tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19775363735699549612024-03-14T01:45:02.012-04:00Invisible BruisesDomestic Violence doesn't need to be silent, here is my story. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-82815366793379864532014-05-07T20:38:00.000-04:002014-05-07T20:38:12.164-04:00It's been a blast. Introducing Bruises & ButtermilkYou may have been wondering what the heck I've been doing. I have a secret. This will be my very last post on Invisible Bruises. <div>
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Over the last year I have poured my heart our and I have received an unbelievable amount of support. But as I move on I become less attached to the story of my pain and more excited for the story of my life. That is why I have made the decision to let this blog grow, I would like to introduce you to Bruises and Buttermilk .</div>
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My life is about me now, and so should my blog. I will continue to write about gender equality, moving on, and begin to roll in my passions for baking (hence the buttermilk), exploring, and living. I will no longer write 'anonymously' and since I invested in my own domain hopefully it will be a bit more visually appealing. </div>
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So please join me in my new project, I hope to see you at <a href="http://www.bruisesandbuttermil.com/">Bruises & Buttermilk</a></div>
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Bruisesandbuttermilk.com</div>
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Mel</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-7364615200221103412014-01-28T13:13:00.000-05:002014-01-28T14:56:57.149-05:00Be a Man- The Crisis of Masculinity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A couple posts ago I wrote about what I would have said to my husband if I saw him again. I would ask him to be emotionally intelligent, to understand that emotions do not equate weakness. Lately I have been reading a lot about the crisis of masculinity. There are several movements world wide that seem to be addressing this. </div>
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Domestic Violence is not a victim's fault; nothing she did could possibly deserve a violent retaliation. Domestic Violence, and the ending of domestic violence is as much of a man's issue as a woman's. </div>
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Withholding emotion, dominating situations and asserting masculinity is not what this life is about, but it is what we are training our boys to believe. </div>
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Below Tony Porter makes a call to men to step outside of the "Man Box", this seems to be a thread strung through most of the crisis against masculinity messaging.</div>
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Joe Ehrmann speaks about being told to be a man. Separating your heart from your head, using women to validate masculinity, and measuring a man. Ehrmann explores what "Be a Man" is doing to us and what "Being a <strike>Man</strike> Person" is actually about. <i>Watch the entire thing- trust me. </i></div>
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And Finally one heck of a response to "Man Up"<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-45259747791642245082013-12-16T19:23:00.001-05:002013-12-16T19:26:29.342-05:00November 25, 2012<p dir="ltr">There was knocking-- my heart pounded with each tap at my door. Police I thought.  Images of my husband in handcuffs darted through my head. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I covered my half naked body with a blanket. My clothes had been torn off hours before; his hand had grasped around the collar of my shirt as I tried to get away, tearing it clean off my body. I was thankful it wasn't my hair. Eventually it would be that too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My pants came off as he dragged me backwards towards the bedroom by the leg of my pajamas. Later he would use them to shove into my face. Nearly suffocating me; the smell of that laundry detergent still prompts flashbacks.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The knocking continued. Four or five more times.  He answered. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I lied there wearing some scraps of clothing and fresh, swollen bruises. Hand prints stained my skin--it looked like dye. Fake.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I heard my mother. "Where is she"  she entered without needing a response. I pulled my cover tighter around me. The light wisp of the blanket against my skin stung. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I saw K. Parka and boots were all I seem to remember now. My head spun and buzzed and I realized how disoriented I was. Before this moment it felt like a wild dream. My imagination. But here I was. </p>
<p dir="ltr">As I sat upright my knee shot with pain. Tight like an elastic stretched too far. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I remember little. A last scared glance at his face.  He was scared too.  Grabbing my blue bag. The one I kept for emergencies.  K hugging me as she put me in the front seat of her Pontiac.  The ice. The bandaids.  The cover up...</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-79196441965362570952013-12-12T19:48:00.001-05:002013-12-12T19:48:34.159-05:00Last thing I'd say<div dir="ltr">
Once in a while I wonder what I would say to my husband if he gave me five minutes of his time. What I could say to him, if for a short while I could unload. The truth is the answer to this has evolved over the past year. Morphed and changed, growing and shrinking as I too evolved.</div>
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Several nights ago this scenario danced through my head again. This time only a single thought crossed my mind.</div>
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There was no anger; I didn't fantasize about lashing out with a furious tongue. Using all those words my friends had used a year ago. </div>
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There was no regret; I didn't feel sorry or sad or hate either the marriage, the ten years, the pain I endured </div>
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both pre and post.</div>
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There were no explanations. No questions. There were no long winded speeches plump full of tangents about how I'm better of or why nothing will ever feel the same.</div>
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There was no apologies. No guilt.</div>
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There was no I miss you or I hate you. No I loved you. </div>
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All I have left to say to him was please figure you out. Please understand what makes you hurt, understand who you are.<br /></div>
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Be emotionally intelligent. </div>
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Realize that tough doesn't make you a man. You may hurt, curse the world and break down. Its okay. It doesn't make you less valuable to anyone. You may even become more connected.</div>
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Maybe this has nothing to do with why you got angry. Why you hit me and yelled instead of talking to me. Just remember that you may have lost something because the only way you knew to show hurt was to make someone else hurt too.</div>
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If you find someone better for you. And you might. Treat her well. Talk to her. Tell her she's disappointed you. Or you parents upset you. Tell her you're scared. </div>
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I sincerely wish you nothing but the best in life. Goodbye.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-44214659576868567682013-12-05T10:31:00.000-05:002013-12-05T20:04:01.720-05:00Reflecting, a year later. It's been a year since everything begun to change. Here I am and I can barely recall the time before this chapter began. Its like looking down a dark hallway, squinting, trying to make out shapes of figures in the distance. Everything is blurry.<br>
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As much as I aknowledge the path that brought me here I am okay with the fading details. Unlike my last life, when I hopelessly grasped at the past, the memories, the things I missed. I use to struggle to remember the most intricate details of a happy life. Now I'm content and excited for my future, my focus is on this instead. </div>
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Once and I while I will come across something that makes me feel nostalgic, and I miss that life. For a fleeting moment and then it is gone.</div>
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In the last year I have found myself traveling, taking risks, making friends. I have found myself with bigger aspirations, more meaningful and attainable dreams.</div>
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In the last year I have shed more tears than the 25 years prior, though I have also taken to smiling more; and laughing. Laughing happens a lot now. </div>
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12 months ago, I said no a lot. I turned down experience and opportunity. I lived by rules that I didn't make. Now, I live only by the guidance of myself; and I say Yes more often than not. </div>
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The last year is one that I may remember in vivid detail for the rest of my life. The year I walked away, the year I threw out my cover up and began my life. The past year might also disappear down that hallway...</div>
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But that is alright by me.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-70681004650132977082013-11-11T16:43:00.001-05:002013-11-11T16:43:25.476-05:00Thank-you Best Friend PA year ago you were one of my friends who bled into the background of my world. One of many. We would laugh or chat or go for a pint after work. A year ago I couldn't have fathomed that you would help me through one of the hardest times of my life. That you would become my best friend. That you would accompany me though dreams I never thought I would see.<br />
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It was you who taught me that packing my feelings into little orange boxes and sliding them back to my subconscious was not dealing with my hurt, or a way of moving on from it. It was to you that I shared my first tears after I left.<br />
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It was you who taught me that no matter how damaged I felt, I could be loved. I was loved.<br />
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We did Iceland, this might be one of the most important string of moments in my life. You stayed up for hours through 4am texts; when I couldn't sleep you wouldn't either.<br />
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My world feels lighter, happier and brighter with you in it, and I never want to know a moment without you again. You're my Rock Best Friend P, my partner in crime. And one Heck of a Bestie.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-72174938236953619352013-11-04T21:47:00.001-05:002013-11-04T21:47:58.532-05:00IcelandI have taken some time to reflect.<br />
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On what my life is now. How I handle freedom without being careless. How I protect myself without caging my heart away forever. How I find Balance.<br />
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I mentioned a post or two ago that I was planing a trip, a trip I had been planning for years. 5 years to be exact.<br />
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Well, I took that trip. It was in Iceland that I finally found my center. Sneaking away for mere moments from my travel companion I sat on the shoreline of a glacial lake alone. The water a pristine reflection of the sky.<br />
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Ten thousand year old ice floated past me and seals played in the distance, uninterrupted by the presence of people. A few other tourists whisked past me, tripods out or the crunching of their boots in the distance, the disturbances faded the longer I sat there. If it weren't for Best Friend Pete at the top of the hill I may have stayed there all day.<br />
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What brought me total clarity as I took in the crisp Arctic air. The realization that all those days I dreamed about this place, Imagined this moment. When it was all I wanted. The moments when I thought "if I ever get to go...". Every play of the Icelandic tourism DVD, even though my husband told me it was stupid. Those moments were not for nothing.<br />
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You see Iceland embodied every dream I had. It was the last one standing; the last thing I held on to. It was the only thing I thought about some days before I fell asleep from exhaustion after I ran out of tears.<br />
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It was the only place I ever felt that I NEEDED to go.<br />
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And right there at that moment it was real. Not only was it real so was everything in the last year. I sacrificed everything I had ever known for something that was better and exactly then, sitting on the pebbles at the shore of this amazing place I realized that moving past all of this hurt is going to bring me extraordinary things.<br />
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Iceland is just the beginning.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-52297160272298626072013-09-23T11:05:00.001-04:002013-09-23T11:05:16.455-04:00Thank-you's (L and K)It is almost a year later. In this year I have made more changes in my life than ever. Some days it feels as if I am going light speed, I cannot stop moving forward, even if I tried. <div>
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While this light speed has allowed me to achieve many things in the last 11 months, sometimes I feel I haven't taken a moment to address things. I haven't taken the time to stop and say thank you to those who have helped me. To those who I owe my life. This life. </div>
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While I don't know who has come across or commuted to reading these pages the next couple of posts I will say the thank you's I need to say. I know all of them know, through conversations, emails or intuition. </div>
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But, I've always been one to need to write the important stuff down.</div>
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You are the first person I told. Though by mistake. You had the guts to interrupt the situation. When I have been the stupidest I have ever been, you knew I needed help and acted. I know you think you were doing what you were suppose to as a friend, you were fulfilling obligation. But there is no obligation. You could have walked away, gone to Best friend A's shower and not bothered with it. Turned a blind eye, like so many people do so often. Even now, you meet me only with support and love. You accept me faults and all. From the bottom of my heart you are one of the Kindest, most devoted people I know. Thank-you</div>
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Best Friend K<br /><br />"You need to leave" is what you told me as we sat in your car in the driveway of my condo. I had just confessed why I could no longer stay. "Accidents happen, he could throw something..." You said as you gave me the same look you give your son. I knew everything you said was true.</div>
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I was you who came with my Mother, who put me in your car and took me somewhere safe. I don't know the conversations that happened that Morning. I don't know what you were feeling as you knocked on my apartment door. If you were afraid, or if you were facing it with the same focus that you approach motherhood. I can't imagine being there, the other side of the story. But I will never forget the feeling of seeing to people I love come in. At that moment, I wasn't alone in the story anymore. </div>
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In the 10 years I've know you you have never judged me, you support my decisions even when I cannot. You are amazing and I cannot imagine my life without you. My life that is even better because of you. </div>
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Thank-you. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-7355094907438604942013-09-11T16:16:00.003-04:002013-09-11T16:16:55.330-04:00Las Vegas. Part IA year ago I walked along Las Vegas Boulevard I had been married for less than four months. In those four months I had struggled to understand my new role, my expectations as a wife. I held my breath often knowing the frequency that I now met my Husband's rage. Something after the vows had changed. It went from bad to worse and for the first time standing there outside the MGM in the desert heat I realized it wouldn't get better.<br />
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The next day my girlfriends and I drove from Vegas to LA. Through Primm across the miles of sand and past the mountains. My face leaving makeup marks on the glass as I sat there in awe of a place I have always wanted to be.<br />
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I spent years of my life thinking I would grow up, move to LA without any other plan. It might not have been a reasonable dream. But I would have thought somewhere in my 25 years I would have taken time to see it. He didn't travel, especially not to a place like LA. There was nothing there for him so there was no need for us to go.<br />
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The mountains took my breath away, the palm trees swayed in the breeze and I sat there. We finally started seeing the city. Me still in the back seat. Face still pressed to the glass.<br />
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I always wanted someone who would take me to my dreams, or at very least join me. Someone who could be part of my adventure and I could be part of their's. I wanted to see these places, know what they were like. I didn't care if at the end of the day I hated it, I had to know. But to my Husband they were always stupid. A waste of money he worked too hard to spend on something like that. It didn't matter how many Icelandic tourism videos I watched alone in my room, we would never go.<br />
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In 2012 I decided I would go alone, wrangle the friends I could and go. So, I did. As I explored he became angrier.<br />
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I can pinpoint the moment, staring at the luxury homes build atop the mountain. Furious with myself that it had taken me this long to come. Knowing that for the first time in a long time I was having fun, without being afraid of what happened when my front door would close.<br />
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On Saturday we flew back. I knew I would go. I had no idea how to make it happen. The days after that trip I couldn't stand him, his voice made my hands shiver. The way he spoke to me made my gut wrench. Convinced that my withdrawn behaviour after my return was an indicator that I was cheating on him he grew angrier.<br />
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Eventually, the fighting became nightly. I went through cover up faster than a 13 year old girl. I cried when I was alone, staring out my window knowing that I couldn't do it anymore. That the decision I had made in Vegas had to stand and I had to ensure that I would never go back....<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-91117539014396519622013-09-04T18:49:00.001-04:002013-09-04T22:56:48.556-04:00Looking Forward<p dir=ltr>It's been just over nine months. Sometimes I still dream about him. Ocassionally he is just present; a character in a story. Other times I dream of the hurt. But most often now my dreams are of me, the person I never thought I would know.  The woman the last nine months have carved, tumbled and twisted, finally smoothing. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I look forward more often than I look back. Often I catch myself struggling to remember the intricacies of my life with my Husband. The day to day life we shared has begun to fade into the background.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm excited for too many things to name in the coming months.  A new home, a vacation to somewhere I never thought I would get to see, tighter closer friendships with people I've missed. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I use to fuss over dreams I had. They were rare and I polished them in my mind until they were perfect. They seemed unattainable, like fairytales.  Now dreams pass through my head and become reality with such frequency that I need to write them down. Sometimes I fear this will stop, I will go back to living without purpose. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I know this won't happen. The last nine months have taught me to live for yourself. Love who you are. Push to achieve what you want and never stop believing in better. And that is just what I will do.</p>
<p dir=ltr><u>M</u></p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-24824945149376734812013-09-03T18:42:00.001-04:002013-09-03T18:42:56.991-04:00Understanding<p dir=ltr>This weekend I was at an elderly relative's funeral. In attendance was an extended part of the family I hadn't had the opportunity to see since my wedding. After the service the families gathered in my great aunt's apartment. One of my older relitives struck up a conversation and asked me how married life was.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I froze. Not normal deer in headlights freeze either. I sat ther staring like a child who just saw Santa,  and Santa had a flamethrower and a tiger. I actually had no idea how to react. </p>
<p dir=ltr>After what seemed like 2 hours of silence my Mother interrupted and politely told her Uncle I was seporated.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He looked at her bewildered than at me. Laughed and said "everyone needs to adjust" </p>
<p dir=ltr>If only I could have told him why.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I know I advocate telling everyone. That breaking silence is the solution to violence but sometime s telling your 88 year old great uncle your husband hit you isn't a great plan.</p>
<p dir=ltr>And there will always be those cases. Cases where you can't tell the whole truth. Instances where one story would justify your decision to leave, to make someone understand.</p>
<p dir=ltr>There will also always be those instances where you come clean and they still can't understand.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The important part for me is to know I made the right choice. To know safety is ultimately what matters. There will be the handfull of people who can't understand. Often I feel the isolation of not knowing anyone else who has a story like me. Some days I find it impossible to believe that anyone but a survivour of this sort of life can understand.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Recently I had a conversation with Best Friend P about this. I had been frustrated and told him he couldn't understand. It took me a couple weeks to realize why this comment hurt him.</p>
<p dir=ltr>It is clear that in our lives we have all delt with hurt. Some physical, emotional, mental. Some lingering still. Everyone has that one path that hurt more than anything, some of us have lots. What I didn't understand is that just because Best Friend P had never been beaten he still understood.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He understands what it is like to hurt and not be able to make it stop. What it is like to not be okay.  How unfair the world feels and how alone, isolated and confused I feel, even on a good day.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He like my other friends understand the power of a hug. The benifit of a ear or a shoulder.</p>
<p dir=ltr>And even though my 88 year old uncle doesn't meed to know why my marriage ended. I know that when I make the decision to tell someone, to share details that even though they haven't walked my path somewhere along thier's is something that allows them to understand. <br></p>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-13135536875364243482013-09-03T11:53:00.004-04:002013-09-03T11:57:47.688-04:00A View from the Other SideA month ago I was in Cuba. A vacation from a crazy 8 months. Along with one of my best friends Lor we had taken the opportunity to lie in the sun, eat bad food and get away from everything.<br />
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It was Tuesday Night, I had already been asleep for some time when I heard the thumping, followed by the yelling. One way yelling, all I could hear was his voice filling our room like he was standing there. </div>
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Suddenly my chest felt tight, I couldn't breathe or move. I sat there in the humid darkness not knowing what to do.<br />
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Do I call 911? Is there 911 in Cuba? Do I call the front desk?<br />
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Do I exit my room and interrupt the confrontation hoping that the presence of a stranger stops it?<br />
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But I couldn't move.<br />
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I wasn't sure if he was yelling at a woman, or a man. His Wife, Son, Daughter, Stranger?<br />
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So I laid there, paralyzed. My mind racing through scenarios. Still, I couldn't move.<br />
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I lied there awake listening, thinking that maybe if I heard a "help me", or a scream it would provide me the courage to act. I never heard a thing.<br />
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At some point I heard a second man's voice, stern and calm. Then there was silence. And I understood. Those times when I wondered why no one knocked on my door, why no one called the police it's not as easy as it seems.<br />
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Even now I feel guilty, I feel sorry for that person who was on the receiving end of that man's words. I feel for her/him as objects flew at them or fists punched the wall.<br />
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I'm sure my neighbors felt like I did, helpless, and confused at what was going on.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-10636481494781680162013-08-16T09:45:00.000-04:002013-08-16T09:45:22.843-04:00Violence Unsilenced.Today, on August 15th an excerpt from this blog was shared <a href="http://violenceunsilenced.com/mel/">Here</a> on Violence Unsilenced. If you are not familiar with the site it is a forum for victims of Violence to share their stories.<br />
<br />
What first struck me about this is how many people are featured. There are stories from every life stage, stories like mine. There are also some stories very different from mine, but the outcome is always the same. The decision to leave is a difficult one. For me, my friend and my mother showed up and saved me. Some days I think I wouldn't have done it without them, but I remember the struggle in the days that followed my emancipation. How hard it was not to pick up the phone, to go back to him. How tiring it became being awake, my eyes throbbed as badly as my bruises.<br />
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It is in moments of reflection that I know that I needed to be brave to make it through this. It is in moments when I hear the voices or read the words of others who have made it through that I know I am strong. I know we are all strong.<br />
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For those of you who left comments, words of love, understanding, support. Confirmation that violence can happen to any of us, there is no definition or reason. The reaffirmation that all that matters is that I survived, and I am okay, I am out and I get my life after 10 years.<br />
<br />
Thank-you.<br />
<br />
<br />
The excerpt can be read here, alongside the stories from others. It is defiantly worth a visit. I also encourage you to leave a comment. Trust me, it matters.<br />
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<a href="http://violenceunsilenced.com/">http://violenceunsilenced.com/</a><br />
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M<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-38210530328927501932013-07-31T14:28:00.001-04:002013-07-31T19:30:47.975-04:00The Wisdom of the Paper Bag PrincessIf you are familiar with the story of Elizabeth, The Paper Bag Princess you know that this chick gets her clothing burnt off, her home and castle goes up in smoke. She chases down and defeats a bad-ass dragon to try to save a D-Bag Prince Roland.<br />
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Sounds familiar to me.<br />
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In the end she has nothing left, she essentially gives Princey-poo the finger and takes her Shabby Chic paper bag back to her burn out life, with nothing left but her pride.<br />
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I spent a lot of time chasing down that dragon. Maybe in my head at the time a prince was a prince. I didn't realize that like anything there are important variables that make your prince a Roland or Charming.<br />
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I had used my journey to save my husband as a method of distraction from my burnt out castle, my falling-apart-at-the-seams life. Hoped that by saving him it would make everything okay. In the end, no matter how hard I tried all I could have done is taken what I had left, and found a new kingdom.<br />
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If you are not familiar with the story, here you go:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-54428390043211980442013-07-10T13:36:00.003-04:002014-01-29T08:45:20.302-05:00The Numbers Behind the Stories<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday I read something. There were 94,000 reported violent crimes against family members in Canada in 2011, 50% were spouses, 18% children. This accounted for 26% of all police investigated crimes that year. The statistical Profile from Stats Canada can be <a href="http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/130625/dq130625b-eng.htm">read here. </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also learned that the rate of women assaulted by a current intimate partner is 542 per 100,000 Canadians. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">The</span><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span><span class="abbr" style="line-height: 19.1875px;"><abbr style="border-bottom-color: black; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; cursor: help;" title="General Social Survey">GSS</abbr></span><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">also found that police were less likely to find out about spousal violence against women in 2009 than in 2004. The percentage of female victims indicating that the incident was reported to police, either by themselves or someone else, dropped from 36% to 30%.</span><span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">Reporting to police was more likely when women had sustained an injury, when they feared for their lives, or when the abuse had gone on for some time.</span> (GSS, Violence against women, 2011)</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I waited almost six years to tell anyone, looking back I never thought I could call the police, I couldn't have done that to him. Even after I sat sprawled out on the floor, covered in bruises, my blood and his spit I don't think I ever could have picked up the phone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reports all go on to say the same thing. Women. Young women are more likely to be assaulted by their significant other. Violence affects entire families. Daters are more likely than Married people to experience violence and Family related Homicides occur and account for 6 percent of solved murders. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The conclusions I can draw are simple domestic violence happens, it can happen to anyone, it doesn't get better and people die. When I read these articles I thought a lot about my husbands hands around my throat, his raspy voice telling me that I was going to die that night. I don't know if he would have been able to do it, if his threats were backed by intent. I do know that if I had stayed there is a real possibility I could have been like one of the 419 Canadians in 2011 who died at the hands of someone they loved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sources: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. <a href="http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/130625/dq130625b-eng.htm">http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/130625/dq130625b-eng.htm</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. <a href="http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/081009/dq081009b-eng.htm">http://www.statcan.gc.ca/daily-quotidien/081009/dq081009b-eng.htm</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-18778209677208309482013-06-20T10:35:00.001-04:002013-06-20T10:35:30.035-04:00Happy Anniversary....And it was gone, uneventfully, and truly undeserving of the attention and anxiety I had allocated to this day. Looking back I'm not sure what made me think of it as some sort of ominous being lurking behind me for weeks prior. In truth It came, it went and though the thought passed through my mind for a fleeting moment there were no tears, little anxiety and a surprising feeling of normality that day. <div class="MsoNormal">
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A lot can be credited to a good friend who swept me off to small town NY for the weekend to keep me as far away from the chatter and the sympathy texts as I could get. I turned off my phone, separated myself from social media and ignored my emails, and even though I anticipated the disconnect would help, I didn't anticipate barely a thought of what would have been my first anniversary. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-61976344959156065102013-06-12T20:34:00.003-04:002013-06-12T20:34:55.788-04:00I am OKAY. Today I had a moment walking to the mail room. It seems silly really.<br />
<br />
As I took the trek across the office to the printer (which by the way did not print my document) I began to think about something. I began to think about my relationship with Husband. To date I have felt a great many things when he crosses my mind. I have felt angry, I have felt sad, violated, scared, nervous, or fall apart depressed.<br />
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Today however my thoughts followed a new path. I thought about how I felt picking myself off the floor when he hit me, how I felt when his face would turn a shade of red only familiar during outbursts. I thought about how I can no longer remember his smell or what it felt like to lie in his arms. And how I no longer care.<br />
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I thought about how I know what he did to me was inexplicably WRONG. I felt OKAY.<br />
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You see, I always thought that the hardest things to forget were the happy parts. The funny bit is it seems to be as the happiness from my last life begins to fade into the background as I learn to be happy with myself, for myself in my new life. As I begin to understand that my happiness is my responsibility I learn not to to lean on the memories of my former happiness and I am okay.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-85133187716235722392013-06-09T19:47:00.001-04:002013-06-09T19:48:47.987-04:00NanaOn June 8th 2004 I lost one of the most influential people in my life. At the time I was 17, my relationship with my husband was new and wonderful and not violent, at the time I couldn't imagine what it would have become.<br />
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As a child I learned my Nana left my grandfather and moved to an entirely new province with my uncles and mother, she left a man she loved but couldn't be with. As a child I never pressed on about the story of my grandparents. If I had I would have learned that my Nana survived a turbulent relationship with a man that she cared about deeply, a man who was troubled and she couldn't help. I don't know much else beyond these few stories, i don't know the intricacies or details, but I don't think I need to. The bit that I need to know is that she survived, because she left.<br />
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The last couple days my brain has wandered to Nana. It goes without saying that I miss her terribly, but lately my thoughts have been mulling over what my life would be like if Nana was still here. If I had known someone in my life who had gone through a relationship like mine and made it out. If there was someone who could have held my hand or told me to smarten up, perhaps if there was someone who knew what it was like, someone I could have opened up to.<br />
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I believe that I now have a stronger tie to Nana, one that I also share with more women and men than I know. We managed to figure out a way to get out of something, realizing that love is not a reason for hurt. I wish that she was here to tell me it gets better, to tell me that the pain will fade into nothing, that I did the right thing and like she did when I was a girl run her fingers through my hair to ease a bad day. Even though she isn't here to sooth me any longer, knowing that she was able to overcome this, knowing that my decision to leave was the same decision she made 50 years earlier. Nana was always my favourite person on this plane. She was a constant place for love in my life and even 9 years later she is still supporting me and guiding me through one of my hardest passages.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-18581861434302920802013-06-06T17:24:00.000-04:002013-06-06T17:24:53.995-04:00Today's ThoughtsToday I am falling to pieces. A year ago I was embarking on single digit countdown to my wedding. prepping and preening. Today I am sitting in my box typing, remembering how good it felt to be dreaming of a future where I was happy. The ironic bit is, now that I have one I am finding it difficult, near impossible to accept it. Instead, I just want to go back. I want someone to take care of me when I am sick, I want to stop feeling alone no matter where I am, I want to stop feeling irreparably broken.<br />
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What is worse is I have become bitter and reclusive, the hours I have adapted to working don't help. They allow me to hide behind something, to play my role and offer me the longest reprieve from myself.<br />
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I find myself getting angry at people I love, no matter what they do. If they want to talk about it I am angry for them not minding their business, if they don't call I am upset that they don't care. The best part is I know it is me.<br />
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I can't figure out my brain, it feels like ping pong balls are loose inside my head. Every time they connect with my brain a new thought is triggered, I can't keep up, I can't make sense of anything.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-47402086076266177522013-06-04T13:58:00.001-04:002013-06-04T15:50:53.780-04:00Never a Choice a Man Should Make...If you haven't seen this check it out. It really is a passionate response to a brave question. What is inspiring is the notion that even someone blessed with fame and a very successful entertainment career began his life in a terrible situation. What is even more powerful is that he came out of it not as someone who struggles with a violent past but who advocates a peaceful and stronger future.<br />
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Why my husband hit me confused me. To be honest, it still confuses me. From what I know about his life he was never abused, his mother or father were not violent with him or eachother. I use to wonder if it was because he was bullied, if it was because his dad would tell him to be a man more times than I can count. If it was because he didn't feel adequate or was struggling with something he couldn't let me see. These were the thoughts I would play in my head as I wondered if it was me, or him and how I could fix it, fix us, fix him. <br />
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The more I read about domestic violence the less I understand. I find more scenarios about why a spouse is abusive, yet none of them seem to apply to me. <br />
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The overarching theme seems to be that the abuser has in some form learnt the behaviour, been exposed to it, perhaps victimised or abused themselves. Sometimes I think back on what I know about his family, make excuses for his actions. Sometimes I try to accept that he was broken not me, and violence was a choice he made, not one I stimulated. <br />
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Mr. Stewart made one hell of a point through this video, <strong>no matter the reason violence is never, ever a choice a man (or woman) should make.</strong>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-9162218741287016422013-05-29T19:31:00.000-04:002013-07-08T14:08:27.795-04:00And I Blew Take 1...A year ago today I was sitting in my condo, legs crossed on the floor. A year and a half of work lay in front of me. I sorted through invoices, checking my account balance after studying each one. I checked off lists and crossed off points. Text the girls to ensure all plans were inline. <br />
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A Year ago I sat in a home I thought I would share with a man forever. My wedding dress was hanging in the closest, the loveliest thing I had ever owned. I had a count down going on FB, everything was ready.<br />
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What the heck was I thinking? I can see you know, yelping at your monitor like a wild woman. How on earth could you marry a man who hit you?<br />
<br />
Yea, I know.<br />
<br />
In the happiest of moments he was not that man. He was my true love. That's what I believed anyways.<br />
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The last couple days have been rough, really rough. I look back often as the date that would be my first anniversary. The anniversary we promised we would return to Costa Rica where we honeymooned. It would mark the first in many years together.<br />
<img height="212" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/318704_726114934964_1099293347_n.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Instead I am sitting in a Starbucks Grande Green Tea Lemonade beside me as I sit hunched over Pouring my feelings out. Trying not to cry.<br />
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It's been six months of healing, and although the notion that my marriage failed hurts like bare feet on hot concrete- a lot of hot concrete. What troubles me the most is the thought that I used my shot. My chance to wear a white dress and walk down an aisle on my daddy's arm, my shot at planning and laughing and fighting through the process. I missed my chance to say that I married the (true) love of my life.<br />
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I was never one for marriage, I probably would have been fine without it. I could have been happy without it. But now that that shot is gone, I wish I had never cashed it in.<br />
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I know I wont be alone forever, I hope anyways. I know one day I will find that man who makes me happy without making a mark. I know I will one day get that happily ever after. And I know this person will love me with or without a ring.<br />
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I just cant help but wonder what my life would have been like without the divorce handstamp.<br />
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<img src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/561318_726111132584_612892040_n.jpg" /><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-89460612424046161672013-05-15T19:18:00.000-04:002013-05-15T19:18:05.237-04:00Learning to Forgive, and Move on<br />
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<i>Trust has always been easy for me. You wouldn't suspect that. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I believe that people are inherently good, that there is a fine layer that separates what makes us bad people and the good we are all made from.<br />
I have always believed that if you focus on understanding the person, forgiving faults and believing that individuals are good, that they will be.<br />
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Here I am almost 6 months after finally having to give up believing that my Husband would stop hitting me. How do I feel?<br />
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<b><u>My position hasn't changed. </u></b><br />
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I still believe that people are good. We are not born or created bad. I don't believe that there is anything inside of any one of us that is preventing us from being a kind, or decent human being.<br />
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<b>Growing up I was taught to be compassionate...</b><br />
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Even to those who did not show me kindness. I was taught that when a bully was mean to you it maybe was because someone bullied them. I was taught that when people where angry or upset or mean, <b>you understand that that behaviour is wrong. </b><br />
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<b>Then, you forgive them...</b><br />
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Forgiving does not make what you went through right, or make negative actions or situations okay. By doing this you expel hatred or upset or disdain from your mind. You release yourself from the situation, it allows you to continue to grow and move on.<br />
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<b>Perhaps, even transcend into understanding....</b><br />
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Wish the person well. Wish that somehow they find their way and rediscover the natural good within them.<br />
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<b>And eventually learn to trust...</b><br />
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Even though you might be ready to trust, you must learn balance Trust with wisdom. You can mend a wound, but would you put yourself back in harms way again?<br />
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<b><u>Forgive yourself...</u></b><br />
You will make mistakes too. Marry people you shouldn't, try too hard, eat too much desserts, buy expensive jeans. It's okay.<br />
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Does any of this mean you go back? No. Is what I went through okay? Not even a little.<br />
But somewhere in my heart can I forgive my Husband for what he did to me and leave him in a distant memory? This I will need to do. One day.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-8918293960127164832013-05-06T23:35:00.002-04:002013-05-06T23:35:48.762-04:00ReflectionAt the end of yoga practice you meditate. 10 minutes of peaceful reflection.<br />
I cry every time.<br />
<br />
No matter how good my week has gone or what I've accomplished my mind wanders to him. It is like a shadow you don't notice until you are alone, until you are vulnerable. When it doesn't matter how reasonable or rational or tough you are. It is the shadow that always manages to get inside your head and terrify you.<br />
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Today my mind wandered, I thought about how my husband felt the day I left. What happened the moments after the door to my condo shut. What happened to him as Kay and my mother loaded me into the Pontiac. Did he cry? Did he get up and clean the broken glass from the floor. Wash the spit and blood from the 800 thread count cotton sheets. Did he have a cigarette and absorb what has unfolded.<br />
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My head ran through a thousand different scenarios each one of them amplified my silent tears as I lay there on my mat. Each taking me back to last Tuesday.<br />
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Last week I spoke to him on the telephone, for the first time since Christmas. If you read the post from that morning you are already aware that it was not a conversation I would chose to have again.<br />
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When I hung up after 43 minutes and 28 seconds I was alternating between sobs and gasps, by chest hurt my head pounded. It was 4am and I couldn't call anyone, my texts went unanswered as I sat alone grasping at the teddy bear he had gotten me for my 17th birthday.<br />
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I was scared, the first time in five months I remembered what it was like to not have anything to hide myself in, no one to talk to. Suddenly, I was back in the world I lived for six years, alone.<br />
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I feel for him, I really do. He has lost more than I have. He has lost someone who took care of him, who loved him despite flaws, who tried to fix him, tried to help him. I understand what it feels like to be alone, I was there- a lot.<br />
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As the clock hit 5am I wished I could just slide my rings back on and go back to how it was, so all the hurt I was feeling would end. I can't, those rings should have never been on at all.<br />
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At 6am I wrote that post, I was hurting.<br />
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It took me a couple days of fighting to get back to where I am, it took some hard truths from my best friends and some good ol' fashioned hugs but I am back. I am back on my way to my new life. I know I will have lots of moments where I am flat on my back quietly crying during meditation-<br />
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I will be okay.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-76063662287114967002013-05-01T21:47:00.001-04:002013-05-01T21:49:31.186-04:00I'll Tell You About Edward<div dir="ltr">
I would like to tell you about Edward. </div>
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If you lived through the 90's you likely remember Puppy Surprise. When I was about 8 years old I received one for Christmas, She was a pink and white dog with a swollen Velcro sealed tummy, she had a litter of five. A fact that I was very proud of since the toy could also come with 3 or 4 pups. Of the five, one was named Edward.</div>
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One day our real puppy, a black lab decided that my toys resembled his and chewed Edward. His face mangled and twisted. His small rubber head opened to a smooth hollow mess.</div>
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He was broken A few times my mother suggested that we throw him out and she purchase me a new puppy (you could buy them independently in case you needed 12 like I did.) Still every day I would play with him along side his brothers and sisters hoping eventually I would figure out a way to fix him, to make him whole. For years I held onto his mangled body, he was broken beyond repair but I held on. </div>
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At one point I hot glued his face together, filling in the gaps with clear plastic mess that ran down his face and enhanced the franken-puppy look. </div>
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Eventually I grew older and the Puppy Surprise made their way back into the closet with the My Little Pony and Cabbage Patch Dolls.I didn't think about them for years.</div>
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Ironically I found Edward as I was moving out of my Condo a couple months ago. His tiny rubber face mended, as meticulously as a 12 year old with a glue gun could. His bean bag body stained, beaded fabric from 18 years of existence. </div>
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You know what I did with Edward? I put him back in the bin with his brothers and sisters, now a reminder of who I am. You see, I did this again, 14 years after Edwards mangled face graced my toy box. I kept a relationship, a mangled, disfigured, irreparable relationship with a person I couldn't hot glue gun back together. I hoped that one day, some how I would figure out how to fasten him back together, make him whole and not have to say goodbye.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1977536373569954961.post-90062710765854564552013-04-23T07:01:00.001-04:002013-04-23T07:01:07.390-04:00How will I even Make it Through Today.I've had bad days. This is a very bad day.<br />
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I woke up 15 minutes ago and looked at my swollen puffy eyes, my raw nose and messy hair. I look like shit. Today all I want more than anything is to walk into my office this way. Broken. To not have to hide it.<br />
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I Know I can't, I know I will finish this short post. shower, apply make-up, do my hair in a neat little bun at the nap of my neck, dress myself better than usual and head out the door. Pretending that my life is together. If you feel like shit, look like a million bucks.<br />
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Whether you have been crying relentlessly all night, wondering how you will make it through client presentations and status calls and dreaming about buying a plane ticket and learning what a true and complete fresh start is. Even if I don't have the guts to try.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12865352439111752561noreply@blogger.com0