[Bad] Dream of a Memory

Do you know anyone that’s ever been abused? Any sort of abused? I do. I have. I was. Many forms, by different people at different times in my life. Most of the time, though, it was on repeat by one person: my stepfather.

For the most part I’ve gotten over it. While my mother is still, unfortunately, married to the man that treated me so badly throughout my childhood and adolescent years (and even now he bad mouths and talks down to me, but I’ve grown more of a back bone and will talk back to him despite fear of retribution), most of my communication with my mother is via telephone as she lives over an hour away and she works over 8 hours a day, every day, every week with the [very] occasional day off; she’s the main “breadwinner” of their household as my stepdad is (surprise-surprise!) a convicted felon & although he could find work at, the very least, a manufacturing plant, he refuses to work anything other than odd jobs that he runs himself.

Therefore, my communication with that entire household is limited.

And my mother.

I love her. I do. I may not always agree with everything she says. I may not agree with everything she does, especially the fact that she’s still with my stepdad, but I love her nonetheless. I will acknowledge her faults, though most of the time not to her face because she won’t most of the time. She confides in me and I, her. We understand each other because of, oddly enough, my stepfather. We have a mutual understanding between us and I’m thankful to her that, although she’s my mother, my Mom, she chose to have me live apart from her.

And that’s where everything comes full circle as to why I’m writing this tonight.

I woke up around three this morning, my eyes wide and in a panic. I knew I was in bed and if it wasn’t for the fact that my husband’s arms were still around me I probably would have screamed.

I dreamt of a memory of days long since past. It was nearly 9 years ago – the winter of 2005 – and I was living with my mother in the home she lives in now. It’s a small, technically one-bedroom, house that at the time housed my Mom & stepdad in what is now a closet; my two younger brothers, who were then 6 & 8 years old in what is now a combined living room/Mom & stepdad’s room; and me, in what is now my youngest brother’s room, that back then was right next to my mother and stepfather’s “room” and only separated by a sheet. There was no privacy whatsoever. It was Hell on Earth.

Normally I wouldn’t be living with them; I abhor my stepfather and nearly always have, but my Grandmother, whom I had been staying with, gave me an ultimatum that pushed me and I took it. I wasn’t going to give up a friendship for her old-fashioned ideals, but that’s a different topic altogether. So I found myself moving 45 minutes away and switching schools in the middle of the fall semester my first year of high school. My mother was happy that I was finally coming to live with her, but she wasn’t happy about the circumstances behind it. Honestly, everything was going well until the last day of school before winter break.

One of my friends, specifically a male friend, asked if he could come over and hang out for a bit after school. I told him I’d ask. I was more than naïve back then, I guess; he purposely left information out to me and I didn’t see the signs. Either way, we both got permission for him to come over and he rode the bus home with me. I’m going to point this out now: I never thought of him as anything more than a friend; he was JUST a friend to me in my mind. Well, apparently everybody else thought otherwise – including him.

He ended up eating dinner with my family because his mom hadn’t picked him up yet. When I asked him why she hadn’t shown up yet, he said that she wouldn’t be there till around 9PM. I was pissed! He never told me that and I knew, at that moment, I was going to get hell from my stepdad as soon as he left.

I was right.

After he left and my brothers were firmly asleep my stepdad started in on me and it just kept coming. I don’t remember everything he said; he asked me so many questions – accusing me of lying when I hadn’t and every time I denied lying he just got angrier.

What I haven’t said yet is that my stepfather is an alcoholic. I know by that time he was drunk for sure, but I couldn’t tell you how long he’d been drinking that day.

Finally, at one point, I was sent to bed. I think it was around 11-11:30 that evening. I was tired. I’d had a long day at school and then I’d been grilled and yelled at and intimidated by my stepfather. Nobody likes that. I fell asleep listening to him yell at my Mom, but the words were a blur to me, even then.

I was woken up again around 1AM, being dragged – literally – out of bed by my arm by my stepfather. He was pissed, and that’s an understatement. I don’t remember what the discussion at that point was about. I was being questioned again about my actions that evening and why I did what and several other co-existing categories. I remember answering something honestly and it must have been the wrong answer, and something that he disliked extremely or considered a “smart-ass remark” because the next thing I knew I was dodging a glass plate being thrown at me. If I hadn’t moved it would have hit my upper left shoulder near my neck. I don’t remember much after that other than crying and being scared.

I moved back to my Grandmother’s within days after that. I don’t think anyone would question why. It was my Mom’s decision to move me back.

The thing is, this is only one of the instances of something abusive happening to me but for some reason it’s the one that pops up the most in my memory, in my dreams; it’s the one that troubles me the most and I don’t understand why.

I was scared then and it scarred me enough mentally and emotionally that it still bothers me to this day, enough to keep me awake at night. The abuse I’ve suffer throughout my life from my stepfather, and inadvertently from my mother, is probably the one thing that I haven’t completely gotten over and I’m not sure that I ever will. I think that’s what scares me.

Now it’s not the terror of being physically dragged away from my bed in the middle of the night by someone else; now it’s the terror of waking up and having to drag myself from my own bed because of someone else… because I’m afraid to face what might be in my dreams.

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Friendship Fail.

A month or so ago I posted about my “best friend” who’s getting married later this month and we were having some difficulties because early-mid last year I was taken advantage of in a most deplorable way and he was standing up for her fiance in the wedding. I haven’t fully gotten past what happened back then and I told her that if he was going to be there, if I had to be around him so intimately [because I, too, am in the wedding] then I wasn’t going to be in the wedding and probably not even attend the ceremony or reception.

Back at my other posts, I thought we had patched things up to the point where we determined that he wasn’t going to be coming: not invited, nodda.

I found out earlier today that not only did neither she nor her fiance tell the friend (the guy who date-raped me) that he was no longer invited to the wedding or anything to do with it, I found out the exact opposite! She has been in contact with him, messaging him and questioning him “why the lack of sudden friendship? I hope there’s no hard feelings from when you moved out earlier this year”.

And no, there’s not apparently. As it turns out, “the guy” and my supposed “best friend” are still good pals and she still considers him a very close friend and is very upset with her fiance because he took his friendship with “the guy” for granted and now she’s trying to mend it. Literally. So far, in fact, that she’s trying to get him to stay in the wedding that he dropped out of being in.

Yeah, the same one that I’m in later this month that my “best friend” said he wasn’t even going to be at. Yet, here she is trying to get him to salvage his friendship with her fiance and come to the wedding “because it would mean a lot to him and he wouldn’t have invited you to stand up for him in the wedding if he wasn’t trying in the friendship”.

I’m so friggin pissed. I’m not sure many people have any idea of just how angry I really and truly am.

So basically, I’ve decided that I’ll go. My children aren’t. They’re going to be staying at my mother’s house for, at the very least, the day of the wedding. My aunt is going because MY fiance decided he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her after this particular stunt and that she isn’t worth rescheduling part of his day at work. Honestly? I’m just going to see what exactly she thinks of me. If “the guy” is there, most especially in the Bridal Party, then I’m just walking out and never speaking to her again. It will be her fault and I just don’t care. I’m at the point of almost not going anyway.

I don’t know what she must think of me, but she must think I’m just some little toy, some sort of pawn, to be used and played with and whose emotions are so easily messed with it’s not funny. She must think that I’ll forgive her for anything. And she must not believe what I told her. I’m hurt; I feel betrayed. This is truly the last straw and for more reasons than one.

She’s the reason why my fiance almost broke up with me this afternoon. And that’s a much longer story. Let’s just leave that at with her, there’s been so much drama and it’s causing him to doubt me in several ways.

I’m not a liar and he has no reason to doubt me. I’m hurt, I’m disgusted, and I’m betrayed. I will not lose one of the most important people in my life because of some petty drama. She wants drama, she’ll get it on her wedding day, especially if she’s the cause of it. Using the “but it’s my wedding day” card won’t work on me then.

And I’m normally not such a bitch. I’m just that angry and hurt.

Talking and Happiness

My fiance and I never fight. Seriously. We don’t. It isn’t that I don’t get upset or angry with him and it’s not that he doesn’t get upset or angry with me, it’s the fact that even if I am p*ssed off with him and I bring it up, he’ll avoid any sort of arguement or confrontation; he won’t answer a question directly either. Or, in the opposite view, if he’s angry or upset with me he won’t bring it up at all! He’ll just walk away! Yes, I’m able to tell that he’s angry and upset, but he won’t let me do anything about it. He won’t let me try and talk about it.

I tried to bring it up last night. I did.

Something happened that made him angry. He just, basically, shut himself off. He looked stony, apathetic if you didn’t know him or what to look for; he had stopped talking and was very tense, his eyes were cold, angry. I told him to go listen to some music or watch a movie and calm down. (I knew that’s what he was going to do anyway, so why not suggest it?) I stayed in a different room from my fiance, peeking in on him to see what he was doing. As luck would have it, he was watching “Silent Hill: Revalation”; he never watches horror/thriller movies, so I took it as a bad sign. (What he watches and/or listens too varies upon his mood, like a lot of people.)

I finally started talking to him from the next room. I told, not asked, my fiance that “y’know, sometimes I would rather you just yell at me when you’re upset or angry than say nothing at all because then at least I would know what you’re upset about, because even when I ask you about it you don’t answer”.

There was a pause, and he said something along the lines of “I’m not that kind of person”. And I just blanched. Really? Not that kind of person?

So I said [something like] “Then how are we going to communicate? Going to talk at all? When there are issues between us are we just going to ignore them?”

And you won’t believe what he said [to the extent of]: “What issues?” I wanted to roll my eyes. I think I DID roll my eyes. The conversation was already wearing me out; it really was!

I yelled back at him (because we were in different rooms, I couldn’t talk in a normal-toned voice) “I don’t know, the fact that we can talk about mundane things but not important or serious things? That when you’re upset or I’m upset we can’t comfort each other because quote-unquote ‘you’re not that type of person’. Those kind of issues. I don’t know.”

We didn’t say much from there; that’s about all that really sticks in my mind. It just bothers me though. Yeah, we talk, but like I said in the conversation last night: it’s normally just about mundane things, or it’s a one-sided rant on something important with the other person inserting an opinion or word here/there every once and a while. No, we don’t talk at each other, we actually listen to each other, that much is obvious, but there’s just something wrong with our communication that needs fixed and he doesn’t seem to see it. Yeah, he’ll comfort me when I’m crying by hugging me, but if he knows he’s the cause of it? Nope. No hug. In fact, he’ll completely ignore the fact that I’m crying or that I have been, even when it’s completely obvious – like last night.

No, he’s not cold-hearted. He’s just been hurt and has a ways to heal. He’s dealt with a lot in his life and I think I’m truly the first one to not hurt him or treat him in ways that others have in the past. We’ve been together almost two years and he’s changed a lot, but I don’t think I’ve broken down all of the walls yet and I know it’ll take a while yet.

I just… I hope I remember to ask him [again] tonight what I asked him last night. I only realized earlier that he avoided the question last night, which kind of furthers my point.

I told him last night that one of my deepest fears that I worry over constantly is that one day my children will drive him away, cause they’re a lil’ on the wild side, in a manner of speaking. (I added a couple of other descriptions last night to try and lighten the mood.) I did ask him, though. And I was crying a bit, though I was trying not to. He changed the subject, but only slightly, by saying that he’d been meaning to bring home earplugs to block out the screeching from my youngest child who screeches and screams when he’s unhappy, and all that it takes for my youngest to be unhappy is for me to be out of the room. 😦

And that was the end of the conversation. He’s probably going to be angry when I bring it up again. P*ssed, even, but I’m going to. I can’t stand not knowing when I’ve already asked and it’s bugging me even more because he didn’t answer. Normally not answering something doesn’t bode well.

I think this time I might even tell him that if he’s that unhappy, or if he’s staying just to make me happy, then he has the right to leave. No, I don’t want him to. That’s the last thing in the world I want to happen. Part of my world would die if that happened; he truly is the love of my life, but I don’t want him to be unhappy because of me.

I love him and all I want is for him to be happy and if I don’t make him happy anymore, so be it.

Love Me, Hate Me

I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.

I’m engaged. I’m supposed to be getting married. It’s a moot point at this point; everybody knows it. I guess I’m a bit smarter than I used to be, though; I asked for a long engagement. When I did that, it was for us to get to know each other, and I believe that we do, but I didn’t want us to end up hating each other in the process.

We’re fighting and I’m not really sure why. All I know is that he failed one of summer classes. He mentioned to me that he failed it because he didn’t have enough time to do his homework. I didn’t know what to say. I was speechless. And then I started apologizing frantically while I tried not to cry.

I’m crying now as I type this.

I don’t want to fight with him and I didn’t want to start anything even more vicious. I could have. I could have told him that if he talked to me more I would know what he needed to finish instead of assuming he was either A) already done, or B) close enough to done to be doing something else.

He never said anything and when he did, it was on the last day and he just shut himself off to the world and got really pissy about everything. Snapping at me: “Leave me alone! If I don’t pass this I can’t get my degree!”

I feel like I’m going through my old relationship again. With my ex. He was abusive. He didn’t listen to me. He just told me to leave him alone and shut himself off from the world unless he wanted something. And that’s not good. I shouldn’t feel this way… especially since I love this man so much I can’t imagine my life without him. It’s something I’ve never felt before.

I could’ve told him when he snapped at me about his failed class that ‘yes, I’m sorry, but I think taking my children to the hospital to be seen since their doctor won’t right now is a bit more important, don’t you?’

I could’ve been a bitch about it. I could’ve retaliated hardcore and started a fight. But I didn’t.

And yes, what started it is that he’s upset over the fact that I want to take my children to the hospital and he doesn’t. He thinks it will take too much time and he won’t have time to do anything. Even his homework. And that he’s going to fail again and not get his degree.

Fine then. If my children end up hospitalized because of his carelessness, because I’m unable to drive, it’s on him. Literally. It’s going to get the ass-chewing of a lifetime. My children are sick and they need medicine and their doctor is an asshole who won’t see them until mid-next week because there’s “more than one to be seen”.

I’ll talk to him when I calm down. I’ll give it a bit longer to let him calm down too. I pointed out that he “looked angry” and that was when he snapped at me. Guess I know him a little too well, eh? Shouldn’t have said anything, I guess.

But I will. I will talk to him. I want to make this work and I’m not going to let him just avoid the issue.

He says we talk, but not half as much anymore. If we did, I’d know what was going on right now and why I feel so distant from him. I hope we work it out.

I love him.