My Verbally Abusive Marriage

One time an old friend said he pictured me as Peggy Hill and I about had a heart attack. Right there. On the spot. You can’t forget being compared to Peggy Hill. It ain’t funny, y’all.

I felt like sending him a picture, but seeing that I was 200 pounds, I refrained thinking he would then picture me as Miss Piggy! Besides, it wasn’t the physical aspects, I hope, but the simple fact that I now lived in “The South” – that foreign, steamy, mystical place we Northern Chicks sometimes think about, but don’t want to live. Now that I have lived there, I’ve found that most nights are not sultry, sit on the porch fanning and drinking tea kind of nights. They’re merely frigging hot. I still feel out of place, out of sync, with the others who can point to their great-grandmother’s house on that hill over there.

I don’t transplant well, I suppose. It’s been fourteen years of Southern living. If I were gonna grow roots here, they would have sprouted by now.

I’m starting to see myself as a traveller. I’d like to visit foreign lands and stay for awhile. I’d like to move to different areas of this country to see if I mesh with the natives a little better in the West, or the Southwest. Or maybe New England, although I have the feeling that like the far South, the extreme North may be foreign to me, too. I’ll visit Alaska via cruise ship only – I hear it’s breathtaking. Then, after the travelling, I’ll pick a place, or maybe the last place I travel to will simply pick me and I’ll stay because it gets me, through and through.

Part of me knows that this search for the perfect exterior place is a pipe dream. I don’t really believe I’ll find that place until I know myself through and through AND am strong enough to not compromise what I want for myself for what someone else wants for me, or for what I want for them. The exterior world mirrors my soul; if I’m uncomfortable somewhere, it’s because I do not know who I am there. It’s because I’m looking for some external validation that I am okay, perfect the way I am.

I have to be very careful and remember to pay attention to my self, my opinions, my wants and needs, before I go searching for someplace (or someone) that TELLS me I’m okay. I want to know that I’m wonderful, beautiful, creative and strong deep inside, for me.

This is a stream of consciousness writing I did on the beach some weeks back. Little punctuation, bits of clarity…just felt like sharing.

Sun Surf Freedom Coincidence and Lack. Suntans, sunburns and jumping in the waves, shaking Saltwater out of his hair. Sunshine and goodness, fisherman, vacancies. Maybe too windy. Waves drop into us as we struggle against their push. Wet and warm waves like the aftershocks of sex. The smile and sparkling eyes of a lover and the touch in intimate places feels like warm red wine not meant ot be drunk but for pouring pouring pouring.

Crafty and cunning is the body which longs to experience the carnal quickening of the heart, pulling hair just enough to remind of vulnerability but not enough to threaten. I could but I won’t. I trust but I watch and listen and compare those words to the ones I’ve heard oft repeated in anger.

There is a difference and the difference may merely be time. Perhaps at once, time catches up to us like a freight train with no brakes, slamming into the soul. All at once, one day, one small thing is simply too much anymore to tolerate that one thing shines a bright light on the multitude of smaller harshness from the years and it is too much. Too much.

I fight back. I try to regain some knowledge of who I am and what I want. What I want. The red pouring wine. The small kisses. The shining light from his eyes as he looks at me instead of past me as if i don’t exist. I miss the longing…but he cannot long for one accessible, easy. He longs for what he may not attain, not that for which he has conquered. And he conquered me. He took me. He swallowed me. And he was satiated.

I sat so long in hs gut that his insides started to churn and struggle to digest me…but I wouldn’t leave.  And he hated me for it.

Hated me. Hated him. I gave him all of me – All of me. And he hated me. Iam sorry I surrendered to him and I am sorry I remember the harshness of him.

I wish I remembered what my light reflecting from his eyes felt like. What I looked like to him when I was still me. I want to see that light again. I doubt that he will be the one to see me…but perhaps someone else will. I will see him, too.

A man who is tall and thick, with laugh lines around his eyes and a leisurly pace when we’re together. I’ll drink him in like warm red wine and touch him along the lines most will never touch. I will see his light and soak it in, then release it back to him so I can delight in his presence instead of his shadow.

He will lift me, I will lift him. We will be as one but two distinct loving hearts. His arms will open to me a billion times, and a billion times I will rush to fill them. Strong but soft. Supporting but freeing. If I fly away he will patiently wait and if he flies from me I will allow him freedom. Coming and going. Coming and going. Coming together in the end.

For the first time in a very long time, I’m dealing with a variety of emotions, bad and good (if I have to judge an emotion as bad or good…). In the last year(s?) of my marriage, I dealt with anger, betrayal, fear, bitterness, probably even hate. But now there is a whole world of emotion to experience that I didn’t recognize or had forgotten about or refused to feel. Most likely a combination of all three.

I was talking to someone tonight and realized that EVERYTHING is different now. The way I experience the world thrills me beyond hope and reason. My microfiber chair is softer, my cat is crazier, food tastes better, music means more. Water is a need instead of a treat I may give myself if I pass a sink on the way to do something for someone else. Now I stop by the sink all the time and I love the sound of the water whooshing from the faucet, anticipating the non-taste of the cold, and quenching a deep thirst I hadn’t paid attention to before.

The emotions swirling around my heart and mind excite me. Some I think I “shouldn’t” feel, but I’m trying not to shut them off. Maybe letting them run their course, as I’ve let my anger and hate run their course, will ease the intensity and mystery. Pretending not or trying not to feel something I feel is not a good thing – I know that now. Being inundated with these new-found high-energy hopes (and doubts) is luxurious. Like a cold drink from the faucet “just because”. I need it. I need this time.

Married to Will, I spent my days deciphering HIS emotions, his thoughts, his wants in order to avoid upsetting the balance. I didn’t do it very well and beat myself up about that. But what I was missing was my own life, my own internal workings. Outward focused, I forgot what it felt like to truly FEEL something that came from ME.

Now I am trying very hard to stay inside my own body. I am refusing to guess what he meant by that, what she meant by that. I am trying to ask questions and accept the answer. I think I throw people off a little sometimes. They’re not used to it – being asked to clarify. But I think most appreciate it when they realize that I am truly curious, not judging or waiting to judge their response. I’ve been lucky to be around people who are open to me.

Life is a luxury that I haven’t lived in a very long time. I’m changing that.

Absolutely! I can do anything good!

As you may have gathered from my last post, I am entertaining the thought of having some wonderful sex in the future. (:Pd:) While that is true, I can’t seem to think about sex without also thinking about a “RELATIONSHIP”. Well, that isn’t entirely true. I very well can imagine the sex without a relationship, but I can’t imagine me having sex without also having it evolve into a relationship.

Crap. That isn’t entirely true either. Grabbing some guy off the street has crossed my mind. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think it would work very well today. When I was in high school in the 80′s, probably; today, I doubt it.

I have a good reason for doubting it, too. The first weekend I was without my boys, my good friend took me out to a bar. (She’s a brave woman!) We got completely wasted, and bless her dear husband who both dropped us off and waited patiently until the wee morning hours to pick us up again.

I was not there to “grab a guy off the street”. I was there to drink. With my friend. And hopefully not cry. Which I didn’t.

What I did experience were several conversations with several guys ranging in age from about 25 to 65. Some were creepy, some were soldiers, some were creepy soldiers. Anyhow, at one point when a young soldier who hadn’t found a woman his age to talk to, he began talking to me and my friend. I asked how he felt about sex with strangers, and his answer was, “Well, I’d have to think about it. There are STD’s and shit out there.”

I wondered just how long a young man in this day and age would think about it. Back in my day, the thought was probably about 15 seconds. But I digress.

His answer made me think about a hundred million diseases that are out there, and that if I did decide to have sex with some guy, then I couldn’t trust a mere condom to protect me. I’d have to know him, know his history. I’d have to trust him (and the condom brand).

And TRUST is a difficult feeling for me to conjure these days. Anyone I’m with, from here on out, will be someone I trust. Which takes “some guy off the street” out of the running.

On the other side of it is “the guy”. If I am looking for someone similar to me, then he’s going to want to know my history, too. He’s going to want to be able to trust me. Because I do want to trust a man again in the future, then I have to make sure – completely positive – that I am being honest with any potential lover I meet. Or know. Or knew once upon a time. Or imagined and then discovered that he was real after rubbing a genie bottle.

And to be honest with HIM, I have to be honest with myself. And that could very well prove to be the hardest thing to do.

After all, I am getting to know myself over again. I am discovering how I’ve changed as well as how I’ve remained the same. It’s kind of exciting, but it’s also a tricky ride. Sometimes I don’t know if “old Kellie” is at the wheel or if I am doing the driving. It’s confusing.

I don’t want to default to “old Kellie’s” thinking because it may not be my true thought. That girl may be long gone, but I don’t think so. There are some things I remember about myself that I would like to repeat. For example:

• I loved to lift weights. I loved to eat foods that allowed my muscles to show. I cheated on those diets back then but couldn’t now because of slowing metabolism…but still. I liked that experience very much.
• I loved to draw and paint. I still “think” I would love to do that, but I’m wondering if my creativity is best served via writing now.
• I loved sex. It was fun and adventurous, loving and crazy. I made mistakes with sex that I won’t repeat, but I wouldn’t take the experiences back for a million dollars. (Well, maybe I’d cash in on a couple.)
• I loved seeing people grow and become more of who they were. I loved it when my friends did something they thought they couldn’t. I loved it when I reached a goal for myself.
• I loved being able to accept that people could freely move in and out of my life while leaving the door open for their return. Sometimes when they left they never came back, but sometimes the miracle was in their return.
• I loved being a free spirit. “Things” weren’t always rosy; in fact, sometimes they were pretty shitty. But my openness to life and its miraculous events created more goodness than I had imagined. Being free allowed the flow of life to continue.

And yes, back in the day I had no qualms with grabbing up some guy off the street. Now I do. So there are things “new Kellie” is not going to do:

• I hate that I used to hide my true feelings out of shame or because someone told me I “shouldn’t” feel that way. I feel the way I feel, dammit. When I express the feeling, maybe it will change or evolve. Maybe it won’t.
• I hate that I kept parts of myself secreted away because of fear. I don’t want anyone in my life who judges me against him or herself. We’re all different…we’re all wonderful. Let me be wonderful too!
• I hate that I acted proud of some of my actions but secretly felt ashamed. I want to do things that I am proud of inside and out. This will require thinking before acting – a forming skill that I will develop more fully.
• I hate that I allowed myself to be absorbed by another person. I want to always see the line of distinction between “me” and “you”.  And I want to choose what is good for “me” over what is good for “you” OR consciously choose what is better for “you” because that’s what I want to do, not because “you” say it’s the only way or promise me that my “turn” is only a little time away.

I am opening the flow once more. I’ve been closed off to it for long enough. I expect good things, and great things happen. Boy, some guy is going to be lucky to know me…in a few years.

A few days ago, my boss gave me a tape measure with my name written on it in permanent marker. I was so darn happy to see that thing – such a simple thing, yet it caused me so much joy! My name in permanent marker on a tape measure. Go figure.

So anyway, today she gave me a raise! I was so surprised I started jumping up and down and then realized I didn’t have the appropriate bra on for heavy jumping and composed myself.

No, I don’t make a lot of money, but when I’m careful, I’ll make “enough”. I’ve got some big dreams and hopes that need financing, and minimum wage plus a quarter/hour isn’t going to cut it. Nevertheless, I feel at home at this job. I love the people, I love the work.

In fact, I find wood-working to be very sensual. I absolutely turn myself on at work   I am wondering if it’s the wood and the work, or if I’m just horny all the time! LOL Oh well. I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts. But if I’m 95 years old and own my own woodworking/refinishing business, you’ll know why.

Speaking of being, um, sensually minded, I am finding freedom in this area too. With Will, the sexual aspects of our relationship were stale. He is a very attractive guy, when we did have sex I could imagine better times. But now, it feels like someone tore off my blinders. I inhibited my sexuality to fit into the mold 18 years of marriage created. There was no fun, no joy… Sex’s goal was to reach the end, the happy place, and the enjoyment of feeling along for the ride WITH him was lacking.

Not only his fault. It was both of our faults.

Awhile ago, running through my mind was the thought, “I wonder if sex would be better now, since we’re separated…?” My therapist told me lots of people wonder how sex would be with their ex after divorce. She said that she’d save me the trouble of finding out on my own – “It’s NO different.”  That’s good to know. It saves me some grief.

One downside to being sensually oriented these days is that I’m single. That’s a snag. I was married, so if I had gone through this awakening THEN, I imagine Will and I could have pressed on. Maybe made another year of it. I’m glad that didn’t happen on so many levels!

But hey, I get to work with wood all day. That’s enough for now.

When I started this blog, I was an open book. I told it ALL, and it felt wonderful to unload. Will desperately wanted me to shut up, to forget about it, to stop telling “lies”. I knew I couldn’t stop telling my truth. Spilling those secrets was the best thing I ever did for myself because only by being open did I find all of you, and with you, the courage and power to move forward, to move away.

If it weren’t for my willingness to lay it all out here to be picked apart and at times judged harshly by strangers, I never would have pressed charges against him on January 22, 2010. I would have left that night for sure; but I would have slunk back into my own home like a shamed puppy the next day. I did that in 2008, but by 2010, I knew that I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I was no longer ashamed of myself.

Life here on the other side is sometimes frightening. Sometimes his words and behaviors still throw me for a loop, and I very anxiously await the next time I must speak to him. Like always, these outbursts are preceeded by days of calm, considered conversation. And as usual, I know the outbursts will not be followed by an apology.

It’s still all my fault in his eyes. I make him mad. I make him say the things he says and do the things he does.

I guess I have power over him, in his mind. I think he thinks I feel entitled to his money and to get everything I want at his expense, and that I lie and manipulate my way through life, blaming him for my wrong-doings and taking all the credit for his success. I suppose I am still a cunt, to use his word.

But Will is not much of any of that to me anymore. He isn’t my world, he isn’t my life, he isn’t my other half. He is the father of my children. He is a volatile force to reckon with for sure, but because we spend so little time together anymore, his eruptions are easier to handle. Despite the fact that I do feel anxious after an outburst, I also have a strong voice in my head that reminds me “This is the pattern. It has little to do with you, Kellie. Some things are his to own, whether he chooses to own them or not.”

I have my own sanctuary, my house. I have my own money, my own job, my own financial plan. I have my own dreams and I’m finding my place in the world. I have my own thoughts, and I can (usually) tell if my thoughts are benefitting me or hurting me.

New to me are my own secrets. I have some wonderful, heart-pounding secrets. There are also some secrets that I can’t wait to tell you, secrets that would shed light on my silence. But I must wait to share them.

Please don’t mistake my silence for pain. Although there is still, at times, plenty of hurt, the hurt is no longer fueled by fear.

For example, although it hurts to not be labelled my boys’ “primary” parent, it is merely a skin-deep wound. It injures my pride and nothing else. I tell myself that the custody situation is only temporary, but this could very well turn into the permanent custody arrangement. I could stay the “secondary” parent in the eyes of the law. Nevertheless, my boys will never see me as a secondary parent. I know that now, in my bones and throughout every cell in my body. I will never “lose” my children to their father. They will never choose one of us over the other.

Will cannot win, even if the law calls him the winner. Our boys are not a prize or a thing; our sons are feeling, thinking, loving beings who are wiser than even I gave them credit for being. They are their own people, their own men. Time will work it’s magic with them, too. Their broken hearts will heal, bit by bit, understanding by understanding. It probably won’t happen as quickly or even in the way I hope, but it will happen. They will probably be angry at me, angry at dad, angry at everyone including themselves at some point, but after the anger, the healing begins.

Eventually, we will all heal. I dearly wished we would heal together, but that is not going to happen. Eventually, all my secrets will be exposed. I am not worried. I am not ashamed. But I can’t tell you all of them yet.

But it is no secret that I am happy. I am truly, through and through, happy.

Today I’m eating a really large beefsteak tomato, grown locally and full of flavor. I thought about having a sandwich, but the bulk of the bread doesn’t sound all that great. Sometimes, eating is a struggle. Still.

But instead of stress causing me to forget to eat, I just don’t feel like eating. I can be STARVING and not want to eat. I kind of like the hungry feeling, but it does absolutely nothing for my mood.

But this tomato, red and cold, hits the spot. I’m glad I took the time to slice it.

I’m struggling with more than my eating habits this week. There is a change going on inside of me, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it’s all about. I’m questioning my habits, good and bad, past and present. I’m wondering which old habits I could fall back into as I create my life, and frankly, although possibly damaging, the old habits sound comforting.

So I struggle with NOT attaching myself to someone, NOT allowing my heart (or libido) to override my good sense. I really miss having “someone” with me. Cats are nice, my boys are great…but there is a void that I’m not accustomed to just yet. I know the loneliness will vanquish itself IN TIME. But I don’t know if I am patient enough, or good enough, to wait and grow.

And then, I think about if I did find someone to spend some time with and I wonder exactly what TIME I have to spend. I fear that time spent not working is wasted; I need the money work provides. I love my job refinishing furniture, but I knew when I took it that I would need something else to supplement the income.

Now I feel torn between web design and writing. And torn between sleeping and eating. Torn between dreaming and doing.

But at least the tomato is delicious.