Archive for the ‘Verbal and Emotional Abuse’ Category

Every morning I wake up, pull myself from my comfortable slumber, start the day’s routine slowly but surely. I make breakfast for the kids, push them to get dressed and brush their teeth, drive them to school and then come back to sit on the deck with a hot cup of Java and a cigarette or two. The house is quiet as the kids are off to school and my parents are not yet awake. It’s my favourite time of the day, with late nights when everyone is in bed coming in at a close second. Then as the house comes alive as my parents wake up and my fathers homecare aid arrives I feel the happiness that I awoke with quickly leaving my mind, body, and spirit. 

I’ve come to passionately despise where I am, a mid thirties single Mom of 2 living back home with her parents in the same hell that she grew up in.  Not much has changed since my childhood days here. Words are still thrown like stones, with the intent to hurt and humiliate, the only difference being I am no longer on the receiving end. No. My mother is, which is much worse. 

This house is no longer home. There was a time when just being here, in my old room, safe inside of it’s 4 walls, was therapeutic. I felt calmer here. I felt at ease and as if the nothing could touch me. This was where I came when I was sick or broken. It was my refuge. Or more accurately, my mother was my refuge. It was she who I ran to, not the house, but the woman who was in it. 

But now, even being with her isn’t enough. She can’t fix the broken, and this house is breaking me even more. Evil lurks here. You can actually feel it when he starts throwing his insults. 

This house isn’t home anymore and I need to figure out where exactly home is. 


Dear Mom….

There are a million different store bought greeting cards that could sum up in a few brief phases how I feel about you, the type of mother you have been, and the kind of relationship we share. For just a buck I could get you one of those cards, and I probably will, but Mom, none of them do justice to the enormous presence in my life that is you. 

I have this memory of you and I, or at least I think it’s a memory, but I have seen a similar photo and often wonder if maybe my memory was just reflecting what I had seen. I choose to believe that this isn’t the case, that I do in fact remember that very day. It was a Sunday, a warm and sunny spring day and you and I were walking down the road to your parents house, hand in hand. I was 3, maybe 4 and was wearing a yellow knit poncho over my Sunday dress. You held my hand as I walked beside you, and I remember looking up at you with an enormous smile as you looked down at me, smiling just as brightly. There is no great importance or significance of this memory, other than maybe, in my young mind, I knew even then what a wonderful person and mother you were and what a huge impact you would have on my life. 

I wish I could reflect on the happy family that we were, the happy home that we lived in, but we both know that would be a lie. The truth is our family was broken from the very beginning, our home a place of hurt and turmoil, of heartache, fear and dread. I never understood as a child why you chose to stay and live underneath his roof and his cruel words. As an adult when you have long since explained your reasoning, I still don’t understand why those vows before God should warrant you living such a difficult life. But right now, as I write about you, to you, it’s not important, but I want you to know that you never deserved it, you deserved so much more, so much better, and I want you to know that  through it all, we never lacked love, for you us enough for both parents. 

Growing up, as I both lived it and now reflect back on it, you were my only parent. It was you who showed us love and understanding, who taught us right from wrong. You were the very one who taught us what it meant to truly love another human being even more than you love oneself. You showed us everyday. It was you who was there when we were sad, to wipe away our tears. It was you who bandaged scraped knees and nursed colds, who wiped fevered brows and runny noses. You were always there to share in joys and triumphs or to let us know it was okay when we failed as long as we kept trying. It was you Mom. It was always you. 

It is no secret that I wasn’t always the easiest child to raise. I know having me as a daughter came with a whole other set of guidelines, each and every one of them changing with my ever changing moods. I know it was very hard at times. I know I made you cry, scared you, and made you feel completely helpless. I know at times you doubted yourself as a mother when trying to handle me and the mental illness that neither of us knew existed at the time, but please know Mom, that you did your best. It may not have felt like it at the time, when my sanity hung in the balance, but I know without an ounce of doubt that without you, I wouldn’t be here today and for that, I am eternally grateful. 

Thank you hardly seems fitting when there are so many things to thank you for. Thank you for your many sacrifices over the years and please know they never went unnoticed. Thank you for teaching me, for showing me everyday, how to be a good mother. I am the mother I am today because of you. Thank you for teaching me courage and strength. Thank you for never giving up on me, even when I had given up on myself. 

Thank you mom, for loving me, all of me, the good and the bad, unconditionally and with your whole heart and please know that I love you just the same. 

Happy Mothers Day Mom. 

I’ve been called a lot of things over the course of my life, some good, some bad, some justified while others are not, but an insult that was thrown at me just last night really hit a nerve- coward. More accurately, I was told I exhibited cowardness, which is basically the same as calling me a coward. 

My reaction? I saw red and replied with….

I am NOT a coward. I have more courage and guts than you will ever find in another god damn woman in your life and if you knew me at all you would know that! 

Maybe I took for granted that this person didn’t know all there is to know about me. They probably don’t realize the things I have endured and survived, but they are aware of a great deal of it and when those words popped up on my computer screen, I didn’t care what they did or didn’t know, the anger coursed through me. 

A coward? Bitch please!  This chick is a survivor. 

I’ve survived childhood sexual abuse, and years and years of verbal abuse at the hands of people who I thought loved me. 

I made the decision, as a teenager, to take the long road and keep my baby who would shortly thereafter become the centre of my entire world, and after we were both rejected harshly by his father, together we survived! 

I’ve lived through more than 3 decades of an undiagnosed mental disorder that threatened my sanity time and time again, nearly took my life, and completely fucked with my head, my heart, and my self esteem and I survived! 

I survived a relationship filled with fear and control; being held hostage in my own home, spending days in a bed while pondering how in the hell I was going to escape, looking at the tiny windows in the basement apartment and wondering if I could squeeze through the small space to freedom and safety. I escaped, I survived, I learned to not live in fear anymore and put it behind me. 

I survived more than a decade of loving an addict who repeatedly hurt and betrayed me, destroyed our family and our life together, left me broke and alone over and over, not knowing how the bills would be paid or how I was putting food on the table! Yet, I made it through because that’s what survivors do! 

I’ve been knocked down, physically and emotionally, but got back up!  

I started over, alone and scared, damaged and confused, broken and bruised, and I recreated a life that had been shattered. 

I’ve raised two kids on my own, as I struggled with mental illness, after being raised in a broken home where insults were thrown like punches, yet I’ve raised them right. I’ve raised them to be strong and be their own person and every time I look at them I know I did a great job! 

A coward? I’ve never been, nor will I ever be. I’m strong and proud and brave. I’m a fighter! You can knock me down but you can’t keep me there. I always get back up, stronger and better than I was before, because I, my friend, am a fucking survivor and that is what we do! 



I am BLAH! I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I’m not, well, anything! Just….BLAH! I’ve had a BLAH week and as the weekend approaches it doesn’t seem to be getting any less, well, BLAH! 

I have no motivation for anything! I have a million things I want to do, a million more that I need to do, but I have no drive to do any of it. 

I miss the mania on days like today. I miss that energy. I miss that feeling of total and utter confidence, when it feels like I can take on the world. 

Does the weather affect anyone else’s moods? It always affects mine. Outside it’s been cold, foggy and raining for days. I hate weather like this. It just sucks the energy from me and that has never been more true than this week.

Surgery recovery has been long and tedious. The incision itself is healing well (with a ugly scar to prove it!) but I am still experiencing discomfort and bruising and I have not yet been able to get back to my normal activities. This too is affecting my mood!  

I’ve been job hunting and submitted a couple of applications for administrative positions- good paying jobs in or around the city which would mean……yup, we would be moving into the city, or at the very least, the outskirts of it. I have a plan set in place for if I should get one of these jobs, and I am regularly checking the job website for newly added posts. Hmmm. Apparently I am not completely lacking any motivation. I did manage to do that! 

My family doesn’t understand my desperate desire to move to the city, 4 hours away from our little hometown. How do I explain to them that I was never meant to live here, I never quite belonged here? I’ve felt it in the very core of my being for many, many years since, when as a teenager I had walked the historic streets of the city, in awe of the colourful buildings, the eclectic shops, the street performers, and the buzz of energy all around me. This was where I belonged. I knew it then and there, but as I became a mother shortly out of high school my plans to make my escape from this suffocating small town got put on hold. 

Another child and 17 years later, I’m at a place where I know it’s time. Time to go where my heart wanted me to many years ago, to put the life I have lived here in this small town behind me and start over. And I’m excited!! My kids are excited!! Now, it’s just a matter of time. 

I’m very much missing having my own place! This house, with the 5 of us living in it, dealing with the same shit that I already lived through once, is slowly killing me! I came home from work earlier this week to find my mom in tears, after having been on the receiving end of my father’s verbal attacks all day. She looked so broken, standing in front of the stove, making supper with tears streaming down her face. I wanted to throw a rage filled fit, completely freak out at him, give it back to him harder and far more cruel than he had given it to her, and I am very capable of if, have done it before, but when she quietly asked me through her tears not to say anything I had to comply, and instead hugged her close as she cried on my shoulder. 

I hate him. Hate is a strong word but I mean it. I’ve never felt such strong hatred and rage for another human being as I do towards him. I’m not proud of how I feel but I am justified. As if it weren’t enough that he tarnished our childhood, leaving scars on us that would we would carry with us forever, but even after were long since grown he continues to use his words to tear her down, our mom, the only parent we ever really had, and for this, and for everything he has done over the years, I hate him. 

But enough about that. If I allow myself to dwell too long in that place it will consume me and I’m not letting him take up any more space in my head! 

My love life…’s weird! Clarke and I are currently in a long distance relationship and have agreed to not see other people until we have figured out what there is between us. Is it crazy to say that we love each other? Love is such a broad term…there are so many ways that someone can love another person….maybe it’s puppy love….maybe it’s simply a connection that’s so strong it resembles love. Can 2 people actually fall in love through just talking? I mean, we met once, for about 3 minutes! Since then our plans of being together have been ruined by first, my emergency operation, then work and family obligations, and we have no plans for the near future. Honestly? I have no idea what it is and lately (these past few days) I have been having some reservations. The conversations between us have been via text. He’s called twice in the past couple of weeks because, according to him, he doesn’t like talking on the phone. So, we resort to communicating through words on a tiny handheld screen, and honestly, it bugs me. The idea of being exclusive when we live 2 hours apart and only one of us drives (me) is bothering me as well. I mean, I’m just out of a marriage. Do I really want to be in an exclusive long distance relationship? My thoughts and feelings surrounding him and our situation are really all over the place! I really care about this guy, and he’s been such a huge part of my life over the past couple of months without even physically being part of my life. I do not want to hurt him or dissapoint him.  I’m just not sure if this relationship is what I want right now, but I’m terrified of letting it go! *sigh* The tangled webs we weave. 

Today I am trying to stay occupied. I’ve been cleaning and decluttering and job hunting, just to try to keep myself sane. I know how quickly BLAH can turn to darkness, and I refuse to let it! 

Thanks for stopping by, and for reading as I simply ramble.