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Found 7 results

  1. Have I REALLY been gone since December 4th? Yes, friends - this is VERY much unlike me. Those of you who know me - know that when my mind is cluttered and my brain is busy - I write. It's how I make sense of things. To say that my mind has been clear lately would be a lie - there's SO much clutter up there - it's starting to look like Grandma's attic! (Although MY grandmother, may she rest in peace, did not have an attic - she had a basement that scared the shit out of me for most of my childhood!) My brain has been running a mile-a-minute, but I've been effective at compartmentalizing - at least until the holidays have passed us. Rather than say, "okay, I'm going to think on this tonight and see what comes out - it'll be a good thing to blog about because I'm SURE there are others who feel this same exact way," the last few weeks have been more of a "maybe later," or a "perhaps after Christmas" or just plain, "not now." Things with J are....fine. I don't want to say there's been improvement because with the looming holidays, stresses have indeed mounted and any left-over issues we have been having were not to be confused with the typical stress the holidays are notorious for bringing forth. It's easy for past stresses to escalate, when new ones are introduced. So rather than let this happen - I chose to just go through the motions of the holidays - and make the most of it, even though I was not feeling it this year. If you've been following this blog for a while, you know by now the result of LAST year's (2017's) Christmas - I didn't want a repeat of that, when it comes to my mother and my sisters, and that entire part of my family. This year's wasn't as dramatic - but it was still sorely lacking. It hasn't been terrible. Don't get me wrong. It just hasn't been spectacular. Maybe I've set the bar too high - maybe I'm just expecting too much at this point? It IS, after all, what I thought Christmas was supposed to be. Filled with love, with enjoyment, with fulfillment - instead, it's become purely obligation...my obligation to others, to make sure they have everything THEY want and need. Over the last several years, I have bent for everyone else - to the point where MOST have now began to take me and all of my efforts for granted. There is very little reciprocation - if not for my mother, my father, and J - there'd be NOTHING for me under the tree. And while I'm not a material girl at ALL, it's hard to ignore that - when I have been attempting to MOVE heaven and earth to make EVERYONE ELSE happy - never mind my own happiness and sense of holiday cheer. Since the divorce, the wasband has been unrelenting on where the kids spend the holidays. They MUST be with him. ALL of his kids. They've got to be seated at HIS table - for Christmas, New Year's, for Thanksgiving, for Easter, for St. Patrick's Day, for Halloween, for Father's Day, (that one, I understand!) for July 4th, for Passover, for heaven's sake - and he's not even Jewish! Early on, years ago, I had asked if I can bring the kids with me to someone else's house for the holiday (or if we could alternate?) and it's been met with an "absolutely not." This, of course, means, that, if I want to spend any of the holidays with my children, that I, too, have to be at his house, celebrating within the chaos of HIS home, with HIS wife, all HIS kids. Mind you, I don't mind any of his kids - I raised all of them, if you think about it, to include his and his wife's youngest. I am, of course, free to choose whether I want to be there for the holiday, or if I want to go celebrate with someone else. But my children would not be allowed to come with me. If, God forbid, I chose to spend a holiday with someone else, then he's the type to turn around and poison my children's minds against me - "your mother would rather be with so-and-so than you...." Yes, friends - his abuse goes ON - even though we are no longer married, even though we no longer live together. His manipulation continues - and WILL NOT cease until he is six-feet-under. This IS painfully hard to accept - but I'm out of energy. There comes a point in time where you no longer have the desire to change things that simply cannot be changed. So, I've sacrificed my ideas of what I'd like for Christmas to be, for the last decade. It's supposed to be give and take - this, I know and this, I've been taught in childhood. My parents aren't eligible for POTY (parents-of-the-year) but they DID teach me to have good manners, and consideration for others. They DID teach me the true meaning of the holiday - that it was to spread joy, kindness and happiness. Instead, I've learned to DREAD not only Christmas but every holiday, too! No, it's not fair - I know this, you all know this - anyone with a shred of human decency and a sense of compromise knows this - but it is what it is. He's not budging. And because he won't budge or so much as meet me halfway, I have to celebrate holidays with my family on days that aren't the actual holiday - adding MORE stress to my already full plate. And it is NOT easy to get the kids to come with me to 'family gatherings' that don't include their father - he's done enough moaning, groaning and bitching and complaining to them over the years - and if he's not invited, they're quick to refer to the 'WWDD' (What would Dad do?) way of thinking. And if Dad wouldn't want to go, neither would they. So, that's ANOTHER battle - I guess it's a good thing that my birthday is conveniently located five days post-Christmas - I can very well play the 'it's my birthday, I want my kids with me' card. This usually works. This year, I INSISTED upon doing Christmas Eve at my house. Oompa, after some resistance (she wouldn't be Oompa without her slew of complaints!) promised to come for Christmas Eve, and then to sleep over and leave early Christmas morning so that she could spend Christmas Day with her other two daughters and the rest of her grandchildren. Both my sisters were invited also - along with their spouses and all of their kids. Youngest sister had previous arrangements with her husband's family - so she politely declined. Okay. I understood that and didn't begrudge her at all. Middle sister came up with every excuse in the book before saying no, too. What were her excuses? Let's see...her husband is working for the first half of the day. Oh, and he's allergic to cats! (he's not had any problem with the cats when he's come to my house in the past - my cats don't want to be around the likes of HIM, either!) Or my youngest niece is bad in the car - a 2 hour drive would be 'too much.' Yet, there are PLENTY of Facebook posts documenting their MANY family outings - some locations MORE than 2 hours away from where they live. So, yeah. Long story, short - she doesn't want to come. So the stage was set, at this point. Oompa would be there, I'd be doing a Christmas Eve/birthday celebration for J at my house. She'd see her elder grandchildren Christmas Eve and her littler grandchildren Christmas Day. I'd be spending Christmas Day at the wasband's, of course. So now this meant that I wouldn't be seeing my nephew or nieces unless I went to THEM for my birthday - which doubled as an opportunity to give them their Christmas gifts, thus extending the holiday aggravation by a few days - I'd just like for them to be over and done when they're over and done! Most of my shopping was done online - alone, and without much input other than the Son's sending me a link to an eBay auction for two books he'd been wanting to read. "It's a good deal, Ma....you can get it for me for Christmas!" I didn't think twice. I bought the books. Both of my kids are at the point where it's HARD to shop for them - they're getting quality over quantity, a couple expensive things and a few smaller things as 'fillers.' They are the only ones I really splurge on. I DID get for the wasband and his wife, and I did get for the REST of his children - I ensured NO one was left out - because although two are adults, one is not even his child, (it's his wife's son) I didn't have the heart to exclude anyone - there was something under that tree for EVERYONE who would be around my dinner table for Christmas Eve. No questions asked. Did they bring me anything? No. They did not. They, just as always, took me for granted - they came, ate all my food, made a mess in my house, and left with full stomachs and a trunk full of gifts they'd received - my mother got nothing from them, I got nothing from them. All we received was a sheepish "didn't realize we were exchanging!" I could hear my brain going, then...Maybe not, you ass, but common sense dictates you go to someone's house for the holiday - you BRING something! Even a freakin' dessert platter or pastries or whatever - it doesn't have to be wrapped! Because the ONLY reason I want YOUR rude, ungrateful, obnoxious ass in my house is because it means I can have my children home too! I'm NOT going to have an easy Christmas next year, that's for sure - Oompa is flirting with the idea of taking BACK the torch she's passed down to me - and she wants to do Christmas Eve at HER house - which is far smaller than mine. She'll, of course, invite the wasband and all the kids - but knowing him, he won't budge - he wants ME to do it - apparently I 'do a good job' keeping the family together. Completely oblivious to the very sad fact that I don't feel as if I've a choice in the matter anymore. Top this off with J wanting to spend next Christmas with HER family in Massachusetts - she did tell me this BEFORE this year's festivities - but knowing that she won't be here and there is likely going to be MORE bending on my part to keep everyone appeased. How much more bending am I capable of, before I finally SNAP? I feel this is enough of my bitching - at least, for this year. I DO sincerely hope that YOUR Christmas/holidays went smoothly and with a minimal of drama/stress. It seems to be unavoidable to some - as some families don't understand the concept of 'simple.' Still, I do hope that everyone's had at least one smile this past Christmas - at least one gift, be it something wrapped with a pretty bow or simply the gift of kindness, friendship or a phone call...whatever it was that made us feel loved. We are ALL deserving of that joy, even if it was a small amount. I did have some of this; and for that, I'm grateful. I am now headed over to the wasband's to watch the ball drop with my children - J will be working an overnight shift tonight and will drop me off there on her way - then I'll just drive my car back home, as the son has it sitting at his father's house for absolutely no reason at all. The next few days, the first three days of 2019 will be filled with NO celebrations, NO festivities, no NOTHING. On the 4th, we are headed to Disney World and Universal Studios, where we will be celebrating out 10 year anniversary - of the decade we've spent together, 2018 has been the most 'bumpy' year. And yes, I admit, this past year has unnerved me to my core - but I am going to resolve to continue to better myself as a person, as a wife, a mother, and a friend. And to shed off the pounds I've re-gained whilst stress-eating all of the Christmas cookies! Happy New Year, everybody. Will be toasting to my AS family tonight at midnight! Love, - Capulet
  2. Dear Eddie, It has taken me at least five whole minutes to decide whether a piece of shit like you warranted a 'dear.' It was completely out of habit that I started this letter in the same polite, courteous way I would start a letter to anyone else. YOU, however, are not just 'anyone else.' I also debated whether or not I should use your name - I don't even know if it's your real name. Either way, I have decided that I want people to know exactly who you are - and unfortunately, using your first name is not even enough. This, though, is ALL I know about you. There are many appropriate not-so-nice names I could call you, but for the moment, they elude me. And so I'll use the name that has sparked terror and dread in me for the last twenty-two years. While there's so much accumulated that I need to say to you, I don't even know where to start. First of all, make no mistake - you're an absolutely despicable, horrible person and as far as I'm concerned, a waste of air and space. But, no matter how much hatred I have for you, you're still, unfortunately, an important part of my life. Not in the sense that I can't live without you - because I certainly CAN and honestly, would LOVE to. As a matter of fact, I most likely would be living an entirely different life if it weren't for you. I'm thinking that 'important' is a too nice a word - so perhaps I'll change it to 'significant.' Clearly, that is ALSO too kind and positive a word to describe the likes of you. I'm not going to worry about word-searching right now though; there's far too much that I need to say to you, regardless of whether or not you ever see this letter. I'm certain you'll never hear me; why would you? You quite effectively silenced me 22 years ago. It seems fitting to write you this letter today. I have had so much time to think and to cope with the emotional, mental, and physical side effects of what you did to me that night. I have not physically seen you in exactly 22 years - but I have 'seen' you MANY times, through memories and other reminders every single day since 10/4/1996. It's gotten a lot better with time, but you have visited me in my sleep; you've assumed the identity of my grocer, a random person on the street, a classmate, the guy who owns a pizza place in central Long Island, the list goes on. You were there whenever there were televised rape cases or trials; you did this to me, therefore your face was the one I saw, no matter who was currently on trial. For a long time, you were everywhere I turned; there was no escape. Now, you're not there as much, but deep down, I know that you'll never completely leave. And that's both mind-blowing and kind of fucked up - we knew each other for JUST thirty minutes - and yet you are going to occupy a piece of my brain for the rest of my life. In hindsight, you probably do not remember that night. Or maybe, you do. Maybe it makes you smile or laugh when you remember how you brutally and heartlessly overpowered a distressed seventeen-year-old girl. It doesn't do me any good to consider your pleasure in doing so, so I won't. But do NOT, for one MINUTE, think I didn't see out of the corner of my eye, that cocky smirk that was on your face while you were holding me down. You enjoyed every second of what you did. Perhaps I was just 'another girl' to you. You've probably done the same to other vulnerable girls. You were calculated, methodical, and sad to say, you knew exactly what you were doing. I guess I've always wondered how you can sleep at night - knowing you, using your body as a weapon, destroyed every single one of my hopes and dreams in a matter of just minutes. And I also wonder why? Why did you do this? What was in it for you? Was it worth it afterwards? Because of you, I spent the rest of that first year of college in a daze - it's a miracle I passed the courses I was taking. It was a literal chore to get out of bed every day and do the same thing - get dressed in clothes that may or may not have been washed, drive to campus (and back) in a dissociated, autopilot mode, then spend evenings at home in a similar zombie-like state. Then it was a rinse-and-repeat kind of thing, all while I withdrew socially and drifted slowly into a more consistent state of darkness. Nothing was crystal-clear anymore. Everything became fuzzy, jumbled and otherwise difficult to see - the life I had plans for no longer existed and was abruptly replaced with the life you forced me to live. Because of you, I searched for emotional and sexual sustenance in all the wrong places. I felt as if I had nothing of worth to offer the boyfriend I had at the time - so he was history shortly after. You were my first sexual experience - and you taught me that sex was painful. You also taught me that saying 'no' would not work - that fighting would get me hurt, and that it was ideal to just lay there and take it. And so I searched silently and recklessly, for that 'good' experience that would negate the bad one. For the record, this didn't happen. Of course, the guy that SHOULD have been the one I gave my virginity to, was instead, the one I cast aside when I feared my innocence was no longer intact. Because of you. And on that note, it is because of YOU that I am both mortified and absolutely disgusted with my past behavior. I've had 22 years to reflect on all of those poor choices and it's a goddamn miracle that I'm alive today! I'm ashamed of myself - because of what you taught me, I allowed men to do absolutely horrible things to me - because I was too afraid to say 'no.' I don't know if it was because I was afraid of being punched in the face or it was a learned auto-reaction at that point, but either way, whatever they wanted was usually what they got - this accomplished absolutely nothing more than eventually reducing my self-worth to zero. I stopped caring about any repercussions or consequences of my actions. In fact, I wanted to die - I wanted them to just put me out of my misery - the misery YOU started! Obviously, that didn't happen, either. I survived you, and then I survived my own self. And today, I'm STILL surviving, although the only difference is - I've forgiven myself for my part in these bad choices - as much as I'd like to blame you for those, I cannot. I acted alone, same way I did anything else. ALONE. I will say, you may be to blame for my self-imposed solitude - it's how I felt most safe and the least threatened - but maintaining this constant need to be alone is on me, and perhaps on my ex, who further implied that leading a private, isolated life was ideal. Even TODAY, I find myself wanting more personal space and alone time than seems reasonable - and because of this, I'm seriously lacking in social skills. It may not be entirely because of you, but you definitely helped that along. Because of you, I can't wash my floors with Pine-Sol. The unmistakeable smell triggers me when I try and all I can remember is my face being held down against the cold, hard, wooden floor (which STILL smelled like Pine-Sol) while you raped me. Because of you, I have a DEEP, almost UGLY hatred of music. No, it is not your fault that I was born with the inability to hear it - but it was also the reason no one heard me calling for help. It brings my children such joy - they LOVE music. So does my fiancee. And I can't help but remember and remain stuck on how the 'noisiness' failed me. Ironically, the music became somewhat of a focal point - when I stopped fighting and succumbed to your brutality, I focused only on the vibrations of the floor beneath me. And that's what I continued to focus on even after you were finished with me. It was a small comfort. I was alone in a place I was unfamiliar with, I was in a large amount of pain, I NEEDED something to distract me. And so I kept my eyes closed and my face against the floor for several minutes before getting up...just counting each pounding, deafening beat....it was better than trying to figure out WHAT had just happened to me. And for about five minutes, it was my only comfort. It was the only time I can remember where I welcomed the 'noise.' It was during that tiny window where music was still okay, that window was slammed shut once loud, blasting music became a known trigger. Because of you, I have not worn a skirt since that night. There were a handful of occasions that required me to put on a bridesmaid's dress, but other than that, I refuse to wear anything without a crotch. Even with those god-awful dresses, I wore a pair of skin-tight spandex shorts underneath because I needed to feel that extra layer of protection. You taught me that I needed to be mindful of what I wore - and that skirts were not safe, regardless of whether they were long or short. And every time I walk past one in the department store, I'm reminded of the cream-colored skirt with sunflowers on it that I wore that night. That was my favorite - it was long, it covered my legs, and came all the way down to my ankles. Because of what you did, I was forced to throw it away because I couldn't bear to look at it anymore. Because of you, I learned all about fear. The simplest, STUPIDEST things would now cause me anxiety. For me, fear goes hand-in-hand with trust, another thing that I lost the ability to do freely. Once upon a time, I was a very trusting person; I had faith in other people, I believed in the good in everyone. To a point, I still do, but it's become increasingly difficult for me to trust that not everyone is out to hurt me and there are actually kind, honest and truly good people out there. Because of you, I'm constantly second-guessing people, I'm questioning why people even wish to associate with me - what's their reason for it? How are they going to eventually hurt me? I HATE this about myself - I understand it, but I don't like it. I've walled myself off, because of you, and now I'm in a position where I need to learn to break down some of these walls or risk being alone later. Because of you, I'm afraid to ask for help when it comes to communicating with others and putting ANY trust into the kindness of strangers. Because if you recall, I was desperate and asked YOU for help. We both know how that turned out. Furthermore, I felt for the longest time that being hearing impaired was what landed me into trouble in the first place - I certainly could have made that phone call, myself, had I been born with two functional ears. But it wasn't about that at all, was it? This was what you planned, right? This diabolical scheme of yours was devised and set into motion JUST as soon as I uttered, 'can you help me?' Am I right? This, like so many other questions I have for you, will likely remain unanswered. You know, I wonder what you are like today. Have you changed? (Although it is hard for me to see you as anything other than a cruel monster, I know people change and truly have repented for things they've done in the past. I'm not sure this applies to you, though.) Are you a good person now? Are you happy? Are you proud of yourself? Do you have a successful job? Are you married? Do you have kids? Do you have a DAUGHTER???? If you do, I TRULY hope that knowing that YOU, yourself, are a sexual predator causes you to now live in fear of someone doing to her what you did to me. Of course I am not the type to wish ill will toward the women in your life that you DO love and care about - but I sincerely hope that you understand the severe gravity of the effects of sexual assault - not just on the ones who have experienced it, but on the people around them. And I hope you know and recognize that YOU are a person who has single-handedly caused these effects. Do you ever even think about what you did to me, and possibly, to other women? Or do you fall into the 'none of the above' category and are you rotting in a cell somewhere because you raped another woman who had more balls than I did and reported you? Either way, do you feel any remorse at all? Do you even KNOW what your actions have done to me, and perhaps to others? I've had to accept that most all of the kickback from that night has been on me - you couldn't have cared less when you left me in that room, a bleeding mess. If you're still alive and karma hasn't caught you yet, you probably still don't care. You didn't care when I begged you to stop, you didn't care that all I wanted was to go home. Instead, you laughed at me, you mocked my screams, you terrorized me. I've come a long way in 22 years, though. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've fantasized about killing you. And (because it was the only way I could get away with it) - in my dreams, I have killed you in multiple ways. I've yelled at you, I've screamed. I've beaten the shit out of you, I've smashed your face in, I've castrated you, I've hammered your ballsack to a slab of wood with a rusty nail. You hurt me 'there,' and I wanted desperately to return the favor. I'm not a violent person by any means, and I'm slightly embarrassed to even admit what I've thought about doing to you and to other sexual predators. You have certainly made me angry enough to entertain these thoughts, but that's all they were - thoughts. Time has shown me that the physical pain subsides and there is nothing at all that will completely cure the emotional and mental pain that sexual assault inflicts. This specific pain, that because of you, I feel every single day. Yes, time has mended my spirit a great deal, but there is going to forever be a part of me that you stole, you still possess, and that I will NEVER get back. You know what, though? I'm not mad at you anymore. I have come to the conclusion that after 22 years, it is no longer anger I feel when this time of year rolls around. It's become a permanent mark, yes, but it's also a numbing sadness that, no matter how much time has elapsed, will always live inside me and become more noticeable in the fall. While I didn't have a choice in what's been plopped down on my plate (because of you), I DO have a choice in how I deal and cope with what's been served. And I am now choosing to put that pre-existent anger behind me - it's done me NO good to hold onto it and I refuse to give you any more of my time or energy. Plus, when dealing with anger, there is usually a resolution...a way to come to terms with it and eventually dissolve it. I think that, for me, means you'd have had to 'make it right' or otherwise pay for your crime at some point. But you'll likely never be held accountable for what you did to me - even if you've been reported by someone else and you're paying THAT price, the debt between you and I will never be resolved. So, today, 22 years later, I am feeling that it is time to let go of it...and while I've managed to released all of this pent-up anger towards you - I'm still and always will be disgusted with the poor excuse of a human being that you are. I will never forgive you, either. Your fate is truly out of my hands, but I do have hope that when the time comes, you'll get exactly what you deserve. I do have remaining guilt for allowing you to walk free, for not getting up from the floor and chasing you out of that bedroom - I sometimes feel that in that moment, I should have mustered up whatever strength I had, found my voice, and exposed you for the rapist you are. I've run through this scenario in my head, too - maybe someone would have restrained you, someone else would have called the police, and you would have been put away. I'd have gotten medical attention, my parents would have found out what happened, sure, but at least you'd have been locked up. Had that been what happened, it would likely have spared other women from having to experience the same thing I did. But sadly, this is just another one of those 'woulda been nice' thoughts that will never come true. Because of that life-changing, impactful half-hour I spent with you, the once fearless being I was, was rendered weak, speechless, and paralyzed. I truly feel that because of you, I froze in fear and shock when that window of opportunity was open - I COULD have done something, but I did not. While I now understand why I felt powerless in the moment, I feel that I still failed not only other women you may have subsequently harmed, but also myself. And I HATE you for that, I HATE you for making me despise myself. I hate you for teaching me the true meaning of the word 'hate.' Such an ugly word; one that I don't even want my children to use...yet so fitting for how I feel about you. I hate what you've done, what you represent, what you're capable of. I hate your type - and that there are so many more of you roaming around. I hate YOU, Eddie. This is what I have to live with, though. Other than this nagging feeling that I've failed myself and others, (which I've forgiven myself for as well) I've been a good person. I've never hurt another person. I am kind. I am caring. And I didn't deserve this. I know this now. Because of you, it took a LONG time to come to this realization. I survived 22 years ago and today, will continue to grow as a person. I am not the same person I would be had I not met you, but that's beyond my control, now. Instead of trying to duplicate the person I used to be or 'pick up where I left off,' I am going to focus on reclaiming the small, yet significant things that you either stole or otherwise changed for me. There are some things that are gone forever, but there's hope for some others. I'm going to embrace the rest of this fall season, and all of the fall seasons to come. Rather than scowl at the natural beauty of the changing foliage, I will instead smile in appreciation of the breathtaking scenery. I will buy the biggest fucking bottle of Pine-Sol and wash my floors with it next week. Why? Because I KNOW that my face will not be pressed down against that floor afterwards - and I'm going to prove that the dread I feel toward Pine-Sol is simply going to mean it's time to complete the never-fun chore of washing the floors. I'm going to slowly work on lowering the walls that are up, because of you, and learn to more freely delegate my trust in those who are deserving of it. I suppose while there's plenty to blame and loathe you for, there is one positive thing that I can derive from our encounter 22 years ago. Undoubtedly, that was the WORST, most impactful night of my life and to me, to be able to gain any positive insight out of such a negative, horrible event is pretty fucked up. I don't want to give you credit for ANYTHING, more or less anything positive in my life - especially when I don't think I would be inspired to pursue the line of work I'd like to without first encountering your cruelty. Because of you, I have developed a profound understanding of myself as well as the MILLIONS of other women who have been sexually assaulted. I understand the deep, lingering pain and constant frustration, the emotional and sometimes physical toll that rape takes on a person. I know that us women are individual beings and we all deal differently, but we all share this common burden that we have to live with forever. Because of you, and other predatory beings like yourself. Before you, I was an English major and wanted to become a scriptwriter. And now, after you, I want nothing more than to use this experience, coupled with my gained understanding and knowledge of 'what comes after,' and become an advocate for sexual assault/rape survivors. Because of you, I understand EXACTLY what other survivors are going through and the grueling, seemingly uphill journey that lies ahead of them. I am now ready to grab ahold of as many survivors' hands as I can, and climb this hill with them in unity and solidarity. At first, I questioned whether I'd be able to devote the rest of my life to doing this type of work - it's certainly not going to be easy, but perhaps in the process, I will continue to heal. I know and understand that I will be healing for the rest of my life. And so, I have made peace with this change - I feel more confident in my abilities to help others than in scriptwriting - but perhaps I've done both. I've re-written my life's script. I'll never be able to completely discard the old, broken, battered version of myself - but I can certainly decide what happens to me, moving forward. As for you, Eddie... I don't know what's going on with you right now. You can be living the American dream with a house and family - or you can be sitting in a 12x12 cell in prison. I've no way of knowing. Either way, I truly hope that at one point during the rest of your life, that you learn the true definition of suffering, the way you made me suffer. I hope that one day, you will understand the feeling of being overpowered, and that you will experience vulnerability. I hope you see for yourself how it is to feel lonely and isolated because no one around you understands what you're going through. I hope you learn all about that feeling of keeping your silence - and that you come to realize that it's because you just don't know who to trust anymore. It'd also be nice to see you struggle with things you thought were simple and easy, but are no longer. Because following trauma, NOTHING is the same, anymore. The things you did every day become foreign and become things you have to re-teach this altered version of yourself to do, all over again. And I hope that someday, something scares you to the point where your heart (I know you have one) starts pounding for reasons that may not be immediately clear. I hope that in that same moment, you freeze and are unable to move, or even BREATHE. That's PTSD, that's anxiety. That's what you unfairly sentenced me to. That's what I've had to live with for the last 22 years - because of you. YOU however, have to live with everything I've mentioned in this letter. And knowing your type, there's likely lots more that you're going to have to live with. And, ultimately, that's what you deserve. You deserve the absolute misery you've inflicted on others, you deserve pain and suffering. I'm just sorry that I won't be there to witness that moment when Lady Karma decides it's your turn to pay the price for all the terrible things you've done! And last, but not least, I truly hope you see my face when she finally catches up to you. Don't forget to watch for the satisfied smirk. - Capulet (Because of you.)
  3. *** This was also posted in the Aftermath section. It was a little bit longer than the standard length of most posts there but the message I hope to convey is a powerful one and I feel that it is more than just a post. I've copied/pasted it here because while it was meant to be a post, it's also another one of my famous 'cleanses' and certainly belongs here, too. *** This is likely going to turn out to be a long post. I apologize in advance. There's just an enormous amount of brain-clutter these days and the OCD person I am is trying to sort through some of it, organize it. Writing is simply my way of doing so. I also am still trying to debate whether this should be a blog entry as opposed to board pollution, but it may very well end up being both...the message is powerful regardless of where it's placed. I made the stupidest decision when I was 20 years old. A decision even more stupid, it sometimes seems, than those I made during my own personal mission to self-destruct. I will set a small timeline in order to better convey where I'm going with this. And in doing so, I dare not touch my suspicions of there being CSA in my childhood. I have tried to remember the details of that, but to no avail. I'm SURE it played a part, even a minuscule one, in my 'blueprint,' but without facts, I can't say for sure what stems from this and what doesn't. And so, I'm leaving that alone. Until the memories that have been repressed decide to resurface, this is not something that it's currently within my power to sift through, and so it's probably best to pull it out of the equation. So I will declare the rape I experienced at 17 years old to be the catalyst for the behavior that would soon follow. Shortly after the assault, I broke up with the first boyfriend I'd ever had. A GOOD guy. Very sweet, very kind. He hailed from a strictly devout Catholic family. We'd done nothing more than kissing and some over-the-clothes stuff. We were both virgins and we'd talked about marriage being the best time to 'give' this to each other. We HAD talked about marriage. We were kind of serious/kind of joking, in that teenage dream sort of way. It gave us something to talk about when being physical wasn't an option. But anyway - after that virginity was taken from me, I felt I had nothing left to offer him. Now, I know that's not the realistic way to look at it - I WAS still a virgin - I hadn't willingly given my virginity to another person. I hadn't given my consent. At the time, though, my brain was not allowing for me to think clearly. All I could think of was how HE felt about it being so sacred. I thought about how it'd be on our wedding night, should that ever become a reality...he'd probably know that he wasn't my first. As if and he'd be disappointed, angry, maybe? It wasn't something I wanted him to feel, nor was it something I wanted to explain as having happened to me, either. And, oh, God, what if he didn't BELIEVE me? And so, I sent him a lengthy e-mail and told him that I didn't love him, I didn't want to be together anymore. He pleaded, he cried, he begged, he told me he loved me and wasn't giving up that easily. But I was unrelenting. Mean at times. I cut him out. Completely. Eventually, he stopped emailing, writing letters, sending little presents. He was truly gone...along with the rest of whatever was good in my life - discarded. And for a long time, I blamed only myself while I grieved what could have been. I did love him. I did love the thought of him being the first person I had sex with. But that was gone now. Time went on...I'd say a few months crawled by. I signed up with AOL and began to frequent chat rooms, not looking for anything other than just to connect with someone. I couldn't do it in person; I was too awkward around other people. I wanted to be around SOMEONE, someone neutral, someone who didn't know me, someone who didn't know the girl I was before this monster....ruined me. So, while those who DID know me questioned these personality changes, (that I, almost too flawlessly dismissed as being 'busy' and dealing with 'college stress') I was looking for companionship with people who weren't so perceptive to these new differences. Really, though..there was an incredible void within, and I didn't know how to fill it. I was indeed isolating myself from people who cared about me - I withdrew socially, I stopped talking to life-long friends and eventually, they, too, followed suit. I'm not sure if that's a failure on my part or theirs - aren't friends supposed to pick up on these things???? - either way, it was just how the cookie crumbled. I fell apart, academically and JUST managed to pass my classes. Not sure if it was a pity-pass by the professors who probably noticed there was something wrong. Eventually, I did what I thought was the safest, most anonymous way of connecting-but-not-connecting and socialized online more than I did in reality. These people didn't know me. Although I WILL say that I wasn't dishonest about who I was. I was truthful about the important details - age, where I was from, etc. I just wasn't me anymore. These were strangers and I found it was easier to talk to people when there were no emotions attached. I was no longer the cautious, innocent, happy young lady I vaguely remember being. I was now '18/f in _____' and no one really wanted or cared about all the background information. It's just the hookup they wanted, sadly, and after a while, I began to (stupidly) arrange for some of these meetings. My "first" was a guy who lived a couple towns over. He was a year older than me. Didn't go to my college, which was a good thing, in hindsight. But we'd talked online first for a little while and then met in person. He, too, was hearing impaired, so there was a little MORE of a connection than I'd learn I was comfortable with at the time. I WAS attracted to him; he was very handsome. And he quickly became the first person I consented to. There was a brief, sloppy, clumsy encounter on the floor in his room, all of our clothing hadn't even been removed. As quickly as it started, it was over. And while this meant that I TRULY wasn't a virgin anymore, I can't help but feel like that didn't count, either - during this encounter, I felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no pleasure. Just...nothing. He WAS a looker, but I didn't love him, I felt dirty and ashamed afterwards, I'm sure a side-effect of being touched for the first time since...that guy. I ignored that feeling, though. If anything, I felt it was a replacement of sorts. A subpar experience to refer back to instead of the bad one that still plagued my dreams at night. He DID contact me a few days after I'd slept with him and said that he felt needed to be honest - he still had feelings for an old girlfriend and he was going to attempt to re-connect with her. He just would rather we remained friends. I graciously accepted that. I think, for me, I was only looking to feel something...I wasn't sure what. I was still having my bad days. Nightmares, flashbacks, things were triggering me left and right, I'd begun to self-injure. I continued to isolate from people I already knew. I stopped caring about the importance of the things that truly mattered. I was now fully emerged into a downward spiral. So when approached (electronically) by men (and women) wanting to meet for drinks or for dinner (which I knew meant sex and more sex) I usually obliged. I'd go, not expecting sex...maybe perhaps I'd be pleasantly surprised and someone actually wanted something of substance. It almost ALWAYS headed in the 'meaningless sex' direction, though. There was one-night-stand after one-night-stand. I began to sleep around, not because it was something I enjoyed, but because, little by little, it began to chip away at my self-worth and in order to feel something - ANYTHING, that's what I needed. Physically, these experiences were unsatisfying, sometimes painful. Sometimes they'd be courteous to ask if I was okay with having sex. Having once said no and not been listened to, I wasn't taking that chance again. And so I would say nothing in place of the 'no' that I SHOULD have been able to say and instead became a silent participant, even if it was just by way of pleasing THEM in ways they wanted to be pleased. That 'I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me' mentality was a constant - and rather than allow myself to be harmed, the submissive side of me would emerge and I'd find myself doing whatever necessary just to get through it. Eventually, there were more risky hookups...hookups that I am TRULY fortunate did not end badly for me. I allowed for a lot of things to be done TO me - without caring, without feeling, without fear. Numbness completely took over. I allowed for some pretty messed up things, things that PROBABLY could be described as borderline assault, but simply because I allowed these things, they were not. I want to say this is when I was at my lowest point. Secretly, I wondered if this would be the end - would one of them kill me when they were finished? Was I just not cut out for this cruel, unfair world and death was about to become a consequence? Would one of these guys do me a favor and just end it all for me? Was this what I was actually doing? Trying to kill myself? Obviously, that was not the case as today, I'm still alive. Okay, so here's what this post is REALLY about. I have a question for you all - a question that lately I've had to ask myself. Mostly because in some respect, I spend a lot of time trying to justify marrying an asshole. The temporary insanity argument just doesn't cut it as well as it used to - there's so much more behind it all. So, I met the wasband in the middle of all of this, shortly before turning 20. He was introduced to me by a mutual friend, though so from the start, it was different from previous 'hookups.' AND - he was a cop. I suspect that friend we shared knew that I needed some positivity in my life and while she didn't intend for us to become anything more than friends, she had hoped that he could help me straighten out my life and sort of re-route the direction I was headed in. She did tell me about him, too, before asking if it was okay to pass along my screen name. He was recently separated, he had two small children and he was a 'good' guy - and bonus! He was local. I met him online first. We chatted a few times before agreeing to meet for dinner. So at this point, my brain's like, here we go - here's the next one, this'll end just like all the rest of them... But then, it didn't. We went on several dates (dinner, movies, long walks...oh and there was TALKING! Imagine that!?) before he ASKED me if he could kiss me before I would go home for the night. I'm not sure what happened to my brain then, but something clicked. Where that 'do whatever you can to keep from getting hurt' went, I don't know. It wasn't there then. I did want to kiss him, yes, but there was also that fear of this turning into another hookup. For the first time, it felt significant, it felt safe. He wasn't pushing for sex. He was patient with me. It felt..not 'right,' but better than anything I'd ever felt before. So, my first thought then was to test him. And myself. I told him, "Not yet." He respected my boundaries and didn't ask again until our next date. I obliged this time and we shared our first kiss then. From there, he would ASK me before proceeding any further. We eventually (slowly) became more intimate - and were pregnant with my son four months later. The choice to marry was next - and I was quick to accept his marriage proposal. I didn't think about it. I said yes. But I have to admit to myself that it wasn't out of love. Shit, I didn't have enough TIME to learn how to love. It's such a complex feeling, one that requires TIME to develop. But, now there was a baby involved, now I'd met someone who made me feel that it was okay to leave all of the self-destructive urges behind and refocus on something far, FAR more important than ways to hurt myself. And now, I had more to look forward to, I was bringing a perfect little human being into the world and it was time to put such thoughts to rest. The transition from being a nothing more than a booty call or one-night-stand into someone's wife and mother, was sort of forced, but in a way, I think it's what I needed - I needed to be grounded, I needed to be forced into making this choice, even if I was the one to force myself. Otherwise, I really don't know where I'd be now. And so, I took what felt acceptable at the moment and went with it, regardless of the absence of the head-over-heels feeling that usually is the deciding factor in getting married...and so against my better judgement, I said yes to the dress. I think that for a while, it felt pretty great - I was beating myself at my own game, at life. It's because when we were just starting out, he allowed me to take control. And looking back, this is highly unusual for him - shortly after we were married, he seemingly evolved into an entirely different person and managed to seize any relinquished control back and became the aforementioned asshole. At first, it was usually the money and budget related, or kid-related, parenting fights. Then he would slowly bring up (and criticize) each and every one of my past flaws - possibly due to my still having some lasting, left over, under-the-surface issues despite his 'rescue' efforts. I think that once I took his last name, he'd assumed that my name wouldn't be the only thing to change. He had expectations that being married would somehow "fix" or diminish anything bad that had happened in my life. I'd attempt to reach out and discuss things that still bothered me. At first, he would listen. Then slowly, he began to become increasingly 'tired' of hearing it and eventually the words, "you need to get over this," came out of his mouth. That was my cue to stop badgering him with such matters. I went to others with it, instead, especially those I felt could relate on some level. When he found out that I was sharing feelings with people other than him, he became angry with me and accused me of seeking attention and that my preference to take some of these issues elsewhere was 'emotionally cheating.' Even though I explained to him that I no longer desired to burden him with all of this, he was still paranoid and untrusting. He needed to see ALL of my communications - emails, texts (now that they were a thing) and instant messaging. If he, Heaven forbid, saw that I was beginning to confide in someone else, or even become close to someone (even though it was strictly on a friends-only basis) he'd get angry all over again and sometimes insult my friends to the point where I felt ashamed even talking to people that I truly liked. To open myself up to someone else, even if it was just to spare him the repetition, he would view as a betrayal - I have absolutely NO idea how that even is the case. I soon began to suppress EVERYTHING. I just stopped talking. I stopped thinking. I stopped dealing. Whenever something popped up, I engaged in a mental game of whack-a-mole and would quickly banish it back from whence it came. I knew there was stuff still lingering, but it just wasn't acceptable to discuss any of it anymore. And I certainly wasn't going to resort to old ways - I was now married, I was a mother. The beast had been 'tamed,' unsure if this is even the correct way to describe it. Yet, by respecting his wishes, although unreasonable and suppressing, I suspect I did some further damage. Instead of healing through the support that others would have been able to provide, I began to isolate again. Although I felt I did as he wished, I'd find out that this wasn't going to change the type of person he was turning out to be. He continued to bully and manipulate me and everyone else around him. He continued to put me down when I needed the opposite. Little by little, he broke me down. He made me feel horrible about myself. I soon began to feel that just as I sadly didn't really love him when we agreed to marry, he likely felt the same way about me. Why else would he treat me this way? There just wasn't any other reasonable explanation for it. I soon felt that this was punishment for all the crap I'd done in the past - it HAD to be. I'd just basically gone from one prison to the next. Getting married and having children and raising a family did NOT fix me. It only ensured a transfer from maximum security to minimum. I'm still so, SO affected (although not as severely) by what's happened in the past, but now I've learned better ways of coping, simply because I forced myself to. I served 8 years in this particular mental prison, he was my 'guard' rather than a husband and he subjected me to the most confusing 8 years of my life. I was paroled and set free only by divorce, which will be close to 10 years ago that it was finalized. During the time I've been 'out,' I've worked hard to pick myself up. I'm in a healthy relationship with an absolutely amazing woman. When I met her, I was a complete MESS. I didn't know how to communicate very well offline, with another human being. I'd gotten SO used to keeping to myself. To allowing others to see only what I wanted them to see. Once we met in person, we had an interesting time trying to get to know each other on every level. And that's where I found the love that I didn't know I was capable of feeling. My only regret was having not met her sooner, but I'm not sure if that's how life would have played out if I had. I have had to re-educate myself on how to properly sort out my feelings, my thoughts. Regardless of being in a MUCH better place now, I'm finding it to be a lifelong process....and the whack-a-mole games have restarted - only I'm now struggling with moles I've never seen before...the moles, when they used to be purely black and white are now teal, pink, purple, red, blue, polka-dotted, striped, etc. One pops up and I'll take a swing, only to find that another has popped up in a different location before I've had time to deal with the first one. And that's when it starts to get overwhelming. Guys...there's still so much SHAME, though. I'm so ashamed of myself for the things I did prior to meeting the wasband. I know that I just didn't know how to handle it and I let others handle things FOR me. My personal growth and evolution has provided me the wisdom to understand why I (and others) did (do) these things. I get it. All of it. It doesn't help the feeling of shame I still get from time to time when I think about the blatant disrespect I treated myself with. I was literally ready to punch in my one-way ticket to the point of no return. But instead, I did something that I thought would potentially be less harmful and would give my life some purpose, no matter the cost. So... Has anyone else ever done this? Did anyone else get married just to escape the possibility of an alternative, less favorable path? In my case, it didn't work out but it DID deflect from a far more dangerous existence. If so, what was the outcome for you? I think more people than we realize are guilty of this. Not particularly on the same level, but still. I think this is something that I need to be told is normal (under the circumstances) and that I'm not a terrible person for making some of the poor choices I've made. I've already forgiven myself for past indiscretions and accept my reasons for doing so but in the process, I've felt so ALONE with it all. I've felt judged, even though very few people even KNEW this about me. I was and still am my worst critic. This turned out to be MUCH longer than intended - will also post it in my blog as it's a cross between a post and a cleanse. Regardless, it's one that I'd TRULY appreciate some feedback on, so please don't be shy. Hit the comments below. Wishing you all an endless supply of hugs, if those are your thing. If not, then I wish you strength, healing and light. - Capulet
  4. Shouldn’t trigger, unless language/the discussion of guilt bothers you. Today, I spoke to my mother, also known fondly as the ‘Oompa Loompa.’ We were trying to finalize this week’s Thanksgiving plans. A couple entries ago, I explained how she is still breast-feeding my 30 year old sister, who just had a baby of her own. She goes there every day, cooks for her, does the housework, the laundry, et cetera, because apparently my sister doesn’t quite know yet how to allow someone else to hold the baby while she cooks or shops or does something productive around the house. So, my mother continues to enables her and picks up the slack of being a wife, mother, grandmother, caretaker of a newborn, cook and housekeeper all rolled into one. Now, this isn’t a jab on my sister - I know we all have to learn somehow. It’s her first baby. I KNOW how hard it is and how overwhelming it can be when all they do is cry, cry, and CRY. I know that sleep deprivation can render you useless at any given time…hell, I’m sleep deprived on a regular basis and don’t have a squalling infant to blame that on. So I shrug off my feelings and tell myself she’ll know the ropes by the time her second kid arrives. I do have to say though, the end result of my mother’s excessive coddling has been rough because now she’s exhausted and WE haven’t seen her in over a month. The time I planned to go and see her was derailed when J and I both had a stomach bug and we wanted to remain cautious and stayed away from the baby. Will be seeing my sister and the baby this Saturday, after Oompa Loompa comes here for Thanksgiving. This entry isn’t even about my sister, though. Or the Oompa Loompa, even though much amusement can be derived from talking about her and her shenanigans… Before we hung up, Oompa had some news for me. Her brother, my uncle, the ‘Reverend,” his unholy disgustingness, is in the hospital. Little background information. Other than looking like your classic creepy pedophile, he was always overweight and unhealthy. He’s diabetic, has bad knees and always, always seemed to have something wrong with him. Aside from mentally, of course. And now, physically. I’m surprised that no one else has the same effect from looking at him. I personally want to literally projectile vomit whenever I see his face. But I guess the point I’m trying to make…he was probably a fucking cat with nine or more lives in a previous life…I don’t understand why or how he’s still breathing. If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve the air he breathes. Yet, he keeps coming back to life. See…I remember this time from when I was eighteen and in college. I was living at my father’s house since he lived closer to the campus. I remember coming home from classes and my father telling me that my uncle was in the hospital, having suffered a massive heart attack earlier that afternoon. He survived that massive heart attack. Then, when I was somewhere between 21 and 22, my grandmother passed, and we all remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me. I might have cried if he didn’t survive that first heart attack, because this was before I came to realize that there was some suppressed feelings of animosity. He was Uncle L, and I hate to admit it, but on some level, there was love for him, because that was simply what being a family member entitled you, regardless of what a piece of shit you really were. And I know I’ve said it before but kids have unconditional affection for members of their families, especially the kids who don’t remember that they’re supposed to hate them. He ended up in the hospital again, after my grandmother’s death (if you read the blog entry, ‘Want Some Fries With That Invalidation?’ then you may remember a rather uncomfortable encounter I had with him there) riddled with infection, and he survived that, too. He underwent a quadruple bypass about three years ago. He was told by his doctors that he was a ‘ticking time bomb’ and the bypass surgery posed multiple risks, but if he didn’t have it, he was toast…it would just be a matter of time… Well…despite my secret prayers for a one-way ticket to hell, he survived the bypass surgery, too. Apparently, right now, his tiny, black heart is causing him some issues (I didn’t care to ask what kind of issues) and they admitted him into the hospital last night. She has plans to see him the week after Thanksgiving. In the meantime, he’s going to rot there while they run tests to try and figure out what his problem is, this time. I hung up with Oompa Loompa and felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards. Oh, my God, guys… I’m feeling like I’m a horrible, horrible person. Here I am…I’m SMILING like an idiot. I might have chuckled, too. I don’t think I’ve laughed completely yet, but…seriously? Am I that heartless? Am I capable of such hatred toward another person? A SICK person at that? I don’t think I like that about myself. I wasn’t raised that way. I was raised to be warm, loving, kind. To be gentle. To forgive. Forgiveness is so tricky in this case, though. I think I’d sooner forgive the man who SA’d me in 1996 than I would my uncle, and I can’t even remember why I hate him so much. My brain simply denies me that information, and for now, that’s okay. The thought of him being in the hospital is simply delightful. The thought of him spending Thanksgiving by himself while I spend it with my loved ones, is pure joy. Of course, if someone in the family would go pick his disgusting ass up, he’d come spend holidays with us but at this point, even my mother, his own sister, doesn’t want to take the two-hour trek each way, because not only would she have to go pick him up, she’d have to bring him back home to his cockroach-infested shit-sty. Not to mention she knows well enough by now that if he is there, I will not be. I haven’t seen him since my sister’s (the new mother’s) wedding day. It couldn’t be helped. I made sure to avoid him completely. Didn’t look at him, walked away when he walked past me in church to say hello. I made sure to leave the room whenever he walked in. And that’s been perfectly fine with me because I have not one shred of love left for this man and I’ve no desire to see him until he’s laid out in a coffin, or even more appropriate, a cheap-o cardboard box. If it were up to me, that’s what he’d get, only because by law, he would have to be placed into a receptacle before being buried. Then, I can spit into his dead, lips-sewn-shut face just before they put him in the ground. And then, after he’s been buried, I, Capulet, am having a party. My house. You’re all invited. Lots of junk food and laughs to be had. I will celebrate his departure from this world, just as strongly as I mourned my grandmother’s. I will have you all know, I feel terrible for having just said that. Just plain terrible. It’s not something that as a mother, I would ever teach my kids to feel when someone is sick, in pain or otherwise hurting. The guilt over having said such cold things about another human being is present, but at the same time, I’ve been waiting a very, very long time for my non-human friend, Karma, to show up. I just wonder…how many chances at life is this man going to get? What has he done to deserve all of these tomorrows? Why do so many good people suffer, and these monstrous sons-of-bitches who prey on innocent children keep on ticking? If that’s not the most fucked up thing in the world, I don’t know what is. On another note, I’ve been told that his death (whenever Karma ever does do her fucking job) may bring forth a slew of memories, of actual remembrances. Another epiphany may occur and I’ll know exactly why I hate him. I will know why the thought of him being reduced into a pile of shit, maggots and formaldehyde makes me giddy enough to smile. Maybe I won’t feel so guilty, if I find that later on, my suspicions turn out to be the truth I seek. Is that what Karma is waiting for? For me to be ready? I seriously doubt that Karma is in tune with my suppressed memories, but either way, it’s taking too damn long for this pathetic excuse of a person to succumb to his shitty health. I apologize to you all if this has shined a different, unfavorable light onto me as a person. I’ll be honest with you all, I don’t like what I hear, either, when it comes to my thoughts. Like I said before, I never thought myself capable of taking pleasure in another’s suffering, regardless of how rotten a person they may be. But I also promised myself that I’d never sugar-coat anything in my blogs, ever again. And so, I won’t. I am sorry if I’ve offended anybody, because as much as I hate my uncle, I also hate the people who have hurt you, too. I want Karma to take care of ALL of them! I’ll not lie to anyone and say I have any sympathy for their abusers’ ‘misfortunes,’ shall we say…because I don’t. I hate my uncle and I hate that people like him are still allowed to roam this Earth, I despise that these are the people who sully our beautiful existence and make us suffer. On the other hand, I know so many others feel and hear these thoughts, too. I think, though, that we all have our thirst for justice, whether it is served by way of a painful death or incarceration, it ultimately means we are free of the mental prisons these predators have sentenced us to life in. I think I’m going to be extra thankful this coming Thursday when I sit down to my turkey dinner, for the fact that I can safely say that I am a good enough person to feel even the smallest amount of guilt. It may be misunderstood, it may be unwarranted because such despicable people do not deserve any of my guilt for feeling the way I do. I know and have accepted that there are reasons I feel this way…even if these reasons aren’t known to me, they’re there, they exist. And I can furthermore conclude that the guilt I feel for smiling at the thought of my uncle laying in a hospital bed, alone, stems from my having learned kindness, despite a tarnished childhood. I’ll be damned if I’m guilted into showing him any kindness, now. With that, I want to take a moment to wish you all a blessed Thanksgiving. Whether you’re spending it with family, friends or by yourselves, I hope you’ll take a moment or two to make the day special for yourselves because you, my friends, deserve that. I know that so many of our lives are in disarray right now, and even though we struggle with our thoughts, there is always, ALWAYS something to smile about. Love, Capulet
  5. A light blog today, just because. Last night, we had a laugh as a family. It hasn’t happened in a while but, damn, it felt good! Not saying we aren’t a family that laughs, it’s just so easy to get caught up in the more serious day-to-day routines. Sometimes we forget to laugh, to cherish these little moments that bring us a chuckle when times become challenging. As most of you know by now, we recently moved from the city and became country bumpkins this past summer. To find a supermarket, bowling alley, restaurant, movie theater or just about any other place after five o’clock in the evening means driving down the pitch-black back roads for about fifteen to twenty minutes and bringing ourselves to the busier part of the town, where there is everything. Everything, except for an Applebee’s. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a popular US chain American restaurant. They’re everywhere. It’s J’s favorite place to get a Caesar Salad and my son’s and daughter’s favorite restaurant, overall. I personally prefer Texas Roadhouse (which we DO have locally) but I do rather enjoy the Wonton Tacos that Applebee’s serves. The closest Applebee’s is about 30 miles away. So it was arranged last week that yesterday, when J got home from work, we were going to get into the car and go treat ourselves to our favorite Applebee’s meal or appetizer. Let me just insert a little story-supporting factoid here - when we first moved here, J began working for Amazon. Yes, that Amazon, the one everyone shops at online. We thought it would be pretty damn amazing, plus the 15% discount she’d get on her own Amazon purchases were a perk we would have loved to enjoy come holiday shopping time. However, J found that the bar was set way too high and the level of training was too strenuous and strict, they not only were inadequate in their methods of teaching and left very little margin for error. Let it be known that J is an exceptional, thorough worker and she is the type to do well in just about any job she takes on. Amazon, though, aside from being far too physically demanding, was too fast paced and simply didn’t want to take the time to properly train their new people…let’s call them one big-ass mindfuck, because at times, she would try to maintain accuracy and her job performance was better, although slower. They apparently rate your quality of work and her quality was not matching up to the quantity…so they basically because of that criticism, she sped things up to try and appease them and I believe the problem wasn’t in the work she was putting in, but actually the presence of technical, computer errors with her scanning device she was using. It was entering into the system incorrectly, resulting in the “too many errors” reason they gave her when she was terminated. She worked there for three weeks before they fired her. Normally, she’d have argued that the termination was unfair and unjust, but at that point, after constantly feeling overworked and underappreciated by them, she’d dosed herself with a healthy amount of ‘fuckitall’ and found a different job with better hours, benefits and pay. And a note to Amazon before I continue, in the event one of you should happen upon this post - your company SUCKS. I will still shop on Amazon simply because you do have the best deals at times, but the way you operate is absolutely ridiculous. You put my wife through the wringer, worked her to the point of collapse, you didn’t step up and help her make any necessary corrections when you saw she was struggling…instead, to show your appreciation for her hard work and efforts, you fired her. Y’all ought to be ashamed of yourself and your company. So, anyway…back to my tale for today…on our way to Applebee’s, we passed the Amazon Warehouse. You can see this huge, white building from the highway. J and I both flipped off the building as we sped past it, for they are a distant, but still unpleasant memory. We found the Applebee’s, went in, sat down, ordered and ate. Everyone got their favorite meals. The bill came to just over $100 including a tip, but everyone was happy and so it was worth it. The kids even suggested we do this every couple of months. On the way home, we were soon to pass the Amazon Warehouse again, coming from the other direction. J was being funny and in her tour-guide voice, says, “And over to our left, we will soon see the Amazon Warehouse that fired me. Let us all show them our middle finger in appreciation.” All our middle fingers went up and toward the driver’s side of the car. Yes, even my 11-year-old’s little middle went up; while I’m sure I’m not in the running for any parent-of-the-year awards, I still allowed for it because I feel she’s old enough to learn to express herself if the situation presents. Plus, she’s seen and heard f-bombs come out of my and J’s and her father’s mouths on MANY occasions. If she can successfully watch her mouth more often than letting a word slip, then I feel she’s earned the right to use a swear word when she feels the need to. Because to me, swearing is simply your way of not sugar-coating anything and letting someone know how she REALLY feels about something. If you ask me, swearing is healthy, but should still be done responsibly and she should be sure not to use such language around someone who could be offended by it (an older relative, grandparents, etc) or otherwise influenced by it, for example a younger sibling. I know that personally, I feel better if I let out a string of well-placed swears rather when I say “oh, poo.” I normally don’t condone unwarranted displays of vulgarity, but in this case, we were sticking up (our fingers) for one of our own. What we DIDN’T count on, though was the car that had pulled up next to us on the left lane. We were in the right lane and between the Amazon Building and our car, there was now another car full of unsuspecting people who, I’m thinking, probably thought we were flipping THEM off. And they’d rather conveniently pulled up, JUST in time to see all of our middle fingers go up at the same time. Add to this whole funny situation, the overhead light in the car is usually on when it’s dark outside so that lip reading is made easier…which means that not only were the cars next to us able to see our raised middle fingers, anyone driving along that highway at that particular moment could also see quite clearly our little family display of expression. When we realized this, we all quickly put our fingers away, there were a few “oh, my GODs” and “whoopses” and then, we erupted in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I’m sure my and J’s faces were red with embarrassment, but as soon as the car had passed us and was already a half dozen or so car lengths’ ahead of us, we joined the kids in hysterics. We giggled at the pure timing of it all. At what the occupants of the other car could possibly be thinking they did to piss us off. At what the sight of a sweet, baby-faced, frizzy haired, 11-year-old with her middle finger up must have looked like, especially with her two moms and brother’s fingers up right next to hers, all pointing in the same direction. At least, we’d given someone else something to ponder for the evening. We laughed for several minutes. We laughed until the tears rolled. We laughed until it hurt. Then we just smiled at one another, for a memory has been made and tucked away for one of those times where we feel we need to pluck them from the reserves for one of those instant-smiles, because there ARE times we scramble for one of these 'remember when?' moments. And, no one got hurt or arrested, so in my book, that’s a win. Live, love and laugh a whole lot. - Capulet
  6. Explitive Explitive Explitive

    Extreme content - mind rambles and just trying to work through this. Mother fucking fuck. I don't understand why these... memories... this.. .this fucking life altering moment when P fucking fuck face made me his. Sick, made me HIS??!?! I don't understand why these memories have now made me have to realize that I'm.... what.. what? So fucking preoccupied by sex and men sexualizing me? It breaks my heart typing those words. It breaks my heart because who the FUCK takes this shit and uses it in a way that is so.... misunderstood. My mom always used to tell me that she'd slap me if she found out I was having sex before marriage. Ha. hahaha. Sorry that I was not only having sex by age 15, but with multiple partners - unsafe sex I might add, until I met my G. At age 18. Anyway, why any of that matters, who the fuck knows. Why does this shit just open up another Pandora's box full of sexual desires and utter wanton fantasies that... yes, I knew I had them... but I didn't want to become consumed by them. I feel like I'm being consumed by them. I feel ever the more shameful about being... sexually excited by these things, these interactions... I'm trying so hard to be truthful and open through this healing process with my husband... but I don't know that he wants to deal with this shit... or if he can. Fuck this fuck that fuck everything.
  7. So Angru

    Everyday. I think about it everyday. Most of the time I'm angry. I don't think I've ever had this kind of deep anger before. I can feel it boiling in the pit of my stomach. I can feel my heart trying to pounce out of my chest. I try to stay strong. I try to keep calm but its so fucking hard!! I shouldn't have to feel this way! I shouldn't be this angry ! But I am. And the fact that this will never be erased from my mind makes me angrier. I had other things to worry about. Now I have to think about this bullshit and it isn't fucking right. I want him to suffer like he has made me. I want revenge I want him to suffer every day for the rest of his fucking life. I hope my face haunts him. I hope he knows he's a sick fuck. I hope his mom knows so that he can feel ashamed. I hate him.
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