Flashbacks from hell today. I'm not sure what brought them on. The only one that I can remember at the moment has to do with his marijuana habit. When we lived in the apartment in Carrollton, he had this one plate that he used to roll his joints, and he kept it up in the ceiling tiles in the bathroom. I don't remember how I found out that's where he kept his stash, I think CJ told me, but I really don't remember.
I do remember that one time I took his stuff and hid it in my sock drawer, then went to work. He called me at work and harassed me and threatened to come up there and make a huge scene to embarrass me in front of my coworkers, and I eventually gave in and told him where it was.
I absolutely hated the fact that he was a pot head. I've always disliked the thought of pot smoking. It's not something I ever did growing up, nor did I ever want to. I'm sort of on the fence on the whole legalization issue. If you're a pot smoker, that's your business, and as long as you don't bring that shit around me, I don't care that you smoke it. I hated the fact that he cared more about his so-called "right" to smoke pot than he did about my feelings about it or the example he was setting for the children.
See, his justification for smoking pot was that he was part Cherokee Indian, and that Indians supposedly smoked pot when they couldn't get peyote. I totally call bullshit on that.
He used to try to hide that he'd been smoking pot from me, but I could tell before he'd finished speaking a sentence whenever he'd been smoking weed or drinking alcohol. He never believed that I could tell, even though I busted him every time. His manner of speaking would change when he was stoned or had been drinking, and when you know someone as well as I knew him (well, I knew him in some ways, obviously I didn't know him as well as I thought I did with all the shit I went through with him), you could just tell. It ALWAYS gave him away. He's an idiot, but when he smoked pot, he turned into an even bigger idiot. You could hear it in his voice, how hard he would try to act and speak normally, but he just couldn't do it - his efforts further emphasized his stoned condition.
I remembered the hiding of the pot when I walked into the bathroom at work today. I wasn't having a stressful day, no one had mentioned the idiot, or pot, but maybe it had something to do with the conversation regarding the weirdo at the Atlanta airport this morning that stripped naked and was jumping up and down and shouting about Jesus and going to Heaven. I could almost imagine my idiot ex-husband doing something stupid like that. Although he'd be more likely to have a pity party and be threatening to kill himself than to be praising Jesus and shouting about the joys of the thoughts of Heaven.
I know a part of it too, is that I'm very hormonal today. I realized that early in the day. PMS sucks. Hormonal days are brutal - I'd rather have the physical symptoms than all the emotional ones. PMS hormones wreak havoc with my emotions, my self-esteem, my self-worth, my security within my relationships - EVERYTHING!!! Sometimes I don't even realize when it's my hormones that are taking over my emotions, but thankfully I've gotten better at recognizing it when it happens.
Anyways, here's to hoping the flashbacks and memories stop, at least until I'm done being hormonal.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Nightmares
So I got in bed last night and turned the TV to the "Lifetime Movie Network" because they show ghost-related programs on Saturday nights (and otherwise I won't EVER have on a channel that has Lifetime in the title). There was a ghost program on when I went to bed, but I promptly fell asleep once I got under the covers and got comfortable.
Do any of you ever have dreams where what is going on around you, on TV or the radio (if you have those on while you sleep), infiltrates your dreams? That occasionally happens to me. A song will work it's way into my dream, or the sound of my alarm will be some sort of alarm in my dream.
Well this morning I had a horrific nightmare. I don't know if it was something that had infiltrated my dreams from what was on LMN, or what it was. This was one of those dreams where the people would change from one person to another, and the circumstances would change, and it was most bizarre. It started out that I had 6 kids with James, ranging in ages from maybe 6 years old up to their early 20's, and he had lined them up in a field and given each one of them a pistol, even the youngest little girl who was maybe 6 or so. The he drew a pistol from a bucket, and would point it at each child and say something. He expected the child to respond and then draw their pistol and point it at him. All refused to draw on him.
At some point I got a pistol and drew on him, at point blank range, but didn't want to shoot him in front of the children. He went inside to shower and I had the kids gather up the pistols and told them to hide them under the porch while I dealt with their father. I was so worried he'd find the guns that I repeatedly kept changing where we were going to hide them. I caught him looking out the window at me, as I was searching for a good hiding place. At this point James had changed into someone else, someone I didn't know, that looked like the actor Steve Carrell (yes, I know, that is very odd).
I wanted to talk to him about how his actions terrified the kids, but I was afraid that by bringing it up, it would enrage him but I did it anyway. As usual, he didn't care. It was all about him and whatever he was upset about and whatever stupid point he was trying to make while handling the guns around the kids.
WTF was on TV while I was sleeping, to prompt this dream?!?!?!
James never had a gun while we were married, I know he wanted to buy one the next year with our tax refund, and that's one of the many reasons I decided to leave him when I did. But James would occasionally pull one of the big knives from the butcher block and hold it to his belly like he was going to stab himself, or would threaten to kill himself with a knife. CJ fought him over a knife once when he was doing this. I just told him to wait until I got the kids out of the house, I didn't want them to see the blood and gore if he wanted to off himself.
I never truly believed he would have hurt himself - he always enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He did this scenario one time and insisted I call his shrink. I called and got one of the other doctors in the practice who happened to be Steven's doctor. She recommended I drive him over to the inpatient facility to be evaluated - the police were at our house during this conversation, trying to talk him down. He agreed to go to the facility, but of course once we drove a few miles down the interstate, he changed his mind and promised he would calm down. I took him home and he went to bed. I was kind of surprised his doctor never called him to check on him and why he didn't show up at the facility, as it was made clear to me on the phone that they would be waiting for him.
When I took Steven to his next appointment, the doctor never mentioned the call I'd made that night, and I was too afraid to bring it up to her. Once I had filed the divorce papers several years later, I took Steven to his appointment with her and told her all about what our life had been like, the years of abuse, why I had fought James so hard on medicating Steven (my belief he was just wanting to drug him into submission for his convenience), everything. She didn't seem too surprised, but never let on that she knew any of that was happening, and didn't seem to recall the after hours phone call that night.
I guess I should stop going to bed with that channel on at night - honestly the only reason it was still on that channel after I fell asleep is because Brian wasn't here to change it. Normally I go to sleep with it on, and when he comes to bed he will change it to one of the History channels, or something else. He's at drill this weekend so I was stuck with whatever I fell asleep to.
I hate having nightmares, but especially ones that involve James.
Do any of you ever have dreams where what is going on around you, on TV or the radio (if you have those on while you sleep), infiltrates your dreams? That occasionally happens to me. A song will work it's way into my dream, or the sound of my alarm will be some sort of alarm in my dream.
Well this morning I had a horrific nightmare. I don't know if it was something that had infiltrated my dreams from what was on LMN, or what it was. This was one of those dreams where the people would change from one person to another, and the circumstances would change, and it was most bizarre. It started out that I had 6 kids with James, ranging in ages from maybe 6 years old up to their early 20's, and he had lined them up in a field and given each one of them a pistol, even the youngest little girl who was maybe 6 or so. The he drew a pistol from a bucket, and would point it at each child and say something. He expected the child to respond and then draw their pistol and point it at him. All refused to draw on him.
At some point I got a pistol and drew on him, at point blank range, but didn't want to shoot him in front of the children. He went inside to shower and I had the kids gather up the pistols and told them to hide them under the porch while I dealt with their father. I was so worried he'd find the guns that I repeatedly kept changing where we were going to hide them. I caught him looking out the window at me, as I was searching for a good hiding place. At this point James had changed into someone else, someone I didn't know, that looked like the actor Steve Carrell (yes, I know, that is very odd).
I wanted to talk to him about how his actions terrified the kids, but I was afraid that by bringing it up, it would enrage him but I did it anyway. As usual, he didn't care. It was all about him and whatever he was upset about and whatever stupid point he was trying to make while handling the guns around the kids.
WTF was on TV while I was sleeping, to prompt this dream?!?!?!
James never had a gun while we were married, I know he wanted to buy one the next year with our tax refund, and that's one of the many reasons I decided to leave him when I did. But James would occasionally pull one of the big knives from the butcher block and hold it to his belly like he was going to stab himself, or would threaten to kill himself with a knife. CJ fought him over a knife once when he was doing this. I just told him to wait until I got the kids out of the house, I didn't want them to see the blood and gore if he wanted to off himself.
I never truly believed he would have hurt himself - he always enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He did this scenario one time and insisted I call his shrink. I called and got one of the other doctors in the practice who happened to be Steven's doctor. She recommended I drive him over to the inpatient facility to be evaluated - the police were at our house during this conversation, trying to talk him down. He agreed to go to the facility, but of course once we drove a few miles down the interstate, he changed his mind and promised he would calm down. I took him home and he went to bed. I was kind of surprised his doctor never called him to check on him and why he didn't show up at the facility, as it was made clear to me on the phone that they would be waiting for him.
When I took Steven to his next appointment, the doctor never mentioned the call I'd made that night, and I was too afraid to bring it up to her. Once I had filed the divorce papers several years later, I took Steven to his appointment with her and told her all about what our life had been like, the years of abuse, why I had fought James so hard on medicating Steven (my belief he was just wanting to drug him into submission for his convenience), everything. She didn't seem too surprised, but never let on that she knew any of that was happening, and didn't seem to recall the after hours phone call that night.
I guess I should stop going to bed with that channel on at night - honestly the only reason it was still on that channel after I fell asleep is because Brian wasn't here to change it. Normally I go to sleep with it on, and when he comes to bed he will change it to one of the History channels, or something else. He's at drill this weekend so I was stuck with whatever I fell asleep to.
I hate having nightmares, but especially ones that involve James.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
A Very Personal Revelation......
So I come across this blog post last night Is It Rape If...... . And I know exactly how she feels. I was sexually assaulted by my ex-husband. Three weeks after my son was born. He decided he was ready for sex, and he didn't care that I wasn't. He didn't care that I'd had an episiotomy and 14 stitches and wasn't healed yet.
He didn't care that I said no. I tried to talk my way out of it, tried to cry and beg my way out, but was afraid enough of him to refuse him when he argued and insisted. A little piece of me died that day as I laid there, crying while being violated, not just from the physical pain of it, but from the humiliation of having something taken from me that I did not freely give.
I was so ashamed to admit to the obgyn at my 6 week post partum visit that I'd "had sex" before the 6 weeks was up, and I was certainly too ashamed to admit that it was forced upon me. THANK GOD I did not get pregnant from that encounter!!!! I made sure to stay on some form of birth control throughout the rest of our marriage. I did not want another child with that monster.
He made me absolutely hate sex. Dread it with every last fiber of my being. Not just because he assaulted me, although that was a huge part of it. Some of it would be because it was always "his way". My input and suggestions were always made fun of, were never good enough, or were too "high school". The rest - I despised the man. And as many of you know - for a woman to have sex and enjoy it, her head has to be into it, and mine just couldn't be there with all those bad feelings about him and the marriage.
Sex became another power struggle between us. Typically I would give in when I was afraid he would just take what he wanted, and it was never something I enjoyed. It was easier to begrudgingly give it to him, than to risk being raped again. The last 2 years we were married, we had sex a total of 2 times.
Fast forward to my life now - does this memory still bother me? Damn right it does. For all the same reasons as in the blog posting I shared in the first paragraph. All those doubts about if it was rape, did I do enough to prevent it, did I deserve it, etc. I know, though, that it wasn't me, it was HIM.
But do I let these memories affect my life today? Absolutely not. I love my husband and the life we have together. I trust him 100% completely, and know that he would never do anything like that to me.
There's just so much more I could say on this memory from my life, but I'm done. I've said enough. I haven't revealed this event to very many people in my life, and it's going to be hard for some of them to read this. It is what it is.
He didn't care that I said no. I tried to talk my way out of it, tried to cry and beg my way out, but was afraid enough of him to refuse him when he argued and insisted. A little piece of me died that day as I laid there, crying while being violated, not just from the physical pain of it, but from the humiliation of having something taken from me that I did not freely give.
I was so ashamed to admit to the obgyn at my 6 week post partum visit that I'd "had sex" before the 6 weeks was up, and I was certainly too ashamed to admit that it was forced upon me. THANK GOD I did not get pregnant from that encounter!!!! I made sure to stay on some form of birth control throughout the rest of our marriage. I did not want another child with that monster.
He made me absolutely hate sex. Dread it with every last fiber of my being. Not just because he assaulted me, although that was a huge part of it. Some of it would be because it was always "his way". My input and suggestions were always made fun of, were never good enough, or were too "high school". The rest - I despised the man. And as many of you know - for a woman to have sex and enjoy it, her head has to be into it, and mine just couldn't be there with all those bad feelings about him and the marriage.
Sex became another power struggle between us. Typically I would give in when I was afraid he would just take what he wanted, and it was never something I enjoyed. It was easier to begrudgingly give it to him, than to risk being raped again. The last 2 years we were married, we had sex a total of 2 times.
Fast forward to my life now - does this memory still bother me? Damn right it does. For all the same reasons as in the blog posting I shared in the first paragraph. All those doubts about if it was rape, did I do enough to prevent it, did I deserve it, etc. I know, though, that it wasn't me, it was HIM.
But do I let these memories affect my life today? Absolutely not. I love my husband and the life we have together. I trust him 100% completely, and know that he would never do anything like that to me.
There's just so much more I could say on this memory from my life, but I'm done. I've said enough. I haven't revealed this event to very many people in my life, and it's going to be hard for some of them to read this. It is what it is.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
The Addict and His Afflictions
My ex is an addict. When we first married, it was alcohol. He drank tons of beer. He is an alcoholic and an "alcohole" (see previous blog post here Alcohole ). He is also a smoker. He smoked about 2 packs a day when we were married. Half-heartedly tried quitting a few times, but it was more about a power struggle for him to keep doing what he wanted to do and enjoyed doing, rather than caring about his health or following doctor's orders.
Of course, due to decades of smoking, he was diagnosed with emphysema and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for those who don't know what COPD stands for - blockages in the airways caused by inflammation and sets one up for chronic bronchitis and pneumonia). He's now 53 years old, and it's amazing that he hasn't been diagnosed with cancer yet.
When we were married, it got to the point where he would see a pulmonary specialist every 2 weeks. This was more about maintaining his supply of Percocet, than for him to get any real treatment for his lung issues. He never would use the nebulizer and albuterol that was prescribed to him, wouldn't use the Spiriva once it was made available to him, he only wanted Percocet and his precious Fentanyl patches. He had a quack for a doctor, and on the occasions that I would attend visits, the doctor would tell him he needed to go to a pain clinic, and there was nothing wrong with him that would cause the pain that he claimed to be in, but yet the doctor would hand him a prescription for 60 Percocet, 10mg each, and tell him "see you in 2 weeks".
His pain pill addiction was started by a trip to a doctor in Carrollton who is since deceased, who prescribed him 100 Percocet for some pain he claimed to be having. WTF would a doctor prescribe someone 100 Percocet in one prescription?!?!?!? (this doctor was the father of the doctor that was arrested for prescribing stuff to deceased wrestler/murderer Chris Benoit - I don't want to name the doctors here and would appreciate it if you didn't either)
At some point after obtaining these 100 pills, James traded his alcohol addiction in for a Percocet addiction. He went to church one Sunday evening without me, and apparently stood up in front of the congregation and made some statement about asking them to take care of his family and making it sound like he was gonna kill himself. I was told that he was surrounded by sympathetic church members, and a bunch of them immediately came out to the house with him to have a conversation with me about his problem. As if I didn't already know. The pastor offered to help get him into rehab, a Christian one, and James agreed. The church offered to pay half for the 6 week program, and we could make payments that fit our budget for our half, or the church would pay all the costs for the 4 month program. James seemed keen to go, wanting to salvage our marriage and his health, until he found out that he couldn't smoke, or take his precious Xanax. He would only be allowed to take medically necessary medications, such as for blood pressure, diabetes, etc., and not anything for his nerves or pain, and smoking wasn't permitted. There was that, plus he didn't want to be in debt for half the cost of the shorter program, and he didn't want to be away from home for 4 months (and honestly that would have been extremely hard on me, having to deal with the 2 kids, and working with such a long commute to work at the time).
But I know, ultimately, the real reason was he didn't want to give up his precious drugs. That was the real reason he didn't want to go to a pain clinic, too - he was so afraid they would insist that he try to live without narcotics, and use other non-narcotic medications, and exercises and lifestyle changes to help his phantom pain. I say phantom pain, because every doctor I went to with him, told him there was no reason for him to be in pain. (and yes, I know many times there are afflictions that people have that cause pain, that are extremely hard to diagnose, but he was checked for all those things and had none of the indicators for any of them - no signs of arthritis, blood work all normal for things like fibromyalgia, etc.).
He would come up with bogus reasons to go to the emergency room - fell down the stairs because the cat tripped him (this excuse happened multiple times - the last time he tried it I was home and knew for a fact the cat didn't trip him - we stayed home and he pouted because I busted him in a lie), fell on something at a store, one time he claimed he burned his arm - I happened to look outside the kitchen window as he was squirting lighter fluid onto the grill and it flamed up, singed the hair on his arm, and he claimed he was burned. His skin wasn't even red. He carried on so much the kids were screaming at me to take him to the ER, so I did and they looked at him and told him he didn't even have a first degree burn.
Anyways the reason to go to the ER was to try to get a shot of Demerol and maybe some take home Percocet. One year he went to the ER 17 times. Yes, SEVENTEEN times! In 12 months!!!
Since we've gotten divorced, I've been told that Dr. Quack has since lost his ability to prescribe narcotics, and James was forced to go to a pain clinic to keep his precious drugs. I've been told that he gives them away or sells them, and that he fails his drug tests at the clinic because he doesn't have the appropriate levels of the drugs in his system, and now I've been told that he "lost his pain pills", meaning that the pain clinic is now refusing to prescribe them to him anymore due to non-compliance.
And now he's saying he wants to go live in a nursing home so he can get his pain meds back. Really?!? As if he could get admitted to a nursing home and convince them to give him pain meds for imaginary medical conditions. He should be careful - they may admit him into a psych ward, which is probably not a bad idea, considering his delusions about having mafia connections and the like.
I get my info from his son that lives with him, and son if you're reading this - your father is playing you. I know his health is not that great, considering the emphysema and COPD that he's living with, but he does absolutely NOTHING to help himself. Still smokes. Most likely doesn't use his nebulizer or other meds related to those conditions. And I just don't see him being bad enough off to need to live somewhere to have round the clock care - if he was, the doctors would have already recommended it. He just acts in such a way to try to make people feel sorry for him, and he's a master manipulator when it comes to getting what he wants. He acts all pitiful and sick to make you feel sorry for him. Lays the guilt trip on you, and if the guilt trip doesn't work, then he aggravates the hell out of you until you give in and do what he wants you to do, just to shut him up. That's your dad for you.
Of course, due to decades of smoking, he was diagnosed with emphysema and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for those who don't know what COPD stands for - blockages in the airways caused by inflammation and sets one up for chronic bronchitis and pneumonia). He's now 53 years old, and it's amazing that he hasn't been diagnosed with cancer yet.
When we were married, it got to the point where he would see a pulmonary specialist every 2 weeks. This was more about maintaining his supply of Percocet, than for him to get any real treatment for his lung issues. He never would use the nebulizer and albuterol that was prescribed to him, wouldn't use the Spiriva once it was made available to him, he only wanted Percocet and his precious Fentanyl patches. He had a quack for a doctor, and on the occasions that I would attend visits, the doctor would tell him he needed to go to a pain clinic, and there was nothing wrong with him that would cause the pain that he claimed to be in, but yet the doctor would hand him a prescription for 60 Percocet, 10mg each, and tell him "see you in 2 weeks".
His pain pill addiction was started by a trip to a doctor in Carrollton who is since deceased, who prescribed him 100 Percocet for some pain he claimed to be having. WTF would a doctor prescribe someone 100 Percocet in one prescription?!?!?!? (this doctor was the father of the doctor that was arrested for prescribing stuff to deceased wrestler/murderer Chris Benoit - I don't want to name the doctors here and would appreciate it if you didn't either)
At some point after obtaining these 100 pills, James traded his alcohol addiction in for a Percocet addiction. He went to church one Sunday evening without me, and apparently stood up in front of the congregation and made some statement about asking them to take care of his family and making it sound like he was gonna kill himself. I was told that he was surrounded by sympathetic church members, and a bunch of them immediately came out to the house with him to have a conversation with me about his problem. As if I didn't already know. The pastor offered to help get him into rehab, a Christian one, and James agreed. The church offered to pay half for the 6 week program, and we could make payments that fit our budget for our half, or the church would pay all the costs for the 4 month program. James seemed keen to go, wanting to salvage our marriage and his health, until he found out that he couldn't smoke, or take his precious Xanax. He would only be allowed to take medically necessary medications, such as for blood pressure, diabetes, etc., and not anything for his nerves or pain, and smoking wasn't permitted. There was that, plus he didn't want to be in debt for half the cost of the shorter program, and he didn't want to be away from home for 4 months (and honestly that would have been extremely hard on me, having to deal with the 2 kids, and working with such a long commute to work at the time).
But I know, ultimately, the real reason was he didn't want to give up his precious drugs. That was the real reason he didn't want to go to a pain clinic, too - he was so afraid they would insist that he try to live without narcotics, and use other non-narcotic medications, and exercises and lifestyle changes to help his phantom pain. I say phantom pain, because every doctor I went to with him, told him there was no reason for him to be in pain. (and yes, I know many times there are afflictions that people have that cause pain, that are extremely hard to diagnose, but he was checked for all those things and had none of the indicators for any of them - no signs of arthritis, blood work all normal for things like fibromyalgia, etc.).
He would come up with bogus reasons to go to the emergency room - fell down the stairs because the cat tripped him (this excuse happened multiple times - the last time he tried it I was home and knew for a fact the cat didn't trip him - we stayed home and he pouted because I busted him in a lie), fell on something at a store, one time he claimed he burned his arm - I happened to look outside the kitchen window as he was squirting lighter fluid onto the grill and it flamed up, singed the hair on his arm, and he claimed he was burned. His skin wasn't even red. He carried on so much the kids were screaming at me to take him to the ER, so I did and they looked at him and told him he didn't even have a first degree burn.
Anyways the reason to go to the ER was to try to get a shot of Demerol and maybe some take home Percocet. One year he went to the ER 17 times. Yes, SEVENTEEN times! In 12 months!!!
Since we've gotten divorced, I've been told that Dr. Quack has since lost his ability to prescribe narcotics, and James was forced to go to a pain clinic to keep his precious drugs. I've been told that he gives them away or sells them, and that he fails his drug tests at the clinic because he doesn't have the appropriate levels of the drugs in his system, and now I've been told that he "lost his pain pills", meaning that the pain clinic is now refusing to prescribe them to him anymore due to non-compliance.
And now he's saying he wants to go live in a nursing home so he can get his pain meds back. Really?!? As if he could get admitted to a nursing home and convince them to give him pain meds for imaginary medical conditions. He should be careful - they may admit him into a psych ward, which is probably not a bad idea, considering his delusions about having mafia connections and the like.
I get my info from his son that lives with him, and son if you're reading this - your father is playing you. I know his health is not that great, considering the emphysema and COPD that he's living with, but he does absolutely NOTHING to help himself. Still smokes. Most likely doesn't use his nebulizer or other meds related to those conditions. And I just don't see him being bad enough off to need to live somewhere to have round the clock care - if he was, the doctors would have already recommended it. He just acts in such a way to try to make people feel sorry for him, and he's a master manipulator when it comes to getting what he wants. He acts all pitiful and sick to make you feel sorry for him. Lays the guilt trip on you, and if the guilt trip doesn't work, then he aggravates the hell out of you until you give in and do what he wants you to do, just to shut him up. That's your dad for you.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Connections
How many times have you heard a particular song, and it brings back a strong memory? Or smelled a particular smell and it reminded you of someone or some event? Too bad all these memory triggers can't be pleasant ones. There are many things I associate with my ex-husband and my former life, of the abuse that I experienced and the insanity that he put me through.
Music is a big one. For me, certain musicians/groups, remind me of tortuous time spent in cars, traveling, or being made to sit and listen. He always controlled what we listened to. Don't get me wrong - I'm not criticizing his choice in music, as believe it or not, the music itself wasn't bad - just the fact that we were only allowed to listen to what he wanted to listen to, and he wouldn't tolerate anything that we wanted to listen to. If he didn't like it, it was crap to him.
His choice in music - CCR, Abba, the Bee Gees, 70's rock, Lynard Skynard, etc. I used to listen to those bands when I was growing up, and they were ok. I even liked a good bit of it. I like most kinds of music, at least a little. Well, except for Kentucky Bluegrass and polka music. There's just something annoying as shit about bluegrass and banjos, and accordions. But that's just my opinion and taste. My favorite genre is 80's music, but I like country, rock, metal, classical - like I said, most kinds of music.
I can't tell you how many trips we went on, where he controlled the radio - only listening to the older rock station. Not sure what it was called at the time, but now it's 97.1 The River. Steven even got where he didn't want the radio to land on 97.1, he got so sick of listening to that era of music. Now, several years later, the music on that station has changed somewhat, and I listen to it frequently.
Anyways, I listen to that music now and sometimes it makes me think of the seemingly eternal conversations we would have in the car, either me driving us somewhere, nowhere, or us sitting in the car in the driveway. He would drive me nuts, sitting in the driveway in one of the vehicles, listening to his music. I don't find pleasure in listening to any of the music he used to cram down our throats. I need to enjoy listening to something to continue sitting through it, and on occasion, especially if I'm in the car, driving, it is absolutely a form of torture.
But, I don't pitch a fit and insist that music be changed, if it happens to be something he used to listen to all the time. I don't enjoy it, but I tolerate it, I suppose to try to work through the bad feelings it brings to me.
Any particular songs bring back memories of a bad time in your life?
Music is a big one. For me, certain musicians/groups, remind me of tortuous time spent in cars, traveling, or being made to sit and listen. He always controlled what we listened to. Don't get me wrong - I'm not criticizing his choice in music, as believe it or not, the music itself wasn't bad - just the fact that we were only allowed to listen to what he wanted to listen to, and he wouldn't tolerate anything that we wanted to listen to. If he didn't like it, it was crap to him.
His choice in music - CCR, Abba, the Bee Gees, 70's rock, Lynard Skynard, etc. I used to listen to those bands when I was growing up, and they were ok. I even liked a good bit of it. I like most kinds of music, at least a little. Well, except for Kentucky Bluegrass and polka music. There's just something annoying as shit about bluegrass and banjos, and accordions. But that's just my opinion and taste. My favorite genre is 80's music, but I like country, rock, metal, classical - like I said, most kinds of music.
I can't tell you how many trips we went on, where he controlled the radio - only listening to the older rock station. Not sure what it was called at the time, but now it's 97.1 The River. Steven even got where he didn't want the radio to land on 97.1, he got so sick of listening to that era of music. Now, several years later, the music on that station has changed somewhat, and I listen to it frequently.
Anyways, I listen to that music now and sometimes it makes me think of the seemingly eternal conversations we would have in the car, either me driving us somewhere, nowhere, or us sitting in the car in the driveway. He would drive me nuts, sitting in the driveway in one of the vehicles, listening to his music. I don't find pleasure in listening to any of the music he used to cram down our throats. I need to enjoy listening to something to continue sitting through it, and on occasion, especially if I'm in the car, driving, it is absolutely a form of torture.
But, I don't pitch a fit and insist that music be changed, if it happens to be something he used to listen to all the time. I don't enjoy it, but I tolerate it, I suppose to try to work through the bad feelings it brings to me.
Any particular songs bring back memories of a bad time in your life?
Friday, April 18, 2014
One of many triggers......
So this week at work, I had another trigger experience. It was really all so silly, but here goes:
I had parked my car in the front of the building and when it came time to leave, I had forgotten and started walking towards the breakroom to that parking lot. The VP of Operations was walking with me, as we were chatting about some work stuff, and then he said "didn't you park up front?" I stopped dead in my tracks and said something along the lines of "oh crap, you're right, I forgot". You'd think this was no big deal, right? Let me describe to you the VP's reaction:
He starts jumping around, like a 6 year old (or perhaps a leprechaun, movements were very
similar to the one in the scary movies about the evil leprechaun), yelling "El Stupido, El
Stupido! You're so stupid! You forgot where you parked your car!" and was making the
burn gesture with his hands (you know the one - licking his finger then motioning and making
the hissing burn sound).
He continues this behavior, following me back to the front where I am parked. Now, I don't mind a good ribbing when I do something silly like forget where I parked my car, but calling me stupid went a bit too far in my opinion, especially by someone in his position. After I laughed with him for a minute, I told him he needed to be quiet before he got punched in the face. Of course I was trying to be nice, as he is the VP (and the son of the president and can therefore do no wrong), but he continued. Then I told him he was bordering on harassment and that got a slight reaction out of him, his response being that he couldn't believe I was calling this behavior harassment. When we got to the front and he was STILL continuing the berating behavior, I hollered out towards his father's office "Mr. X, your LITTLE BOY is bothering me! Please make him leave me alone!!!!!" That stopped the VP dead in his tracks. It actually shocked him that I did that.
I was able to leave in peace, but of course the harassment started up again the next day. Snide little comments, trying to be funny, and when he saw I was no longer laughing about it, he quit. (and yes, I did tell his father about his behavior the next day, and he just thought the whole thing was funny, then proceeded to tell me that his son has always been mischievous) He even tried picking on me in front of his father, and I pointed out that yes, I'm human, I make mistakes, and he is not without mistakes of his own, and if he wanted, I could point some of those out. Perhaps he is done picking on me, if not, I think I will remind him of a list of the mistakes I know that he has made that are all work related and that I have had to be the one to follow up on and fix.
Why is this a trigger for me you ask? Because in general I take great offense at being called stupid. My ex-husband used to call me stupid, a "college educated idiot", and any number of intelligence defiling names. He used to berate the kids, too, about their apparent lack of intelligence. The mama bear in me comes out when someone calls my son stupid, and it led to many fights with the ex.
And yes, I know, people pick on others about things that they themselves are insecure about or know that they lack, or that they are jealous of. The ex sure was insecure and jealous of many different things.
I had parked my car in the front of the building and when it came time to leave, I had forgotten and started walking towards the breakroom to that parking lot. The VP of Operations was walking with me, as we were chatting about some work stuff, and then he said "didn't you park up front?" I stopped dead in my tracks and said something along the lines of "oh crap, you're right, I forgot". You'd think this was no big deal, right? Let me describe to you the VP's reaction:
He starts jumping around, like a 6 year old (or perhaps a leprechaun, movements were very
similar to the one in the scary movies about the evil leprechaun), yelling "El Stupido, El
Stupido! You're so stupid! You forgot where you parked your car!" and was making the
burn gesture with his hands (you know the one - licking his finger then motioning and making
the hissing burn sound).
He continues this behavior, following me back to the front where I am parked. Now, I don't mind a good ribbing when I do something silly like forget where I parked my car, but calling me stupid went a bit too far in my opinion, especially by someone in his position. After I laughed with him for a minute, I told him he needed to be quiet before he got punched in the face. Of course I was trying to be nice, as he is the VP (and the son of the president and can therefore do no wrong), but he continued. Then I told him he was bordering on harassment and that got a slight reaction out of him, his response being that he couldn't believe I was calling this behavior harassment. When we got to the front and he was STILL continuing the berating behavior, I hollered out towards his father's office "Mr. X, your LITTLE BOY is bothering me! Please make him leave me alone!!!!!" That stopped the VP dead in his tracks. It actually shocked him that I did that.
I was able to leave in peace, but of course the harassment started up again the next day. Snide little comments, trying to be funny, and when he saw I was no longer laughing about it, he quit. (and yes, I did tell his father about his behavior the next day, and he just thought the whole thing was funny, then proceeded to tell me that his son has always been mischievous) He even tried picking on me in front of his father, and I pointed out that yes, I'm human, I make mistakes, and he is not without mistakes of his own, and if he wanted, I could point some of those out. Perhaps he is done picking on me, if not, I think I will remind him of a list of the mistakes I know that he has made that are all work related and that I have had to be the one to follow up on and fix.
Why is this a trigger for me you ask? Because in general I take great offense at being called stupid. My ex-husband used to call me stupid, a "college educated idiot", and any number of intelligence defiling names. He used to berate the kids, too, about their apparent lack of intelligence. The mama bear in me comes out when someone calls my son stupid, and it led to many fights with the ex.
And yes, I know, people pick on others about things that they themselves are insecure about or know that they lack, or that they are jealous of. The ex sure was insecure and jealous of many different things.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Triggers, and Memory Sparks
Another tax season has come and will soon be gone. Tax season has so far, always been a trigger of sorts for me. I absolutely LOATHED tax time when I was married before. My ex would always get mad because no matter how much of a refund we got, it was never enough. And whatever refund we got, I usually had very little say in how it was spent.
My ex would call me at work the minute my W-2 arrived in the mail, and wanted to go get our taxes done immediately, as in same day it arrived. Which meant I would have to work all day, come home and cook dinner, and then go spend a couple hours with the tax preparer, James, and both kids. CJ usually wasn't an issue, but with Steven as an infant and toddler, it because difficult to deal with all the tax person's questions, James not understanding the tax system and filing process, and the kids.
The first time he insisted we go immediately to file our taxes, I barely had time to compile our information to take to the tax person. I basically had an unorganized shoebox full of receipts and documents, and it literally took us over 4 hours to have the taxes prepared. I was almost physically ill by the time we were finished, from the stress of it all.
I learned my lesson that first time, so generally by the end of January each year, I would have all of our medical information either printed out straight from the pharmacy and doctor's offices, or would have an Excel spreadsheet for each person, listing each expense and totaling it individually and then for all of us. I actually came up with a document that would have all the information that they would ask for, medical expenses, mortgage interest, ad volorem taxes, etc., to make the process as simple and quick as possible.
But it never failed, he would always complain that our refunds were never enough. He would literally show out like a child sometimes when we were having our taxes done. And as a smoker, he could not sit through the entire process without going outside to smoke at least twice (and this was even after I'd gotten the process streamlined where basically all they had to do was transfer the info off my document into their program and we could be finished in 30-45 minutes.
(Yes, I know that it sucks to loan your money to the government, tax free, and receive a refund at the end of the year, but it was a simple way for us to have the money for larger expenditures, and it seemed to always work out that we needed that refund to pay for a repair or replacement of something that wasn't inexpensive.)
Prior to marrying Brian, I would manage to get my taxes done by mid-February for the most part. Since marrying Brian, I put it off to the end of March or early April. It's not Brian's fault at all - it's all me and those damn old feelings coming up, triggering the dread in my very soul of having to deal with taxes with a spouse. The feelings of the tax situation just not being "right". Brian has never had an issue with our tax filing processes, nor whether we get a refund or not, or how much it is. I am so thankful he understands the tax process, but I don't know if I've ever shared with him just how much I hate tax time and why.
The year that I decided I wanted to divorce James, we owed taxes and he was pissed and didn't understand why and he really showed his ass at the tax preparer's office. It took a lot of explaining to do to get him to understand why we owed instead of getting a refund, and then of course it was all my fault that we owed taxes at all, and it was a frequent source of argument for him (along with the zillion other things he loved to argue about). Then he tells me that I better make sure that we get a refund the next year, and that he will be purchasing a gun with the refund because we needed the protection since the world was getting crazier and meaner. I knew then that I had to get out before that time came, because if there'd been a gun in our home, one of us (and/or the kids) would end up gravely wounded or dead.
There are many things that trigger bad memories and make me have certain feelings that I know I shouldn't be having, but sometimes it's just so hard to let it drop and move away from it. It's just going to take more time to keep leaving it all behind me, and permanently closing the door on those feelings. People don't realize how deeply their actions may affect others, and of course the abusers don't care about that. Folks that are in these abusive relationships many times don't think about how hard it may be to get out, and what thoughts and feelings will linger, or what may trigger an old memory or feeling. I can only work through my feelings and triggers one day at a time, and that's got to be enough.
My ex would call me at work the minute my W-2 arrived in the mail, and wanted to go get our taxes done immediately, as in same day it arrived. Which meant I would have to work all day, come home and cook dinner, and then go spend a couple hours with the tax preparer, James, and both kids. CJ usually wasn't an issue, but with Steven as an infant and toddler, it because difficult to deal with all the tax person's questions, James not understanding the tax system and filing process, and the kids.
The first time he insisted we go immediately to file our taxes, I barely had time to compile our information to take to the tax person. I basically had an unorganized shoebox full of receipts and documents, and it literally took us over 4 hours to have the taxes prepared. I was almost physically ill by the time we were finished, from the stress of it all.
I learned my lesson that first time, so generally by the end of January each year, I would have all of our medical information either printed out straight from the pharmacy and doctor's offices, or would have an Excel spreadsheet for each person, listing each expense and totaling it individually and then for all of us. I actually came up with a document that would have all the information that they would ask for, medical expenses, mortgage interest, ad volorem taxes, etc., to make the process as simple and quick as possible.
But it never failed, he would always complain that our refunds were never enough. He would literally show out like a child sometimes when we were having our taxes done. And as a smoker, he could not sit through the entire process without going outside to smoke at least twice (and this was even after I'd gotten the process streamlined where basically all they had to do was transfer the info off my document into their program and we could be finished in 30-45 minutes.
(Yes, I know that it sucks to loan your money to the government, tax free, and receive a refund at the end of the year, but it was a simple way for us to have the money for larger expenditures, and it seemed to always work out that we needed that refund to pay for a repair or replacement of something that wasn't inexpensive.)
Prior to marrying Brian, I would manage to get my taxes done by mid-February for the most part. Since marrying Brian, I put it off to the end of March or early April. It's not Brian's fault at all - it's all me and those damn old feelings coming up, triggering the dread in my very soul of having to deal with taxes with a spouse. The feelings of the tax situation just not being "right". Brian has never had an issue with our tax filing processes, nor whether we get a refund or not, or how much it is. I am so thankful he understands the tax process, but I don't know if I've ever shared with him just how much I hate tax time and why.
The year that I decided I wanted to divorce James, we owed taxes and he was pissed and didn't understand why and he really showed his ass at the tax preparer's office. It took a lot of explaining to do to get him to understand why we owed instead of getting a refund, and then of course it was all my fault that we owed taxes at all, and it was a frequent source of argument for him (along with the zillion other things he loved to argue about). Then he tells me that I better make sure that we get a refund the next year, and that he will be purchasing a gun with the refund because we needed the protection since the world was getting crazier and meaner. I knew then that I had to get out before that time came, because if there'd been a gun in our home, one of us (and/or the kids) would end up gravely wounded or dead.
There are many things that trigger bad memories and make me have certain feelings that I know I shouldn't be having, but sometimes it's just so hard to let it drop and move away from it. It's just going to take more time to keep leaving it all behind me, and permanently closing the door on those feelings. People don't realize how deeply their actions may affect others, and of course the abusers don't care about that. Folks that are in these abusive relationships many times don't think about how hard it may be to get out, and what thoughts and feelings will linger, or what may trigger an old memory or feeling. I can only work through my feelings and triggers one day at a time, and that's got to be enough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)