Wednesday, April 24, 2013

The Least Funny Blog Post I Will Ever Write...

I have been debating about whether to write about this. I have such wonderful support from so many people...people I didn't even know followed me. And so many women have written me, thanking me for my honesty when it came to issues dealing with divorce and raising children as a single parent, with some even calling me inspiring. But there is nothing inspiring about what I have to say today...

Last September, I was swept off my feet by an incredibly charming man. A man who showered me with attention and gifts. A man who was intelligent and witty. A man I could talk to all night, who listened with interest to what I had to say. A man who was kind to me, and treated me like I hung the moon. He brought me flowers, just because. He left cards and notes on my windshield for me to find in the morning, just so I would know he was thinking of me. He seemed genuine and honest, and willing to be up front about his flaws...or so it seemed. A man who gave me more positive attention in the first three months than I had ever received in my entire life. He called me his soulmate. After everything I'd been through, I thought my prayers had been answered.

I was wrong.

So, so wrong...

After a few months, the cracks in his foundation began to show. There was a mountain of debt I had no idea he had...and we're not talking a little. We're talking nothing he'll ever pay off in his lifetime. He had depleted his savings and retirement accounts. His truck was repossessed. He had to constantly borrow money to pay bills or get the water or electricity back turned back on, even as he went out every night and dressed in expensive clothes. And then there was how little he saw of his children...as of this time, it's been four months since he laid eyes on ANY of his four kids...the youngest has seen him three times in the past 9 months, once only for an hour. He is tens of thousands in arrears on his child support. I began to realize things weren't as they seemed. Then there was the jealousy...he had mostly female friends, but I wasn't allowed to stay in contact with my guy friends. "Because I know not to trust guys. They all want to have sex with you," he said. Any argument I made was wholly unreasonable--a betrayal of him, even. Guess what, ladies and gentlemen? I had the original con artist. Me...a fairly intelligent girl who makes a decent living and has her life more or less together. A Nice Girl at heart--far from perfect, but generally kind and reasonably responsible. And I missed it...and I put myself and my kids in grave danger because I wasn't bright enough to see it in time.

The controlling behavior slowly escalated. In the final month, if I was upset or bothered by something, it didn't matter how calmly or rationally I brought it up. He turned it into a shouting match almost immediately. The fights were horrific, and always 100% MY FAULT. If only I did this...if only I was more respectful...he would tell our friends I was unstable, when he was the one who threw his phone so hard, he left a hole in my wall. Once, near the end, he screamed in my face, calling me a fucking cunt. When I started to cry, he looked at me with disgust. "There you go again, playing the fucking victim. You're pathetic," he spat.

Never in my life have I been called the names he called me. Cunt. Slut. Bitch. Pathetic. Loser. Liar. I have never experienced so much hatred and vitriol...all from the person who claimed I was "the love of his life" and talked often of marrying me. I have never been so torn down and humiliated, nor treated with so much disdain in my life. It went from being the most loving, affectionate relationship I've ever experienced to exactly the opposite. That isn't to say I did nothing wrong in the relationship...I am human, and I made mistakes, too. But I was honest and loyal throughout. For him, it turned into a game, where he liked to point out my every flaw. He seemed to get joy out of being critical of my appearance and mannerisms. My nose was too big. My singing was abysmal. My laugh was annoying. I needed to do some squats. My hands and feet were ugly. My jaw and lips were all wrong. I really wasn't all that pretty...and I was supposedly the girl of his dreams? And still, I didn't leave.

By then, I loved him...not who he was, but the version he had presented in the beginning...and I thought, maybe if I give it time and walk the line, that guy will come back. What I didn't realize is, that guy never really existed. This one did. This was who he is. The one who had built our relationship on a house of cards...some half-truths, some out-and-out lies. The things I have learned about him since the breakup are simply mind-blowing. Even that term is a grave understatement. Humiliating. Embarrassing. Disgusting. None of that even touches it. This was a man (and I use that term loosely, because he is really not a man at all), quite simply, with NO moral compass or sense of decency, honor, or responsibility to anyone. This was a "man" who feels he is above everyone...above the law...that there are no rules that apply to him. And that is what makes him so terrifying.

As for the breakup itself...I was badly beaten. Not with his fists...just with his ability to throw me around like a rag doll, on account of the 100 pounds he had on me. I sustained a concussion, over 30 bruises, and urinated blood for days. My back was black and blue. I stayed with my parents. My mother cried every time she looked at me. And still I cried and refused to give the name of the attacker to the police...even as the officer told me the level of injuries I sustained warranted a felony assault investigation. I was wrong not to. I know that now. If nothing else, I should've done it to protect his current girlfriend....and all of his future ones. They will end up just like me, just as I'm pretty sure now that I ended up like the last one...it hasn't been hard to fill in the blanks that he left unsaid about his last relationship, the one which he claimed he had been  so honest and up-front about. I'm sure he's saying the same things about me now, as he pulls the wool over this victim's eyes. Because she is a victim, too, every bit as much as I am. She will be abused, whether it's physically, verbally, emotionally, or all of the above. It may take a little time, but it will absolutely happen. She will be hurt by him, and I can't help her. I don't want to feel guilty about that, but I do. I regret that. I wish I could warn every woman in the metropolitan area.

I can't do that. All I can do is tell my story, and hope people read it. All I can do is make people understand that no one is immune to abuse. My YWCA counselor likened his actions to emotional terrorism. It can happen to anyone. Even smart, pretty, together girls...who may be in a slightly vulnerable place. It's the vulnerability he feeds upon. I have lost friends. I have been judged harshly. I have hurt those that I loved. I have lived in fear every day. I have had my life threatened. I have made mistakes. And I have survived. One day, maybe I'll even be okay. One day, maybe I'll trust someone again. I don't know. But it isn't today....

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Head Over Heels

I am not, nor have I ever been, what anyone would describe as a Dog Person. I liked some dogs, but always in an I-just-wanna-visit-and-not-live-with-you capacity. To be honest, however, I have long been semi-indifferent to most dogs. I even tend to actively dislike some of the ankle-biter breeds. When I got divorced, I happily settled into a neat, pretty, comfortable-but-small 3-bedroom house with the girls, which I take a great deal of pride in owning. It is by no means fancy, but I maintain it reasonably well and I love that it is MINE. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would share it with anyone but the girls and our two cats, one of whom I have had roughly since the Dawn of Creation.

Then last year, I met a guy. And the guy had a dog. But it wasn't just ANY dog. It was a 160-pound Great Dane, and one of the coolest, most intelligent dog-ponies I have ever encountered. He would bring him to my house when he visited, and we would keep him when he left town. After not quite 6 months, the guy and I were done--a sad end, and a story for another day, because I'm not ready to tell it. But after a couple of months on my own, I realized I missed the dog. I missed having him around, because he is an awesome companion, especially when the girls weren't home. I missed seeing the girls with him, and the joy they took in having a dog in the house.

Soon, I found myself browsing rescue dogs on petfinder...casually, at first. The idea was incredibly abstract. Then, I saw him. And I was smitten.


I found out he was being fostered, and I followed his progress for a week or so before I called and made arrangements to meet him. I didn't tell anyone, because if it didn't work out, I didn't want to disappoint the girls...and besides, who would believe it? Me and a DOG? Me, training a PUPPY? And not just any puppy...over 40 pounds of mystery Dane/Lab/Hound mix. The destructive potential this 3-month-old ball of energy could have on my serene little house was mind-boggling. In spite of all of that, I HAD to meet him.

So I did...and I brought him home with me. And it didn't take long. I was a goner...I was crazy, over-the-moon in love with Roger, the Pony Puppy. Me, the confirmed non-dog person...who managed to housebreak a puppy in a week, and taught him "sit," "stay," and "lie down" within 10 days. (Clearly, he's brilliant. Or I am...but I think it's him. Or the bacon.)

I'm still not sure I'm really a dog person, generally speaking. But I like MY dog an awful lot...it doesn't mean I go up to stranger dogs in the park. (This is kind of how I feel about children, too...love mine. Love the minions of those that I love...but strangers' children I am happy to admire from a distance.) I'm pretty sure this dog was mine from the start. He was sent to me, for us to rescue each other. I think we're both doing a damn good job.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Rescue Dog

Tomorrow--correction--later TODAY, I am rescuing a shelter dog and bringing him home with me. Well, sort of. I'm just bringing him home. As I see it, the animal sanctuary already did the rescuing...not that adopting a new family member isn't cool as hell. I'm excited! This may turn out to be the best relationship I've ever had! But what's funny is he doesn't even know I'm coming. I wasn't sure why I've felt so compelled to do this in recent weeks. I've been following his progress with his foster family for a couple of weeks...today, I understand why. In some ways, I am not unlike a shelter dog. While I know--intellectually speaking--that I am loved, I'm not always wanted. That point was driven home to me in the past 24 hours, more than once. It's the same point that has been driven home repeatedly over the past few years by various people.

I've had sort of a shitty time of things. And no one else has been through it but me. Being flung from a marriage and the family and home I had known for all of my adult life into an unknown situation with only a truncated version of my family still intact is awful. Only a couple of my friends have been through something similar. The rest simply don't understand. They couldn't. While I realize that the relationships I've had were ultimately mistakes, they were mine to make and learn from, just like all romantic relationships...one hopes with their closest friends standing behind you, because it's hard. I mean, only one of those relationships lasts, right? There's a lot of trial and error involved. But that isn't always the case. Sometimes you turn around, like a shelter dog, and discover several of your people aren't there. Sometimes that isn't intentional. Sometimes it is. But either way, it's hard...hard to be The Girl that No Longer Belongs when all of your friends are married...it's hard to be the one that everyone is watching when a relationship ends in the worst possible way, when it was the last thing you expected. (It's actually a hundred times harder to be hurt in such an awful way by the person who claims to love you more than anything, who you thought you would spend your life with...just in case anyone was wondering.) It's hard to be told "I Told You So" by the very few that did suspect something was amiss. It's hard to be told how much stress you've caused everyone, when their stress was only a drop in the bucket compared to yours. It's hard to get conflicting advice from every different direction, and know you hurt or pissed off someone by making a different decision. It's hard to be told your decisions are being judged and your friendship is on the line...especially when it's clearly already been cut off, and you find yourself downgraded to acquaintance by someone who used to have your back. It's hard to have people not reach out to you and not respond to you, whether it's because they're angry or they don't know what to say...or maybe they want to punish you, or maybe they've simply stopped caring...some things I'll never know, and some things I don't want to know. It's hard to be written off. Conditional love and friendship is something I hope I NEVER understand, no matter how many times I experience it from those I love unconditionally. Shelter dogs have only known conditional love...or maybe they're loved, but thrown back anyway, because they behaved in a way that their Person didn't like and it threatened their happiness...their comfort zone...their world. It caused them stress, even though the dog probably hasn't known comfort or happiness or stability in years.

I am blessed to have some stability in my life...but I have a lot less than I used to. And just like I gave everybody warm fuzzy props a week ago, let me now say--to everyone--I am sorry for the stress or disappointment I've caused. It was not intentional. It's the last thing I wanted. And this most recent installment, I certainly didn't ask for. It was NOT my fault, or so the counselor keeps saying. I'm sorry if you see me as a screw-up. I'm really not. This is really f*cking hard, and you've never had to try to do anything like it. I take good care of my girls. I get the privilege of putting them and their happiness first. And they're amazing! They make every day brighter. I am proud of myself for getting through it, even if you're not. I am proud of those battle scars and those lessons learned, because they're harder than what most people have to learn. While everyone else talks about how blessed they are to be living the dream...I feel blessed to have been tested and still be living my own version, even if it doesn't look like everyone else's...even if I don't belong to the club anymore, even if I am persona non grata. I am SO proud of my truncated, patchwork family, but it did seem as though there was someone missing...

With God's Grace, that someone is coming home tomorrow, and he will be my everyday inspiration. Because as hard as my recent existence might have been, you know what? His has been harder. He was abandoned shortly after his birth and didn't even get to know the love of his mother for very long. (I mean, hell, he doesn't even know who his father IS!) He probably hasn't known unconditional love at all, and I am determined to show it to him, no matter how ridiculous his behavior may be at times. I have been blessed to have that in some places in my life. There are a few people that will always hold me up. One of them gets the privilege of taking me to adopt my rescue dog tomorrow...I think I'm sort of her rescue dog sometimes, but it's okay. She lets me call the shots while I figure things out for myself...I won't do that with mine, but he is an actual canine. Isn't everyone a rescue dog at some point? If you haven't had your turn yet, I am so thankful for you...but I promise, I will do whatever it takes to show you love when your time comes. I won't let you feel excluded or left behind or forgotten or judged. Until then, I will keep you close to my heart.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

You Never Know...

Sometimes, when you least expect it, she comes back better, stronger, and happier than she was before. Alone and happy might just be the brightest spot in the universe...and it might be the hardest place to reach.