Sometimes the greatest nightmare is reality.

Today I am a day behind. I had told myself I was going to post on here every week. Yesterday I wasn't able to. I have finally gotten my new meds, and my body is taking a while to adjust. Got to have the baby friendly pills. Tomorrow is a busy day, Husband job interview, looking at a new house, and a prayer vigil. We'll see what happens. Today as I sit here and reflect I think of a great piece of wisdom. One of those that we seem to have, but we never quite remember who said it, or when, it is just simply there in our minds. "Even f you feel no one can ever love you, know that out there is someone dreaming to one day meet you." Sounds cute. Romantic, and supposed to make you sit and think and feel good. Who actually felt good reading that, and who read it and laughed and thought "yeah right, whatever." That was me. The girl who knew there was no such thing as a prince charming, but wouldn't it be neat if....... but nah, dreams are stupid. That's the old me. The cynical me. The me up until this year. People who know me would say "wait, your married and expecting your second child, what do you mean 'until this year'. I said what I mean. I do that a lot, I'm very blunt and honest. I didn't used to be, I used to be guarded and doubting. But, that's the me of yesterday. I told you the very beginning, but now we're going to skip through a whole lot of the middle stuff. Partly because I can't remember it all (yay for Disassociative amnesia!), partly because I just think what happened 3 years ago is pretty darn important, and we can get to all the nasty stuff that led to it in greater detail later.

Three years doesn't seem a long time really. I mean, high school is four years, so that isn't so far back. But even so my memory tries to block it out. Most of the time there is nothing, a big blankness there. Unless I focus. Then I can pull black the black sheet that hides the truth. Sometimes, not as often anymore, the sheet slips away on it's own, and the memories come back. They call it 'flashbacks'. The wonder of PTSD. It ends with screaming over nothing, crying over nothing, shutting down, and feeling empty. It's dark nightmares, made even worse because it isn't the wolf man coming, it's a real monster. a real monster that had already gotten you once. A real monster that can come back and finish what it started. The monster is my ex-fiance, Jonah Wright. I may change the names of most of the people of my past, but this one will not be hidden. The fear I've held so many others know, and so many others deny, and so many others honestly think is irrational. We've heard the stories right? The one that goes a man beat up his wife, and she was too scared to call the cops because of what he might do if she did. The lies of 'falling down" and the long sleeves and sunglasses. And how we shake our heads hearing it. "just leave, just call the cops, let him rot in jail." How many people saying that have lived through it, seen it personally? I would NEVER tell a battered woman to call the cops and expect it to be over, because that is a lie. Leave if she can, kill him if she can't. I say this from experience. Three years ago I was engaged. He had a job, I would stay and keep the place clean, it would be fine. He got mad sometimes, but it was usually my fault anyways. He never broke anything, I wasn't going in and out of the er or anything like that. I had done worse to myself before. These happy little lies we tell ourselves to make it ok. You see, the biggest problem with wife beaters isn't that they are out of control, it's the exact opposite. They are in full control. They can stop their fists, stop their words, smile and act so nice and sweet. They draw you in as your knight in shining armor, they treat you like such a princess. And then a word here or there, just a word. "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" right? It's something we've heard before anyways, a comment about how fat or dumb we are. Not always, it's only sometimes and it's usually "you look so dumb RIGHT NOW" because they tell us how smart and pretty we are at other times, it's just right now we're dumb and ugly. And the gifts, we can be so spoiled. And always that "you're so lucky to have me" added on. It's nothing, we don't even really get it, we agree. "oh yes, I'm the luckiest girl in the world, your so good to me, I don't deserve it" and little by little it seeps in. We don't deserve it, we're dumb, we're ugly, we're lucky he has us because no one will. It's a slow poison. The first hit, oh it's a shock. We get mad, how dare he hit me! If we still have friends or family we leave angry. We break up. But he is so sorry, he will do anything to make it up, to prove he's sorry and he loves me. We go to my favorite restaurant, and he cries actual tears! But the little catch, it was just what we said made him mad, he's so sorry, he couldn't control it! He couldn't help it. And he's forgiven and we're back together. We break up and get back together a lot. It's always my fault, and he's always sorry. Eventually hat few friends I had are gone, they are tired of this, of me, and it sinks in how right he is. How he has my back. How he'll be there for me no matter what, and I should too. No matter how many times he says "I'm sorry". Forgive and forget, right? He lived with his mom. Well, not completely, his mom lived with him is how he said it. He worked, and his mom was on disability. See, she had cancer. She paid most of the bills, with him paying the rest, but he always had extra spending money, and she never did. But he wouldn't tell you that. He never told me that. She did though, later on. But he was the kind gentle guy taking such good care of his sick mother. He had to leave for college for a while, but we still talked on the phone when we could. He was all the way in Washington, and here I was in Texas missing him. But I got a surprise, he came back early! My brave man had gotten in trouble with the law. He said one of his friends was in a wheelchair, and these two guys pushed him down a flight of stairs, and my brave boyfriend got in there and beat those bullies up and saved the poor boy in a wheelchair. But, one of the bullies dad was a cop, so they filed my sweet angel with Assault, but he agreed to just leave so they dropped the charges. My hero! I believed it, of course. Things were normal again. He worked, and one night I thought I'd surprise him at work. He worked late a lot. I got there and texted him "where are you" "working late again hun, but be by to see you soon" "take a quick break and come outside" "huh, why?" "cuz I'm right here" turns out he had gotten off an hour ago. oops. He was just at a friend's house planning a b-day party though. Found out later the 'friend' was some girl. at 2 in the morning. right, I may be dumb, but not that dumb. Another fight, another "I'm sorry", and another "all is forgiven". It didn't really start sinking in that I was a battered woman for a while. Like I said, I didn't have broken bones or going to the er. Sure, we fought, but everyone fights in a relationship, right? It wasn't just words, but still, a fight is a fight, we're just 'more passionate', right? I went with him to see his mom in the hospital, and I talked to her nurse for a while. Her nurse was worried, not about the cancer, but about my fiance. His mother had been admitted into the ER via ambulance, which was normal for her. She'd been to the hospital many times. This time the story was she rolled out of bed the wrong way, and pop, her leg somehow was ripped out of the socket. But, even though she knew that story was total bs, she couldn't do anything. Without a complaining victim, you can't call about abuse. Even when it's so obvious. I got scared then. I looked at his mother's room, and I saw a hole in the wall. Right there, above her bed. Right at the level a person's head would be if they were sitting on the bed. Jonah's story was that she rolled out of bed, and he was so mad that she was hurt and he couldn't stop her pain that he punched the wall out of frustration. She died the next week in Hospice care. Her memorial was a pool party, well, for Jonah and his friends. The rest of the family actually talked about her, and held a proper vigil in her memory. At that same time I had just changed my facebook to "engaged to Jonah Wright" and I got a message from a girl I didn't know. She wanted to warn me about my fiance. She lived in Washington, and had been engaged to him. He had come to Washington for the wedding, their wedding, but while there he got angry, as usual, and beat her up. Her brother had been there and tried to stop him, and Jonah had sent him to the er with a concussion. Her father agreed to drop jail time if he would leave the state, and have a protective order against him so that he could never come near them or even contact anyone in the family again. I didn't believe her, he had been arrested for saving a wheelchair boy, not assaulting his fiance, besides, we were together then! How could he be lying to me. She sent me the court papers. The very real court papers. He abused his fiance, he abused his mother and me......  I was just another victim to him. All the lies he had told me suddenly became clear to me. All the times he had hit me, all the time he had strangled me. Oh yeah, he had strangled me many times. I finally was going to leave for good. But, I made a huge mistake. I confronted him and told him I was leaving. I saw his fist coming toward me, and then everything was black. I don't know how long it had been, but someone was screaming. The screaming woke me up, it was so loud! It took me a second to realize it was me. The pain, oh God, the pain! My eye, my left eye, I can't see anything from my eye, where are my glasses! I bput my hand to the left side of my face for a second and then look at it. It's covered in blood, I'm bleeding from where my eye should be. My first thought then, my glasses must have broken and a shard of glass is in my eye. I need a doctor, NOW! I don't notice he's still there, just sitting there on the desk chair watching me. Not saying a word, not trying to help, just sitting there. I try to pull my phone out of my pocket, and he moves like lightning to pull it from my hands. I try to crawl to the house phone and he grabs me by my shoulders. It seems effortless as he throws me across the room, my head hitting the couch. He has a towel, and he tries to hold me down. He's on top of me, I'm still screaming, and he puts the towel over my mouth, his other hand on my throat. I flail, but he's stronger. I feel like I'm about to pass out when someone knocks on the door. I roll over and vomit as soon as he gets off of me. There are two cops at the door. A neighbor heard screaming and called them. They come in, and take one look at me. The officer is clear "who did this to you" I can't say a word, I can barely breathe. But I raise my arm and point at Jonah. His hands are cuffed, and he's let out the door. Firemen come in and help me up. They look me over and try to clean up my face. They tell me I need to call someone, a friend or a family member who can come and get me. I squeak out "I need a doctor, my eye" but they ignore my. They hand me my cell phone, and I call my step-father. I still can't talk, and I hold the phone out. One of the men talks to my step-father, but I can't seem to hear what's being said. everything is so fuzzy. My step-dad gets there, and he takes me straight to the er.They get a urine sample to run a pregnancy test, and a Chasdei Hashem happens. The doctor is impatient. He doesn't want to even wait, just shield her like she is pregnant and run the rest of the tests! They do. I go in and out the whole time. In the end the results are as follows: fractured skull, spinal damage, concussion, and the left eye has been pushed backwards and down through the shattered remains of what once was an eye socket. After all the tests were done they got the pregnancy results too. Negative. My step-father called the Kirby police (Kirby, Texas) to see what was being done with my case and when he can give them the hospital reports. They weren't filing a case. Jonah had been taken into custody to PROTECT HIM in case my family would retaliate. The District Attorney was called. Nothing was going to be done. I called the local news. the day before my interview the DA called and said they were going forward with assault and battery charges and a sentence of up to 25 yrs. My mother asked the people at her church to pray, I didn't have insurance and the cost of my surgeries would be expensive. One of the ladies there took my mom to the side. She had called the doctor she worked for and told them about me. He was going to do the surgeries, with no cost to us whatsoever. Chasdei Hashem. The day of the surgery they wanted urine for a pregnancy test. Ok, waste of time I wasn't pregnant. I was led to the bed and the iv was put in. First I was given water, because I was dehydrated. Before they started the anesthesia a nurse came to me about my pregnancy results. They were positive. They had retested three times. It was certain. I had my mom  call our Pastor, who drove to the hospital right then and prayed over us.Dr. Thornton came to speak with me, about the options. This didn't mean we couldn't do the surgery. They could use a different anesthesia that would be safe for the baby. Since the surgeries were on my head, there was no risk to the baby except the choice of anesthesia, but there would be nothing I could do for the pain afterward. The pain medicines I was currently on were too dangerous to continue. I said it was fine. The surgery was back on track. Never once was the option of abortion ever mentioned, even though it was the first thing in my mind at the time. After everything I had just gone through, the last thing I needed was a child. The surgery went as planned, a piece of molded plastic would be where my cheek and the lower half of my eye socket had been. A saline bag was inserted under and behind my eye and filled to push my eye back into place. It took many hours, but they were successful. another Chasdei Hashem, my eye had not been ruptured from the broken bits of bone, I only had minor scratches which were repairable. My eye would be able to be used again. I ended up on the news twice, the first an outcry about domestic violence, the second about Dr. Thornton, and a group of other doctors who volunteer their services and time to repair the damage of domestic violence. The title of my first piece was "the law is on my side" if only the people who were supposed to uphold that law were. Jonah was released from custody, and at a time when I was staying at a friends tried to break into my home to finish the job. The officer's refused to do anything. They said they would if I had been there and he had been able to hurt me, but since I wasn't they didn't care. I was able to get a protective order against him. The case was finally brought to court.... 3 months after I had given birth. He was sentenced to four months, but they considered his previous time in custody as time in full, and he was released. I moved out of state. I have been to counseling following this for quite a while. I was diagnosed with PTSD, and had flashbacks often about that night. To this day I still do, though not as frequently. The law means nothing if there is no one to uphold it. I was told a few days ago that one of my friends saw he was in a relationship. I pray he has changed, or that she leaves before she ends up in the er like his last two fiance's and mother. Though, I doubt either will happen. She'll learn the hard way, but maybe, just maybe, he'll actually go to jail this time.

Step 1. Breathe it in, Breathe it out.

We've all heard it, "breathe in the good, breathe out the bad" or maybe we heard "just let it all out". Either way, the concept and meaning is the same. Don't bottle it up. Don't keep the fear and pain to yourself. Don't lie there curled up letting the thoughts run through your mind, pushing them down yet again to the dark festering pit deep inside. We all have that dark pit we try to fill with our fear, our pains, our troubles. Our mistakes. We put on our mask of "this is the present me, the real me, the strong me, the happy me" and then the thoughts come in, and how bravely we fight them back. "That was the old me, the weak me, the wrong me, I'm not that girl anymore" we yell. But, we are wrong. The old me is as much a part of myself as the current me is. The old mistakes and failures are what shaped me. When we have children (if we have children) we look at them and say "don't do what I did, I know how that is" and they look at the person we show them. They see the "now me" and think there never was a me before..... a me that made mistakes, a me that holds regret, a me that used to cry deep into the night. I have a bad past. And all my life I've been bottling it up, pushing it down, ignoring the pain. It always come back. The me today has PTSD. The me today has scars. The me today is alive. And that is because of the me yesterday, and the day before, and the one who created me. I truly believe we all have some purpose in life. Some wisdom to share, a story to tell. A life to change. My life has been forever changed. Not by superheros in capes, not by a celebrity, but by ordinary, everyday people. Some of them I owe my life, and I don't even know their names. My latest therapist told me that writing my story would be good for me, that letting out what I've been through will help me heal, even though some of the wounds have been scabbed and scarred for decades. But, that is only the tip of the iceberg for me. My wounds I can handle. But I know somewhere, right now, is another person. One whose wounds are fresh. Someone with tear stained eyes listening to the same old lies "your alone...... no one else understands....."and that is why I want to do this. That is why I want to open my can of worms and let every slimy, filthy, dark thing out and lay myself bare. To let that person know "here I am, I went through this too, and you can make it!" Your never stupid for making a mistake. No matter how big or small. This roller coaster ride called life has many ups and downs, and to many of us it seems we go down and down and down. I've been a victim. Been, past tense. It took me a quarter of a century, but I finally made it through. I've been called many things in that time. Unwanted, a burden, a failure, abused, beaten, worthless, a whore, freak. Official records label me as abused child, victim of domestic abuse, cutter, suicidal and more. Some of the things I'll be talking about in the weeks to come will be purely what is written in the records, because my mind has shut it out completely. Sometimes, only temporarily.

Today I am truly happy. Today me and my husband have been told we are expecting, and the baby will be due May 1st, on our 3rd wedding anniversary. Long before I ever met my husband I swore my children will be loved. They will be hugged, and kissed, and told "I love you" until I no longer have the strength. My story begins before I was even conceived. It begins with a fifteen year old girl. We'll call her Martha (though this tale is 100% true, I will not use the real names of those involved). A girl with few friends, who wanted to fit in, to feel loved. Her mother was a Jehovah's witness. Could have been worse, a whole lot worse, but part of her mother's beliefs was that no one should ever celebrate anything. No Birthday, no Christmas, no Valentines. Her mother made it clear that she was not to be a part of any celebration at schools, so she was forced to sit out in the hallways and listen to the other children exchange valentines. She was not allowed to even be in the same room. No ginger-bread houses, no gifts, no balloons or confetti. No pizza parties, no chocolate, no cake. She was made the no-fun outcast. It was no surprise she hung out with the other outcasts in high school. It was no surprise she dated an older boy just to make her mother mad. No surprise she was defiant, and turned to Wicca. So when her boyfriend called her names, or 'playfully' punched her, she didn't complain. When he, an eighteen year old, wanted to 'go all the way' with her she was overjoyed. She was finally loved! And when she told him she was pregnant and he punched her over and over in the stomach until she miscarried right there at his feet, she grabbed the fear, the pain, and the shame and buried it. She pushed it down deep and pretended it never happened. It was gone, and it would not come back. He (let's call him John) still loved her, he still wanted her. She was just fine. It was just a mistake, just a nightmare and now she's awake and in his arms. How easy it is, like reading an old story you've heard a million times, to sit there and tell what is going to happen next. "It won't end", you want to yell at her, "he'll do it again" "this is domestic violence, and statutory rape, he's just a wife-beater, leave him, you deserve better!!" To be on the outside looking in. Of course, some people did tell her he was no good, and of course she ignored them. She stayed with him for another year, and then the thoughts started to come forward again. The fear, the pain, the shame. She had missed her period, and she was gripped in fear's cruel clutch. She tested, and saw the little lines. The positive lines. The "here we go again, he's going to be mad" lines. She didn't tell him. She pushed it all down. It was a mistake. He used a condom for crying out loud! But the next month, and the next, and she could deny it no more. She did not make the same mistake, however. This time, she told her parents. This time she went to stay with relatives, until she couldn't stand not seeing him. She finally called him, and told him. He called her a slut. He used a condom, she must have been knocked up by someone else. She came back home to her parents, and two days after her 18th birthday gave birth to a baby girl. Her boyfriend came back, and wanted her to move in with him. It seemed perfect, until they got to his place. There was another woman there. His fiance for the past two years. He honestly thought they could all live together! She went back to her parents, and his fiance left him too. She stayed away for a few months, until he proposed. She said yes, and they got married. Her picture of a family, a mom and dad with beautiful children in her mind seemed so perfect. In her mind this was a fairy-tale. For a small time things were well, until the baby started to try to walk. Her husband's new game: knock the baby down and laugh as it cried. He was a real pro at this. Martha tried to stop him, but then he'd hit her. It was easier to just let the baby fall down,he didn't really hurt anything. Until the baby stopped trying. After the child's first birthday she still wasn't walking, or standing. John got tired and started a new game. See, john was a cop now, with a real gun and everything. He decided "let's check if my gun is loaded by firing it next to my wife's head" sounded fun. Nope, not loaded this time. Martha became pregnant again, and the old fear showed it's ugly head. This time she left the state entirely, moving in with some aunts of hers and taking the baby with her. The little girl finally took her first steps, in the delivery room after her brother was born. Martha had stitches, and tried to be a good single mother. She made two mistakes though, first she named the boy after John. Second, she tried to do too much. See she lived in an upstairs apartment and tried to carry a load of laundry, her newborn in his baby carrier, and her 18 month old girl upstairs. At the same time. Of course, she popped her stitches. Of course she needed to go to the doctor. Of course she had to be on an anti-biotic, which meant no more breast-feeding. And of course her new baby could not tolerate any form of formula, or cow's milk. Even using a stomach tube didn't help. He started starving. And the first Chasdei Hashem happened. An Amish farmer who lived just a few miles away had goats. This woman milked her goats every morning, and brought fresh milk to Martha's doorstep. She was doubtful, but her son weighed 3 pounds lighter than when he was born, he was near death. She tried it, and he drank it. And it stayed down. Each morning more milk was brought, and each day he got a little stronger. He looked just like his father. And she made one of the biggest mistakes. She called John, and he drove to pick her up. They played family for a little while, and then Martha made a good choice. She filed for divorce. Then came the bad choice, she filed child support. John denied the kids were his, and dna tests were done. Then, he fought for full custody. Martha seemed like a fine mother, maybe not the best or smartest, but fine. She got a job, and made her next mistake. She let the little twelve year old down the block babysit. The twelve year old's idea: lock the kids in the back yard, and play with my friends in the front. we'll hear the babies cry and can deal with them later. Unfortunately, it was a pin and hole lock on a sliding glass door, the kind where if you jiggle the door enough the pin falls out and you can get in. Of course a four year old and a two and a half year old can manage that. And that is exactly what happened. These two kids with free reign over an empty house decided they wanted to swim in the wading pool out back, but there was no water! To the fridge, and in the pool went milk, orange juice, mayonnaise (it looked like milk) cookies, and then the older sister saw the antique glass kool-aid pitcher. She carried it to the pool, and dropped it in. It shattered. And then the little boy did a cannon ball. The older kids jumped at the screams and ran into the back, where the 'babysitter' promptly fainted from the sight. 911 was called, and the children were taken to the hospital. Martha was called at work by one of the nurses. Her daughter was fine, a bit shaken, but fine. Her son however had a large shard of glass that nearly cut halfway through his leg. Luckily, no major arteries were severed, but the bone was damaged beyond repair. The growth in that leg would be stunted. That was the evidence used by John, and custody was granted to him. That is the beginning of my nightmare, and how my father became mine and my brother's sole guardian.