The Year I Was Born

Hi guys.

It's been a long time.

So. I got divorced. 

I know, I know, a lot of you saw it coming, but I also know I did a pretty good job hiding how bad everything was. I felt so trapped for so long, I had to convince myself that I had to stay, that I had tied myself to this man for life, and that for my son's sake, I had to make it work.

And then I realized my son was watching his mother be mistreated. It made me re-evaluate my parenting, and parenting as a whole. I decided I didn't want my son to grow up thinking it was okay to treat the people he loves like they don't matter. I realized we can all be poor examples for our kids all day long in subtle, almost imperceptible ways, and I accepted that. We all do it. 

But I also realized I was not comfortable raising my child within a toxic relationship. I tried to leave California. Matt stopped me. He continued to try an exert control over me by staying in the condo after filing for divorce, even though he has family nearby. He would still try to kiss me, make sexual comments to me, etc, after the divorce was filed. Which, I've noticed, does not seem to baffle other people as much as it does me. I'm like "Hey guy, get your tongue out of my mouth, we aren't together anymore," and I've heard everything  from "It's hard to make that transition," to "well, you were still living together," to "he wanted to have his cake and eat it too."

I had no choice in the whole "still living together" thing. I had nowhere to go. He did, but I think he still held out hope that something would change and we would work it out. But I was done. 

I remember the night he finally left, though not of his own volition. He came home, talking about throwing me out of the house, attempted to start an argument, and I got up and left the room. Daniel followed me. Then Matt followed Daniel and shoved his way into the room. He then shoved me into some furniture several times, grabbed Daniel and ran out of the condo. 

I called the police. They arrested him. They contacted CPS. I got a visit from a social worker the next day. I explained the event to her. She said she had spoken to my son and he had told her what happened. It broke my heart that my child watched his dad put his hands on me in a violent way. 

He told me "When daddy was hurting you, I wanted to punch him in the face." 

I didn't feel validated. I didn't say "Yeah, that's right!" I didn't laugh or smile. My heart broke. My son should never have to feel like he has to protect me. I'm the one who protects him. Which is what was trying to do during the assault.

Matt has never taken responsibility for that, going so far as to say I filed a false police report. The people that believe him are going to believe him no matter what I say or do, whether they called themselves my friends or not. Some of them did. But as it turns out, they weren't really my friends.

My life became literal Hell for a while after that. Matt was after me in every sense of the word. He filed a retaliatory restraining order on me after I filed one on him for like...actually assaulting me. He started having my neighbors and former friends take pictures of me and my son playing outside. He attempted to spy on me. To him, he felt he had a good reason. I was trying to get full custody of Daniel, so he had to prove I was terrible. Only he couldn't. So literally anything I did wrong (forgot to brush his teeth, his socks didn't match, etc) became intel.  I was terrified of my every move. I actually had to make this blog private because his mother told him he should use my struggle with depression and anxiety against me in court.

I realized he was still emotionally abusing me. There is so much truth in the quote "Once a Narcissist can no longer control you, they will try to control how others see you." He painted me in the worst light he possibly could. He told people I would blackmail them, that I was using them, that I would file false police reports on them. He told the entire neighborhood that I was a drug addict.  

People told me "this is what he wants, he wants you scared all the time." That's all well and good, except, like, yeah, I know. But he got what he wanted. I couldn't turn off the fear. I just had to walk through it.  

If you've never been through an actual custody battle, take my advice. DON'T. Work it out among yourselves, I promise you can. Daniel luckily never found out about the courtroom drama unfolding in his honor, but not all kids are that lucky. I was trying to protect my son from a dangerous man. But I had no proof. So we have 50/50 custody. I hate it. Daniel cries and acts out every time I have to send him to his father's house.  I have him in therapy, in the hopes that if there is something happening, it will come out, and if there's not, that Daniel will get help. Either way, I think it's a good idea. 

I lost my job at St. Madeleine's because of the divorce, but that ended up being a huge favor that they did me. I have a job that I love and the company is just about 5 trillion times better in every way. 

I found out who my real friends are. They're still around, and they stuck around through all of this. They had my back. I found out who my real friends are not as well. Be wary of people who are in your circle but not in your corner. Loyalty is so rare these days, but I'm lucky to have the loyal friends that I do have.

After the 5 year emotionally abusive marriage and subsequent divorce, I was drained completely. I had barely the energy to work and take care of my child, but somehow I did. I didn't think about relationships, I never wanted another one. I just wanted to work and raise Daniel. And out of the dust, the love of my life appeared. Neither of us saw it coming. My friends since we were both 14, we had just been talking for a few months after the divorce because he had been through something similar and he was being supportive. I realized I was hungry to hear from him. His texts gave me butterflies and I wanted to hear his voice all the time.  The song "Desire" by Ryan Adams started to make me think of him. And one night I finally told him I had feelings for him. We were texting, and there was a huge pause. I thought "Oh god, what have I done," but then he came back with "I have feelings for you too.

Initially I was wary of entering another relationship and rightly so. But this felt unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I felt safe. "Safe" and "in love" are not words I have ever used in the same sentence unless one was negating the other. We hadn't seen each other in 15 years, but we fit like a glove. And the first time he wrapped his arms around me at the San Diego airport, I knew I was home. I feel like we were made for each other. We just took 20 years to figure it out. 

I can say this was a hugely stressful year. I can also say it was the best year of my life. I finally freed myself from a harmful cycle of abuse, and freed my child from having to watch it play out. I'm single momming, and I kind of love it. I met the love of my life and his beautiful child, who just so happens to adore my beautiful child. 

I'm starting to realize that the cliches come from somewhere.

 "You meet the love of your life after the mistake of your life." 

"If you love something, let it go. If it's meant to be, it will come back to you." 

"Love looks like love." 

"If someone acts like they can live without you, help them do it."

And most importantly of all, it does not matter if someone loves you. If they cannot SHOW that they love you, they might as well not love you at all. 

Love looks like love.

A Call To Action for my SPN Family

I'm gonna tell you a story kids.

It's about an 18 year old girl, in her freshman year of college who got asked to study for a Spanish test by a graduate student. She went, because she had a hard time studying on her own, focus and all that and she never really had to study in high school, even in AP classes. She was pretty smart. She went over to the graduate dorm and found his room, as he had called her and given the number to her. The graduate dorms were nice. Much nicer than the freshman dorms.  They had kitchenettes and stairs. That led to where, she didn't know. But her study partner did.

They opened up their books and began going over the material, conjugating verbs and trying to speak only Spanish, when he looked up at her and laughed slightly.
"Da me un beso," he said.

She heard him. Her brain was working. "Beso" was kiss, she knew that. She laughed because he laughed and she was still trying to fully understand what was going on. He took her confusion as his chance to make a move, standing up to pull her into a kiss.
A cold realization and a revulsion took her over at the same time. She was not attracted to this man. He was quite a bit older than her, and she had come to study, as a part of a group, she was told.
His roommate walked in just then. Deus ex machina.

"You know, I um, I really have to go. I have to get something for my roommate I just remembered and I'm hungry, so..." she trailed off.

He stood up again. "Oh if you're hungry we can get some pizza, I'll come with you."
The roommate heard this. Deus ex machina again.
"Oh pizza, yeah man I'm starved. I'd love to go get some pizza."
She looked at the roommate silently and wondered if he could see the gratefulness in her eyes. Or the anger in his roommate's, probably. But she wasn't looking at him.
"Yeah, that sounds great! And we can talk about our test again, yeah? I'll meet you at Momo's in an hour."

First of all, Momo's was awesome. Shout out to my Seminoles. FSU!
Second of all. Did she meet them at Momo's? Yes. She did. They had awkward pizza and she talked more to his roommate than to him. But the pizza was good.

I was 18 and he was 30. He had predator written all over him. In hindsight of course, I didn't see that when I got the group study invite. But in retrospect all the signs were there.

The line between victim, survivor, and dead can be razor thin. I'm 34, so this was before texting blew up, for me anyway. I may or may not have had my cell phone. It was pretty bulky. And I wasn't attracted to the guy. Imagine if I had been. How far would I have allowed it to go. And when I told him to stop, would he have? We don't know, because I got the hell out of there and made me meet him in a public place....whiiiiiich is what should have happened in the first place. But he told me there was going to be a group and I believed him. Trust peg down on people in general.

I was 18. Legal, and yet still vulnerable. I was a 5 hour drive from where I grew up, and when people told me something back then, most of the time. I still believed them. Despite the fact of my childhood sexual abuse, and my generally fucked up sense of boundaries at the time, I got the hell out of there. Go me.

Now lets say in the technology age, which, I am terrified for kids and I work with some that use their texts appropriately and some that don't.

Lets say the girl is 17, or 16, or any age under 18.
And here's this suave 40 year old  guy. He's got some experience, he's good looking, he tells you you're pretty. You may think he's nice. You may think he's creepy, you may be indifferent. But understand something: HE HAS ALREADY CROSSED A LINE BY CONTACTING YOU PERIOD.

Normal, healthy, non-predatory 40 year old men have ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS CONTACTING TEENAGE GIRLS FOR ANYTHING unless they are their father or another close relative.

Some people find it flattering when an older guy finds them attractive. Don't. Really, don't. Older men have been marrying, dating, skeeving on younger women for eons. It's what they do. It's not special.

In the case that you ask him to stop contacting you, and he doesn't, do these things in this order: Tell a parent or trusted adult. Have them take you to the police station. File a report. Even if they tell you there's nothing they can do  THEY HAVE TO TAKE THE REPORT. Don't take no for an answer. Enough pings on law enforcement's radar and they have to act.

In the case of ANY SEXUAL COMMENT FROM KISSING TO ACTUAL INTERCOURSE made from an older man to a teenager whether on social media, text,  or otherwise, do these things in this order: Tell a parent or trusted adult. Ask them to call the national child abuse hotline 1-800-4-ACHILD (this will route you to your local one). Have trusted adult inform hotline that a 40 year old man is contacting you and making sexual comments, attempting to lure you into sex acts (because that's what he's doing). Then go to the police. File a report. Again with the pings on law enforcement's radar. The police will be forced to file what is called a SCAR (Suspected Child Abuse Report) by your report, so that way your local Child Welfare office gets 2 reports on the same person. One from your trusted adult, and one from the police.

Adults, if the harassment happens to you, and this person contacts, threatens (and "I know where you live" is a threat, whether made verbally or through US Mail) or otherwise bothers you after you have told them to leave you alone, do these things in this order. Tell someone you trust to help you advocate for yourself. Take this person with you to the police station (don't call). Tell them you need to file a report. Show them all the communication you have received including mail.  EVEN IF THEY TELL YOU THEY CAN'T DO ANYTHING, let them know that each time he continues to contact, threaten or otherwise harass you, you will be back. And then do it. I cannot say this enough: Enough pings on law enforcement's radar forces action.

I also want like, every woman on the earth to read "The Gift of Fear" by Gavin De Becker. Now. Go, acquire and devour. It is an excellent read for anyone who has ever dealt with assault, harassment, or stalking.

The think I tell people that I learned from that book is (and I'm sure I'm mangling the quote, but I'm doing my best) IGNORE THEM. COMPLETELY. Don't talk/tweet/post about them where they can hear/see you, and definitely do not talk to them. AT ALL. EVER.  De Becker put it like this "If they call you twenty times and you finally answer, they have learned that he price of your attention is 20 calls, and they will pay this price each time to reach you." DO NOT ANSWER/RESPOND. They will eventually get arrested for their behavior (because I promise you that predators can't get their rocks off with online stuff forever. They have to actually physically do things), or move on.

I want you to trust me on this because I've watched it happen. I'm a social worker. I work alongside Child Welfare, and I'm a mandated reporter for child abuse of any type.

If you need my help with any of this, please don't hesitate to DM me on twitter @roseredyerdead

The Theory of the Asshole with a Heart of Gold

We were all lied to, my friends.

Mass media and movies and stories everywhere feed us this image of love that is both unrealistic and dangerous.

I'll skip over the older abusive guy/younger naive girl issues in literature and movies, although that is a huge problem as well.

My issue is the idea that we encounter this person who is broken on the inside and deals with it by being anywhere from brusque to outright mean to the people around them in many many stories. She may be female, he may be male, they may be genderqueer, the sex/ gender identity doesn't matter. The issue is that we are supposed to look at this person and say "you...I know why you're doing that. You really just want to be loved but you're afraid of rejection so you're an asshole."

And they're often the protagonist, but sometimes they're the protagonist's love interest.  TV/Movie writers everywhere are going to hate me for stripping their characters to the bare bones (since...you know...so many of them read my writing). I can give you examples.

Dr. Cox from Scrubs. Mal Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) from Serenity, and from the rumblings in that fandom, he "sold out" by sharing his feelings. Mavis, Young Adult, Aragorn, LOTR. Kym, in Rachel Getting Married (I love this movie, I love this movie, I love it, but she is NOT a sympathetic character at first.) Keenan, the club kid from Playing By Heart (although, in his case you don't blame him, and I won't ruin the reason he's an asshole for you, but it's a doozy, and please go watch this scene for foundation (ish) and then this one. And just watch the whole dang movie it is my favorite of all time and no one has heard of it.)
Bruce Wayne, The Dark Knight Trilogy (poor traumatized Brucie who has all the money in the world but none for therapy. Don't get me wrong, Christian Bale is my favorite Batman, but like I said, we've been lied to). James Potter, from the Harry Potter series (although with very little screentime, and a huge impact). Edward Cullen, Twilight Trilogy (also part of the older guy/naive girl problem). Rob Gordon (John Cusack), High Fidelity, although at least that character is aware of his shortcomings. JAMES FUCKING BOND IN EVERY MOVIE EVER.

I could go on. But those are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. Oh...and this is going to hurt but I couldn't complete the piece without it, it would feel hypocritical. Dean...from Supernatural. All tough talk and suck it up, buttercup, but when he's about to lose Sam he turns into a puddle or he meets a girl and he's all tenderness and caresses.

We all know chaos drives stories. We all know that conflict requires an asshole. This is why its necessary in stories and movies and whatnot. However, what we seem to have lost sight of, is that we're supposed to ESCAPE from reality with books and cinema, not confuse the two.

We confuse the two. Yeeeah, we do. That's why when a relationship is not all sweet romantic gestures and/or fights and make-ups, we just aren't sure how it's supposed to be. We worry about someone getting "too comfortable" with us, we have to shake things up.

Which, by the way, is there a fucking thing as too comfortable in a relationship, I mean my god, if you get married, the idea is you will probably have to wipe their ass or clean up their barf at sometime in your life (yes. I've cleaned up my husbands puke, but I am forever grateful that he made it to the shower at least, because there's a floor drain for the...liquid parts).

This is not to say that we all aren't broken in some way, to quote Joanie from my favorite movie up there "For Chrissakes. We're all damaged goods." We are. But we don't get to emotionally abuse, manipulate and otherwise treat people like garbage because of it.

You may have a heart of gold. You may be the sweetest, kindest, most giving person in the world underneath your douche jacket but if you can't show it to people, it doesn't matter, because it might as well not exist.

So, everyone. If someone is an asshole to you, don't cut them too much slack. I know people who's lives would turn your hair white, but they are still kind to others.

It might help assholes realize there's a problem if all of a sudden no body is letting them get away with their shit anymore.

If your life is a roller coaster, get off.

The Sisterhood Isn't Enough

In light of the Oscars I didn't watch last night, and Lady Gaga's moving performance (I heard on Buzzfeed), it's an important moment to speak as a survivor.

I haven't watched the Oscars since 2009. I couldn't care less who/what wins what.  So my boycott this year wasn't much of a sacrifice. In addition to the pasty cronyism, the super important stuff doesn't usually get the statue. "Til It Happens To You" is no exception.

This was a song with a video that had me gripping my throat while watching. The rape scenes were all too real. The lead ins were full of dread. And the sisterhood that came to the rescue of their friends who had been attacked reduced me to a puddle.

And that's when I realized the sisterhood isn't enough. We aren't enough. I would really like to think we are, but so far, I haven't seen it. We have our "Take Back the Night" marches and our movements to educate and our online campaigns to discuss our attacks but we still feel the need to hide our faces sometimes. I refuse to understand that. If ANYONE still judges you for discussing an assault that was by no means your fault, it means that we are not enough.

 Joe Biden introduced her song. The vice president. I would have loved it to be the president, but either way, I really hope it's more than lip service.

I know plenty of men who find rape despicable, are incredibly supportive of survivors, are survivors themselves.  My father is a sweet man who I have yet to tell about my own attack. I tried, but I could only get out a vague gloss over of what actually happened. The words "Daddy, I was raped," bring tears to my eyes. I don't know if I'll ever say it. Or need to. But I know it would break his heart. I know he wouldn't blame me.

I remember a discussion we had after watching "A Time To Kill" when I was younger. We were sitting at the dinner table and I had made it clear in no uncertain terms that I felt it was perfectly fine to kill someone for raping a 10 year old. I'll be honest. I still feel that way. My father, ever the "turn the other cheek" Christian, disagreed with me. Obviously as my father it was his job to discourage vigilante justice lest his children end up in jail, but I was horrified by his reprisal.

"Daddy, what if it was me? What if a grown man did that to me?"

His eyes fell, and he cleared his throat. He told me (and my mom's gonna laugh when she reads this) "Well, that's a very difficult situation. It's hard to know what I would do in that situation."

He likes to say situation about 5 times in one paragraph. It's endearing and silly.

That was an honest answer. I think most men would have to suppress the urge to kill the man that did it. I think my sweet gentle father is no exception.

If you think that there are no longer rape apologists, think again. There are downright rape supporters.

So in response to a crime that is so difficult to prosecute because of "he said/she said", forgetting the statistics of less than 3% of rape accusations being found to be "false," (I say false because a woman in dire economic straights accepting a payoff from her rapist's people DOES NOT MEAN SHE WAS NOT RAPED. It means she chose not to press charges so she could live. Her rapist is still a rapist).

The idea that a woman would rather put herself through a horrific trial and have her sexuality, her history (because there are ways around Rape Shield Laws), and her life getting ripped apart verses being able to pay for housing, food, her children, whatever. You do not know anyone's life but your own, so please stop using the "she dropped the charges/she took a payoff" as a "not guilty" for the rapist. It most definitely is not. Use logic. Use empathy. There are many numbers of reasons that someone does not press charges against their attacker, fear and self-blame being the top, but certainly not the only reasons.

I'm not a vigilante so far, but I can't promise that if I ever saw my rapist on the street I wouldn't beat the ever-loving shit out of him. And when I'm arrested, I'll tell the police why, like I should have done right after it happened.

I'm not calling for violence, per se. But I can tell you non-violence hasn't gotten us very far. "Letting the legal system handle it" leads to most rapists spending less than a day in jail.. And lets just be really clear about this. People who rape, don't rape once. It's not something they just try and then stop. It's a compulsion of sexual deviancy that is in their make up. That was true of my case, as the reports flooded in when I finally came forward.

This is especially important given that tomorrow is Super Tuesday. Donald Trump, Ted Cruz, Jeb Bush, I'd be willing to wager fall on the misogynist/sociopathic side of the spectrum, which means they don't give a hot shit about anybody, much less sexual assault survivors. They will not support laws that protect us. They will not support laws that allow us to take back control of our own bodies after they have been violated. They will offer no sympathy to you when their "legal system" fails you. I would tell you to just not be Republican, since their history has been misogynistic in general and NEVER supportive of laws that protect rape victims, but that's not really a request I can make.

All I can say is vote your conscience, if you have one. Vote for the people who seem to care about
the fact that millions of people throughout the world seem to think its okay to take someone's body without their consent. Please take into consideration the mental, physical, emotional, toll this takes on someone.

But, if you can't, please take into consideration that we are a population of survivors, by any means necessary, and we know when it stops.

It doesn't stop when we take them to court. It doesn't stop when they go to jail, there's more of them, and rape sentences aren't nearly long enough. It doesn't stop when we dress in a fucking nun's habit, that wouldn't stop anyone. And it doesn't stop when the Vice President, as awesome as it was, introduces a ground-breaking video about sexual assault, and "pledges" to help stop the epidemic.

It stops when THEY are scared of US.

Rise. Up.

And while you're at it, vote.

Righteous anger

I'm angry.

I live in a somewhat idyllic town about 30 miles east of San Diego proper, and I love it. It's small. I never thought I would like living in a small town, but I do. It's quiet (despite the noise happening at our pool right now since they're re-paving it or whatever it is you do with pools).

I've changed. I'm not the insecure, blind, self-sacrificing little girl I was when I lived in all points Los Angeles. I'm not the lost, drunk, terrified little girl who hooked up with the first cute guy she could find after her divorce...and stayed with him for almost 4 years, as I grew away and apart from him.

I'm definitely not the optimistic little girl who believed him when he said I could crash on his couch. I'm not the girl who ran away from what happened at full speed and full blood alcohol.

I see clearly now. I tell the truth now. And I know all of you now.

I'm fucking furious. I saw a picture of a friend standing with another "friend" (who is actually a friend of my ex, but you know) smiling. She was smiling and leaning towards him. He was doing the same. This seems innocuous yes? Let me enlighten you. A few years ago, while I was still the lost, drunk, terrified little girl (who was getting less lost and more drunk), the friend (my actual friend) was raped. Then some time after, her rapist showed up at a party thrown by my ex's other friend. We made sure he didn't stay long.

Some time after that, the smiling ex's friend in the picture informed me that my friend was probably lying. How do I know she was raped? Was I there? You could ruin a life saying that about a guy, don't say it unless he's been convicted. I ended up in tears that night, for my friend, furious at this "friend" for knowing nothing about rape statistics and reporting, and how many days the "average rapist" actually stays in jail (note: 0). But mostly I was hurt for my friend, who I loved fiercely, whom he was calling a liar, when I had watched her going through agony. I don't know if I told her about it. I didn't know the pain myself at the time. But I would, sooner than I thought.

And when my ex and this "friend" met to discuss the incident that night (without me there, obv), when my ex said he was "so confused" about what to do, because I was his girlfriend and I was hurt and what was he supposed to do? Defend me right? His friend said "well she's beautiful, lets not forget that." As if my beauty was blinding him to he fact that I was manipulating him, by caring for my friend. As if I was using my beauty to get my way.

Honey, if I knew how to use my beauty to do anything at that time, I wouldn't have been dating your friend. Sad but true.

Now, forgive me if I pull no punches. It's been flashbacks and almost tears all morning in my somewhat idyllic town where I left all of that behind. I just walked through Albertson's with my fist clenched so hard my knuckles were white, and I couldn't make eye contact with the people I know in a place where I FINALLY SMILE AT EVERYONE. Because of that goddamn picture. Of this asshole smiling next to the girl he called a liar. It took me right back to the 2 degrees of separation from my own rapist.

Obviously no one knew, rapists are charming guys, I mean they have to be. How else would they get girls alone to rape them. They're your friend. They'll take care of you. "He's a good guy."

So to my ex: Your friend raped me. He may not have been a good friend, but you and your other stupid fucking friend who likes to call women whores and thinks it's totally fine to do so, had him as a guest on your stupid fucking podcast one day, and you told me all about it. You were so excited. You were stoked to have the guy that raped your girlfriend on your show. I know. You didn't know. I didn't tell you that the night you picked me up on the corner of a street downtown and took me home, that you were the only person to answer my phone call after he raped me. You were the only person I could reach, and the last person I wanted to. We fought that day, do you remember? He saw it too. He saw us fight, he saw my emotional turmoil, he saw me as a vulnerable, drunk girl, and he pretended he gave a shit about me. He told me "There are creeps on the metro. Do you like Clint Eastwood movies? Lets go watch some Clint Eastwood. You can crash on my couch and go home when you sober up." And he was my friend, I thought. He skated with me. He had to be a good guy, right?

And when we got to his house, he raped me. When I told him I didn't want to have sex, he didn't have a condom, and I needed to get home, he told me "Hey, hey, we're just having fun," and pulled me back (that's right, I had actually gotten up to leave) and held me there.

And in the days and weeks and months after he raped me, I drank more and more, and pretended nothing had happened. Why didn't I go to the cops, why didn't I tell someone. Why. I was the girl I promised myself I'd never be. The one blaming herself for her own rape. The one trying to pretend everything was fine. But something switched in me. I finally broke up with the ex whom I was no longer in love with, who was not good for me. There was a change. My friends saw it. They were my first supporters when I started facing what had happened to me. 8 months later. When I finally told someone. And I felt love like I hadn't before when my derby wife wrote an angry letter to the league board for me.

And then I felt something else. When I told my roommate, he said "Well, you're just dragging the guy's name through the mud, but whatever." I was so shocked I had no idea what to say. He had just called me a liar. He had outright said that I should not speak up about my assault.

The truth is, that house was a means to get away from the ex. I couldn't afford it, I didn't want to be there, but I had to get away.

And at the end of that year, I told myself, if things aren't better, I'm done. I was actively suicidal. I was planning how I would do it. I didn't have much stuff. I didn't plan on being found by a friend, I wouldn't do that to them. I planned on being alone, with my meds and a sharp knife, and maybe the cops would find me.

But there were other plans in the works, because in June, I found out I was pregnant, and all of the other plans evaporated. My son saved me, in no uncertain terms. His father convinced me to marry him. It hasn't been easy, but I'm happier than I have ever been and I am FINALLY FINALLY myself. Finally the girl that cares for those she loves, but sets boundaries. Finally the girl who calls bullshit when she sees it, but in a digestible way. Finally the girl who can be open and tell people how much she loves them without fear of reprisal.

And when foreign invaders, like that picture, enter my world, instead of making me fearful or self-blaming, it makes me angry. Angry for my friend. Angry at the people who I placated for years so that I could stay in an unhealthy relationship. And, yes, a little angry at myself, but having lived through that, and become who I am, I forgive me.

I forgive me.

Polyamorpathology

I have been reading more and more lately about "polyamory" and the idea that you can have more than one "monogamous" relationship at the same time (which is...you know, not possible given the definition of "monogomous.") I'll approach it from the perspective of a woman because that's the only perspective I know.

There are plenty of women who would deride my opinion, call me a prude, etc. They are welcome to their opinion. It really comes down to the factions of feminism that has to do with being either "sex-positive" or "sex-negative." 

Here's the thing. I've had plenty of sex in my life. Way more than I should have considering I can count on one hand the people I have actually WANTED (like salivating, chomping at the bit wanted) to have sex with in my life. And that's a fair amount fewer than the number of people I've actually bedded, tbh. 

There is a theory that women, given womens' lib and all that, can and should fuck anyone they want to and that they should receive no social consequences from that. I agree with that to an extent. If you call a woman a slut or a whore in front of me, I will be quick to correct you, and if you want to be lectured on why, I'm happy to do that too. A woman shouldn't be thought less of for the amount of people she's been with sexually any more than a man should. But the operative phrase in that sentence is "any more than a man should." Sex has consequences. The brain releases oxytocin upon orgasm, which causes bonding, feelings, etc. Sex can cause pregnancy, STDs, some of which can kill you or drive you mad, and no method of protection is fool proof. I don't believe a woman should be shamed for having sex. I don't believe a man should be shamed for having sex. Unfortunately the former isn't happening yet. 

Sex positive feminists, believe the idea that they can have as much sex "as they want" because men do. I'll break that down because of the quotations. Women are subjected to so much bullshit basically out of the womb, indoctrinating them into this double standard lifestyle of "be sexy, but don't be a slut." I have a hard time believing that a lot of these girls (and guys) are attempting to fill a hole (pun intended) in their life with the idea that sex means they're attractive, sex means they are worth something. 

In the same vein, a sex positive feminist would tell me that I am broken, there's something wrong with me, because I don't feel the need to take 5 million selfies showcasing my cleavage and begging for validation of my being through my sexuality. I reject the idea that I "must" be sexy to be worthwhile. I reject it fully because I lived it prior to realizing that I don't like sex with people to whom I am not emotionally connected. And to be perfectly honest with you, I didn't know what "emotionally connected" meant, until I met my husband. I feel safe with him, safe enough to express myself emotionally in ways I never have before. I don't want or need any other man or woman in my life, and I recognize where those longings have come from in the past: Anger,grief, boredom, the need for distraction. Never an actual desire for sex. 

People who claim to be polyamorous make my skin crawl, its a visceral response, the same one I have when I am introduced to or around a dangerous person. I think it's probably because the idea is such a violation of my own personal boundaries that I can't abide it, and because I have for so long worked to get my boundaries where I want them, a violation seems dangerous. 

In the same way that I don't abide being told how to live my life (my MIL used to ask my husband and I if we'd "been drinking" when we went out, and I thought the question was incredibly odd and out of line considering we are all adults and it's not really anyone's business but ours what we do as long as we're safe, which we always were) I would never tell another how to live their life, only to be aware of their motivations, and make sure they are healthy. 

I used to have a friend who would vehemently deny any feelings for a guy she was sleeping with, but then become EXTREMELY perturbed by the fact that he was talking to another girl while he was with her. She was right, he was out of line. But their "arrangement" did not allow for her to express that he hurt her feelings because she did not have "feelings." So she just got mad and pretended he was a bad person to make herself feel better and say "we can be with anyone we want but I can't handle him being with this girl." 

And this is what we do ladies. We lie to ourselves and we lie to our partners because if we don't win the apathy wars, we don't get the guy. 

I wish we'd just stop it, and be honest about our feelings. I wish we weren't so worried about "scaring" some douchebag away because someone telling another that they care for them is "terrifying." Why? If you don't share their sentiment, you tell them, you move on, they move on, better for it. Less wasted time. But we are scared of appearing "needy" or "desperate" THE MOST UNATTRACTIVE OF QUALITIES IN A WOMAN. 

#knowledgebomb Telling someone you care for them, or even love them, is not needy. It's not desperate. It's expressing an emotion, and if the person you are expressing that to thinks otherwise, they are a waste of space and your time. Their response has everything to do with them, and nothing to do with you. 

You don't have to "play it cool." You don't have to be sexual before your ready to keep them around (hello high school, how are you?).  You do have to grow up and own your shit so that you can live a fulfulling life where the people around you know where they stand with you.

Ladies, you don't have to be sexy all the time to be valid. You are valid. You can wear sweats and no make up and give no fucks and still be valid because you are a human. You don't have to screw around, unless you are the unicorn that has no feelings and can behave however you want with impunity, but then you'd be a sociopath. Sociopaths ALSO make my skin crawl. 

Don't believe the lie. #ownyourshit

Rattlesnake, part 2

Venom. That's what you said.

You said I had venom in my veins after I made slip of the tongue and said water instead of blood.

Well, I got antidepressants and sedatives in my blood right now, and I ignored you at the time, because you're an uneducated troglodyte. But I don't feel like ignoring it anymore.

Of course you'd just gaslight me, like every emotional abuser and act like I'm crazy for being upset about the things you say. And considering half the things you say are at the level of an 8th grade boy, maybe I am.

But my rattlesnake says otherwise.

You make snide little comments about how I could be a better mother. And then you talk poorly about a woman who is more overt about it. I think I might respect you more if you could come right out and say what you're thinking instead of being passive aggressive. But lets just set the record straight. My son is MY child. You've been trying to lay your claim since birth, but he will never be yours. And I ignored you when you made sure to note that someone else was listening to your outdated advice. I considered it silly to get into an argument with you when you are so clearly wrong, and your actions (whether you realize it or not) border on the narcissistic. And maybe I should just keep ignoring you.

But my rattlesnake, again, says otherwise.

He isn't willing to stand up to you. Yet. He's almost there. So he lets you make your snide little comments that belittle the woman he pledged his life to. For now. And maybe I should just be patient and wait for him to stand up to you, to tell you it's not okay to speak to his wife that way.

But my rattlesnake disagrees.

People act like venom is a bad thing. It can harm you, seriously. In some cases it can kill you. But the poisonous animals of the world were given venom for a reason. To survive, and to fight for themselves when they are attacked.

The lot of you have no idea how often I keep the venom contained for the sake of the peace of my family. But you can't fight the seether forever.

I was given venom to survive. I was also given love. And while most of the time I could respond with "I appreciate your opinion," I fucking don't. You're opinion doesn't matter to me. And if I let the venom loose it would do more damage to you, to your family (since they insist on rushing to your defense even when you are a completely out of line asshole), to my family. But it would be venom laced with truth. We've tried being kind and straightforward with you, and my rattlesnake says "I shook my tail, they didn't listen."

You don't know how close to the truth you were when I said I have venom in my veins. I don't need to tell the people that pay attention who I am. They don't get the venom. Because they know love means acceptance, not belittling.

But the venom isn't in my veins, it's in my soul. Just like the venom you spew when you belittle everyone around you, and they believe you, because they don't know where it comes from. I do. You never got enough attention, you were never good enough, you were the quiet, good girl who followed instructions and held everything in. And you ignored your rattlesnake. Big mistake. Her poison built until it had no where to go but out, onto the ones you love, and you've destroyed them.

Chin up mama. You won't destroy me. And you wont destroy him, because I came into his life to wake him up to the damage you did, and it's working. He might be silent to your face. But he's open with me. He chose me, and I chose him, because we love each other so fiercely that when we get there, no one is going to touch us.

I still remember the day he stood up to you, you're unrealistic request, my tears, you're complete disregard for my feelings and the feelings of my family. It'll come again.

I guess you should screen better in the future and make sure all the family additions have low self-esteem and will do anything to please you. If they don't you can always play Catherine the Great and have them murdered.

The rattlesnake has spoken. For now. Was that enough venom for you?