamp goes on

I am trapped in my nakedness

As he turns the DENIAL button on

      It’s the same old song

Of course I’m the one that’s done wrong

      I listen to his “reality”

and the problems with my personality

     I choose my words carefully

I am getting colder, my clean hair lies flat

I want to put a stop to this endless chat

I hear his “love” or is it manipulation?

I need to get out of this sticky situation

I vacillate between trust, guilt and fear

Yet, through it all my decision is clear

The steam is gone, the heat lamp turned off

There is no hope for us now

He has not faced his “stuff”

It is time for my own life

    Enough is Enough

*(AUTHOR”S NOTE:  This a poem that I found in a journal from 2008- a year of tremendous personal upheaval. It is an actual scenario that occurred. I remember sending it to my now late mom who loved the truth and strength in it. I am sure that she would be proud that I am sharing it with a wider audience.)

Sibilance II

sibilancesibilance

The Victim Soars a s Survivor:

              She is:

Self-assured & Self-sufficient

     Satisfied & Serene

               She feels:

        Sensual & Sexy

She Shimmers, Sparkles & Shines

                She is:

  Oh So Sizzling & Sassy!

 

The Perpetrator: Sadly Remains the Same

                He is:

   Shameless & Shallow

    Shiftless & Shady

Scorned, Isolated & Separated

So as to stay safe from

his insinuating, insidious, insulting mistreatment

                He has:

Descended, Dissipated & Disappeared

 

 

Baggage Claim

baggage claim

I have been draggin’ around your sensitive ego
Making sure that your bags arrive on time for the dog and pony show
A little suitcase like a brick,
It kinda makes it hard to get a good grip
I drop your troubles off at the conveyor belt,
I’ll hand you a ticket to go get it yourself

At the baggage claim, you got a lot of luggage in your name
When you hit the ground, check the lost and found
Cause it ain’t my problem now
I can’t carry it on, I’ve got a lot of troubles on my own
It’s all over the yard, in the trunk of the car,
I’m packin’ it in, so come and get it.                    ~ Miranda Lambert

For years, I did not realize that my life was a wreck. I was living a lie and was clueless about it. I spent most of my marriage working at keeping it together. Trying to make my man happy. In the process, I was losing myself. When he told me he wanted a divorce, I was of course, devastated.  But quickly, I realized that I did not miss him.  I took a look around the house and noticed that much of the stuff that took up space in my 1200 square foot home belonged to him.  Then I looked in my two car garage and realized the same thing. One more trip to the back of the garage and guess what? More crap! It was extremely difficult to move anywhere on my property without the constant reminders of him.

It took nearly two years and a court order from the time he left for him take away his items. Some things, I simply threw out. He refused to get rid of old lawn mowers and other large pieces so  they made their journey to the end of driveway. With each toss,  I felt more free and my house looked cleaner.  But it takes more than throwing away physical reminders of someone to really rid yourself of pain.

First, I had to admit that I was abused.  Verbal and emotional abuse is a challenge to see or to understand because words and psychological  mind games don’t leave obvious bruises.  Coming to grips with this fact was a huge hurdle that I had to overcome. How could I-an educated intelligent woman not notice or even allow it to happen? I needed to forgive myself first before I could even entertain the idea that I could forgive him.  I would say that peeling back these layers was excruciating. Therapy helps!

During this time (after the divorce was final), I fell in love with the man who is now my fiance’. Through him, I learned to trust and to also stand up for my needs without fear of  negative consequences.  I learned that I was a worthy, lovable woman. This was especially freeing.  I became more and more myself and our relationship grew closer and stronger.

Simultaneously, my former husband continued to act out. He refused to comply with the agreement in any way.  I spent the better part of 4 years  and a significant amount of money advocating for my son’s college education and assuring that both my sons had shelter- among other things.  With each battle, I became less and less emotionally involved. I was beginning to be less of a victim and more of a leader of my own life.  For the most part, it worked. I knew I was doing the right thing for my boys as well as myself.

My oldest is set to graduate from college in a month. My ties to my former husband will continue to be severed. On Easter weekend, I took four boxes of my former life ( all the divorce papers that are no longer needed) to the bonfire. Slowly, each piece was set aflame and turned into ashes. It took longer than expected to burn it all up. In my mind, I knew that it was the way it was supposed to be. Years of pain can take a long time to unfold and transform into something beautiful.

*Special thanks to Kellie Elmore for the inspiration for today’s entry http://kellieelmore.com/2013/04/19/fwf-free-write-friday-baggage-claim/

Hearth, Home & Hope

hearth and home

The colors have been tendered

 Giving birth to emotional well-being

    A sense of balance

    A return to normalcy

The ugliness has been purged

  with the stroke of each brush

  and the spinning of each roller

Tonight her aching muscles

  and paint spotted hands

  will rest well

Awakening at dawn

to a home that she has recreated