[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.

Matters of the Heart

I need to write this. I need to get this out of my system before I explode.

First off, I’m over my ex-husband. I’m over him so thoroughly it’s crazy. That’s not what I’m concerned about. I’m concerned that one day I’m going to look at one of my children, particularly my oldest child who has my ex-husband’s eyes to a T, and hate them. Loathe them. Wish they were never born. I don’t want that now and just the thought of it possibly happening makes me sick to my stomach and want to cry.

But I know of people that it’s happened to. And it worries me to death. I think it’s a large part of what stresses me out and keeps me up at night.

I love my children. My oldest is in preschool and learning more and more everyday. All of them are so smart, wonderful, adorable, loveable… and while I may be horribly biased, I’m not the only one who thinks so. Especially the loveable part, though. All of them will just go up to someone and give them a hug, say “hi” and smile that heartwarming smile that they have.

I don’t understand how I could possibly come to abhor any of my children, but like I said… I know of other mothers who’ve began to dislike their children after a certain amount of time.

My own mother did it. I don’t want to take after her. I’m afraid that I will. I think that’s what scares me the most: becoming like my mother.

But it’s mind over matter, right? All a power of will?

Guess I need to work on my strength of the mind, heart, and soul. Or something like that.

Life = Drama

I shouldn’t feel like this. I don’t want to feel like this and yet I do.

My life is a soap opera. It’s drama-filled and it’s never boring. I hate it. It’s never a happy drama; something bad is always happening. I could name around ten (10) things right now that aren’t even close to good, but I don’t want to rant about everything.

I only want to get one thing out of my system. I’m so stressed about it, it’s not even funny. It’s scary. I’m anxious and freaking out and crying.

I’m honestly afraid that I’m going to lose my fiance. I honestly fear that I’m going to lose the man that I love.

Why? Because I made some bad choices in my past and they keep being dredged up when he’s just managing to stop thinking about them. And it isn’t as if I like to think about what I did in my past either – I hate it and I would rather not think on it either – but it’s harder for him. We got together right afterward. As in, less than a month afterward.

And I didn’t realize it at the time, in fact I didn’t realize it until my fiance pointed it out earlier this evening to me, but I had inadvertently lied to him.

At the time my fiance and I started our relationship I was just coming out of my bar-hopping/partying/drinking/sleeping around phase that lasted a whole three months. (Not very long, right?) Well, I don’t remember exactly when I said it or in what context, but I said that I wasn’t “that kind of girl” – the kind to sleep around or lie or betray him. And to be quite honest, I’m not. I just fell for him and I fell hard. When I told him that, and I can guarantee this, I didn’t think of myself as any sort of bar slut or some sort of floozy.

But he thinks I lied to him just to get with him. I didn’t and I’m scared that he’s going to leave me. He was angry about it earlier. He made a point of telling me earlier that when he was growing up it was said that the type of woman I was weren’t the kind for relationships and the men who tried to get in relationships with them were the stupid ones because they eventually ended badly – i.e: with some sort of betrayal.

I cried so hard. I told him straight-out that at the time I didn’t think of myself that way at the time and that I really am not like that. I told him that I was sorry for inadvertantly lying to him. He didn’t say anything. He pretty much stayed quiet until he had to get ready for work.

I didn’t want him to go to work. I was… am… afraid that he’s not going to come back.

I miss him.

I love him.

I wish someone could explain to me something. Help me.

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.

Ramble. Rant. Confusion. WTF?!

Have you ever felt like something was happening around you and you could feel it, but you weren’t sure what it was? I have; I do right now.

It’s odd. It’s like I can almost tell what it is, but when I get close to what it is, something throws me off and then I feel like I’m just standing there, confused. It’s horrible. At times I feel like it has something to do with my ex-husband and the pending court case. I think that he’s planning something and that everything I see or hear about him is just some small piece of a bigger puzzle that he’s putting together; almost like he’s trying to get me to believe certain things with lies and manipulation through other people, by making me too comfortable with how things are going in my life now and then everything will just… explode…. around me.

I know I sound paranoid, but I like I said before, after I start thinking like that and “putting my ideas together” so to speak, something throws me off.

Then I start thinking about moving and renting places. About how my fiance said the other night that he’s getting fed up with people not believing that we have the money or judging us on the fact that he’s a full-time student and not taking his student-loan money as if they’ve never dealt with college students before even though we live in a college area. He said that if we didn’t get this place, or a place in general soon, then he was just going to move to a different place that was cheaper (different from the one he has) that allows his dog and is a one-bedroom.

I hate it because I feel like the world is turning against me. Against me and my children. Against me and my fiance.

And then I feel even worse because I feel like my family just hates me because they never talk to me even though I try to make efforts with them. My mother and my uncle try the best that they can, though they have even better excuses for not being able to than the rest.

The family I’m talking about lives excruciatingly close and only talks to people they feel like, it seems, and favor certain people (aka: certain family members), are major hypocrites and like to talk behind peoples back, exaggerate, and/or lie. I know this, but then again, I don’t. I hate it because I love my family and I don’t want to dislike my family, but it seems like they don’t care about me anyway.

I told one of my family members today that there’s a probability of me moving a decent amount away. She looked at me like I was crazy, like she didn’t expect me to ever do something like that. Seriously? What’s keeping me where I am? Family? I can come visit. Friends? What friends? I have no life. I would have more of a life where I’m hoping to move (though I will say that I’m not too hopeful, unfortunately, so yeah).

My life is just crazy, hectic and out of control. I don’t know what’s happening and yet I know exactly what’s going on. It’s a chaotic mess that, ironically, I know where everything’s at.

I’m too young for a mid-life crisis. Gah. :-/

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.