My Verbally Abusive Marriage

This entry is in part relevant to “Miscarriage” written in 1998. In that entry, I was pregnant and cramping so I wrote to my angels (naturally, who doesn’t? lol). After telling me that there was “poison in my stream” and warning that this baby wouldn’t survive, I asked, “Why does God hurt me?” The angel replied, “”You are special. You would care for them all. You would love them all and lead them to peace.”

“What the f—?! ” is how I’ve always felt about that. Of course I would care for them all. Of course I would love them all. Of course I would desperately try to lead them to peace (haven’t figured out that last bit, either…).

But tonight, I think I caught a glimpse of what Truth meant by “You would love them all.”

My youngest son is completely in love with a puppy we’re babysitting. She goes home on Tuesday, and he started crying for her in the car tonight. Then he really started sobbing because “Thinking about losing Venus reminds me of when I found out I could never hold Bandit again.”

You’ve got to understand, Eddie loved his ferret Bandit more than anyone (or anything) he’d ever loved before. Bandit was killed by our neighbor’s pit bull, and Eddie hadn’t been able to say goodbye. He wasn’t able to hold his beloved ferret ever again. His statement was heart-wrenching.

Then he said, “Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I’m not ready for another pet. It hurts too much.” Picture those big tears rolling down his cheeks…

But you know what I heard coming out of my mouth? “Oh Eddie – you have such a big heart and so much love to give. I would be a shame for you to never share that with another pet. God knows, YOU WOULD LOVE THEM ALL.”

Well. I heard it at the time, and made a mental note to myself, but of course I didn’t pause to think about it because I had a child to comfort right then. But now I do have a little time.

The angel was right. I do have a big heart, and I would never turn down the opportunity to love a child. Even if she or he hadn’t been born yet. I already loved the babies I miscarried. They were already my children. They still hold my heart just as my two growing sons do. But I miss these children I’ve never held.

I’m glad it isn’t possible for me to get pregnant again. If God had an unending string of miscarriages lined up for me because those souls had a higher purpose than to be here with me, then I’m glad I foiled his plot. Oh my. That felt really wrong to write.

IF the souls of my unborn children were passed on to me BECAUSE they needed to “pass through” some sort of physical existence before going on to do better things, then I truly am blessed. And now I’m crying. It hurts so badly. Knowing I’ll know my children “later” is a sorry substitute for the lingering pain of losing them now. But thinking that maybe, just maybe, those souls, once human because of my willingness to love them all, could be doing wonderful things “behind the scenes”…that is truly an awesome thought.

Maybe this means that by loving my sons I am also giving them the opportunity to do wonderful things – but they get to do those things here, on earth, before graduating to the next level. Just by loving them. What could be easier?

It’s so bittersweet. I suppose I don’t get to “keep” any of my children, living on earth or somewhere else. Isn’t the greatest part of my job to prepare them to get along without me? Don’t I ultimately give all of them their wings?

I’m done crying, I think. I hope my son isn’t crying anymore either.

I absolutely love this girl. She is so strong and willing to put herself out there. So many others would let their feelings of shame and the PTSD and the memories flow so openly. I admire her.

Verbal Abuse – Dealing with the Past

I intended to do one video, but got interrupted and it turned into two. Actually, getting interrupted was a good thing because it ultimately helped me shed some light onto my recent feelings of inadequacy and loss of motivation. Hopefully, you’ll get something out of them, too.

I’ve got a question for you: Is it abuse if I cut off my teenager mid-sentence and tell him that I don’t want to hear his mouth anymore? See, technically, I believe all people should be heard (even if you don’t agree with them). This extends to my children; I’ve always tried to respect their feelings and hear their opinions.

For the most part, this works very well for me. I’m very close to my boys, and even though they throw (age-appropriate) tantrums that drive me up the wall, both of them always come back to me to talk it through.

But when my teenager starts backtalking and arguing, I just tell him that I don’t want to hear it anymore. Then he throws the tantrum, usually mutters something, and storms off – which is fine with me because when I say that, I really truly DO NOT want to hear it.

My son is driving me crazy

I just realized why I love to write things out, especially when I’m in some emotional turmoil. I answered my own question.

It is inappropriate for my son to backtalk and argue with me because he knows full well that I am willing to have a reasonable conversation with him over ANY subject. [In the past two weeks we've talked about his newly chosen religion, sex and drugs and how he feels about them (SCARY!) without any arguing or fighting. And I didn't lecture - these were conversations. We have them all the time.

What I'm doing is telling him that he's crossing my boundary. He is not allowed to backtalk and argue over some things (chores, house rules, etc.). The rules are mine to set because I'm the parent, and I won't allow his sour mood to dictate the direction of our conversation. If I can learn to hold my tongue, so can he. [And any of you with teenagers know what I'm talking about! LOL]

So. I have a boundary. Yay Me!

Today has been a real downer. As a rule, I try very hard not to feel sorry for myself, but today, I am feeling sorry for me. And it sucks feeling this way.

As usual, my mind is spinning in circles…is it me? Am I making mountains out of molehills? Being too analytical? Worrying about nothing? Being emotional?

Here’s the deal. As I walked through my house today, I felt simply overwhelmed. Neither one of the boys seem to respect me as I feel they should. I feel that when I tell them to do something (clean their room, do the dishes, etc.) that they should do it. I should not wake up to a note on the hall floor telling me that “I fell asleep on the couch and decided to do the dishes in the morning. Will you make sure I’m up?”

At least I got a note. At least my teenager didn’t ignore my request, he simply decided not to honor it. Which is worse?

Now, once in a while, I could stand this type of thing. But over the weekend, he and his friends smoked salvia (or vaporized it, as the kids are doing nowadays to avoid lung damage – whatever…). Salvia is not illegal in this state, and judging from the lack of a “high” they got from it, relatively harmless. Especially since the salvia came from the plant I bought at Walmart.

You know what? I’m going to stop right here. I can tell that I am just feeling sorry for myself, so I’m going to stop complaining and wait for the mood to pass. There will be an end to this drudgery, and this overwhelming feeling of utter failure will also pass.

I’ll write more tomorrow.

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As a sidenote, I’ve been converting all the .html pages on my site to .php. There’s a lot to learn, but it’s becoming more natural. I also decided to get rid of the table setup on the .php pages and use pure css to format the pages. THAT was a bugger, but now that I’ve done it once, the next time will be easier.

And in the middle of it all, I’ve had to reinstall my operating system. It’s fresh and strong today, but some stupid “bug” keeps popping up and telling me “Windows must shut down” and then POOF…it’s gone. But since I unplugged my usb peripherals, I haven’t had that problem. Haven’t had a printer to use either, but the computer is running right. [Sigh]

OOPS! There I go again. No more self-pity…I’m outta here!

This is kind of a continuation of the previous post. I’m trying to understand why a mother would advise her daughter “If you ever hit a man, expect to be hit back.”

Just for kicks, let me TRY to take a man’s point of view for a minute. And I warn you, I am NOT a man, so I’m likely to get this wrong. But just for pretend…

As a man, I am physically bigger and stronger than a woman. I am capable of taking what I want from her. She’s naturally intimidated by my size and strength. Since it’s natural to take the easiest path from point A to point B, it is easiest to bully and intimidate her into doing what I want. As a man, I also have more testosterone – the hormone that helps me ignite my temper and muscles, sex drive and ability to react to threats.

So I”m bigger and well equipped to take whatever it is I want. I can “take” respect – or at least that’s what my body tells me because that’s how I’m built. Women and children in general, and men who are smaller than me, SHOULD naturally respect me and give me what I want. I’m entitled.

Okay. I’ve just described a cave man. Isn’t that grand? However, the “proper training” starts early and naturally.

Even though I (a man) COULD grow into the biological cave man I described above, I probably won’t do so completely because, fortunately, we all start out as small children. Everyone is bigger than us. Our mothers are bigger than us, and our mothers spend the most time with us. We grow to respect our mothers’ ability to discipline and teach, mold and (hopefully) love us into caring human beings. As a man, I am taught to reign in my “natural” reactions and use them to protect myself and the people who have protected me as a child. Through extension, I learn to protect the ones I love who are smaller than me – my own wife and children.

As a child and teenager, I learned non-violent techniques of rebellion. I learned that sometimes I had to go against my mom because I wanted something different, and I learned that I had to do this non-violently and with respect. In time, my mother came to trust my decisions that I made for myself, and she “allowed” me grow into the kind of man I want to be. Fortunately, with this upbringing, the man I want to be is one who respects and loves my family and other people, but I am not afraid to use my god-given biological abilities of strength and intimidation to protect myself and family.

Uh oh. What if the last couple paragraphs are completely untrue? What if a man grows up watching his father abuse his mother physically, mentally, and/or emotionally? What if the man’s mother used her size to intimidate and bully her children?

What if there is never an explanation for WHY mom was hitting you, and you’re left to assume that she hit you because she was mad. After all, anger shows easily on a face, you’re being hit or verbally punched around by an angry person, so you figure that it is okay to bully when you’re mad. It seems natural because it’s what you’ve been taught to do through example.

So, as a man in this second scenario, I’m playing on a double-edged sword.

On one side of the sword, I know that in public (in society) there are limits to how I can use what I’ve been taught. I have to “pretend” to respect everyone. I have to open doors, carry heavy things, and use my biological strengths only when absolutely needed. I know that I could drop the facade and no one could do anything about it.

Well, not at that instant anyway. Maybe later I could go to jail for rape or assault or threatening behavior, but that’s only if I get caught. Therefore, it’s a good idea to “pretend” to respect everyone all of the time because when I do decide to do something ugly to someone, the people I’ve respected will not believe that I am capable of it. It’s far less likely that I’ll get caught if I “pretend” that I’ve conformed to society’s standards even though I’ve truly conformed to what I was taught as a child.

I’m entitled to do whatever I need to do to get what I want. Society is stupid for putting these rules on me, but I’ll play the game. And when I do something wrong, I can use society’s blindness to my advantage. Everyone does it, right? We’re all just pretending, aren’t we?

Because at home, the pretending stops. I can be whoever I want to be, and my wife and children know that. I can be easy-going because I feel like it. I can be a raging lunatic because I feel like it. I can demand to get what I want, and if that doesn’t work, then I can use my size and strength to intimidate, bully, or force them into giving it to me. If I am angry, I can hit or bully whoever is around me at home. Everyone does it. This is how I was raised and since I feel pretty damn good about it, then there is no other way to go about it.

My wife needs to learn that her family was wrong. Her upbringing was flawed. I’ll be damned if my boys turn into the sissies she wants them to be. They have to learn to play the game. They’ve got to learn to be men. They have to take what they want even if it means pretending they want something else. And if they can’t get what they want in society, they need to learn that they damn well CAN get it at home. These people are here for me, because of me, and only because I want them here.

I could put them out at any minute!…But wait. If I put them out, then who would I unleash on? Who could I be myself with?

I guess I’d better reign myself in at home when it looks like they may leave. I guess I have to be nice to them sometimes so they will stay. But the “pretending” is only supposed to happen OUT THERE. I shouldn’t have to pretend with these people – they’re my family, and they have to accept me for who I am! How dare they not accept me! Holy hell, I’m going to rage and storm and scare them into staying! How dare they expect me to be someone I am not IN MY OWN HOME!

And that is how it goes. An abusive man is always on edge. He cannot “be himself” for any length of time, any where, with any one. In my opinion, that would really truly suck.

I know a woman who’s mother told her, “If you ever hit a man, expect to be hit back.”

It bothered me when she said it and it’s bugging me again this morning.

Why is the advice “man” specific? Wouldn’t it make as much sense to say, “If you ever hit someone, expect to be hit back”?

And why did the mother feel the need to tell her daughter this? Is this her experience? Is she a hitter? Did her lover hit her? Did she initiate an attack or defend herself from one? Where does this wisdom come from?

The woman who said this must be from the same generation as my mother; did she receive this advice from her mother? How long has this advice travelled down the family lines? How long has this family said this to one another? How long have the women of this family known about or experienced violence?

And then I think, What a Load of Shit.

Doesn’t society tell men that they’re womens’ protectors? Aren’t they expected to open doors for us, carry heavy things, defer to their mother’s “better” judgment? And don’t our abusers present this face to the world? Doesn’t an abuser feel most threatened when his “other” face is exposed?

Is society wrong or is the advice wrong? I’m more inclined to believe that society expects men to adhere to qualities that aren’t in their nature. If our culture has drilled these behaviors into men, then there has to be a reason for it. You don’t TELL someone how to behave if they are already doing what you think is right – there’s no need to do so.

My mother asked me to complete this sentence: “I am a woman who…”. And I am having a horrible time with it. I realize the exercise is to help me define myself, and I am fearful of doing that. What if I’m no one? Or worse, what if I’m no one special?

I really want to be special. Is that wrong?

I am a woman who…

• loves my children more than life,
• wishes to be both exactly like my mother and completely different from her,
• finds comfort in being married,
• smokes and eats for medication,
• spins thoughts so quickly I can’t focus on one,
• bought a car all by myself for the first time last year,
• wants to be on Oprah even though I never watch her show,
• loves the Internet technologies,
• loves to read,
• wishes I could do something important for the world, for other women, for my children, for myself.
• piles instead of files,
• loves animals but isn’t ready yet to love ONE animal – it’s too hard to lose them,
• has trouble defining herself meaningfully,
• wonders how this list is going to help,
• finds her head in her hands with tears on her face for no discernable reason,
• lives in a house with no sunlight,
• hopes for the best but worries anyway,
• accepts everyone except my husband for who they are,
• chooses friends wisely,
• chooses words less wisely,
• wants to be married to this one man who I cannot change,
• is tired of this stupid list.

Whatever. Maybe I’m not letting myself go. I’ll try again after I get my coffee.

Am I feeling that usual pounding in my chest and stomach because I just realized he may read what I just posted? Am I feeling this throbbing because I’ve had too much coffee and no food? Is it because the idea that I am not and have never been “invisible” too much to bear? Maybe it’s the idea that I’ve allowed myself some grand illusion of anonymity and I cannot “hide” in it anymore, or that I never have been able to “hide” anywhere. Maybe I’m anxious because I just realized there IS NO SAFE PLACE.

I think that’s it. After I typed THERE IS NO SAFE PLACE, the pounding eased.

Shit. It’s back again.