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Not Another Post!

15 Mar

It is true, I post alot and I post things that I think in everyday life. I share my innermost thoughts and share some very sensitive things that not everyone wants to read. I know how some of the things that I say must feel to others, some roll their eyes and think that I am sharing way too much and care not to read about my life, while others (I have heard) think that it is inspiring and brave to share my story.

Now, Anxiety plays a roll in my life DAILY, while depression comes along every once in a while. But the true fact of the matter is that I cannot get out of my own head. Every day I refer to my abuse as a child, every day I wonder who I would have been without it happening to me. Every day I worry about the same thing happening to my children, which causes panic in me. I worry the most about this. I have little “worst case scenarios” that play in my head every time they go play outside. I think of someone preying on them, taking them and abusing them and worse. I shudder every time and it takes everything that I have in my to not call them back inside where I have constant control of the environment.

Today while I was preparing supper, I was thinking of how they will turn out when they are grown, how they will look, what kind of men they will be when they are older. I daydream things like that while I am alone. I predict what they will look like and what career they will strive for. Then, Mr. Anxiety shows up and I start wondering how I am going to cope letting them go….letting them move out of the house and be their own people. Having their own homes and going off to university, and their safety. This is what I worry about the most. Who is going to be there to keep them safe? Car accidents, freak things happen, and even murders. What the hell would I do then? I don’t know if I could bear it. I know, it turns selfish, it sounds selfish as I read what I write, but  I cannot help it…..this is the monster called Anxiety. This is catastrophic thoughts. This is a disorder. I cannot switch it off.

I am trying. I am really trying. I meditate and I am looking in to learning Reiki. I want to become a Reiki master. It would fit well with my husbands Holistic Nutrition and I dream that we can have our own little slice of “heaven” and do things the Holistic way and be able to sustain our finances while doing it. Ah, to dream!

But,I do think it’s  getting better, I seem to have  more of a grip on reality, which is what it feels like I have a lack of when having an anxiety attack.

Yes, it is yet again, another post about anxiety, about my struggle…..but it is real. It never leaves me.

I was trying to explain to my husband how it feels every day to be in my head. What I think of and how I cope. I told him this ” the first blowjob I ever gave was when I was 3 years old”. That is a hard pill to swallow. That makes you imagine it, to see it and fills you with so many emotions. Yes, it is true. I remember what it looked like and I remember how I felt and the hesitation and ultimately the trust that I put into that one person who I was raised like a sister to. It fills me with all sorts of emotions, and to let someone know how it feels is impossible unless they have been through it, but this is the only way that I could  verbalize the actual brutality of what was done to me. Plus, I think that it is a way to start getting prepared to tell my story to someone else who could really help me. Yes, Mark made me do  all sorts of things and he touched me where he shouldn’t have. The one good thing that I can say is that he did not mess with my virginity. He abused me from the time I was 2 or 3 until I was 5, and then again when I was 10. Only to have my first real sexual experience end up in rape, that was another story with another abuser.

Yes, anxiety is in my life forever. Yes, I will talk about it again. No, I will not shut up. It is real. Yes, it is REAL. I am jumpy, I scare easily and I feel like I am always scared. I try everyday to be better. I suffer everyday. I see the depths of my own hell as no one else can see.

I have taken you on a little voyage of my reality. The glasses are far from rose coloured. I feel better when I know I am just listened to. I feel justified in my fears and weirdness and quirks when people know my story. They see the “why”, not just me as I am now, as the result of the past, the pain. It’s a hard story to tell, but I know it must be hard to read as well. People are either disgusted and don’t want to read it, or are sympathetic and want to know my story or they are disaster whores, the ones who love to see the gore, who dive right into other people’s pain to feel better about their life.

I am okay with it all. As they say, everyone has a story, this is yet another post about it, but it is my Story. My Life as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tilt A Whirl

9 Jan

Some days I think I have everything under control. I go to work, come home, do some laundry and dishes and get supper prepped. I then pick up the kids from school and start them on their chores and talk to them about their day. I feel like all is running smoothly. Then I have days like this.

Days like this happen more than the in control days. It seems like in control days happen rarely! I am constantly second guessing myself for everything, even when it comes to making supper. I am soooooooo over this shit, you have no idea! It feels like I am on a tilt a whirl ride. The constant motion, dizziness, lack of control, but then sometimes you have control on how fast you spin, but then you spin yourself too hard and end up feeling sick, then you just want the ride to end and get off, but you look over and see your kids or your friends having fun with what is going on and you don’t want to seem like a wuss, so you ride it out, pretending to have fun when you really want to have control and get off. ugh. Now I remember why I hate that ride! Now I know why life shakes me to the core!

Every day I think of how I am feeling, and every day I wonder if my feelings are reasonable or just something that I over process and end up making shit up in my head. Like, do I really have a headache? Or am I talking myself into it? Ha ha….I know it sounds really strange to you, for me to question a simple thing like a headache, but there is alot that goes with even having a headache…..my children are very loud while at home in their own environment and if I have a headache, I have to keep telling them to quiet down, or, I have to move to another room, which never works anyways because they follow wherever I am. So, now I have these feelings of being overreactive because I tell them to constantly keep it down. I am now, of course, a bad mother. My thoughts lead me into being a terrible person who just tells her kids to be quiet and can’t even take a moment to play with them. Yes, Yes, I know, my craziness runs deep! And I apologize to my husband all the time for being crazy!

At some point it has to stop though, right? It has to.

I want to lay in my bed. I want to binge watch netflix shows and colour in my colouring book and do sudoku puzzles. On the other hand, I want to organize the closet and sort out all of the craft supplies for my kids. I want to do crafts with them. I want to start making christmas gifts for next christmas. I want to go back to the gym. So, I end up on the computer looking up craft ideas to do with the kids and end up blogging. I refrain from the bed, even though my foot is throbbing and I could go for a nap! I don’t want to feel guilty for doing nothing. I watched movies pretty much all day with the kids yesterday. I made breakfast, lunch, supper and I did some laundry and dishes, but I really didn’t do much at all. I had a sinus headache, but still…..an awesome mom could have done more.

I sometimes hate to think what my husband really thinks. I work anywhere from 12-20 hours in a week, which is perfect for me right now…..being……um…….fragile? I guess that word works, but since owning a business and working for 50-80 hours per week for the last 10 years, I don’t want to work alot, I don’t want alot of responsibility. Anyways, how does he think? Does he think I am lazy and that I just fake my feelings and illnesses? Does he think I don’t do enough around the house? Or, are these just my anxieties and questions to myself? Do I project my feelings about myself onto others and in turn think that they think that way about me? Ha ha….hard to follow sentence? I hope you understand what I mean!

I want to visit with others, I want to see a little bit of who I used to be, galavanting all over and enjoying time with my friends and family. I want to. But I don’t. My brain is my enemy sometimes! My anxiety is my jail, and I don’t know when this sentence will be over. When I go to visit someone, the selfishness of my anxiety kicks in and I think only of how the other person is better than I. How, my friend, who has known me for years, might think that I am a sad excuse of what I used to be. How I am bigger and more rotund than I used to be, and that I am emotionally less stable than I used to be. I wonder the whole time, I wonder and I worry and when the visit is over, I am exhausted, relieved and still worried. I then worry whether I said anything stupid, or offensive, or if I was too loud or invasive. I feel like I cannot ever be myself. Like being myself is not good enough for anyone…..ever. I know, this sounds super extreme, but this is anxiety and depression in the most honest form I have to share.

For those of you who don’t have anxiety and depression, just think of a time when you were a little anxious or worried. Now, times that by ten, and include it in every thought you have for every day of your life. Now, if that doesn’t fuck up your thinking, I don’t know what will. Sometimes it is hard to see the truth in it’s truest form because all of the other shit in my brain is clouding my vision. This might be…ha ha….this is why I don’t really know who I am, it is why I don’t know how my emotions play out in front of others. I have tried to hide these feelings for years and I did, very successfully. It is impossible now. My children know what anxiety is. And this too, has me second guessing the true ability of my parenting. Should they know? Should I have told them? Is this going to mess them up when they are older or make them more sensitive to others? Is this going to cause an anxiety disorder in them? Do they already have anxiety? Is is my fault? ugh!

These feelings need to shut up! I often wonder how Joe Blow goes around without worrying about everything at every moment. I would like to feel that. I would like to just feel the cold or the hot without worrying about every little thing that could go wrong. Just to feel the sun beat down on my face and listen to the birds and feel the warmth, look over and see my kids playing and having fun, while I lay down and read a book, or do some gardening. (this is a summer dream of course!) I have days that I could do this, but I always end up thinking about things like, I am being lazy and should actually do something productive, or I should really get in there and actually play with my children instead of watching them. It’s a piped dream, I will have to yet again, try and fail, try and fail, and try again until I succeed at keeping a healthy body and mind. Things went to shit near Christmas time, but I need to pick up my saggy butt drawers and get on with it already. One baby step at a time I guess, but I will hit more bumps in the road every single day. I have no idea if there is such a thing as recovery for anxiety, but I wish there was.

To another day.

 

Aftershock

20 Nov

When something like an earthquake happens, it massively upsets the whole crust of the earth, shaking and quaking, shifting and grinding. There is inevitably an aftershock of such a rough event. Things have to settle and it causes a little more shaking and quaking in order to rest. I am comparing that to having a psychological blow like I had when remembering repressed memories. There is no rhyme or reason to these things, but the dust has to settle. I am still quaking. I am fuming to the brim with the uneasy feeling in my gut. I even had a dream last night that a random man came to me and started to beat me with a hammer. I am so enraged right now, that even in my dream, I wrestled for the hammer and beat him about the head and back with it. I could not physically hit him hard enough. I wanted death. This says a lot about the way I am feeling right now!

I am not right today. I don’t know if this hatred will ever leave me. This abuse, just happened. The memories that have been suppressed for 34 years have come back now, when I am 39 years old, I am having memories of being molested as a toddler. Yes, a toddler, a little baby girl. I am feeling all of the feelings I felt then. Only now, it is worse. Now, I think as a mother, with all the pain of the child locked up inside. It is an absolute terrible feeling to feel. Physical pain withstanding, the mental anquish that I am facing right now is debilitating. It has knocked me down. Forget living healthy, forget the money problems, forget it all. There is the selfish feelings of despair, anguish, mourning. I am mourning. Mourning for my memories that have been tarnished. Mourning for the self that I have never been able to meet because he destroyed me before I had the chance to live for me, to be who I was meant to be.

I have now talked to his ex wife and his mother. I love his mother, she partially raised me, and I know that I have not really faced her or talked to her while having so much rage directed toward her son. I thought I would spare her, but I can’t. She should be able to know how I am feeling. She should have an idea of the possibility of more victims, more of his prey that are out there thinking that they are the only ones. Wounds heal, but the scars last forever. I have a giant gaping wound right now, and there is no healing for me as we speak. I must do this, blog. I must get it out there. This is my healing process. But, I got off track. I sent his mother a message letting her know that I feel hatred towards her son, this is why I cannot face her and talk to her since the memories have reared their ugly heads. Well, I can tell you, I have no idea how to respond to what she is telling me. She wants me to find God, to have faith and let my anger go. She is not saying anything about how bad she feels about what her son did. She is just addressing me and telling me to let my pain go. I am so freaking sorry, but I NEED to feel this pain. This is the death of my childhood. This is the murder of my innocence and it was taken, never to get it back. This was the beginning of the terrible path that I would go on, trying to torture myself for the pain that was mine, but that I did not cause. I don’t see him with any apologies, I see him, far away from here, living life high on the hog, with a girlfriend who knows nothing of this. I wonder how high he would be sitting if she were to find out. I wonder how confident in himself he would feel if he were on the sexual assault list, if he were to have to announce to his neighbours that he was a convicted child molester. Where is Karma now? I am sorry, but I want him to feel the pain I feel. I want him to go down the road I have been on. The self hatred I have gone through for the last 34 years. The masking of emotions with food. The pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.

Talking with his mother, left me in even more pain. Just talking about God and being free from the pain, and full of peace. I don’t buy it. I don’t get it. I cannot see it like that. It is bad to say, but I just see it as talking in circles and not making a definite statement about anything. It does not address my situation, it goes right to her and what she sees. It seems like I am not being heard by her. I love her, but I cannot talk to her right now. I will not be able to connect with her until I am adjusted. It is just a disappointment to learn that there is no talk about justice, about the way he preyed on me and the others who have come forward. Me and two others, I am pretty sure, there will be more.

I am broken. I have no more strength to keep talking to her about this. I am not being heard. I am being talked at. I am being placated. Like being patted on the head and told to shuffle off now.

I know she must not mean to come off this way, but this is how it feels. I know I must be lucky to be able to talk to my abusers mother, and family, but it is really hard. These are people that I love and looked up to all my life. This is people who told me they loved me and I believed it.

I want him to pay. I want to feel peace, but right now, I think all I will feel tomorrow, is a hangover. Don’t think that I won’t self medicate! I’m going to eat crap and drink a bottle of wine. I am going to hug and kiss my kids super hard and tell them like I have before, to not let anyone touch them, Hands off or tell an adult. I am a great mother, and I am not going to be wearing rose coloured glasses. I am going to be vigilant and only let them around trusted people. I know we cant be with our kids 24-7, but I can damned well try.

This may have made me stronger, but right now, I feel weak, sick and I want it to go away. My reality is bent and I have no way to straighten it right now. Like, a Salvatore Dali painting, all melty and weird, things aren’t as they should be. Ugh, it’s so weird right now. This is my aftershock. My second shake to settle things down. The hard look at the reality of everything before I can comprehend it is actually happening, and that it actually happened. Things were so much worse than my first memories. I am sure there are more to come. But for now, I wont will them to see the light of my eyes, I will just let what I do remember soak in and find a place in the person I am right now.

I will never apologize for the way that I feel. I am raw, you read what I write, it is exactly how I feel at any given moment. I don’t speak any truer words than the ones I share with you. Whether or not people I know agree with me or not, it is not my focus. I am sorry that you find my words and ideas offensive, or inappropriate, but nowadays, it is honesty that needs to be present. I will not glaze over anything. I will only be true to me. With that being said, nobody has come to me with mean words, but I just wanted everyone to know.

 

 

Inside the MuMu

20 Oct

So, you ask….what’s it like to be fat? Because I am sure all of you with a “normal” body askmumu this every single day. Ha Ha!!! But, nobody wants to be there. Who has ever said in their head, oh man! I would love to be the fat friend! The jovial one! Ha!

Well, before I become who I have wanted to be for years, I would like to let you into the mumu as it were. Let you see it from an inside source!

First of all, I feel like a slim and hot woman stuck inside of a fat body. I would LOVE to wear so many different types of clothing. I yearn for awesome looking clothes, I pine for normal clothes shopping….but alas, I have to shop at the big girl stores like Pennington’s and Maurice’s carries some pretty nice things as well. I am not knocking these stores, but try to shop anywhere with my normal sized friends and get clothes….not fun in the least. Just because I am big does not mean that I want to wear crap clothes all the time. Big girl clothes are so expensive too! You can get cheap stuff at WalM…..but really, I am not 60 years old and want to wear slacks and shirts with a generic print on them. Not cool. If I go to the good stores like the ones I listed above, I have to spend at least $100 to get a decent outfit. I look at the stores in the mall with tags like $10 for a shirt…..I wish!

Another aspect is the problem of seating. Everywhere I go in public, or other people’s homes, I have to scan the seating and check out where I can sit. I don’t want to sit in a chair with arms,chair it might be too tight and then all of my hip and leg fat would seep out the side of the chair…this is not pretty and it doesn’t feel so hot either. It makes a person embarrassed. I think twice before sitting in regular plastic deck chairs, these are not stable for someone of hefty sizes. I look for a big, sturdy chair, couch or I just stand and lean. Imagine for a second, when making plans with people to go out and having to think about how you will fit in anywhere, everywhere you go.

Your feet. Yes, your feet. Every woman I know does not like to have gnarly looking feet and toenails. So, we take care of them, we cut the nails and paint them and even put on toe rings. This is fine for anyone but a plus sized woman. Did you know, that your stomach gets in the way when you bend over? You can only bend over as far as your stupid yucky belly fat will let you go. It does not spread around to your sides so you can reach your toes. It stays stationary in front. So, it makes it hard to sit down and paint your toes. It is even hard to put on your socks like a normal person.fat-belly I either have to prop my leg up sideways on the bed or couch and put my socks on, or I sit and pull up my leg… this is fun! Doesn’t it sound great?

Eating. Eating in front of anyone but your family members is hell….sometimes. I go through so much anxiety when eating with people. I think things like I wonder if they are disgusted by my food choice, do I look disgusting when I eat? Do they think I am full of shit when I say that I can’t finish my meal and I am full? Social anxiety comes with being me…the plus sized version. I hardly go anywhere. I really haven’t been out all that much in the last year. I think I can maybe count two times that I went out with friends.

Rings. I love my wedding rings, I love all of my rings. I just can’t wear them. I haven’t been able to wear them since last Christmas. So, I am married and can’t wear my wedding band. This bums me out.

Cars and seatbelts. That is self explanatory.

I am not lazy. Being fat does notmean being lazy. I am not going to lie, there were times before I started exercising that I was exhausted. I really didn’t want to delve into housework and start something that I didn’t want to finish. I would get tired halfway through and want to quit. That could have been the depression too though. But I work. I used to work 70 hour weeks. Up half the night doing work for the bakery and then spending half the morning cleaning and doing laundry, and spending as much time as I could with my kids. I am not nor ever have been or ever will be lazy.

No, I am not really happy all the time. I played the part of the care free happy go lucky and loud sometimes obnoxious friend/family member. I tried to be the happy one, I didn’t want to let anyone know me I guess. I tried to have louder opinions in order to distract from my physical appearance. Using these things as a mask. So, when talking to a thin friend, sure, I was listening to them, but I was also assessing them, being jealous of their size and wonder if they ever felt out of place. Not all the time, but sometimes. I appreciate a good body, I look at bodies, because I don’t want to look at my own. I covet people’s body parts, like her butt and those legs and so on. I think about how comfortable their clothes must be on their bodies. To wear jeans and not have to cover everything up except my legs. I try to hide everything as much as I can.

Functions and celebrations. Everyone wants to look good when going to a celebration, but I can never look as good as I would like. I have to go buy an outfit that I don’t really love because that is all the store has and then I have to try to look my best. I get dressed, look in the mirror and I am satisfied that I look pretty good. When I get there, I compare myself to everyone. I don’t look so good now. This is where the self doubt and self loathing starts to come into play and  I spend the rest of the time at the event hoping not to walk in front of too many people, so they won’t really notice me too much. Not judge me. Not laugh at me. Yes, yes. I know, it is terrible and nobody should ever feel like this so much. But there is the reality. There is more to explain. There is so much more.

Grocery shopping. End of sentence.

The gym. Yes, yes, the gym. And I bet that a lot more people feel this than just oversized me. I feel so terrible walking in there and seeing the fit people and feeling inadequate. I know, this is where I should be.gym I should be exercising to get fit and be healthy. But there are some real assholes out there who make people like me feel like a big bag of shit just for walking in there. They judge and look, more like gawk and snicker and sneer. Really??? I would love to tell them where to go and just how to get there. But I will never stoop to that level. It still feels like crap though. Knowing that the one place that I can go to better myself and take control of my life is also the place with ridicule. Insert anxiety spike here.

Shoes. Ugh. Wide shoes. Shoe size goes up when you get fat…did you know that? I have to wear mens running shoes. Sorry, but they are ugly as sin. I want hot pink or bright blue or even purple runners. Not black and dark blue with red….ew.

Summer…..Gawd……sweaty sticky summer. I only wear skirts or capris. I never want tobig-bikini see my legs. The thighs rub together, jiggly yucky looking things. I would never have enough courage to wear a bathing suit on the beach in front of anyone except my husband and kids. I even went to a beach this year that I found hidden where nobody else was. Nobody saw me and I could joyfully swim with my children. Yes, big people beat themselves up on a regular basis. I do, and I am sure a high percentage of us do as well. Even thin people do it. Just imagine, you, thin person, who beats themselves up for not being as muscular or as fit or that you have a little ponch, imagine beating yourself up 100 times worse, ten times as much.

Its hard on the brain, the heart, the legs…etc. It’s hard to be this way. No body chooses to be fat. People choose to deal with personal things in all sorts of ways, and eating is one of them. It is kind of like an addiction. Some people use drugs, others use food. People should think of it like this more often. If they did, there might be some more help for people who don’t know how to deal with pain. Or even recognize it.

So, next time you see the big neighbour lady who is big, or you see your friend that is overweight, prop them up. Lift their spirits on their self image. They need some form of help, EVERYONE does. But our kind of pain, you can see.

And all of those who are big and do not agree with everything that I have said, that is okay. This is only my view on being a large person. I only referred to thinner people as normal to get my point across. I know that the word normal is offensive to some, but it was all in the measurement of which I was speaking.

No offence was intended during the making of this blog entry, just one woman’s opinion.

No fat people were harmed in the typing of this blog. he he

I don’t wanna!

23 Feb

So, it is clear that things that happen in life, always effect the person you are and who you are going to be. Outlooks on life and others are greatly effected by what we have gone through earlier in life.

My life has had a lot of twists and turns, ups and downs and I am just now starting to deal with the things that have brought me to the person that I am now. I am having a pretty difficult time at this. I have support. I have a very understanding and loving husband who stands by me in the days that I just want to stay in bed and not face the world. He is there to just be with me. He does not want anything from me. He does not give me his opinion on what is the best thing for me, or the best way to deal with things, he just hugs me and lets me deal. If I need something, I will tell him and he knows this.

Lately I have been thinking way too much, which has increased my anxiety level. I want to stay inside, reading my books, doing my suduko puzzles, drinking wine and cuddling with my kids. I don’t do this….. every day! Ha Ha!!! Seriously, if I could do anything I wanted right now, I would just be sleeping. I would be in my bed.

I don’t want to deal. I don’t want to think about the horrible things that I have  been through. I don’t want to think about my dad dying, my mom being injured and taken away from me. I don’t want to think about what Mark did to me, or how my uncle beat up my cousin when I was little. I don’t want to think about the image that is etched in my brain from my car accident, my cousin’s face in the windsheild. I don’t want to feel the pain that comes back with each memory.

Even though not everything that has happened in my young life was bad, there was lots of good. Lots of love and I am not denying that, but the bad things do stay there, lingering, hunching in shadows just waiting for something to trigger their memory. I feel that the great people who have helped shaped us from the beginning have a great deal to do with how we cope. How we survive against some odds. How we love and forgive and live.

Right now, I know that I am safe. I know that I am loved, but I don’t want to deal with anything! I don’t want to remember the bad and when I do, I just want to fall down and cry. These things happened long ago,  I should have dealt with them long ago. I did not. It’s biting me in the ass now.

I don’t wanna!

I need the strength to keep going, to pull myself out of the pit that I was slowly falling into. My anxiety has started to creep back. My jaw is tight and I hold my breath. Less and less sleep.

If there were a magical elixir to stop this spiral, I would take it. I do not like this feeling. And when I say what I feel, there is always recourse. Why can’t I feel this way? Why do I have to say things in a different way? Why do I have to not say it at all? Why not? I am a human, I have feelings and words, and there is nothing appropriate about molestation, there is nothing appropriate about death and despair and anxiety and abandonment and depression. Why do I have to be appropriate when talking about all of the terrible things that a little girl had to go through? Why do I have to think about what others might think about the things that I fell victim to?

I don’t want to keep things in anymore. I don’t want to deal with them, but I have to in order to heal. I am almost 40 and I did not choose to have the things that I have gone through to happen when I was a child, and I did not choose to have all of the residual feelings to come back on me now. So what, I am not as tough as other people. So what, I am not comparing myself and my pain to anyone elses. You want me to suck it up and get over it? It’s not that easy. You think I talk to much about things that should be private? Too bad, that is not me.

People worry too much about the effect that someone else’s pain has on them directly. Why? I feel the pain. I have the memories. They are mine. I will do with them what I wish, and right now, I am laying them all out there for all to see. I am threadbare and cold. I need a warm blanket and a hug, not judgement.

So, I don’t wanna. I really don’t.

I am hurt. That is it. That is the end of the story.

The Shame Game

8 Feb

Some might think that having a blog for all the world to see might be a very bold way to talk about your life. Some think that it is a bold statement to be able to let things go and talk about them online. The world wide web is vast and there are a lot of things to read and learn and be disgusted with. I don’t think that one person’s story should be a thing of shame.

Of course, I am already an outgoing and loud person who says what she thinks most of the time, so it isn’t that far off for me to tell my story in a blog.

There has been numerous things that have happened to me in my life already that have been on a wide scope from absolutely terrible to joyously wonderful. I would not change anything that has happened to me in my life for anything. All of that pain and joy have made me into the person that I am now. I kinda like me, so I am okay with it all.

I did feel awful for not being able to tell my loved ones about what had happened to me, but I do not feel shame. I didn’t tell my family in order to protect them. My mom, she is a very strong woman with very strong opinions. She has been through numerous terrible things and she has kept on going. I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want to be the reason that she feels terrible. I know, as a mother, I would have felt helpless and I would want to break down and cry because I could not have prevented my child being hurt. It isn’t  her fault. I don’t want her to feel that guilt, that inevitable and everlasting guilt as a mother and as a woman who couldn’t protect my child. There is no way that she could have stopped it from ever happening. There is no way that history can change. I wanted to tell her, but there is also an heir of disappointment whenever I wanted to tell her. It was never the right time for me. I battled with this for a long time and maybe subconsciously,  I used my blog as a way to not only tell her, but have that protection of telling everyone at the same time.

I love my family and I never want to hurt anyone.

I refuse to feel shame for my choices. Times are different than they used to be. Yes, everyone puts their life online for all to see. Yes, that does get very annoying. I do not share where I am at every moment or what I am eating and who I am with. I do not share a sore on my hand or cat videos. I share something more intimate that can truly help others who have gone through the same or just need to have a talk with their family to protect everyone or even just to remind people how the truth is the best option. There has never been any good come out of a lie.

Back when, there was a shame to everything. When unwed mothers were sent off somewhere else to have their children. When you knew that the woman across the street was being beat by her husband and it was kept hush hush. Drinking and driving. Driving with no seat belts etc. None of this is good. None of this is safe. This is not acceptable any longer. People are now speaking out. Alot of people are no longer feeling shame because they have been a victim at one time. I will no longer feel shame for being a victim. For the longest time, I thought that what Mark did wasn’t “that” bad. I fought with myself about whether or not I could handle it and just leave it.

I have strength. I get that from my mother.

I feel no shame. My story will and has already helped others. We need to realize that there is no shame in the truth. There is always someone who will believe in you and understand you and be grateful to you for opening up.

I am freeing myself from the bondage of Shame.

I will not quiet my voice.

Steady Onto Normal

3 Nov

It has happened! My dad has called me!happy_little_girl_speaking_by_cell_phone_canvas-re895f87f10194fa48d935152d8b115ba_2aw2w_8byvr_512 You have no idea the relief that I felt when I saw the number show up on the phone! I was so frazzled as a matter of fact, that I dropped the phone! It just slipped through my fingers, which made the phone turn off completely, so I had to wait to turn it on and let it do it’s thing before I could dial the number back! I was kind of hesitant on how to talk, but he just started talking to me like nothing had happened, that is the country way after all! We talked for about half an hour about everything that had gone on in the time we hadn’t spoken, he spoke to the boys as well. After the phone call, I felt so much better! Like a weight had been lifted I suppose, but the kind that sits not on your shoulders, but in your neck somehow.

I know that he read my letter. Whether he agreed with me or not, he called. That is all that matters. I hope this issue will be a non issue for the rest of time! We are vegan, we will stay vegan, and it is going to be harder to have no gmo’s in our home as well. Since my dad is a farmer, and he uses beans that have been treated, this is going to be very tough for him, but our choice is not his.GMO-free-label This is all I can offer for consolation to him. I will in turn have to live with the fact that my parents cannot guarantee that our children don’t intake gmo’s while they have them under their care. can’t even guarantee that for my kids, I can’t expect them to do it. I am scared to get cancer. I am scared for my husband and children as well. I do not want my children to be unhealthy. I know they are not, and their health just gets better the more my husband and I educate ourselves, but I worry just the same. I cannot control what they eat forever. At some point, maybe one of them will want to eat meat when they are grown. I cannot stop this. I can only guide the choices they make while I am raising them.

On another note, I called my parents on Sunday. I reached my mother. This was awkward a little as well! I know that she knows and she knows that I know, kind of thing. She did not mention the letters either, or what happened between us. We exchanged information, and we both said “sorry” I suppose in our own ways. She told me that she saw something where they made some sort of cream or something from cashews.hand This, I gathered was her telling me that she would support us. It gets hard to read between the lines. I do not like to do it, but I have to. I would rather say things, or write them down and let the other person know. This is not the way my parents were raised I suppose. Although, my dad is quicker to speak his feelings to me than my mother. He really is a caring and loving person, his pride and stubbornness get in the way sometimes. He is a little (lot) cranky too! Ha ha!  So, mom spoke to the boys, she is planning to take them for a weekend. I think they both missed the boys. Ah, forget that, everyone missed everyone. It has been a whole month since I have seen my parents! That is too long. I am proud to say, “I want my mommy!”

Now, that we are almost back on track, we are going steady onto normal. It won’t be immediate, but we have to start somewhere! empath-a-blessing-and-curse

I look forward to seeing my parents, having them around me, and watching them love my children. I am an extension of all of those I hold close to me. I absorb emotions. This is why my opinions are so strong and my own emotions are almost exaggerated. I have to hear myself, I have to recognize my own emotions amongst everyone elses. My love is deep, which makes it easy to hurt me as well. You know, things just aren’t realized until you speak them aloud or write them down! Epiphany? Maybe!

All in all….. I am happy right now. happy