Confessions of a Snarky Southern Belle

Body Shapers and Pee Holes

2024-07-16T00:05:00.003-04:00

Okay, so let’s lighten things up around here a bit, yeah?

Y’all my best friend, S, will be three hours away from me tomorrow! I have not physically seen her in person since around 2008 or so. I am going down to South Carolina,

with my momma and Baby Belle in the hopes that we get to spend some time together. She has never met my child and I haven’t met her new husband. We have a hotel room in the downtown area of the city we are going to, and I am just stoked.

I have prepped for this hard.

I have gotten my hair and nails done, of course… that’s just a given, as a Southern lady worth her salt. Do not look at my toes, though, budget issues required that to be cut from the list. Yikes

I bought two dresses, one of them will be absolutely perfect for dinner or whatever, if it fits when it gets here tomorrow. That’s the trouble with mail order clothing, you don’t know, what you don’t know. That is, your version of an XL may not translate to their version of an XL. For some reason, measurements mean different things in different parts of the world. You can be damn sure that if it’s coming from China, it’s probably going to run really small. The insidious part is now some Chinese clothing makers are actually producing clothing that’s true to size… so now you don’t know what the fuck size to order anymore. I think this is part of the Chinese people’s scheme to slowly drive Americans crazy, uh, crazier.

For example, I ordered a body shaper to go under these dresses. I have to look snatched when I see S, okay? Looking at the measurements, I was an XXL, and the website insisted that’s what I would be. Whew…. Okay, so I ordered an XXL. It arrived, and holy shit it fit! Perfectly. Made in China clearly printed on the label. I do try to buy local, but I needed this quickly, and it needed to be cost effective. The shaper is gorgeous as shapers go and the fabric is nice. I honestly cannot complain on that front.

There is just one thing. Guys, fair warning. Lady, talk here. If you don’t want to read it, check out now. So I picked this shaper because it had those hooks, like on the back of your bra, in the crotchaler region; I thought I was being clever by avoiding the typical shapers with the “Pee Hole.” If you’ve never had the pleasure of the pee hole, allow me to enlighten you. Most shapers just have these overlapping flaps in the lady parts. Somehow, in your delicate, genteel, state, you are meant to pull the flaps open and do your business, whilst holding said flaps. Do not ask me what you are supposed to do if you have to do number 2. There’s no flap for that. Maybe

you’re just not supposed to do that because you’re a lady bitch, and ladies don’t do that. Ewww.

The problem lies in that it is impossible to tee tee through that pee hole. Seriously, impossible. I was at a dear friend’s wedding, and nature called, so I got into the world’s smallest, stinkiest stall, and I am trying to line the god forsaken pee hole up for optimal target suppression. The urgency is only building, because I don’t know about you, but when I see a commode, it’s time to go. I think I have the flaps lined up as best I can, and I go ahead with the mission. I WAS WRONG. Somehow the flaps were funneling pee up towards my belly button and not out towards the damn toilet I am desperately trying to abort the mission, but the long wait had made stopping laughable. Now my shaper was soaked with urine. WTF were these flaps good for? I had to just pull my dress down over my piss drenched shaper and walk as serenely as I could back out into the wedding. Mind you, the urine started soaking through to the dress… I had a wet belly with a

line pointing straight at my crotch. I tried soaking it up with towels, but there weren’t many towels in the bathroom. I smelled of pee. No one danced with me. My brother still talks about that.

So yeah, I thought I would be clever and avoid that all together this time. By getting those hooks, the whole thing would open up and the problem would be solved. Right? In some ways, yes. The problem here lies in that you have to hook it back up, and I, being a large chested woman, cannot see the hooks. Trying to hook those things by touch is fucking hard. Out of the frying pan into the fire, eh? At least I will not pee myself in this one, but if y’all see me walking around with the bottom half of my shaper hanging out, mind your business.

xoxo

~the Belle

Consent and Tea: A VERY British way of explaining consent.

2024-07-11T21:58:00.002-04:00

In case you're still confused about how consent works, I found this handy video explaining consent in simple terms that everyone should be able to understand, If you sre confused by this or have questions feel free to email the admin at snarkysouthernbelle@gmail.com. I'm sure that she will take the time to go over it with you until you understand thoroughly. yeeeeaaaah. I have no idea why this space is here. snarkysouthernbelle@gmail.com. I'm sure we can put our heads together and find a way to help you understand it.

Stand Where I Stood: This Ain't No Fairytale

2024-07-10T08:00:00.001-04:00

*It is important to note that this piece contains content that may trigger some people, please read with caution. If you are a victim of sexual assault and need help or someone to talk to please call 1-800-656-HOPE (4673).

*Author’s note, this is a long one, so bear with me, as it is necessary to tell the full story from its beginning to end. Without all the details in place you could not appreciate the full scope of what happened here.

I can remember, vividly, every detail of the first moment I saw “Jay”. We were both in the 8th grade and assigned to the same Social Studies class, Mrs.Nelson. I was already seated and I looked up to see the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. He had this casual confidence and a goofy little way of walking… which I would later learn was due to an injury but the walk somehow added to his allure. He had blonde hair and had clearly been out in the sun. His jeans had a tear in the right knee, and a small oil stain on his left leg. Jay was sporting a Fox hoodie; okay so he’s one of those motorcross guys. I knew a few guys that were into that. Most notably my newly minted “best friend Erin’s' ' step brother “Bert' ' was gaga for motorcross. Maybe they knew each other? I can still smell Jay’s cologne from that day in the deep recesses of my mind and hear his voice and laugh. In my nearly 44 years, I have had more than my fair share of first meetings with men; I don't remember any of them, not one, with the clarity and detail that I do with my innocent little 13 year old, 8th grade self seeing Jay for the first time. It’s been said that there are moments in your life that cement themselves in your memory because they mean something. Being a closet romantic, I just assumed it was because Jay was meant to be important in my life. I guess, in a way, he fulfilled that and then some; but not in the way I ever imagined.

Being a proper southern lady, I did not let my feelings for Jay be known immediately. He dated a couple of other girls but it gave me time to get to know him a bit. He was funny, charming, terrible at Social Studies (I was constantly helping him in class), he had a bad boy kind of thing going on (which I have a desperate weakness for), and really was quite sweet. By the end of the first semester I was so smitten, forming simple sentences in his presence was exhausting. My feelings for Jay were the worst kept secret of our junior high, I’m pretty sure everyone knew including the staff. Erin lived just across the lake from me, we were forever at her house or mine. One day afterschool, in 9th grade, I had finally mustered up enough courage and decided I was going to ask Jay out. I told Erin of my plans, I mean, she’s one of my best friends and with her cheering me on, this might not suck.

The next morning I got on the bus with my carefully crafted note (I grew up in a time without mobile phones, so we wrote paper notes to each other) tucked securely in my back pocket. I am anxious and excited and I am hoping for some encouraging words from Erin. She gets on the very next stop after mine, so I don't have to wait long. When she gets on, her spirits are unusually high, I mean she’s vibrating. She’s a bubbly person anyway, but she's bouncing around in her seat and really more flirty with the guys than normal. I forget my issues for a minute and I ask what’s up? She pulls a neatly folded note out of her back pocket and grins and starts bouncing up and down in her seat. I said “Okay, what’s that?” Her response hit me like a freight train.

“It’s a note for Jay, I’m asking him out.”

You know that feeling you get on a rollercoaster when it drops you? Yeah, that’s kind of how I felt. I couldn’t breathe. This girl, who is supposed to be my BEST FRIEND, knows I am planning to ask Jay out and now she’s asking him out? Frenemies wasn’t a word yet but in that moment Erin redefined our relationship and that’s what we became. Erin wasn’t ugly or anything but she wasn’t the most beautiful. No, her appeal lay more in her body which was unusually well developed for a girl her age. She was also willing to do more things with guys at that point than I was doing. How was I even going to compete with that? What adolescent boy would turn down the opportunity to explore sexually with a girl who knows a few things? I was not completely unfortunate y’all… I was cute… but at this point I had very little experience.

I was devastated that Erin found Jay first. He immediately accepted her proposal. I cried in the bathroom all the way through first period. I decided though that I knew Erin, she gets bored very easily. The shine wears off the new toy, and she finds a new shinier toy. I couldn’t think of any of her recent boyfriends, and she always had a boyfriend that she hadn’t cheated on. So all I had to do was wait and position myself to catch Jay when she dropped him. That’s exactly what I did and it was hard. She didn’t lose interest. It took FOREVER! Finally as the school year ended and I was moving to a new house, away from Erin, and getting ready to attend summer school (incidentally with Jay) I got a phone call. I was shocked, it was Jay. He asked me about Erin’s relationship with this new guy that had started hanging around. I knew what Erin was doing with the new guy and apparently now so did Jay… but Erin was spinning it and gaslighting and all the tricks. Jay said to me he just needed someone to be honest with him, he needed the truth. My moment had arrived.

I told Jay every sordid detail that I knew for fact. He listened quietly. When I was done there was a long pause, I thought we got disconnected but I heard a long sigh. He finally spoke and he thanked me for being truthful with him. When he felt like no one else was telling him the truth. Obviously I couldn't expect him to just ask me out right then and there, but I made sure he knew my shoulder was available if he needed to cry on it and I was always available if he needed to talk. You know, because as Erin’s “best friend” I had a unique understanding of what she was putting him through. Well, it worked. After his phone call to me that day he called her and dumped her. I’d like to say that I felt bad, but I did not, I was elated. A few days later Jay and I were officially a couple.

At this point in my life I was a virgin… and he would loathe to admit it but so was Jay. He was looking to scratch that itch and pushed for me to do things I wasn’t really sure I was ready for. For example, he wanted a blow job in the worst way, and the idea of doing that at that point in my life kinda grossed me out. I was 14/15 years old, I had a birthday while we were together…I had let him go further than I had let any other guy because I felt so comfortable with him. I didn’t want to be a prude but I didn’t want to just give away everything either. Losing that special piece of yourself, I had been taught, was supposed to be special… a moment built on love. Jay had not expressed any feelings of love to me; frankly if he had I would have probably spontaneously combusted right there, Alas, no such declarations ever came. We had a lot of fun together though. Until the day I was at home, because it was summer time, and I was doing housework for my mom… I was a bit unnerved because I hadn’t heard from Jay yet and it was around midday. Usually I would have heard from him by then and we would have planned something. He would often ride his dirt bike or illegally drive some truck of his over to my house. We would go for walks in the woods. We had a special place we would go to just make out like fiends. So naturally not hearing from him was concerning. I just told myself that it was fine he was out on his dirt bike with the boys. Right?

I was cleaning the kitchen. I hate cleaning the kitchen, y’all. The phone rings, I think “well there he is!” When I pick up the phone, it’s very noisy. I say “Hello?” and I hear Jay’s voice. I ask him where are you? He tells me he’s at the bowling alley and he says you will never guess who I ran into… Um….I rattle off a couple of names and then I hear a giggle. It’s fucking ERIN. I say uh… well it sounds like you ran into Erin. My heart is pounding so hard I am genuinely worried it will burst from my chest. I can hear my heartbeat. I am suddenly overcome with a cold sweat and my hands are shaking. There I stand in my kitchen, praying to God, Jesus, all the Saints, and Mother Mary too that this isn’t about to go where I think it is. I said “Are y’all in the phone booth at the bowling alley?” The reply I didn't want came back… both voices chorus “Yep!”...... “Um there’s really only room for one person in that booth, how are y’all both fitting in there?

Another giggle, more sinister sounding to me and Jay says ever so casually “Oh I have her sitting on my lap.” So I ask the obvious, stupid question, “Jay, why are you at the bowling alley with Erin sitting on your lap and not with me?”

“Because she will do more stuff than you.”

Tears are free flowing down my face. Again obvious stupid question, “Are you breaking up with me, with Erin on your fucking lap?” I hear HER say “Yeah he’s dumping you. How’s that feel?” giggle He says, “It’s over. I need more.” I can hear them kissing… more giggling… Then he says something to the effect of “I’ll see you around.” and hangs up. I literally collapse to the floor. I’m shattered. She is clearly only doing this to get back at me for telling Jay she was cheating on him.She is clearly not really my friend, if she ever was. I don’t know how long I lay on that kitchen floor. I do know that the tears ran dry and my eyes were so swollen I could barely see out of them. This moment changed my life because I vowed that I would never lose a guy again because I didn't do “stuff”. Fuck special magical moments, that’s a fairytale, and apparently we weren’t living in a fairytale. So my very next boyfriend, at the tender age of 15, I gave it all away. At least he had the decency to tell me he loved me for awhile, he didn’t, but I believed him. In my mind I thought because I had given my everything it meant he wouldn’t leave me. Clearly I had forgotten that this ain’t no fairytale.

I survived the heartache, as one does. You pick yourself up and put your big girl panties on and move on. So I did. That is a different story for a different day, today is Jay’s tale. Fast forward a few years I had moved away from the area my Senior year of high school and I was back visiting for my 24th birthday. I was so excited to be coming back to the Seattle area and see all my friends, especially my very best friend, since 8th grade, Marie.I had even built a website to organize information regarding my plans and attempts to get in touch with this person or that person. It was mid 2004 so social media was in its infancy. Here’s where my personal brand of stupidity kicks in… in my search to connect with people and organize meetups and coffees or whatever I found Erin’s step brother Bert, who I knew pretty well because we briefly dated and I just spent so much time over at their house. I reached out and was surprised I got a response. When I went to reply back I hesitated because there was a question burning inside me and I wasn't sure if I wanted to ask or even should ask. I figured we were all adults now, I could ask, so I asked Bert in my return response if he had any contact with anyone from back in the day like Jay? Bert and I had already exchanged contact information but I have to say I felt a bit sad when he did not write back. Admittedly I was absolutely gobsmacked when about an hour or so later I got a text from an unknown Seattle number. It. Was. Jay. I was floating. Y’all I had a boyfriend that I adored, and was so handsome. Over and over I kept asking myself, what are you even doing Belle? For several months I concealed my texts with Jay and our night time phone conversations. The only person who knew we were talking to each other was Marie and she was really encouraging me to just focus on my boyfriend. The conversations and texts with Jay never became really inappropriate or crossed any lines… we had always had a good rapport, so it was just easy. It was a distraction from real life, an escape and I was loving every second. He promised to come to my birthday party and see me when I was in town. Over the moon doesn’t even begin to cover how I felt at the prospect of seeing Jay again.

The night of my 24th birthday finally came and Marie and I went out with a gang of girls we knew. We went to this little place that shall remain nameless and I was so honored by the number of people who came out to see me that night. One person was missing though and I hated myself for glancing at the door every time it opened. Why did I even care if Jay actually showed? I had a wonderful boyfriend at home that I was head over heels for and I honestly believed he was “the one”. So what was this? What was I doing? I drowned it all down, all the doubts and insecurity, two whole pitchers of beer to myself. I was starting to feel pretty good. Marie had to get home as she had children to take care of; I wasn’t ready to go but was staying with her… she was really cool about it and made sure that I had a ride for a bit later. I got to stay and chat with the people who remained and at some point I excused myself to the restroom and threw up everything I had ever eaten in my life along with those two pitchers of beer. It was too late though I was warm and tingly all over, I can only imagine my speech was slurred. This was absolutely the drunkest I had ever been, I have only thrown up one other time in my whole life and that was after I was challenged to take 7 vodka shots back to back and even at that moment I wasn’t as drunk as I was that night. People had bought me shots and the beer was free flowing all night, then there were my two pitchers.

When I came out of the bathroom I very wisely ordered myself another pitcher and went back to our tables. Just as I finished my first glass out of this new pitcher, who should walk in the door but Jay and his best friend Jamie. If Jay was cute in junior high and high school, he was drop dead gorgeous now. I literally stopped breathing. My knees felt weak and my heart was pounding as he and Jamie sauntered over. Still I felt bold and flirty, young and free; that alcohol freely flowing in my system. The boys sat down at the table with me and each purchased a beer. We had all been chatting for a few minutes when the girl who volunteered to take me back to Marie’s house came over with her boyfriend and said that they were ready to go. They had to get back to their kids. I was bummed, I had gotten maybe five minutes with Jay.

All of a sudden Jay pipes up and says “Uh, we can take her home, so she can finish her pitcher, it’s no problem at all.” The girl pulled me aside and asked me if I was okay with this arrangement and would I be alright. I assured her that I had known both of these guys since 8th grade and we had always been friends, they were good guys. I would be absolutely fine.

The girl and her boyfriend, also a long time friend, said their goodbyes and made their exit. So now I was left with the two guys, I was working on finishing my pitcher, they each had one glass of beer. When I look back on it now, I realize they didn’t really drink their beers… I am throwing mine back like the good little Scot-Irish girl I am and they are nursing theirs. I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time, because who am I to judge? My father spent the majority of my life trying to teach me to be observant but in an effort to be polite and kind, I write off so much, especially when I was younger. So I don’t ask and I am really too drunk to care too much anyway. We laugh and chat while I polish off that pitcher in record time and we decide to head back to town for some late night fast food before dropping me at Marie’s.

I can barely walk when we stand up. The boys just look at each other and put their arms around me and help to Jamie’s Jeep. Now my dear five or so readers, you will have to forgive me some at this point because things start getting fuzzy here and only get fuzzier as I go further and will at some points go completely dark altogether. I apologize for that, I should have never allowed myself to be in such a condition. We all make choices in life, A or B, 1 or 2, and then you have to live with those choices and the repercussions. Well I paid in spades, and now I live with it. I can remember being on the road back and it was so cold (it’s Seattle in the summer, that’s just the way it is) I was not dressed to be riding in an open Jeep in 60 degree weather. Someone put a jacket on me, but I can’t tell you who or when. We did go to the Jack in the Box or the Taco Bell but I can’t say for sure which one it was, I can tell you I left my wallet there. All of my credit cards, debit card, my drivers license, cash, various pictures, everything….gone. I am fairly certain for some reason I was not in the vehicle and I put it on top of the drive thru speaker box, but then I second guess myself because I know I could barely walk at the bar so why would I have gotten out of the Jeep?

In any case I didn’t discover the missing wallet situation until the next day, when I needed to fill up my rental car. Wherever that wallet got to it was good and gone by then. We all got something to eat I think, I don’t remember eating… I clearly had my wallet out though so I have always just hoped we all got to eat. We weren’t far from Marie’s place but we didn’t head in that direction. That’s the first time the hair on my neck stood up and I shouted over the wind of the moving Jeep “WHERE ARE WE GOING GUYS I’VE GOT TO GET BACK?” I remember the feeling of Jay’s lips against my ear and that voice of his saying to me, “It’s okay… Jamie’s just got to pick up something from his brother’s.” A sense of calm washed over me, I was so silly, these are my friends, I can trust them. Then darkness and I become aware-ish again, the Jeep is parked in front of a large two story garage with several bays. There’s a house to my right, that’s dark, but there are lights on in the garage. I just sat there, it was nearly 3 or 4 in the morning, I didn’t know these people so I would never presume to just march up into their home or garage for that matter, much less at that hour. I can’t remember exactly if Jay stayed in the backseat or if he got out and came and stood by me and talked to me. I was finding focusing really difficult, things looked blurry, and I just started feeling really hot now that we weren’t moving. I was worried about getting back to Marie’s, I did not want to disrupt her family in any way. And here I sat I could be anywhere, hell I could be in fucking Montana by now. I had literally no idea where exactly Jamie’s brother lived and I was busily beating myself up for not asking the right questions at the right times. Irresponsible. I was irresponsible. And thoughtless, a whole lot naive, way too trusting, and a whole host of other personal defects that those little voices in dark recesses of your mind scream at you in moments like this.

In the darkness a door opened between the large bay doors of the garage and Jamie walked out. He motioned to Jay to come and the next thing I remember is leaning against a metal pole inside the garage. Jay is in front of me a few feet away, leaning on some vehicle I don’t know for sure where Jamie was at this moment. Jay asked about my navel piercing, if he could see it, so I raised my shirt hem enough so he could see the piercing. I think some comment was made about my boyfriend and how he must think that’s really hot especially with the tan I was sporting at the time. But I cannot be sure of that, some comment was made. At this point I was tired, fading, I felt dizzy, things were blurry, I couldn't stay awake, I know I was confused and I didn’t know where I was. I just leaned up against that pole and tried to think positive thoughts. The dark swallowed me again, I have no idea for long this time, it’s serious talent to black out standing up whilst leaning against a pole. It could have been seconds or an hour. I don’t know. I don’t like unknowns.

I woke to the feeling of Jamie’s hands on my midsection, on the skin, under my shirt. He was behind me, Jay was leaning on that car looking at me. Jamie pulled me into him, propping me up against his own body. He took one hand and turned my face, and right there in front of Jay in his brother’s garage, Jamie kissed me. This was not a quick peck, this was a deep, passionate kiss. It was awkward because Jay was watching intently and I had never really had that kind of interest in Jamie. We “went out” for about five minutes in junior high but he ignored me the whole time so I broke up with him and we’d just been friends ever since. Not to mention the whole boundary issue, my boyfriend had been discussed on numerous occasions throughout their time with me… I was not available to be kissed. The hamster running the wheel in my poor muddled brain was trying to work out this problem when I felt a hand pull at the wide open collar of my shirt. I don’t know who did it and it doesn’t really matter now, but they pulled that collar down and then pulled my strapless bra down exposing my chest. That was when I realized Jay was touching my breasts and had his mouth on them. Jamie is behind me, still holding me up and is kissing my neck and shoulders. This is the second time the hair on my neck stands up and I freeze. I don’t know where my purse is, I don’t know where I am, I don't know where my mobile phone is and who the hell would I call? This was before smartphones, I think I had a Motorola Razor at the time, it wasn’t like I could order an Uber. It wasn’t like I could call Marie and share my location. I started to panic, but I still cannot get my brain to function enough to work out a way out of this situation. Darkness swallows me again.

Then I wake up and somehow all three of us are in some kind of loft thing in this garage. They so thoughtfully put down some kind of foam on the floor of this loft, it smelled of oil and gasoline. I used to like the smell of gasoline, I don’t anymore, because it takes me back here. The guys have completely undressed me and I’m just laying there, dizzy and confused, I can’t even talk right. Forming basic sentences is taking so much brain power, I feel like I’ve had a stroke or something. I’m scared. These guys are supposed to be my friends. What is even happening right now, I can’t process it. I keep waiting for them to reveal the sick prank, the punchline, but it never happens. I feel a tear slide down my face, but I cut that shit right off, I refuse to give them that satisfaction. Something in me reverted to my days of dealing with my very first abusive relationship and my instincts went to the “be quiet, be small, be still” mantra that got me through so much of that. I can remember whispering that to myself as I lay on that dirty piece of foam. I had hoped that maybe it was all over and I at least would have the benefit of having “slept” through it. I was incorrect, they had just finished getting me up there and undressing me. Jamie went first. I am ashamed to admit I didn’t fight, I didn’t try to say anything. They had me, entirely, we were as best I could tell in the middle of nowhere and even if we were in the middle of somewhere I wouldn't begin to know how to get to safety. Jamie’s on top of me and Jay’s just kind of watching at first until I feel his hand in my hair and he is guiding my face towards his crotch. Guess he’s going to finally get that blow job afterall. Why didn’t I bite or refuse to open my mouth or start kicking and screaming?

It’s easy really, I was a coward. I kept thinking they had clearly planned this and I didn’t want to know what they had planned if I resisted. My thoughts were on my amazing boyfriend; I was so fearful they would leave a mark or a scratch or any sort of evidence of this encounter and he would see it and we would be over. Let me be very clear though that does not, DOES NOT, imply consent on any level. A person who is so inebriated that they have trouble walking, forming coherent sentences, and keeps falling asleep cannot give consent. FULL STOP. Maybe that is exactly why they went for it I will never know. At the end of the day they saw a vulnerable woman, who they had been friends with most of their lives, and they took advantage of her, me. I’d be willing to bet they never think of that day, they live with no shame or regret or guilt or embarrassment or grief or any feeling at all about it. Me? For 20 years now, it’s been in my dreams, my thoughts, my senses and it triggers in the strangest places. I sleep with a light on because of my nightmares. (Not all related to this incident but some are.) I’m the casualty here, but somehow I’m the one trapped in a prison and they probably think they did nothing wrong.

They took turns. I don't know how many times they switched places. I fell into that darkness somewhere in there and they were still going when I woke up again. Jay was the one that drove me to Marie’s in the Jeep, alone. I don’t know where Jamie went and frankly don’t care. It was 6 or 6:30 in the morning when I got to Marie’s, the sun was coming up. I cannot remember if Jay said anything to me when he dropped me at the gate to Marie’s. There’s plenty he should have said in that moment. He might have said he would text me but I can’t be sure. As I tried to sneak into Marie’s house, I glanced at the kitchen table only to meet eyes with Marie’s grandmother. Her grandmother didn’t say a word to me, but the look she gave me said plenty. I could feel the judgment from across the room. And why not? I was filthy, I had grit and grease all over me; I smelled like a mechanic and my hair looked like it got caught in a strong tornado. My clothes weren’t even put back on properly. I cannot recall who redressed me, I had pulled so far inward at that point I was autopilot any signs of life or personality were completely absent. So much of me was just gone behind a wall that I’d built long ago to retreat behind when that boyfriend got violent.

A part of me wanted to just fall down on the floor in front of her grandmother and tell her everything that had just happened. But it was that look, that judgment, I realized in that moment I would be, will be, judged for this. I’m the whore right? I asked for it, didn’t I? I mean I invited Jay, I drank too much, I turned down two opportunities to go home safely so I could be around Jay, I didn’t leave in the total darkness of wherever the hell we were to try and randomly find my way back to Marie’s… I didn’t just call Marie who would have called out the National Guard and arrived with a bazooka, blown the doors off of the place, beat those guys down, and rescued me. But I didn’t want to wake her whole house up…. I had never in my life felt so completely powerless and I was the one that allowed my power to be taken away. I served it up on a silver platter. So I just quickly looked down at the floor and trudged off to my room. It felt like a jumbo elephant had taken up residence on my back, I felt that heavy with all the negative emotions. In that moment, most of all I felt dirty… like I’d never be clean again.

To say that Marie was upset with coming home so late, would be an understatement. She came barging into my room a few hours after I had arrived home. She told me exactly what she thought about that kind of disrespect. It only made things worse when I had to tell her I’d lost my wallet. She was kind enough to drive me back out to the bar to let me look through their parking lot for my wallet and to the drive thrus that I thought we had been to. No dice. She was fussing at me at first. I was so low that day (the day after the incident) that I honestly don’t know what I would have done to myself. Then Marie noticed the tears just streaming down my face. She was quiet for a moment and then she reached over and took my hand. I didn’t want to be touched but this was a good touch, not a bad one. The love and concern flowed from her. Marie just radiated warmth and love and a sense of peace from the chaos going on in my life. I held her hand all the way to the bar and I can honestly say that one tiny gesture likely saved my life. She never asked what happened that night and I haven’t spoken of that night to anyone, until now, because I feel like I shouldn’t have to live in silence anymore. This burden is one I should finally be able to put down.

Erin surprised everyone by coming into town, while I was in town. I heard she was at her parents and I reached out. She summoned me over for beers and firepit time with the family. I thought that would be really great because I always loved her family. When I got there lo and behold who was there? Like a moth to a flame, Jay was there… which explains why I didn’t hear from him at all that day and I had been hearing from him consistently everyday before that… that or he had gotten what he wanted and moved on. I can’t be sure. He almost immediately pulled me aside and asked me if we were “cool” (why wouldn’t we be cool? Did you do something wrong?) and he continued with the line “afterall you seemed to really enjoy yourself” as he slid his hand down my arm and I swallowed a shudder. He was actually throwing in my face that I climaxed. Mind you, 24 year old me did not know what 44 year old me now knows, I thought then that climaxing meant you liked it. IT DOES NOT. It is an automatic response to the stimulation of certain nerves and it is common in situations like this. At the time I was so ashamed of that one little fact, perhaps more ashamed than anything else, because I struggle to climax in normal situations and here I’d done it not wanting to.

Jay asked me to keep it just between us, that it’s a private matter. Fucker, doesn’t want me to tell Erin about it. Not that I would because we haven’t been close like that for years but seriously? I said something to the effect of “sure, yeah, whatever… we’re good.” And I just pretended like nothing had happened. The night I was leaving town, supposedly Jay tried to meet me at the airport for coffee to talk, but he didn’t make it in time. I don’t know he could have been sitting on his couch at home just telling me that, but at the time I thought maybe he was attempting to apologize. After I was home for a while, I emailed Jay and told him how I felt about that night, all my true feelings for him, and how it was all different since that night. He wrote back. He said he was sorry to hear that I didn’t enjoy that evening, that he thought I did. I shouldn't feel guilt or shame because it's just all consenting adults, except no one asked me, I was incapable of giving consent in that condition. He again throws in my face the fact that I climaxed by saying something like “I mean you finished… so you had a good time” As for any mention of my true feelings, he just said he doesn’t feel that way for me. Fair enough. I only brought it up to emphasize how wrong all of this felt to me. I had that wonderful boyfriend, unfortunately the amazing boyfriend noticed something was off when I got back. I didn’t want to be intimate, I jumped when he touched me, and when he asked if something happened I would become emotional but remain silent. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. What would he think of me? I dreaded the look of disgust in his eyes, the repulsion, and ultimately the rejection. It didn’t last long after that, for a variety of reasons but this was the biggest wedge between us.

As the years have gone on the blurry memories of that night have not faded. Even after two comas, where huge swaths of memory are just gone from my mind… not the memory of that night. Sure it is blurry and riddled with spots of darkness, but I know what happened to me that night. Even if I had agreed to it in some drunken stupor at some point in the evening, that consent was revoked the moment I fell asleep the first time. You do not keep going after someone has fallen asleep, just because they agreed when they were awake. You are not that entitled. How dare you take advantage of our friendships, my vulnerable state, and my 20 years of silence. I can still feel your hands tugging on my body, smell that garage and that foam, feel the grit and grease on my skin, and hear the sounds you made… It is as fresh in my mind today as it was the morning after. I live with that everyday of my life, and I doubt you give it even a second thought. You sentenced me to 20 years of hell and sauntered off without a care. I now release this into the universe in the hopes that it will make it easier for me to talk about in counseling and no longer haunt me as it does. Thank you for being my friend for so many years, but you can fuck all the way off for what you did to me.

Stand Where I Stood: I Know the Evil That Comes in the Dark

2024-01-06T00:10:00.000-05:00

**Trigger Warning**

The silence that falls is deafening as the night creatures go quiet and I know he is making his way home to our tiny ramshackle trailer on the back of the property. It’s as if the animals that are out at night all sense the danger radiating from him and hide themselves, I wish I could hide too. He has been drinking but how much I do not know and that will determine everything. So I lie here pretending to sleep, praying, praying tonight will be different, that he will finally mean the kind words he has said. I hear the screen door slam and the front door swing wide and my body stiffens because I know the evil that comes in dark.

I pray he’s only drunk enough to be in a good mood because then he usually just passes out and I don’t have to deal with him much. As he stalks into the room I can smell him and quickly realize he’s been into the brown liquor. He’s way past good mood, we are in dangerous territory tonight. He’s been drowning some memory or something and his mood will be particularly foul. Three guesses as to who will be punching bag for all his frustrations. He starts in with a slurred

“You awake?”

I pretend to stir, and reply “I am now.”

“Good, get your fat ass naked, I need to fuck something.” He says dryly.

“Um, how romantic, I’m gonna need a bit more than that to get in the mood because I am not really feeling it. Thanks.” I say. I may be scared shitless but I at least try to defend myself.

“I do not give three shits about what you need or don’t. I will cut those clothes off your body if I have to and fuck you dry as a bone, whether you are ready or not. I want it now. He said as he exposed himself. He was stumbling around and taking off his clothing.

I tried to get up and go past him to go to the bathroom and he grabbed my arm with surprising strength for a man who seemed barely able to stand and his whiskyed breath hit me as he said

“You better come out of there naked, if you know what’s good for you..”

His eyes darted to the guns in the corner. I wrenched myself from his grip and shut the bathroom door between us and shuddered. He frequently used the guns to threaten me and I hated it. I slid down the door and sat on the floor, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I don’t want to have sex but he certainly does and seems perfectly willing to take it if I don’t offer it up. How do I keep getting myself into these relationships? What’s wrong with me? I start to cry and pray but I feel utterly alone. Part of me loves the man in the next room, not the monster he is at the moment but the man he is when he is kind and gentle. It is like living with Jekyl and Hyde. I am jolted from my thoughts and prayers as he starts beating on the door to let me know I am taking too long. I rise and reluctantly undress. Swallowing every ounce of pride I have I open the door and he looks me up and down. He says

“You’ve gained weight. Bend over the bed.”

I took too long moving to the bed so he grabbed me and pushed me into place and held me there and I felt him position himself and roughly take me. His calloused hands groped my “fat” body, thankfully it was quick enough that my bruising was minimal. As he finished he threw a dirty towel at me and told me to clean myself up he didn’t want to sleep next to me if I was dirty and I couldn’t put my night clothes back on in case he decided he wanted more while we were sleeping. He also said he didn’t want me trying to run off and being naked would make that harder but just in case he was going to sleep with his shotgun.

I literally laid stiff next to him afraid to move or so much as go to the bathroom the whole rest of the night for fear he would think I was trying to leave. I have never been more thankful to see a dawn in my life! When he wasn’t drunk he wasn’t like this, he had a temper that was terrible yes, but drunken him was the worst to deal with and the worst of it was he never remembered his actions. I know now that he was very violent with past girlfriends, because I have gotten to know them and I seemed to avoid that somehow. What I didn’t avoid was the emotional abuse he constantly put me down and then would build me up so high and let me ride there for awhile and BAM! Tear it all down…. I never really knew where I stood with him. He was a master manipulator and a liar. It was those drunken nights that I saw his truly evil face though.

It took me getting a puppy and seeing his treatment of it to finally break the spell. That’s when I screwed up the courage to leave. And when I left I took everything! I even took the toilet paper. I didn’t even leave a grain of rice for him. I had bought everything, so I took it with me. I took the sheets off the bed, all the linens, towels, food, spices, baking ingredients, laundry supplies, ceiling fans, window a/c units…. I am not joking when I say I stripped that little trailer. And of course I took the dog too. I never looked back. Sometimes I wonder if that little puppy, my beloved Griffin, was an answer to a pray. All I know is there is a reason I sleep with my light on to this day, nothing is sneaking up on me in the dark anymore.

Wish You the Best

2023-08-13T04:33:00.000-04:00

It has been suggested to me in the comments about by messages sent to me following my last post that I deserved better or that I am better somehow. While it would be easy for me to succumb to that sentiment allow me to say this much, Dave is not a bad guy. He apparently just was not MY guy. I have faults in this too. I had behaviors that I allowed to go on for too long, unchecked, and if I could speak to him now I would own up to those behaviors. If I could speak to Dave today, I would own my responsibility in the choices he made and I would apologize for my part in any pain I may have caused him. Out of respect for him, the relationship, friendship, and the love that I felt for him I owe him that much. I don't know if you can heal if you do not accept your own role in things; you certainly cannot learn from anything if you never take responsibility.

That being said I think it is also important to be honest with yourself. I had to stop looking at her TikTok because it was killing me. This woman I barely knew existed, suddenly exploded onto my radar, took four months of hard won healing, and tossed it in the wood chipper. My heart and soul was ; I was raw. I was angry. All this time I had been so sad but now I was furious. It felt like I was under coordinated attack for no reason, other than just being the ex. The ex, an undesirable, something to be destroyed at all costs... but why? Unless the ex girlfriend or wife does something to you; why do some women feel the need to be openly hostile, confrontational, even murderous towards them? Must we really lower ourselves to that level? With the whole world seemingly hell bent on taking from women, shouldn't we be working together to give to each other? I couldn't figure her out, was she attacking me, was she trying to be friends, was she marking her territory? I'm sure it would please her to no end to know I've lost sleep trying to work this out. And so, I had to give it up I just don't even look because she can see when I look at her stuff and it just worms into my mind and deeply bothers me. That has not stopped people from reporting to me what is going on over there on her TikTok. I may not have her level of following but I have pretty good following with good numbers, if I do say so myself, and my "army" to turn her phrase looks out for me too. Thanks y'all but I've had enough.

Some have suggested that I wouldn't have wanted to be his second choice anyway. This is true. Unwittingly I was though, because they were together before me, then we got together and then she called wanting him back; so he went. That's where he really wanted to be. You see he called us by the same pet names, and we had the same inside jokes. Hell I've even been told we look similar. He was recreating a relationship he didn't think he would have again, with me. The instant the real McCoy became an option again the knock off did not look so shiny anymore. It's not that either one of us ladies is better than the other, its just a matter of preference. He wanted her, not me. I was never going to be her. I just wanted him and had for 9 years. Maybe if I had spoken up sooner? Who knows.

So before you go allow me to say from the bottom of my sad shriveled little black heart I wish you the best. Both of you, really. M, we really might have been friends, could have been. D, I did love you, I believe in you. Thank you for believing in me for a short time and allowing me to know what it's like to be a bride for a little while. That experience was amazing. Thank you for the endless laughs and the boundless talks. I am sorry for my part in things and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my transgressions. It is my hope for you both that this is your forever and that everyday is worth it.

Someone You Loved

2023-08-11T01:47:00.000-04:00

On October 20, 2023, a Friday, a lucky day according to Norse culture, a good day for weddings... I was supposed to be getting married. A lovely fall wedding set in the outdoors, a

Our first date.

coming together of his Chinese/Norse heritage and my Scot/Irish heritage. A celebration of our shared geekiness with tongue in cheek nods to our love of Star Trek. It would be a blending of families, with a big party and lots of food and drinks and laughs. I had started contacting venues long ago, florists, researching any possible way to save a buck. I'll admit it became an obsession. From the minute he told me he loved me and wanted to marry me I was a woman on a mission. We picked out my rings at Jared, I don't know that I have ever seen anything so beautiful. There they sit, waiting to be picked up, like sad abandoned children. My mother and I went and tried on dresses at a couple bridal shops and I think I found one I liked well enough. The best part of it all was I was so content. I loved this man and I thought he loved me. I thought I had finally found my happy ending and no matter what he and I would work through whatever came because we loved each other. I found myself sitting and just softly smiling to myself thinking so this, THIS is finally what real love feels like. And it felt so good.

Something like this.

Instead on the 20th of October 2023 I will have knee surgery. He is gone. Dave has been gone nearly a year now. Best I can gather he decided he didn't love me as much as he thought when an ex girlfriend of his called and told him she wanted him back.

Total Knee Arthoplasty

Now they are having a nearly identical wedding to the one I was planning. I know all this because she continuously posts about me and them and their wedding on TikTok and since we "interacted" I get a message every time she posts something. I knew Dave for 9 years, nearly a decade. I trusted him with everything, my brother's life, secrets, inside jokes, my failures... everything. I guess he gave me the gift of knowing what a bride feels like for a short time. That's something I may not ever get again. Maybe I owe him a thank you for that?

I let my guard down and he pulled the rug right out from under me, just when I was getting used to the idea of being loved by someone. He knew my history and somehow he managed to do more damage than all the others. I went to bed for a month, a solid month, after he dumped me without so much as a goodbye. Dave did get emotional when he was doing the dumping, he started crying, but I

This Kansas

don't know what that means exactly. His words were so confusing, he said he didn't want to do a long distance relationship anymore, but his new girl lives in Kansas and we live in NC (although rumor has it he has now moved to Kansas to be with her). He said didn't want to be a stepdad but she has more kids than I do.

One day he allowed her to attack me on social media. That's how I found out about them. Four months after the break up and I am doing okay, fine. Here comes Miss Thang. Tagging him in a post comment on my Instagram. Trying to be the bigger person I just deleted and blocked. Clearly thick, and not able to pick up on obvious messages, she hit up my Facebook page and commented on several posts. I reply to

everyone so I was just going through replying to comments and since she had a different handle I didn't immediately register that it was the same person. Except the profile picture was the same, her and him with him behind her and his arms around her. I got my best friend involved and she blasted her, while I called her out on another comment and basically just said "Look I know who you are, I get what you're trying to do. I get it, you're with him now and I'm not. Good for you. Now be gone you troll." She feigned innocence and tried to play dumb... like I'm stupid. Maybe I'm not as good at these internet games as she is but I'm far from stupid.

So if you're wondering how you steal someone's boyfriend/fiancé... make a TikTok post about how you listened to Taylor Swift and it has given you the courage to call him up and you don't care that he's with that girl. You only had an entire year you could have called while you were both single, but you didn't want him until he moved on. Fully knowing he never really got over you in the first place, and not giving a shit that he's finally in a happy place.... your selfish needs come first right? We may not have been perfect but we were happy and we laughed a lot.

I honestly wish you both the best. That's all I can do with all the love I have for him, all the respect I have for him. The promise I made to continue to be his friend if it didn't work out. Which is clearly not happening now. I miss him, his presence in my life because honestly I can't remember a time when he wasn't part of my life anymore. You took him from me, that's unforgivable. And you did it with the full knowledge of my existence, which makes it worse. What kind of woman does that to another woman? Obviously one who's never been hurt like that before. I hope you never know that pain. Life has a funny way of paying you back though, karma's a bitch.

Words of advice.

Good Morning Raccoon

2023-05-27T16:56:00.000-04:00

Raising a child, I have discovered, is comparable to wrestling a band of rabid, feral, raccoons. There is snarling, biting, scratching, spitting, foaming at the mouth, and washing of the hands. Sometimes both figuratively and literally speaking. The other morning whilst trying desperately to get my child ready for school she locked herself in the pantry! IN. THE. PANTRY. Baby Belle refused to come out and I could hear her little feral raccoon ass in there foraging for food in the dark. While I'm trying to figure out how to get the door open she sneaks out and tears out of the kitchen at a speed only achieved by fighter jets giggling the whole way. She takes her showers at night so all I have to do is put clothes on her in the morning, do her hair, brush her teeth, medicate her, make sure she eats something, give her, her water bottle, and push her out the door. She seems hell-bent on making this process as painful as possible though.

Rabid Feral Raccoon

I finally managed to herd the wild raccoon into the living to get dressed and it's tough because her medications haven't hit yet and she cannot focus on any one thing for more than the briefest of moments. BB decides she doesn't like the outfit we have picked out today and a meltdown ensues. She falls to the floor like she has no bones in her body, completely crumpled. I picked this outfit because I hate her, and I want her to be cold in her classroom she wails from her new position on the floor. Huge crocodile tears streaming down her face as she rolls around in false agony. Very dramatic. I'm able to talk her down from this by changing the outfit slightly and packing a cardigan into her backpack. We are happy again. When I am brushing her hair out she starts telling me about some little girl drama happening with two of her little friends. When I attempt to make the suggestion that these girls are not her friends if they treat her that way, she explodes with anger. BB snatches the brush from my hand and stomps off. I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for strength. At least she's gone to brush her teeth, so there's that.

A hairbrush much like this.

Several minutes later she returns, brush in hand, with this look on her face... she says to me "Mommy, I'm sorry I got mad at you. I shouldn't have said that stuff. I love you." Ah... the medications have kicked in. Now my mini Sybil is a little more reasonable. I tell her I love her too and always will no matter what. There are hugs exchanged and I offer to quickly do her hair and she agrees. I ask her to get two hairbands. She tells me I only need one because I'm not doing that fancy ponytail she just wants a plain ponytail. (If I do a plain one her hair is hanging in her face before lunch.) I attempt to explain this to my baby raccoon but she stubbornly crosses her arms and pokes out her bottom lip; so much for reasonable. We begin to argue. I finally get my two hairbands and her little ass back in the chair but I had to take away her whole life to do it. No tablet, no tv, no desserts, no sweets, no phone, no nothing... Now I feel like a jerk and a tool. She's back to telling me how much I hate her. I finish her hair.

Look at the little pouty face... that's not my kid.

With her water bottle made and tucked into her backpack, she wolfs down a breakfast bar and some milk. It's time to go her ride is here. Bye Boo Boo! Have a great day! Bye, Mommy I love you! All is right with the world again and she trots off to school. I meanwhile, am exhausted, mentally and physically. It's like this every morning now. I have to take time to regroup after she goes off to school. I drink my coffee and almost meditate. God forbid I have somewhere to be too, then everything erupts into sheer chaos and disruption. My ADD kicks up and then it's a case of the blind leading the blind. I haven't taken my medication much earlier than she has; so I am not much better off. The only difference is I have lived with it longer, mostly unmedicated than she has. It's hard but it isn't undoable. Girls experience ADHD so differently than boys, it comes with anxiety and a sense of perfectionism, and a need to people please. All that extra energy is poured into that which makes these little girls a hot mess sometimes. (And the big girls who have it too.)

What it would look like...

We shall have to cover the car ride home and evenings with raccoons another time.

Awake: Where I've been for awhile.

2023-05-25T00:34:00.001-04:00

Waking up after six days in a coma is not like waking up from a deep sleep. It is not as though you have had a long rest and you feel great. There’s no big stretch, smile, flinging open the shutters to a bright and shiny day. It is violent and deeply confusing and downright scary.

The first realization I made upon waking up was that I felt uncomfortable. It was a sensation as though I had been powered down and was now being rebooted. It was not like waking up. I remember hearing voices, my mother’s voice, talking….. at first I could not figure out the words, everything was jumbled and blurry sounding. Then like vision, my hearing slowly came into focus and they were talking about me and my staus. I willed my body to move; catching the attention of my mother. Then it’s the questions both mine and theirs. Namely, the nurse wanted to know what I had taken to cause all this. I mean I can’t even see right because of the ointment they rub in your eyes and here they are accusing me of drug use. I just burst into tears because I hadn’t taken anything. Livvie and I had gone to the park and it had been a relatively good day. I have no clue as to what set off all of this that they were explaining to me how I got to the ICU with all these tubes coming out of me. A lot of tubes coming out of my head would have to be removed before I could even move properly, but it would be three days before that happened.

I remember being most disturbed by the sense of the loss of time. This gap in my personal calendar was so bizarre, everyone talked about things that had happened and I was just stagnant. I am having trouble finding the words to explain how it feels to lose any significant time gap. Again, this isn’t like falling asleep hard and waking up thinking it’s the next day. This is much more like being turned off and rebooted; complete and total darkness. Maybe the best analogy is the one in the movie Get Out where he just falls into a hole inside himself. Sometimes you can hear things sometimes they tell me you dream…. I don’t remember any of that, I just remember the nothing.

His real name is Mike: a Cautionary Tale

2023-05-24T18:52:00.000-04:00

It started out easy enough, just an innocent DM on Instagram. Ordinarily, I would ignore a random guy sliding into my DMs but we had mutual friends so I thought we must have gone to school together. So I replied, I was kind of talking to someone at the time so it didn't go anywhere at first but we would chat back and forth and I got to know him.

Josh, was funny and good-looking, in the Navy and from my hometown. As it turned out we had not gone to school together; it was just a fluke that we shared mutual friends. He was a total thirst trap though so I understood how they got onto his followers list. Presently stationed in Djibouti he was coming home in June and was really looking forward to it. He told me he had just completed the nurse practitioner program and worked in the hospital there on base. Even though when I ran his pictures by my friend who was married to a Navy man for many years she said that his rank, and job didn't match what he was telling me. He had told me he was a Captain but his insignia was only showing petty officer and that he was a chaplain. His reasoning for this was that all his pictures were taken before his deployment and the completion of his nursing program and promotion. He couldn't take any on his deployment because of the no cameras rule. So his entire IG account was running on old pictures, according to him.

When I questioned Josh about my doubts he explained it all away. Foolishly I gave him the benefit of the doubt. When things ended with the other guy I was talking to Josh admitted he wanted a shot with me. I had reservations but I moved ahead, charmed by his humor and kind words. His English was spotty sometimes, but he said this was because he was born and raised in Italy, before moving to the US at the age of 12, though he had forgotten all his Italian. He was insistent he had fallen for me and we were meant for each other. I wasn't so sure, but I let him talk his talk. When he finally built up to saying he loved me I admit I said it back; I was vulnerable and I fell for his act hook, line, and sinker.

He asked me to do him a favor. Sure, what's that? Do you have CashApp? Yes, but I'm not sending you any money... No he said, "I'm going to send you money." Shocked, I asked why. He said he needed me to buy cryptocurrency with it and send it back to him. I asked him why he couldn't do this himself and it had something to do with base restrictions and blended into an explanation of how they use cryptocurrency for everything to avoid exchange rates. Thinking this was a one time thing, I agreed and gave him my handle. $20 appears in my account and I converted it for him. The next day, I woke up to $150 waiting to be accepted and a message from him asking me to do it again. I sent him a message telling him that he was not allowed to abuse my account like this, that he had to ask me before he just dumped money on me like this. I obligingly went ahead and converted the money. A few hours later more money showed up, with a text asking if I could do it again. This time I got angry and told him he was violating my boundaries. At the time I was busy and could not stop to be his crypto banker. He would have to wait until it was convenient for me to do it. That's when the guilt started.

Josh started laying in the guilt about how it only took a few seconds to do, I couldn't pause whatever I was doing for a few seconds? I must not love him as much as he thought. Surely I am lying about my feelings for him. I fell for it and just did the conversion. Waking up the next morning to only to find deposits totaling $900 in my CashApp. I was livid. I was being used and I didn't like it, not to mention something about this felt shady as fuck. The money was coming from all these random people but all going back to Josh? I told him I wouldn't do it anymore. I refused and if anymore money showed up I would refund it immediately. He became angry and told me I didn't love him and wanted him to starve and live without basic necessities. What, the Navy doesn't feed you?

He said if he wanted snacks he had to buy them, and he has to buy all his own toiletries. That's what he claims he uses the cryptocurrency for. The random people sending the money are family members of other service members sending them money and he converts it for a fee and distributes it to that service member. It was his side business. How generous of him. I backed down and converted the $900 to cryptocurrency. It still didn't feel right to me no matter what he said. My gut was telling me this was off, no it was screaming at me that something was off about this whole thing and I wasn't listening.

One day he tells me he wants to help support my daughter and I because he cares about me and he doesn't like my present situation. He announced he was sending me a check, all I had to do was take it to get it cashed at the Walmart Money Center (I didn't even know such a place existed) and deposit in the bank. Once the cash was deposited I would keep a certain amount and send the remainder back to him as cryptocurrency. I was like, sure your going send me a check, whatever. Lo and behold a few days later a check did appear for $1600! I tried to cash it at the Walmart as instructed but the check couldn't be read by the check reader at the Money Center. My gut dropped. I think I knew then what was coming. When I told Josh that the check couldn't be read, he agreed I should just go to my bank to cash it. Upon arriving at my bank I was told that because my account was relatively new a cash deposit of this size would need manager approval. They asked me to wait. I go and sit down. The bank manager comes out and asks me where I got that check, I tell her my boyfriend sent it to me. She sighed deeply. She asked me to follow her to her office where she offered me a seat. She then asked me if I had been with my boyfriend long, if I had seen him or talked to him in person, and if I knew the person who had signed the check? I had not been with him long. We had only seen each other in pictures because he said his mission protocols wouldn't allow video chats or cameras of any kind. He told me the person who signed the check was his business manager who handled his business interests and trust fund.

The bank manager looked me dead in the eye and said "This check is a fake." She asked me if I had ever heard of a Sweetheart Scam. I had not. She went on to ask "He wanted you to cash this and deposit it, keep some, and send him the rest?" Cold just washed over me as I realized my gut was right the whole time. Isn't it always? The check she said, would bounce, and I would be liable for the money not him; he would get away with the money and off scot free. My face and burned with embarrassment and anger. Her recommendation was that I choose not to deposit it and take it to the police. I told her I had a child and I would absolutely not be depositing the check and yes I would be going to the police. So I left the bank and got in the car and went straight to the police station and filed a police report. I even gave them the picture of the driver's license he sent me to prove his identity. I gave them everything I had. I locked all three of my credit reports. When I left the Police Department I had about 80 texts from Josh wanting to know where I was, what happened, what about the check, hello?

I told him the check was fake. I told him I'd been to the police; that I'd given them everything. Josh went ballistic, absolutely nuclear. He said he didn't believe me that I must have cashed the check and pocketed all the money for myself. That I never sent him anything proving I even went to all these places I claimed I went to. That I was lying about all of this just to get his money. How dare I go to the police! When he calmed down I started getting texts about how I didn't really love him and now he could never love another woman ever again because of me. He could never trust anyone ever again, I had ruined that for him. In my mailbox when I got home was another check, another arrived the next day. I blocked his messages, as advised by the police but he would just message me from another number or email. Blocking him became exhausting. Josh would pop up everywhere and I didn't always immediately register it was him because it would be different platforms and I'd receive a message and respond cheerfully and he would sour it instantly by saying he could see I was living a happy life without him. BOOM... it's Josh. Block.

One day after another attempted contact I got curious. I got online and found a website called Social Catfish. It's a website that for a small fee allows you to deep search the web with an image in order to confirm someone's identity. So I took one of his images and I ran it. Boy was I shocked at what came back! First was a CBS News segment on people's images being used for romance scams with this guy... named Mike Sency, but wait it was Josh, except this was the real person. Josh Nanos, @dadinkjosh, is a fake person. He steals images from Mike Sency's IG page and posts them with the exact same caption and everything verbatim and then passes himself off as him. Which is disturbing on multiple levels, first he is not this guy Mike, second he is pretending to be a service member and garnering attention for that of IG, third he is clearly running a scam operation under the guise of this man's face. This man is a chaplain for the Navy and deserves better than that. He is actually a hilarious guy and quite handsome, I only wish I had actually met him instead of Josh. I did try sending Mike a DM telling him about Josh so he could report him but he hasn't even looked at it. He has a very large page and I'm sure he gets tons of rando girls messaging him all the time. He probably never even noticed my message. I at least made the effort though.

So there it is my cautionary tale of woe. Don't answer those random DMs kiddos mmmkay? It's probably some dude in Djibouti trying to scam you... or some crazy chick trying to tell you about the guy that scammed her pretending to be you.

Headspace.

2022-12-23T20:11:00.001-05:00

If you want to know where my head's at right now... this song sums it up perfectly.

Snarky.

2022-12-23T19:01:00.009-05:00

Snarky.

Jan 4, 2022

Originally published on 2/17/2012 on this site.

Snarky
Snarky is defined, by the Urban Dictionary, as the following:

“A witty mannerism, personality, or behavior that is a combination

of sarcasm and cynicism; usually accepted as a complimentary term.

Snark is sometimes mistaken for a snotty or arrogant attitude.”

Insomnia
Insomnia is defined by the Urban Dictionary, as the following:

“The state of sleep loss. No matter how much you desire dreamland,

it refuses your entry. You stand at the gates, whining, and crying,

but stuck in the world of buzzing activity. Otherwise known as the hell on earth.”

Both of these terms seem to define who I am and likely one leads to the other.

It would be too easy though, I suppose to blame my snark on my insomnia;

truthfully I have been snarky for far longer than insomnia has plagued me.

I felt however that I should let you in on both of the two major defining terms

of my present situation. For it would terribly rude of me not to warn you that

I am sleep deprived, cynical, and sarcastic… however a perfectly loveable

person; the fact remains that my brand of humor is often misunderstood

and taken for unladylike.

You cannot place blame on my mother; she has tried to teach me the finer

ways of life. Things like sitting up straight, not scratching itches, which

fork to use, proper language and its usage, and I do fine when I am

required to “clean up”. I am not a complete loss. I do know how to behave

when being observed.

Though in my private time I am scratching, slouching, using spoons, and

cursing up a storm. The first time I ever got in trouble at school… okay

well the second time, the first time is a different issue involving gender

discovery and kindergarten. The second time I got in trouble in school

was for cursing at another student. I shall point out that the other student

called me a name and I let him have the best of my vocabulary at the time.

I am not even sure I fully understood the meaning of the words I used just

that they were bad. The vice principal called me into his office after

overhearing me drop the f-bomb and admonished me for my lack of grace

and girlish innocence. The other student a boy, who my father swears to this

day, just had a crush on me, never served lunch detention for rhyming my

last name with something…

I get a bit testy when you do that.

The point is I am not your average southern belle. My father calls it spitfire

and feistiness. My mother is just glad I stopped getting into spitting contests

with the boys, a nasty habit. She was never very comfortable with my ability

to get along better with boys over girls. Likely if questioned she would say

this contributed to my lack of social graces and permanently put me in the

“friend zone” and not the “girl I should marry and take off my mother’s hands

zone”. It is not as if I did not have my girlie things and do not have any now.

I have a small obsession with makeup and skincare products that would be

much larger if I had the budget. I danced ballet for nearly 20 years of my life

and dreamed of going professional as a child. (Side note: not a huge fan of the

color pink; blue, blue is my favorite color any shade.) I enjoy a good bouquet

of peonies or gardenias from a gentleman caller anytime. My collection of

perfume could rival most department store fragrance counters. I like shoes

but have horrible feet and have never learned to walk in heels so my main

fashion obsession is the Coach bag. Any Coach bag; well truth be told any

high-end designer handbag I just cannot afford anything outside of the Coach

outlet.

So there it is… my first Confession post… not so much confessional just

more familiarizing yourself with me and things you may or may not know

about me. I have a list of things to “confess” and explain my opinions on

ad-nauseum.

Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions for my takes on

ANYTHING. I will literally tell you as I see it. And hopefully, make

you laugh in the process.

xoxo ~ the Belle

Pants on Fire

2016-12-03T12:45:00.002-05:00

“Just gonna stand there and watch me burn, but that’s alright because I like the way it hurts. Just gonna stand there and hear me cry, but that’s alright because I love the way you lie…”

It is necessary to take a moment to own up to the fact that I have a hand in all of this as well. Obviously, I have come to accept certain things from people I call friends, boyfriends…. Anyone I care about. I have become so accustomed to being lied to, used, let down, bossed around, subjugated, hurt, spoken to in any manner, physically violated, and harmed. Perhaps there is a part of me that expects that and does not feel correct unless these things happen? I have often wondered what it is about me that attracts these sorts of people, I am after all the only common denominator.

I allowed myself to follow the delusions of Gilberto (not his real name…) and go along with the stories he told. Despite my gut feeling that it was all made up and pure ego or fantasy I listened and indulged him. I attempted to build a relationship around his framework of lies and deceit, only because of Baby Girl and my longing that she have a Daddy. One drunken night, one tiny miracle, and I try desperately to pull the threads of a relationship together based on that. All the while I give up a man I liked quite a lot, trusted very much, and was on my way to falling head over heels for… we were not in a relationship and had made no promises to each other but I like to think we were thinking about it. It helps me feel less useless. I’d be lying if I said I’d love to have a man like him so why do I sabotage these relationships and tumble head long into ones I know will only end in heart ache?

Gilberto was so full of crap from minute one, it is plain to see now. I knew from his constant preening and peacocking that he was not straight about everything. Since we had been friends for so long I did not put much thought into it because I never thought of him as anything more than that, Gilberto was just a drinking buddy, who told fabulously tall tales. He did not own the house he claimed to, it belongs to his grandparents. The vehicles in his driveway are not his, but again his grandparents. He claimed wonderful things about a mysterious beach house in Oak Island, all three stories, right on the beach with jacuzzi tubs set into the three balconies overlooking the ocean. This house at the beach sounded so grand it might as well have come with staff straight out of Downton Abbey. In fact, the house at the beach is a small trailer, beach view adjacent. He claimed it would be part of his inheritance, it was recently bequeathed to his Aunt.

It was plain to me that his son, sweet boy, did not have a bad case of hero worship when it came to his father as Gilberto would have you believe. Instead his son sees his father for what he is, and is building a very big wall around his heart because of it. His daughter is much the same, lovely girl, but she knows her father is an abusive jerk that is full of hot air. Out of Gilberto’s presence the children laugh at the bloviations of their father… how sad for him that he is so blind to the things he is doing, the hurts he is causing. The laughter of the children hides the very real pain they feel at having to endure his fantasies.

Instead of coaching his son at football, as he claimed, he rarely shows up to even a game much less a practice. Since he has never held down a job longer than two weeks, much less owned an actual business as he had convinced me (he seriously left for work every day and went God knows where for a few hours and would come home), he cannot provide for his children. Mine included. I have no idea how he is managing to pay for the new brother, to my Baby Girl, but I suspect it is his grandparents again. His ex-wife and mother to his first two children does what she can and is doing famously but it is so sad because other things could be done too if only he would man up and act his age. His daughter would love to take gymnastics, but he is too selfish to get a job to pay for her dream and it just is not something ex-wife can manage at the moment. So, he sits on the couch day in and day out bossing around his new girl, telling her whatever stories he has concocted for her and drinks and smokes things.

His new girl is a real piece of work, just like him she lies and cheats at life. She gets hundreds of dollars a month in benefits for her first four children…. None of which live with her or in this state. Now she has a new baby boy, that neither of them is prepared for or capable of taking care of. They both have a fondness for pills and drinking and God knows what else… he hid his addictions from me until the end. My suspicion would be that she leaves him high and dry with the new baby as soon as things get difficult like she has with her other children. Not before she gets more benefits though, because why not?

What is it about me that attracts guys like this? Why is it if there is one in a 25-mile radius will he find me like a moth to flame? Why do I seem to exist on this sort of drama and lies? When I totally hate drama, and lying; I do not need the additional headache. Why do I accept it from those closest to me? I have stopped speaking to people I knew less closely because of their drama and issues with the truth, so why do I accept it from some and in many ways, protect them from it? Do I really love the way someone lies? Is that even possible?

Liar, Liar

2016-11-02T14:05:00.003-04:00

“…The truth comes out a little at a time, spreads just like a fire…”

You will have to forgive me if this reads more like a letter meant for him and not my usual post… but I have some things to get off my chest and it has to be done. Since I never plan on speaking to that “man” again this is the best way I know to get it out of my head.

The sad fact of the matter is that Baby Girl’s daddy, “Jack*” (shit for honesty), is a liar. He is so much of a liar he makes our current political situation look like Sunday church services. He has never called to see if she is okay or if she needs anything. Not that I would answer anymore at this point, but if you father a child with someone should you not step up and do right by the child even if you do not want to be part of her life? He had no problem laying down to make the child, that he was man enough to do, but he is not man enough to ensure she never needs even the basics?

His “donation” created the most amazingly beautiful little girl, who is funny, smart, and above average in every way if I do say so myself. It breaks my heart that she will never have a true father, because he is not capable of being a man.

It is true Jack (shit for brains), is no man in any sense other than gender. He told me that he was the president of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, local chapter, but well acquainted with their national hierarchy. His stories never added up so I never took him too seriously until he began to get mean and threaten me, my (at the time) unborn child, my family, and even my dogs. If he ever reads this, and as he was a follower of my blogs I can guess he will because I know the real him….

You want to know why I did not freak out when you told me you had killed people? I did not believe you. Your stories did not make sense; you were frequently so drunk when making them up you do not even realize how embellished they got. I humored you because I was concerned as someone who cared and who had known you going on 20 years. Do you honestly think I would have hung with someone I thought to be a real murderer? Come on now.

I have driven by your house on a night you were supposed to be at “church” with the club and you were there, sitting in your living room watching television. It broke my heart for you because you felt the need to make up stories to make yourself sound important or impress people or whatever it was you were doing. My counselor asked me at the time what I thought it was, I told her hubris. (In case you do not know that word it means: excessive pride or self-confidence, arrogance, egotism, conceit, pomposity.) The Jack I knew was not capable of these things, though he probably likes to think he is. No, I told her, I was not spending my time with an actual Outlaw, or even an actual outlaw, just a man who drinks too much, and has some issues with the realities of his life.

Why stay with this person my readers may be wondering…? After everything I have been through why would I continue to stay with this guy? I was pregnant with a child he fathered, and I desperately wanted to make it work. Even if he and I could not be together I wanted her to have a Daddy, like I did… A wonderful man who would cherish her and love her unconditionally. I kept thinking if I could just see him through this rough patch, this depression, get him sobered up again, he would be the guy I remembered him to be. He was a good guy when I first met him. One of my best friends, a little pudgy, but quick witted, funny, smart, a bit wild, but best of all a great listener, and had a great smile. The problem was the drinking was not a new thing as he had let on. He hid from me for many years that he drank as much as he did, only his wife (At the time, who he told me one sad night left him for another woman… she did not. She left him because at the bottom of a bottle one night, he laid hands on her) and family really knew how much he was drinking. As is the tradition, no one spoke of it openly so I was left in the dark.

It was when you threatened the life of our, well my, unborn daughter that I pulled away from you. Even under the guise of it being a “Club thing” because “I knew too much” I felt we crossed a line. I was on my way out the door when you said that the Club was going to pay me a million dollars to disappear from your life. It felt like you were trying to buy me off, pay money to make a child you gave your genes to go away like she just did not exist. It did not sit well with me. When you became angry because I would not get up after ten o’clock at night and drive the thirty minutes to your house, pregnant and suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, and exhausted, you told me that

“If it was really your child, I would be there in ten minutes.”

I cried myself to sleep. I knew for the first time you were hopeless. How little I truly knew at the time… because you were already sleeping with her. A “woman” technically your cousin, who knew all about me and our, my, baby. I know she knew and you know it too, because it was her friend that messaged me on Facebook asking if I was the one pregnant by you. She is either believing one hell of a whopper you came up with to explain me away, or she is as trashy as you are. She moved in with you when I went on bed rest because of the difficult pregnancy I was having. You let another woman move in with you while I laid in bed crying over you and the situation. I was oblivious to her existence, though I suspected. I never imagined you would have stayed quite so close to home as to sleep with your cousin, but since this fast became a Jerry Springer episode in the making I guess that just makes sense.

When your ex-wife contacted me I was to find out just how Springer it all was. I was not sure without a doubt that you were not at least somewhat involved with the Outlaws, I never thought you were as deep as you wanted me to believe but how involved I could not say. Perhaps it was true that your dad was in with them, or members of your family, I was not sure. So when I asked your, now ex-wife, about how she dealt with the Club… and her response was

“What club?”

“You know, the CLUB.” I said.

“Yeah, what CLUB?” she asked again.

“The Motorcycle Club.” I answered.

“Oh my God, did he tell you he was in a BIKER GANG?!” she practically screamed with laughter in response. Turns out you lied about everything, not just the big things, but literally…Every. Single. Thing. You have absolutely no affiliation with any Motorcycle Club, you do not even ride a motorcycle, or own one. The girl you claimed to be involved with in Vegas, is your ex’s best friend, not yours and she would not touch you with a 50-foot pole and she has no sister, so I do not know whose picture you showed me but I guess Google Images is pretty sweet. You did not even come close to putting your ex-wife up in an apartment and pay her rent for a year and buy her all new furniture… I do not know where you drove me past but it was not where your ex is living, because I have been there now many times and it is not an apartment. It is the most disrespectful place she could possibly be living frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself that she and your children live in such a tiny little place. I cannot really blame you for wanting that to be different because she would rather live in a two room, essentially outbuilding, than be with you. That says something about you.

Your dad is not in a motorcycle club; his motorcycles do not even work at the moment. Your stepmom is not the Katy Sagal character from Sons of Anarchy… She is actually a very nice, caring woman who you have greatly disrespected. None of them want me dead. Not even your little sister who was shocked by the way you treated me the night I came by and she was there. Turns out your family, at least your mom and dad and sister who all met me, do want to know my child. The story line you kept feeding me, your daily dramas were things you lifted straight from the plot line of your favorite show, Sons of Anarchy… you made yourself the lead character Jax Teller. Allow me to burst your bubble… you are no Jax Teller.

You did not get in any fights with anyone, at least anyone that was not over the age of 11 or a female. You seem to find it really easy to bully children and women, but you cannot stand in your own truth or up to another man. You are a liar and everyone knows. Now you are expecting your second child this year, with your cousin… Word has it she will leave you as soon as it gets hard. I dare you to try calling me when your life goes to hell and you have an infant you do not know what to do with. Do not even think you did not burn your bridge. Well I guess you did not burn it, you nuked the damn thing. Jesus will come back before I ever darken your door to help you ever again. I will pray for you because I am Christian and I believe it is the right thing to do. I pray for your new little boy, and your other children because Lord knows they need it. Sweet Honey Iced Tea, they need it more than I can give. I should organize a whole prayer circle for them. Good luck Jack (shit), you will need it.

I am done with you.

How to Avoid Wrinkles

2016-10-28T16:20:00.003-04:00

When I look at my bedside table now and compare it to a year ago I realize just how much has changed. I used to have a beat up copy of Pride and Prejudice laying there along with various other books I was rotating through. Now I have a stack of board books, notably One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and Mommy Hugs, and a copy of What to Expect: The First Year. My inbox used to read about sales, politics, the occasional email from a friend, and updates from my favorite blogs. These days my email asks me if I know how to interpret my baby’s poop, should I teach her French or Spanish, ASL, or all three, and how to determine if she is autistic earlier than ever before. Signs I am missing critical early learning opportunities, stunting her independent drive, ruining her life before she can walk…. you know the nightmare inducing panicky stuff that seems to hit you as soon as you lay eyes on that tiny little bundle of perfection.

Suddenly I’m doing everything wrong in my life and subsequently hers and at the same time everything right, depending on who I talk to or read. It is honestly like watching a tennis match in my brain somedays. I’ve read Dr. Sears, my father constantly tells me I’m spoiling Baby Girl because I go to her when she cries, my mother says I fret too much about her physical state (her weight, her temperature, her whatever), I question if I put her down for too many naps, or not enough…. Am I overfeeding her, is it possible to overfeed a baby? Is she comfortable? Is the sign language I am trying to teach her catching on? Is that really the sign for milk or is she just opening and closing her little hand? Do I try to keep the house quieter while she sleeps or be as noisy as possible? At what point do you stop co-sleeping or should you never co-sleep? Swaddling is great, they taught me how in the hospital…. No wait it can kill the baby! Want to sleep ever again? Well…. SIDS, ha ha ha ha ha never again will you shut both eyes.

Honestly navigating the last six months has been so stress inducing I’ve seen my first wrinkle. It’s right where I knew it would always be, but still I feel too young for that. I started drinking coffee because I get so little sleep now, and it is not because she does not sleep well. Baby girl is a champion sleeper most nights; it is me getting up to check on her. Although she has been a little fussier as I have started her on solid foods. (Did I do that too soon? Or not soon enough? Am I waiting long enough on one food before moving to the next, to be sure of allergies or too long? Is making her food really that much better if I can get her organic jarred food? Am I really horrible for laughing when she gags on zucchini? How bad is it that the dog cleaned her face that one time? How soon should I give her peanuts or ever? Can you give her proteins during the introduction stages?) I figure she is waking again as we adjust to caloric intake during the day and figuring out what is a serving for her and what is too much or too little. Turns out if it is mangoes she will eat gobs of it anything else she will be a little more discretionary. Put mangoes on anything and she will eat it. Seriously I put mangoes with the chicken and she ate it like she may never see it again but wanted nothing to do with the plain chicken. Really I cannot blame her it was nasty looking, but do babies eat with their eyes? Not that I would, but you could put mangoes on a cat poo and she would probably eat it. I’ve never met anyone quite so serious about mangoes. Poor kid, tropical as all get out, as fair skinned as her mother… the beach will not be kind to you my child. Not at all. Sigh.

I digress. What I can say I have learned over the last six months is none of this really matters. At all. Does anyone really know or want to know how to interpret poop beyond the obvious is she constipated or not? You can read every book available from cover to cover, listen to all the advice thrown at you, even that crazy looking lady at the Target who told you to give her a tablespoon of castor oil every day (why do people think that because you have a baby you want to hear their advice?), and you can drive yourself absolutely insane trying to live up to it all. All that crazy leads to wrinkles and gray or stark white hairs.

The best thing I can decipher, and the irony of me dispensing a measure of advice here is not lost on me, is to follow your gut. Your instincts will guide you. Listen to you. Want to let your kid cry it out? Go for it. Do you want to pick up your munchkin at every snivel? DO IT! Whatever you do commit to it, be consistent but flexible…. I have Crohn’s disease, there are moments of my life that I cannot stop what is happening and rush to Baby Girl’s cries; believe me I have tried and it is impossible. I’ve had to learn that sometimes she just cries, like me. You do not have to defend yourself to anyone, walk away if you have to, do not open the emails or the books if they are going to make you feel guilty. Parenting magazines and books, in my opinion, can make you feel like you are missing things and layer on the guilt if you let them. Basically you are in charge now, it’s your circus and your monkey, enjoy it and do what is right for you. I’m blogging while she sits in the bouncy seat next to me staring at whatever it is she stares at. In a little while I will plop her down in front of a screen with some brightly colored Disney film showing so that for at least ten minutes I might get to vacuum something without her wanting my attention. I know, I know…. Screen time is evil. I’m doing the best I can and that’s all you can ask of yourself. Follow your gut, your rhythm, walk away from haters, and commit to doing the best you can and you will be just fine.

I think.

Thud

2016-10-15T00:04:00.000-04:00

The thud sound will forever be etched in my memory. I don’t know if I will ever be able to erase it from mind, the look on her tiny little face as she lay there perplexed at what had just happened. Frozen in stunned silence we both just sat there for a second, then a tiny wail came up from the floor. It had happened, everyone told me it would; I had told myself I would never let it happen. I had, technically, dropped my infant. It was really more of a roll off the ottoman where I had laid her to change her diaper. In my mind though it felt as if I had thrown her off a cliff. She was fine of course, but for the most agonizing of moments I thought she might not be.

So began the worst post-partum day I have had. It was the first time I really came to realize that it was just me and my baby girl. I do not have a spouse or a S.O. to pass her off to. Yes, I am quite blessed in that I have my mother, but 90% of the time it is just the baby and I. Even as I type this she is tucked into the swing behind me, cooing away, and singing her sweet songs. So much reality hit me that day, with that small thud. I cried for the rest of the day. She was fine and I was fine but something in me broke, things that I had not allowed to the surface during my entire pregnancy. When I was carrying her I worked very hard at preventing negativity and sad feelings because I did not want her to feel them. I feel I was fairly successful at that, but she’s no longer attached to me physically and the floodgates broke. Everything just came pouring out, I could not contain it anymore.

The full weight of being a single mother fell on me as she toppled to the floor. She did not have even a mark on her, but I felt like I had been gutted. I never want her to

I have a terrible cry face...

doubt my love for her because it is so real it overwhelms me at times. It would be my wish for her that she never has to face the realities I do. I have serious worries now that I never thought twice about before…. really serious stuff…. Like how I will ever manage to teach her to whistle, when I myself cannot whistle. Seriously I cried over that once early in my pregnancy, it was one of those weird preggo freak outs. I worry I won’t be able to provide for her, or send her to college. I worry that I will have to work three jobs just to make ends meet, because I cannot count on any spouse to help support us. What will become of my social life? How will I provide her with all the wonderful things a father does?

My identity doesn’t seem to fit anymore and it crushed me. I am slowly working to rebuild the structure of who I am and how I see myself. Hopefully I will come out of this better on the other side of this transitional period. I just wish someone had

prepared me for the blow. It was my thought that having a baby would be all joy and light, but there are some serious adjustments that have to be made not just in your life but emotionally as well. Things you never think of until something like that moment happens and it lands in your heart like a little rock, with a thud.

Ain't Got No Time for That

2016-10-12T03:07:00.001-04:00

This time last year I was deep in the throes of hyperemesis gravidarum. I will openly admit I was not a happy camper. There were days I could not even keep down the water that my mother was busily providing me, on doctor’s orders. I was pregnant, it was not planned, and I was so far no good at being pregnant.

Not 100%

You could tell from about five minutes after conception that I was pregnant. I told myself I was just a bit bloated, after all I had been on the pill for years, used two back up methods, and my boyfriend at the time swore on a stack of Bibles he had, had a vasectomy. Turns out that God should have smote him right there because he did not ever so much as even think of having a vasectomy, but that’s not the tale for today. The point is that three reliable forms of birth control all failed and all at once. I am suddenly the cautionary tale that all sex education teachers tell you, at least down here in the American South where abstinence only sex ed is still the norm. I am a walking, talking, breathing, and eating, example that birth control can and will fail you sometimes…. And sometimes you have to just roll with it. It turns out to be the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Mind you I was 35 and pregnant, not 15 and pregnant, but I was still had no business being pregnant in the first place.

Might need medication.

My boyfriend at the time and I had known each other for many years. Dating was at first easy and fun. Then it started to change…. He started telling me he was the President of a Motorcycle Club. Being the trusting soul that I am, at first I thought he meant a group of middle aged guys who ride around on Sunday afternoons together. I shrugged it off. I would tease him, and ask him if he was a “T-Bird” and if so did that make me a “Pink Lady”. He never found my jokes, I’ve got so many, very funny. Slowly he started filling me in on little details about this club of his, it was all so counter to the person I knew him to be, but I let him tell me what he wanted to and above all I just tried to listen to him. His stories kept getting more and more extreme, violent even. I truly began to wonder what I had gotten myself into. The adventures he described became scary to me, but here I was pregnant with nowhere to go and desperately wanting to make it work because I was having his baby. This just was not how I had always pictured having a family.

Jack, as I will call him here short of Jack Shit for Brains, was not the guy I grew up with anymore. In fact, I had come to notice he was a heavy drinker, highly impulsive, lazy, selfish, and very dishonest. When he finally came right out and said to me that his “MC” was known as the Outlaws, (a VERY real club, just not for Jack) and not at all what I had envisioned originally. This was a biker gang, for lack of a better term… How in the hell did I find myself dating the president of a biker gang?! Especially since I had never even seen him on a damn bike? He wouldn’t show me this patch that he always talked about, said something about it being only for those involved and since I did not want to be his “Old Lady” I had no business looking at it. After one particularly exhausting week and the latest saga I recall just looking at him and saying “…but your grandfather is a deacon in the church!” How much more Southern can I be? My disbelief in his being able to participate with this was measured against the fact that his grandfather was a church elder. Stars and garters I must have been losing it.

can you say wannabe?

As it turned out his entire tale and all of the drama was a lie. Every. Single. Word. I will tell more details on that at another time, but suffice it to say Jack was acting out/playing pretend/delusional. He did not limit these stories to just me or just him, every person in his life was somehow included in ways that kept him the center of everything. Literally every person he knew or I met was somehow connected to this club, which is real it just is not real for him. Every sleepless night I endured because he said we were on “lock down”, the pain and weight of carrying his drama, the isolation of feeling too afraid to share it with my family were all so he could live life vicariously through his favorite television show, Sons of Anarchy. I had never seen the show, and he fed me the plot line of the show as though it was his real life and he was the lead character. I’ve since seen the show and I cannot understand why anyone would want to even pretend that was their life!

I was put on bed rest for preeclampsia at about 30 weeks or so. He was quick to anger to begin with but being put on bed rest and not being allowed to leave the house sent him right over the edge. Jack was livid that I would not be able to come over and stay with him for the time being. During the whole pregnancy he had been talking about me moving in with Baby Girl, and we could all be a family with his other two kids. Around Valentine’s Day I got one last phone call from him. He refused to come to my house because I am living with my parents and he did not want them around, “like we are children.” Clearly my family knows that their pregnant daughter is no longer a little girl… but whatever. At the time I had no idea I would not ever hear from him again, but my gut told me for quite some time that we were not alone in this twosome. That this was more than a two-person relationship, and I do not mean the baby. That last night he told me he loved me, he loved BG, and he would come see me the next day or perhaps the following day. I never heard from him again.

Jack has yet to even call to see if Baby Girl has arrived or if I need so much as a box of wipes or diapers. As I write this she is five months old. He has never laid physical eyes on my daughter, though the rumor mill suggests he has seen a few pictures. One day she will ask about him and I hope I’m able to tell her nicer things about her “donor” but as it stands now I have nothing really good to tell her. More than anything I wish I had provided a better father for her than I did. That’s my failing…. But one day he will wake up, likely at the bottom of some bottle and realize he has missed out on the most amazing things. Her first giggle was just as clear and light and magical as you might imagine. BG’s first smile was the best thing I’d seen since they held her up for me to see. She is the most beautiful little girl and making strides and changes every day. These are moments he will never get back, moments that are

not my kid.

as fluid as a stream and once passed they do not come back by. His threats no longer keep me awake at night.

He will have his second baby of 2016 in November (you can do the math), this time a boy, with a girl that by marriage is his cousin. They are not blood related so I hear they are pretty insistent they are not cousins, but everyone says they grew up knowing each other as cousins… I guess he is living some other show now? I do not know and I do not want to. I am far too busy taking care of the most adorable baby.

Stand Where I Stood: Sixteen

2015-01-23T11:05:00.001-05:00

His friends weren’t at the apartment when we got there; they had gone for a beer run. He pulled me into the bathroom just inside the entry and told me he had his gift for me and we needed some privacy. I was confused, privacy for a gift? There was not anyone home… He kissed me, hard, like he was taking custody of my soul. I told myself to lean into it; this was “passion” right? This is what passion looked like on television. I wondered if I was really this naïve; that I wouldn’t know if this was passion or not. The door was as close to my back that it could have only fused with my flesh to be closer; it started to hurt and so I said something. The dark stare; then the crazy smile, something was about to happen. You could feel the crackle move in the air.

Be small, be quiet, no sudden moves.

A step backward was all it took for him to force me to the ground, my head dragged down door… like cheese against a grater. The bathroom was small and my long legs really had nowhere to go. In a movement that most men would love to master he had my jeans down and I was bare from the waist down to where my jeans wrapped around my boots. On the floor, in an all-male apartment bathroom and my head was crushed up against the door. Roughly my shirt, which tied in the front, was jerked open and my bra pushed up. On his knees he pulled me to him and I felt the full force of his thrust, as my head crashed into the door. With every movement my back would bend, and my head would slam into the door.

Be small, be quiet, no sudden moves.

I heard the key turn in the lock of the front door not even ten feet from where my head was. All of his friends were home and we were all going to celebrate my birthday. Twisted into the bathroom I began to really feel sick about what that might actually mean.

The dark stare, looked down on me and asked if I wasn’t enjoying my fun little birthday surprise… kinky right? He told me I wasn’t making any noise; it hit me, he wanted his friends to hear me so that he would impress them and I would just be shamed. Pressing his hand down hard on the space between my hips, the hollow of the pelvis he pushed harder and my head slammed into the door and I was in a near back bend. This time I made noise, I cried out in pain. Several more of those and I could hear his friends cheering him on. One of them exclaimed loudly that he might put my head through the damned door! Another yelled

“That’s what the fucking deposit is for!”

They were laughing and I could hear the beer bottles clinking. Not one of them, even the one I was trapped with interpreted my “noises” as pleas to stop, cries of agony from the position the forcefulness of this assault, the complete lack of any foreplay… once more I found I was not ready for this onslaught. Another ten minutes went by, I know because his friends were cheering on his stamina. By this point my head had turned and it was now the side of my head and my neck crushed against the door. He was standing above me, holding my hips to him. There was no gift here, the dark stare felt as though it went through me, and to some other place… there was no love in this act.

He did give me a sort of gift that night. My sixteenth birthday was when I learned how to leave myself, if I focused hard enough I could leave my body. I could be anywhere else I wanted to be. That night I was riding a horse with herd of wild mustangs somewhere in the southwest. I threw my hands out wide and pretended to fly away.

Coming back and watching almost from above, I realized he was about to finish and I was expected to act all excited about it. I didn’t master it that night but I learned how to stay completely out, act the way he wanted and expected, but be somewhere else and feel none of the pain. The bellow he made as he came was like some wild creature; his boys cheering him on again… the look to me and I yelled out, the exact opposite of what my body was saying.

“OH GOD! DON’T STOP”

I was rewarded with a wink, and he unceremoniously dropped my body. I slammed into the floor. He zipped his jeans up and threw a towel at me, pushing me aside and stepping over me to leave, I was encouraged to clean up and come out and celebrate being 16 with the guys! My head and neck were still pounding like when you stand in the waves of the ocean for a while and you can still feel the motion of the waves after you leave the water. I found myself once again in a bathroom, degraded, humiliated; despite the state of the young adult male bathroom I found myself huddled into a corner quietly sobbing again. How could I walk out the mere feet into the living room and face four guys who had just heard “my sweet sixteen” and the loss of any dignity I would ever hold in their eyes again.

Muffling my face into the towel, I just let myself cry. Crying was not a luxury I had much of; it leads to questions… expected answers, and then judgment. There is a bang on the door,

“Damn sugar tits, what’s taking so long? Other people need in, get your boney ass out here.”

I stood over the sink and stared at my scarlet face in the mirror. My normal bisque, Scot-Irish coloring was mimicking shades of the double decker buses I had seen in pictures of London. Staring back I found my blue eyes, nearly clear looking against the disgrace cherry color. I straightened the tangle of my long auburn hair, on the back of my head as best I could; I splashed water on my face and adjusted my clothing appropriately. The instruction that I would not show my abs, and button my shirt an extra button had already been ordered. He wanted his boys to know I was a great lay but not want me. The first time I heard him say it, I was shocked; looking back I shouldn’t have been, all men say it

“You’re mine, and if I can’t I fucking have you, they sure as fucking hell won’t. No one will.”

The only way out of this with any sort of dignity was to laugh it off and pretend I was performing on stage, that’s what he wants anyway right? This sweet sixteen, bitter in my mouth with the stale beer, was not at all about me. No, this was his production. After all, isn’t all the world a stage, and us little people merely players? A boisterous and overly enthusiastic round of applause and bows greeted me when I emerged from the diminutive bathroom. Biting my tongue until it bled I hoped that I was not blushing, despite the heat I could feel rising. As any good performer, I executed a deep well practiced ballet curtsy and smiled as genuinely and broadly as I could manage.

Stumbling out of the kitchen with at least his third beer, he staggered straight for me. Grabbing my ass he roughly pulled me to him, triggering a cacophony of more jeers, hoots, and cat calls.

“Sugar bush, I love you so much. You’re great fun.”

If my sense of smell was not failing me, he had some hard liquor and copious amounts of marijuana whilst I composed myself in the bathroom. Pressing his lips to mine once more, came the kiss the one that felt as though he was pulling life from my very core, rancid in taste, co-mingling with his pot and Camels, the rum, and the beer it was all I could to do not to pull away. In my mind I told myself that if the great Vivien Leigh could loathe the infamous breath of Clark Gable and still pull off a convincing Scarlett, then I could deal with the bad breath of someone I felt carried a piece of my soul. His hands were groping, grasping, pulling and squeezing places I felt should be more special than this particular moment. It seemed to go on forever, I liked kissing but this was more than that; this was a declaration not just to me, but to any witness… at this point he truly believed he owned me. This was possession, the stake of the flag and the mark of his territory. My epiphany rang out in my mind and was deafening.

Where had the soft doe brown eyes and gentle lips gone? The soft touch to my face, and hair; who was this new person? The boy that I fallen for, who was so completely consuming, was kind and thoughtful; he was generous and calm. He had openly discussed his feelings for me for months before we really started dating. The mother of a mutual friend told me that he would frequently come to her crying and lamenting that I seemed indifferent. She told him to be patient, that I had been badly hurt when things ended with the elusive first real boyfriend. Knowing that the break up had really wounded me; the boy I now loved was kind and listened.

Together we would walk the woods around my house and tell each other our hurts, and our triumphs; over time we each discovered that scars crisscrossed both our hearts. A bond followed that built a deep trust with this person who seemed to have such an easy soul.

We each struggled to understand the darker parts of ourselves and with that I could open up to those velvet eyes and I felt safe. The physical part of the relationship just flowed and seemed in the moment and it was special. It all came so naturally, like the turn of seasons this deepening of my connection to what I felt was his inner spirit was as normal and almost as expected and ordinary as a walk to the mailbox. I still look back and struggle to remember if it was really a haircut that changed everything or if it was something else. Had I done something to flip the switch? When did Dr. Jekyll, morph into Mr. Hyde? Surely he was just lost in the damaged corners of the mind and needed someone to help him find the path again. After all he had stood with me, wiped my tears, wrapped his strong arms around me and made me feel secure. How selfish is it to not be there in return?

The culmination of my sweet sixteen birthday was watching a group of guys pass out, as I dipped my toes into the pool and felt the first cracks appear in my mind and leak any innocence into the cool waters. I prayed like hell he woke up to get me home in time for curfew. There was no way I wanted to rouse the monster.

Stand Where I Stood: Bittersweet

2014-04-30T01:54:00.001-04:00

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

The first lines of the familiar song roused me awake. I was asleep, it was my birthday, and this was really not what I had in mind for my Sweet Sixteen. It was nineteen minutes after nine on that day in the middle of July. Exactly sixteen years prior was the moment I took my first breath. The symbolism of the moment was not lost at all on my mother and once the fog of sleep had cleared not on me either. She and my baby brother stood next to my bed, mom sat down and presented me with a card from both her and my brother. Proclaiming that in honor of my sixteenth birthday I would have one present every hour for sixteen hours! The blowout of all birthdays had been the summer before when she threw a surprise party for me and invited both my closest girlfriends and my puppy love boyfriend (that I had for a hot minute) AND the guys he was friends who were also my friends! My first co-ed party and the girls were going to stay the night… but the boys lingered a bit too long and we ended up in a huge water fight between the girls and mom versus the boys. It was amazing and I still have friends that reference that party. Looking back now I am glad I had one last party where I oblivious to the dark things that existed and could haunt you in the night and it was the best party ever.

This was my sweet sixteen and I would be lying if I said I was not a bit disappointed that some elaborate plan had not been hatched for this particular rite of passage. That summer was different than the one before, something lost on me at the time; I was not really speaking to any of my friends. He dominated all of my time and did not like any of my friends; especially my best friend Hana* she was the worst of them all as far as he was concerned. The only friend on the approved list was Alena* who he liked because she liked him, a lot more than I realized at the time, and she would smoke pot with him; something I refused to do. He had slowly and surgically cut me off from the life blood of a teenager, friends, so deliberately that I had not really noticed. Alena was always there so I was not really lonely and he was always there; the summer seemed to be flying by so I did not have a real sense of missing anyone.

My mother’s enthusiasm was contagious, she was rarely this excited as a medical professional it took a lot breach the calm of her well-practiced professional exterior. She seemed almost giddy and that made me smile. I got up, locked myself in the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. I checked a greenish yellow bruise under my arm; thankfully low enough I could still wear sleeveless shirts. Gently touching I winced in pain I applied a layer of Arnica gel. I was lucky I had long been a ballet dancer so the smell of different salves on my skin did not create any suspicion because I was always repairing some blister or raw spot on my toes from dancing in pointe shoes, or sore muscles from pushing myself a bit harder. Just a drop of White Flower Balm, barely a drop, to give it a bit of heat and help it relax a little because it hurt to take deep breaths. The bruise on my hip down and around to my back side was fading now and looked more like a shadow than a bruise.

These bruise checks had become a necessary evil, if my parents saw one the stories to explain a weird bruise were limited. I did bruise easily though and it was that fact that I told myself when a new mark would appear; that it hadn’t been a blow or grasp too hard I was just an easy bruiser, really it wasn’t so bad as all that. (Always telling myself not to be a drama queen) Looking back at all the justifications I made for it all and everything to come I can’t help but wonder if anyone who happens upon this might think I am crazy. That which is so clear now should have been obvious then; obvious to anyone, but life is rarely obvious at the time and people see what they want to. No one wanted to see this happening, I didn’t even want to see it, and so no one did.

My mother’s voice rang out from the other room, she was growing impatient. I flushed the toilet and the White Flower Balm cotton ball down with it. Pulled my sloppy pajamas back on and sleepy but alert walked out and into our open plan living room. She and my brother, who was also excited, sat there with the first gift. I hadn’t opened it yet! All this build up I couldn’t help but laugh when it was a package of socks I had said I needed a couple weeks before. We ate some breakfast, I recall cheese grits because they are one of my favorite sinful foods. I got up to get in the shower; he was coming over, as was Alena. Standing in the shower I let the water wash over me warming sore muscles and cried. I was greatly disappointed my father had taken a trip to see my family members, including my dearest grandmother in Texas. I could not understand missing your daughter’s “Sweet Sixteen” and I was hurt by it. In the midst of my own private and secret hell and I was pissed off about my dad missing a silly birthday. Clearly teenage priorities were at work here.

I was almost ready when Alena arrived. She sat on the couch in the den and I came out she had a balloon and some present and card we giggled about but I do not remember now. Unfortunately she could not stay so she made her exit. I had just finished my hair and makeup when I heard the sound of his beater of a truck pull up on the curb. Hurriedly I finished. He did not like waiting on me, especially if it meant my parents would try to make small talk. Sliding into place in front of the door as my mother opened it I had just made it. I was wearing a new white, jean, mid-drift vest that I had buttoned up like a shirt (it was the 90’s), my Wrangler jeans, and my boots. Hair in place, outfit appropriate, flawless makeup, all the boxes ticked. My performance smile plastered on my face, he stood there looking at the ground; with his right arm extending to the door frame and propping himself up. Without moving his head he looked up over his sunglasses and I saw him scan me, a smile coming to his lips. Not the Jekyll and Hyde smile but one he gave when nothing had gone wrong… yet. This was the okay smile.

Relived I ushered him in, he was wearing dirty jeans, a shirt that the sleeves had been so deeply cut out of that the side of his body showed, printed on the shirt was something about “Peckers” and some double entendre about the chickens that starred on the shirt and the slang usage of the word pecker. Crestfallen, and struggling to hide it, it was time for my next gift. It was a puffed heart necklace that made a tinkling sound of tiny bells inside it when you shook it; it was quite the in thing at the time and I was thrilled. As I leaned over across the love seat to show him, I smelled that heady scent of pot, mingling with his Camel cigarettes and a fresh coat of Drakkar (he must have applied in the truck) I knew immediately he was higher than the Space Needle downtown. Working quite hard to not react at all to his complete and utter indifference to my new necklace I pulled myself back across the couch.

If my mother recognized the smell on him, she was lady enough to not mention it to me or to my knowledge to him. Thankfully she also did not bat an eyelash at his choice of attire. I on the other hand was embarrassed but knew by this point not to show it and definitely not to mention it. My mother looked over expectantly at him, this was clearly her segue to his gift presentation. When I glanced in her direction she was staring at him intently and she moved her head forward slightly and raised her eyebrows. Cutting my eyes back to him he was staring back at my mother and he raised one eyebrow.

“Maybe at the restaurant then?” she asked cheerfully.

Nothing was said in return.

My baby brother wanted me to ride in the car with him. Like an insane person I thought we might all ride in one vehicle… looking to him I got a look back that said not gonna happen. Letting my brother down entirely I went and climbed into the truck. We were all going out to eat at my favorite restaurant and I was looking forward to it. He fell into traffic behind my mother and had turned on some Alice in Chains. My mantra reverberating in my head, be small, be quiet, no sudden moves, he was high and that made him unpredictable. The truck fell silent as he turned off the radio and looked at me. He said that he had an idea of something special I could do for my birthday… for him. I furrowed my brow and glanced at him; he pointed to his lap and said something about always wanting to have me do that while he drove around. I must have looked appalled because he started laughing and said he was totally joking. Breathing a sigh of relief as we were now directly behind my mother and then to my horror he lit his pipe up right there at a stop light, still behind my mother. I rolled down my window and leaned against the door frame.

Pulling into the restaurant parking lot I hopped out of the truck; he took another long toke on his pipe and my audible sigh received an unwelcoming look. It was my birthday but you wouldn’t think there was anything special about it from the way he was dressed, or acting, or treating me. I don’t know what I expected but this was not a “Sweet Sixteen”. Treading the line, and I knew it, I shot him a look that questioned the wisdom of his smoking pot, in public, with my mother and brother just a few hundred feet away. The look I got back could have wilted flowers; clearly he did not care what I thought.
This getting high to be around my parents, thing was kind of new. We had all gone to see Independence Day (the movie) on the 3^rd of July, so did most of the world it seemed that day. Finding a seat where my family and the two of us could all sit together was difficult. We managed to find a place, but it was less than ideal. He sat in the last seat against the wall. He got up a few times throughout the movie and each time he came back smelling like cigarettes and pot and somewhere in the middle of the movie he put in a dip and proceeding to spit into his empty coke cup. At some point I had stopped reaching for his hand when he would come back; he reached over and grabbed it and squeezed hard. Whispering against my neck that he loved me he just couldn’t stand my family

“They’re boring, you know?”

I simply sighed; I wasn’t going to start a fight in defense of my family right there in the middle of a movie. He leaned against the wall and fell asleep. It was a great day.

Inside the restaurant there was another gift following giving our orders. It was a beautiful chain necklace. Mom again looked at him, smiling, he just stared at her. So she prompted

“Now would be a good time to do presents don’t you think?”

Oh God, she just assumed he would get me something. I held my breath not knowing what was about to happen. Knowing he wouldn’t expose himself entirely to my family I still worried what he might say later. He finally broke the silence and said

“Um… I had planned on giving it to her a little later; when we go out tonight.”

It was summer but where were we going on a Monday? I looked at him funny and he said something about taking me out to dinner later. Mom was satisfied with the answer and moved on. She would occasionally try to engage him in conversation but he was so wasted there really wasn’t any talking to him. Mostly we chattered to each other about whatever was going on at the time. Until she mentioned Hana’s name and he kicked me under the table, I did not even know he was listening. She asked me how she was doing and if I had talked to her. The answer of course was no, I hadn’t seen anyone but Alena and him and his friends. I muttered something about her being really busy with her boyfriend.

“Y’all should do a double date! Do kids do that anymore? Or am I totally uncool for suggesting it?”

I could literally feel the heat of his skin rising when I interrupted mom

“Yeah no that’s not really a thing people do anymore.”

To be continued…

*Names have been changed in order to keep identifying and concerned parties private.

Stand Where I Stood: Evolution

2014-04-25T18:18:00.001-04:00

The following steps fell into place and created the evolution from wannabe skater kid to the girl I was in high school when my journey began. Some of these were thoroughly planned others just happened organically but I just went ahead and added them to the evolution that I thought would ultimately end up with me being a wife and then mommy by the time I was 24. The original thought was I was really going to marry the “elusive first real boyfriend”; yes I was that naïve.

We start where I left on the prior post, it is 1993-1994 and I was going to make myself Betty Bad Ass:

o Wear Black, a lot.

o Never take fashion advice or makeup counsel from mother. No matter how stupid you know you actually look.

o If Kate Moss can have thin arched eyebrows, so can you. Tweeze freely.

o Acquire pre-requisite baggy jeans. Preferably more than one pair… but since you saved all your lunch money for three weeks to buy the one pair you have and your mother tried to destroy four times and has now gone on mommy strike from buying you jeans, the one pair will have to do.

o Wear any and all available crappy looking flannel or plaid. If not crappy, make crappy looking. *must search parent’s closet for old stuff, because… grunge.

o Two words: Chain Wallet! YEAH!

o Maintain sweet and kind image and nature with friends; allow raging hormonal bitch faced teenager to explode nightly at home.

o If someone makes up a story about you that seems like it would be cool to have actually happened… go with it. Legends are made not born. Enjoy the spotlight.

o Should someone spread evil rumors about you that are not awesome (seriously teenage girls could give Satan notes at times) cry to your more assertive and aggressive friends and allow them to handle it for you. You want to be a legend that stays invisible, in the center of attention, whilst keeping your head down. Yeah sit and ponder that for a minute.

o Constantly worry someone will notice you do not actually belong in this group, wonder quietly to self how you pulled this off.

o Fail at least two or three of your eight classes. Bonus points are awarded for giving teachers extra strife for trying desperately to help you succeed.

o Keep this revelation under wraps and away from parents for as LONG as humanly possible, lest they step in and stop you or do something totally logical to keep you from destroying your now secret college ambitions. Getting progress reports before never was a problem because I didn’t need them, but oh honey if they weren’t flying in fast and furious now. Speed Round points for: Somehow managing to maintain “smart kid” tag…

o Curse a lot. I mean a lot, on average way more than wearing black. *Super extra points awarded for using curse words correctly.* Rude gestures can also be considered in this category. (Just don’t do it in front of adults; let’s not get all crazy.)

o Break rules. As many as you can, at once if possible; do not however break laws… allow other people to think you might have. If at all possible have this conversation: “I did not steal anything. This is my wallet good sir, and yes how astute you are it is an Altoid's tin. Look at how it holds my ill-gotten cigarettes, which I don’t technically smoke, without squishing them…” Look at me, I am Betty Bad Ass.

o Acquire as large a volume of CDs or tapes as you can no matter what your parents think. Play them. If one song is more special than the others rewind and replay 400 times or set CD player to replay.

o Learn to sit in front of speakers with maximum volume on and play music that is obnoxious to any and all adults in a sound radius. Cool points maybe added or subtracted based on inspiration of terror upon small children.

o Sit in front of massive speakers at dances with your friends and preform the ill-advised maneuver of “head banging” to every alternative song played. Somehow convince self that you look cool doing so and not like a group having a mass seizure. Also boys like girls who can do this because… I never really resolved why in my mind I just convinced myself of it.

o Begin having massive headaches due to probable brain trauma because of “head banging”. Extra consideration given if massive cluster migraines cause you to lose two weeks solid of school, prompting rumors of your death. Points given for number of spinal taps to check for meningitis. Decide (long before it became a thing) that band aid stuck on lower back because of spinal tap would be a super awesome place to get a tattoo; scare wits out of mother by announcing intention to do so. Never actually do so.

o Allow people to think you are willing to be assertive, but don’t assert at all, ever. Remember you did not get here by being assertive or even aggressive, you just got here. Wherever here is. (which by summer time was summer school for that algebra class and with some luck you moved on to 10^th grade by the skin of your teeth)

o Tabasco Red, Converse One Stars, just like Kurt Cobain… or the hunter green, low top Converse All Stars your mother “went out of her way to buy you, she has no idea the reason because your feet look like boats!” Remind self that we decided not to take fashion advice from mother. Still wear those shoes 20 years later for added points, seriously best sneakers I have ever owned, they last forever.

o Do not let mother see you sigh exasperated due to her complete lack of cool or the mega eye roll because she threatened to burn the damn shoes. Seriously major bonus points making everyone think these were the ones you actually wanted…

o Eventually you have to actually kiss a guy. Not just say you did. That actually turned out to be kind of cool… until he called and broke up with you hours afterwards.

o Figure out how to skip school and run from security without looking like you’ve never done that sort of thing before.

o Lie, lie, and lie, your little tookis off to get out of said school skipping punishment. (This actually worked on more than one occasion, which likely contributed to the reasons I kept doing it.)

o Be willing to share one beer five ways after spilling most of it trying to open with no “church key” and still think you are Betty Bad Ass. Style points for co-ed sharing.

o Come across guys that used to bark at you, at the local park. Allow them to try and talk to you and your friends, before revealing who you are and why you’re now walking away with your friends. Make sure to have handy old picture of self. Additional points for having three pictures of self; showing your totally amazing transformation and it was rather an awesome moment. Smile like you just killed off the last of your worst enemies. Laugh because you did not have to do a damn thing other than wait.

o See that high school is fast approaching and a major style and friend category merger or clique transition is likely necessary. Or else you parent’s will finish hiring that hit man. Also you’ve done this version of yourself long enough with still no major boyfriend developments. You did get dumped approximately five to six hours following first real kiss. Adios Betty Bad Ass.

o Confuse and confound parents colossally by having braces removed and, with little to no explanation, switching to tight jeans, boots, and country music. Friends now all agree this is more “you”. Even though you do not even know who you are, anymore.

o Meet high school guys at library wearing new outfit; confirm this is staying around awhile. (one of the guys actually ended up being the elusive first real boyfriend, though I gave the other guy my number at the time and did not really ever speak to elusive first real boyfriend until 10^th grade began)

o Mommy Strike and ban on all jean purchases lifted. Swimming in Wrangler denim, with patch, extra-long. Mom so thrilled she is practically buying you a new pair with every paycheck. Who knew?

o Midriff shirts. At all times. Better enjoy that fabulous abdomen whilst you have it.

o Long hair, your hair has always been long but up to this point you kept it in a knot most of the time.

o Gain elusive first real boyfriend. Now with must have car/truck and a licensed ability to drive it.

o Line Dancing. Lots and lots of Line Dancing.

o Belt Buckle.

o First Formal Dance. Lose mind when pictures developed and mom mentions she looked at them with her co-workers before you and has now seen picture of you kissing elusive first real boyfriend. This is apparently the end of everything and the world for several weeks. No speaking to her until she promises to allow you to see and approve any and all pictures developed with her money in future.

o Fake nails. Long ones. Painted with any color that shimmered. NO flat colors.

o Throw caution to wind along with virginity. Who needs that burden anyway?

o Go on to kind of regret that choice. A lot at times because as an adult you understand the actual ramifications of that little decision, made in a split second, and all its meanings and symbolism. Remind self, not to be too hard on self, because you did actually believe it was love, forever. Chump.

o Get dumped, hard, by elusive first real boyfriend. I was wrong about the pictures being the end of the world and everything… this was the absolute end of the world and everything. Especially since it seemed like everyone knew it was coming and you were the last one to know.

o Drag self around for a few weeks, convinced elusive first real boyfriend will remember that it was supposed to be love and come apologize for this mess. That never happened, but I was 15, so I had no idea how any of this worked. Any and all previous boyfriends were people I saw mostly at school or spoke to on the phone… but never really touched or saw each other in private.

o Get introduced to a new guy; hesitate to even speak to him. Finally decide he is your only option for a ride home other than the bus.

o New guy asks you out. You tell him you do not date guys with long hair. Bonus points awarded for letting the guy down easy, well easy-ish, and smugly thinking he would never cut off that bedraggled mop on top of his head he loves it too much.

o Eat crow, when he comes to see you at school the next morning with all his hair cut off and calls you on that date. Style points for remaining calm and not showing that you were wondering if this was not the weirdest, creepiest thing a guy could do or was it really romantic.

o Receive first rose on Valentine’s Day. Spend majority of day assuming it was from the elusive first real boyfriend and that at some point he will come and sweep you into his arms. Points for not looking completely shocked or dismayed when it was in fact a rose from him and that first real boyfriend was really and truly not coming back.

o Finally agree to go out with him; afterschool on Valentine’s Day 1996.

This list is supposed to humorous, slowly moving to the more serious nature of growing up and the pains that come with it. Growing up in the rapidly changing world of the nineties was hard enough; I cannot even imagine doing this now. Part of me looks at this list and wonders if I had just not checked off a few of these things would everything have gone differently? If I had been taught that it was okay to trust my gut instinct over being polite would things be the same? Would it have been altered if I felt more secure in myself or not felt a need to repress any aspect of myself I deemed un-cool or un-lovable? Did my felt need to protect my family from strife and pain ultimately alter my life for the next decade and in many ways forever? Is life fated or do our choices and actions influence the path we are on? I have no answer to these questions and I don’t believe anyone does.

Stand Where I Stood: Special Ed.

2014-04-25T13:23:00.001-04:00

At this point, after pausing, in my posts and watching very carefully the reaction to the subject matter; I think I need to speak to a couple of things that you might not understand if you haven’t ever been in my situation. For a few posts I will attempt to give you a sense of how you get a place where you accept this behavior, or at least at the point I did. So background information is a necessary evil. I apologize now. Please also remember I am no psychologist or doctor; I am only telling my story. I have no real medical knowledge other than what has been explained to me over the years and my writings are marginally acceptable at best.

Growing up I was always the awkward kid, the kid with no real athletic prowess, buck teeth, all limbs, and by the end of second grade thick glasses. My second grade teachers, I had a team of two teachers that year, thought very much inside the box. I was the kid who doodled on work, daydreamed, and could not add or subtract to save my life. My teachers, trying to be old school disciplinarians as in “dunce hat” old school, would stand me in front of the black board and tell me I was dumb or stupid or silly or whatever fit the moment. All of my failings were highlighted this way… I don’t remember if they did it to other kids and frankly other than feeling awful for them too, that doesn’t matter. Testing into the top 95% range with my IQ and tons of other tests of smarts and abilities meant I had to be placed in the gifted program at my school; my teachers and parents fought about these test results the whole year, which sort of drew the attention off of me. Never telling my parents about being chastised in front of 28 kids, they were very busy with a sick baby, a very sick baby, I endured. I kept telling myself this was for my brother; I only had to go so much more with these two old bats before I could move on. He was so sick and on more than one occasion death seemed inevitable. At some point in this process my father told me I had to be a big girl. He meant help out with some things like sorting laundry and helping out with dishes. Seven year old me, interpreted it as I had to be grown up, that meant putting myself second and protecting my family above all else. It was not until my parents had removed me from the public district and moved me into private schooling did they learn of the “teaching style” to which I had been exposed. Hell, all 28 of those poor kids put up with those nut jobs; at the very least I am sure someone got sick of hearing about me! (Pretty sure on that since I got teased a lot) My third grade teacher picked up on something I said and asked the right combination of questions; she discovered what happened and spoke to my parents.

Clearly, as any parent would be, they were upset. Whatever damage had been done was over. For me, the only thing that mattered was I had to protect my family, and my brother. Who hasn’t heard their parent tell the oldest to watch out for the youngest? Fast forward through all the weird pre-teen growing up and the socially inept me struggling to just fit in… and we arrive at another pivotal moment. In the sixth grade I was in Middle School in Alabama, my dad got a job in Seattle. So for Christmas that year we got to move to what felt like another planet! Our first year there was miserable. It did mean the demise of my poodle bangs; there might have been a good tradeoff there… jury’s still out on that. Not only did I think my parents had moved me to the furthest corners of hell (I was so wrong!) but I had to go back to elementary school. I found myself taking recess again and to make everything else extra awesome I got braces!

In case this isn’t making any sense let me clear up the picture. Gangly, coke bottle glassed four eyed, braces on teeth while buck toothed, southern accent, and goofy big haired little girl with horrible posture moved to the big city and like the Beverly Hillbillies culture shock is putting it mildly. My mother insisted I have an IEP and a bunch of other stuff that in my opinion, just meant I was a bigger dork with more paperwork. Special classes were organized so that I could “catch up” on my math skills; drawing further attention to me, as I had to get up and go to another place in the school for SPECIAL ED. All I really wanted to do was fade into a wall. I talked funny, I dressed funny, I looked funny (really I did the early 90’s were terrible for everyone) and now I did not know anybody. It didn’t take very long for kids around me to figure out that when I was in the room I was the one to sit next to; I had found a kind of niche: the smart kid.

Seventh grade, more awkward, and now I had a gap between my slightly less bucked teeth but still no self-esteem. I was always outside playing; my brother and I were team. We were survivors, together we always had someone to play with and talk to. If any other kid said one word about me I would take it, absorb it and save it for later. If any other kid said one word about or even looked wrong at, my brother I would come out of my frame. It may not seem like it but I have a pretty fiery temper; I just hold it all in because as a “southern lady” that’s how you do. Right?

At times I was pretty rabid about protecting my baby brother. He was so small and beautiful; navy blue eyes that sometimes looked black as jet sparkling in his little eyes and curly golden hair. He was getting stronger and the climate seemed to work for him. The boys called me Chewbacca because of my temper over my brother, bucked teeth and frizzy wild mess of hair. It took me a little while to figure out Seattle and hair. I digress… They would frequently follow me around the little community we first lived in, barking at me. Somewhere during this time we moved from the little townhome my parents had rented into a house, next a lake, and with a neighborhood where there were not so many older boys, thank God.

The school lines had changed and this meant another new school, if you are counting that’s four schools and four different sets of kids in three years. Each time my mother would cheerfully explain that it was a new start, a new beginning, she would say. This time it really was going to be different; my teeth now had no gap, just plain old braces, and the best thing in the world happened: I got my first contact lenses. This was the game changer as far as I was concerned. (I guess somewhere I forgot I was still dressing like my mother picked out my clothes… she actually really was since she was buying them, but that is getting technical.) I can remember prancing into my new junior high school that day convinced, absolutely, that I would have a boyfriend by the end of the week. By God, I was 13 now; a real teenager and I didn’t have those damned goggles anymore. Mind you I was wearing hard lenses, “gas permeable” they were called. Utterly no idea why they were called that because they did not breathe and I would soon learn that their only positive, besides the obvious lack of glasses, was that if I needed to go to the bathroom I only need pop one out and the teacher did not have any choice but to let me loose on the school. Worked like a charm; however at this point in my illustrious career I was not also scheming.

Looking back I am pretty sure that first day I was wearing a shirt with a salmon on it and lipstick… yeah lipstick in a “mauve” category. I learned a few things that year besides the general things taught in 8^th grade. The first was that mauve was a category of color and lipstick best left for your mother. Lipstick is not your friend. Dressing like your mother picks your clothes out, does not make you an instant hit popularity wise. Some people wear forks and aluminum foil in their hair. I can’t recall her name but the she was the first person I saw at this new school. She was hovering near my locker with the forks and foil twisted in her raven hair. I was confused and unsure of the statement was being made, but she was confident, really confident, and she was standing between me and the door to my first class. My hesitation would have made you think she was threatening me with a knife or one of her forks. She wasn’t. I was just terrified that if she saw me in my now idiotic salmon shirt I would not be worthy of this girl who clearly had the cool grunge thing down pat. I did foster a deep and what I would have told you at the time was spiritual connection with Nirvana and Pearl Jam amongst others. The most painful lesson was that in order to cross the road from what I now considered mediocrity to the popular side of the fence (or so I thought) was to forsake all the kids who had been nice to me when I first arrived in Seattle for the kids that did not know that version of me.

By the end of 8^th grade, I was letting people copy my homework; I had gotten my mother to stop buying me BONGO jeans and body suits, and even mixed some flannel and plaid into my sartorial catalog. I had long since tossed the purple lipstick and learned to use black eyeliner to my mother’s great dismay. New friends were all around me and even a few of the ones I had thrown to the wolves were still speaking to me. The trouble when you jump the fence like that is you don’t really belong on the other side of the fence. All of sudden I was in with a crowd, that moved fast and talked tough. Appeasement was my entry into the crowd; I first picked a girl who terrified me and made it my mission to make her my friend. She sat next to me in one class, sheer chance there, when we all had to group up to do group work I went out of my way to be sweet and meek and as pliable as possible. It worked, but at what cost?

Ninth grade and age 14 was the year my parents nearly had me killed. A seasoned veteran now, I hit school that first day in the dress my father called the “evening gown” it was long and black, mostly long. My first class Algebra, with Mrs. Johnson and Shara*, a good friend of mine to this day, became my first moronic mistake as I heard the words “you have two days after your homework has been done to correct it based on class discussions and then turn in for credit” which in my newly rebellious mind meant I had two extra days to do my freaking homework. NICE. I never did my homework. Not even once for that class. I had come so far from those Special Ed days and now I was trying to screw it up, in order to look like I didn’t care and mostly that I was not the smart kid everyone thought. Smart kids did not, intentionally or otherwise, fail classes. Smart kids, “nerds” or “dorks” or “geeks” were my people and I had made a calculated, ill-advised but thought out, not well, I was 14, move to separate myself from them. (Strategy is not, nor ever was my strong point)

*Names have been changed in order to keep identifying and concerned parties private.

Stand Where I Stood: Invictus

2014-04-22T04:08:00.001-04:00

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

~William Ernest Henley

This poem was one that got me through some dark spots; I would repeat it over and over. I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. I share it with you because it is important to know I was trying to find the light in my darkest moments. In my mind I was always fighting for control. This one I would recite in my head when I was trying to stand up for myself or eventually had to stand my ground; it makes me feel defiant. What does it make you feel?

The song that started me writing... because it got me thinking.

2014-04-22T03:58:00.001-04:00

I love Daughter, but her song Medicine is particularly moving. Take a listen read around, explore. Follow me on my journey, the good and the bad. The breathtakingly beautiful and devastating breaks. Stand Where I Stood.

~the Belle

Stand Where I Stood: Betrayal

2014-04-21T02:58:00.001-04:00

“You are so fucking stupid! Why can’t you figure out how to do this?! It is not hard to do!”

He bellowed and it seemed to echo, I felt eyes on me. Instantly the river fell silent, I don’t even think the water made a sound, as people stared waiting to see what was about to happen. He got out of the boat and started dragging it. He threw the paddles into the trees along the river and screamed at me

“Guess we don’t fucking need those! You can’t figure out how to paddle a fucking boat. How do you think you will ever be able to drive a goddamned car?”

I didn’t know what to do. He had been so sweet for a couple months I had pushed the other incident out of mind and away; it was just an accident he didn’t mean it.

This was different. He was berating me with words and in front of everyone, his whole family, friends we had run into along the river, and a lot of people we did not even know. It was one of those moments where you don’t know where to look or whether or not to say anything. In this case my typical need to get in the last word froze and I said nothing in my own defense. I just sat there in a sinking boat; which is actually a good metaphor for the whole situation.

His brother told him told him to lay off me, that it was my first time and it takes some practice… He cut his brother off right there with a tirade of cursing and gestures. I looked at his brother’s boat with his girlfriend and the spare seat in the back of the raft. Every fiber of my being told me to get out and go to their boat, but for some reason my muscles wouldn’t move. My body was not listening to what my mind was saying. I was literally scared stiff. Something inside me told me that there were going to be consequences for this display. The show continued as he dragged me along down the river rumbling about things I could not make out. Thankfully we did not have far to go.

By the time we got back to his house to change clothes he was fuming. His face red with anger and his eyes had gone to that black color again. I kept telling myself to tread lightly, be small, be quiet, no sudden moves; that would keep any accidents from happening again. I was wrong, this time was going to be another first and this was when the campaign of humiliation and confusion began.

We walked into his house and he shoved me against a wall I was only wearing a bikini and sarong type thing and I was soaking wet and cold. He was pressing me into the wall and staring at me. I kept repeating to myself, be small, be quiet, no sudden moves. His grip on me was hard and uncomfortable. He was strong and he trained everyday with weights, my tiny barely 100lb frame was no match for him. Slowly as we stared at each other that smile crept across his face. The crazy smile; the one that was part of that accident it wasn’t going to happen again, right? I was still repeating my new mantra in my head and had added he isn’t going to hurt you he promised. That day I learned that promises are often made and often wasted.

He let go of one arm and twisted back on the other nearly dragging me to his room. His room was a tiny one with a high window on one side of the wall, boring and white. No evidence that he had any personality at all; that was the first time I ever noticed that. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. My head struck the shelf that served as a head board and I bounced a little, mostly I was just glad to be out of his grip. My arms and shoulders had angry looking red marks. His face was no longer red; only that smile and he kept looking at me. Be small, be quiet, no sudden moves. Be small, be quiet, no sudden moves, he isn’t going to hurt you, over and over in my head with the rhythm of a train pounding in my skull, now throbbing with the welt raising on the back of my head.

He was clearly thinking. I like to think he was at least considering not doing anything. With a swiftness I did not know he was capable of he was on top of me. His hands grabbed my hair and pulled it; he kissed me hard, not like I had ever been kissed. This was not a kiss with warm feelings; this was like ice cold steel. He bit my lip when he pulled back and began to rip the sarong off of me. I asked what he was doing his response was not what I expected.

“I’m going to fuck you, just like you fucked me today.”

I tried to squirm out from underneath him but his weight was too much for me. Before I even knew what was happening I felt him; it felt like I was tearing in half. Harder and harder he went; he wasn’t looking at me he had closed his eyes but he still had that smile. My body was not ready for this onslaught and it burned more with each movement. He wasn’t using a condom and I thought if I could get him off me to get one I could get out of the room. I whispered that he should put one on. His eyes snapped open and he looked down at me and said

“I am not ever going to wear a fucking condom again. I hate them, don’t worry you’ll get used to it.”

I was in agony now, my body was not responding to this, he had pulled the triangles of my bikini back and I was exposed. He was fondling me but it was rough, not the gentle way I knew. I started to scream out in pain with each of his efforts. Hoping against hope that his family would be home now and would hear me and come and stop this attack… no one ever came. It seemed to go on forever and when he was ready he finished his business but he did it on my face. I was mortified and felt shameful but part of me was glad that at least I wasn’t a virgin and this was not my first time. The horror of that idea was weighing in my mind as he wiped himself off my face with his shirt. Before I could even get dressed he grabbed the arm he had twisted earlier, I cried out in pain; with everything else I had forgotten about my arms. Down the hall to his parent’s room we went, to their bathroom.

The shower was on the hottest setting it could be when he shoved me into it and ordered me to clean myself up.

“You are dirty, nasty. Look at what you did; you didn’t even try to stop me. You must like it like that; all that screaming… You’re a slut. Wash your fuck face I do not want any of that on you when I kiss you again.”

Even though the shower was scorching I was grateful that at least I felt I was washing the episode off me. He was outside the shower watching me, more embarrassment as he directed what I did and how I did it. As quickly as he had moved before he pulled me out of the water and told me I was done. He threw a towel at me and I wrapped it around me and sunk down against the wall. The enormity of what had just happened was starting to dawn on me and I was forcing back tears. I did not want him to see me cry.

“Oh you like being down there? Let’s try something new, don’t worry sluts like this sort of thing.”

He sat down on the toilet next to me and pulled his pants down he told me I just had to kiss him.

“All you have to do is kiss it. That’s all.”

His voice had softened a bit and I thought maybe if I just did this, all this would be over. I leaned forward and kissed him in a place I had previously never considered. He grabbed the back of my head and forced himself into my mouth.

“Don’t you fucking scrape me with your teeth; you should know how to do this already.”

The tears came now and I could not stop them. They burned in my eyes, I just squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the rather difficult task of not “scraping” him. He was in charge of every move with his hand pulling my hair. It was over and again all over my face. He blamed me again and shoved my head under the tap in the shower; he ordered me to clean my face.

Abruptly he left the room and me alone in it. He said over his shoulder that he had better not have to come back and get me. As soon as he was out of the room I shut the door and locked it. There were no windows I had no other choice but to go out and face him. I remember sitting back against the wall. The tiles were cool on my back and I shivered but then the shivering didn’t stop. I was shaking and I knew I had to get it under control but then the tears came again. Tears furious and stinging tumbled down my face. Everything he said was true. I didn’t really try to stop him. I could have kneed him in the crotch or something. My mind was spinning and I was crying and shaking like a leaf. I told myself I could not go out there like this. I found a tooth brush and decided using someone else’s toothbrush was not nearly as disgusting at what had just happened. I scrubbed the inside of my mouth. Using his mother’s brush to comb out my hair I pulled it up and wrapped it in a twist. I dried off and covered myself and opened the door. I was still shaking and the tears were involuntary now. My mantra, be small, be quiet, no sudden moves was on repeat in my head.

No one seemed to be in the house as I made my way back to his room, a room that felt foreign to me now. My change of clothes was piled on the floor and looking closer I realized it had not been his shirt that had wiped my face earlier. It was my shirt that had wiped him off my face and out of my eyes. The damp towel was able to help me at least feel like you couldn’t see any spots. My whole body was aching and gingerly I pulled on clothes. I stood there a moment in front of a mirror. I wiped my eyes and somehow found the strength to force myself to stop shaking. Slipping on my shoes, I folded the towel and placed it in the laundry room.

When I walked out into the great room it took me a few minutes to realize he was outside. On the back deck of his house, all of his siblings were gathered. Forcing the thought that they had heard me and assumed I was having a good time out of my head and continuing with my mantra I took a deep breath. He saw me and motioned for me to come outside. I pulled the door open and stepped onto the deck; I know I was blushing from head to toe. No one said anything, to me, but one of his brothers was talking to him off to the side and slapped him on the back and gave him a high five. Naturally I don’t really know what they were saying to each other but at the time it felt like he was taking a victory lap.

He walked over and took my hand gently. I must have looked mystified because he kissed my hand and said to the group that I was worn out; it had been a long day. He put his arm around my waist and when his eldest brother asked me if I wanted to stay for a barbeque; I didn’t have to answer.

“No, no she’s had a long day. She told me she was tired earlier when I showed her the shower, so we decided I would just take her home but hey throw a steak on for me, I’ll be back soon!”

His head tilted all the way back as he gulped down one of the beers everyone was drinking and took a long drag off his Camel cigarette. A large part of me wanted to take a beer and drink it as fast as I could so that I would feel it and the events of the afternoon might fade away into a fog. Gently he took my hand again and we left. On the way home it was as if nothing had happened. Sweetness oozed from him like honey from a spoon. Confused I asked

“Are you mad at me?”

He replied

“No, not anymore; I’m sorry about that stuff I was upset about at the river. It was great sex though. Did you like it?”

“No.”

“Oh, I thought you were kind of into it… it was role playing you know. We should totally do that again, I really liked punishing you; but if you aren’t into it I won’t do that again. I’m really sorry; I thought you knew what we were doing. Fuck me; I just keep messing up don’t I? You forgive me right? You know I didn’t know you weren’t into it. I swear sweet cheeks it that won’t ever happen again.”

As he turned into my cul-de-sac he asked if I was going to tell my parents. I could feel the rush of red come to my face.

“No. I couldn’t tell them about that.”

He nodded and agreed that it was better that way, our sex life was ours and nobody else’s business. Or something to that effect I felt dizzy and I was barely listening to him. The sun was just starting to set and I was spent and now I had to go in and face my family like nothing was wrong. Leaning across the seat he kissed me with his lips so soft and gentle. Jekyll and Hyde that’s what this was like. My brain was racing around in my head like it was inside a blender. Who was this guy? This was certainly not the guy who had wooed me and convinced me to go on a date with him after a hard break up with my first real boyfriend. This was beyond my understanding, I was humiliated, and I had no one I could talk to and sort this out with.

I tripped getting out of the truck and scraped up my palms; he leaned over and asked if I was okay. Sure, now you want to know how I am doing… I just nodded and walked into the house. Plastering the smile on my face, the one I would learn to use so that I could keep up appearances. The sound of him peeling out in my driveway echoed through the neighborhood and I could hear my father yelling from another room at me to make him stop doing that.

I remember telling my parents I had eaten already and I was just really tired. Opening the window in my room I let the cool air wash over me and finally I was out of sight and I gave into the tears. I had to steady myself I was crying so hard. I pulled off all my clothes and wadded them up and threw them in the darkest corner of my closet. Never again could I wear that shirt, it represented pain, disgrace, and the indignities of just a few hours that had changed my life again. Pulling on the loosest pajamas I had I crawled into my bed and pulled the comforter over me; burying my face in a pillow to stifle the noise I lay there and sobbed. Utterly confused and completely alone I sobbed. I found my childhood security blanket and like a little girl gently rubbed my face with it. I cried for a long time, everyone else had gone to bed by the time I finally drifted off to sleep. His voice in my head, the sweet one and the one full of madness, who was I dating? I told myself, in the words of Scarlet O’Hara, I will worry about that tomorrow.

Stand Where I Stood: “It”

2014-04-20T02:19:00.001-04:00

I couldn’t breathe, gasping desperately like a goldfish out of water I lay there my head swimming with the realities of what had just happened… No this couldn’t be real… this has to be a dream or a concussion or something… something else, not real… please not real. It took a few minutes for me to come back to the surface and like bobbing up out of a deep pool I came to and he was there. I can still see his face from that first time. He did not say anything. He didn’t even ask if I was okay, he watched me lay there and catch my breath, after he had knocked it out of me with a swift and decisive punch to the stomach. He watched me, head cocked to the side, like maybe he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Looking back, into those eyes I know it was less of a surprise and more of realization that he could do it… he could hit me and I would fall and not fight back. Those eyes, soft and brown like the velvet coat on a chestnut horse, they were clipped with hardness now and it cut through me like knife. Finally he just said

“Get up.”

That was how it began. He swore it wasn’t on purpose; that he’d never do it again, if only I just knew how angry I made him or how crazy I made him feel.

“I love you, so much, I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry, so sorry… it will never ever happen again. I swear.”

That night I wanted more than anything to believe him. I’ve had the wind knocked out of me before; always on accident in a crowded hallway or something like that. It never feels good; it always takes you by surprise, but this time, this time I never saw it coming. I didn’t even see the fist or the punch; I only felt it land and the impact and then the ground as I slumped down trying to breathe. I fell to my side, with tears stinging in my eyes, trying to figure out what I had done. Surely I ran into him or he stopped short or something… I did not want to be an after school special. I couldn’t be, not me. I was so deliberately normal, a practiced façade I kept so that no one would know that I dream of a future like Star Trek or believe in fairies and that I wish books like Tolkien’s were real. I read everything that comes in front of me. I read the encyclopedia growing up. I was nerd. I am a nerd, I wanted to be popular, well liked, adored, loved… wanted. I practiced entire conversations in my head and out loud, working out every feasible outcome so I would know exactly what to say and do should any eventuality arise.

This was not eventuality I had ever practiced.

I was still just 15 that first time. That first fist, first bruise, first lie; all of it was more galvanizing to me than the loss of my virginity. I remember it clearly; all the way to the bottom like the lake my family had once come across on a day trip through the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. I can tell you what I was wearing, what he was wearing, that he hadn’t shaved that day and was scruffy looking, no one was at his house it was just us. The day was a typical dreary Seattle day, nothing special there. I had just had my hair trimmed, he didn’t like that. He said I took too much length off. When I told him it was my hair that he did not get a say in what I did with it… I could shave my head… that was it. It.

Burning in my lungs, rolling onto my side and then back seeing his hand still in a fist above me… his eyes… oh God his eyes. Once I thought they might be what a doe’s eyes looked like if I ever got close to a deer. Now they were like black coals, dark and frightening, black and full of something I couldn’t place. His mouth was open he was panting a bit; he ran his other hand through his hair. He smelled of wood, gasoline, cigarettes, and Drakkar. It all happened so quickly, one minute we were joking around, making out, he put his hands in my hair and pulled it free from the knot I had twisted it into. It was too short. I had only taken an inch or so off, I often wonder now if this moment is why I keep my hair so long. He stood up and smiled this smile I came to know so well… this was the bad smile, the crazy one… he asked

“You cut your hair?”

I dismissed the question. It was so silly. Of course I cut my hair, it needed a trim. I shrugged and turned my head to grab my things and that’s when my innocence, my world, imploded. Everything sort of blurs for a minute I just remember pieces of things. I remember reaching out and grasping at his leg, the feel of the jeans and the tension in his body. Perhaps he fully expected me to get up and come right back at him, but then again no. I am not and never was that kind of person; even with all my bravado and fiery temper, I just couldn’t find it in me to stand up and fight back. I do not know why; all I know is that I have worked a long time to forgive myself for not fighting back that day. The trip in his old beat up, truck was quiet except for his pleas of mercy and forgiveness. He filled my head with promises and oaths of fidelity and “never agains”. By the time we got to my house that was maybe three miles away, I was having trouble focusing on all his ways of loving me and the impossibilities of it ever happening again and all the reasons we should never talk about it or say anything to my parents.

He was right, about that, I knew I couldn’t tell my parents. The shame of it was just too much. My parents, the only people who know me better than myself, the people I could say anything to and often did, this was my secret now. My parents love me unconditionally and it pains me I couldn’t talk to them, it hurts I kept it all from all my closest friends. I had a secret, a real secret, something I could never tell another soul; this was my burden. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, right? So surely it wouldn’t be a huge deal.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have known there is predictable pattern of behavior. A clear cycle that every man who batters women follows. The only thing I knew then, was this was a guy I had given my body to, he had seen me at my most vulnerable and precious moments. This was something that happened in movies and those stupid films, the cautionary tales, that they show in Home Economics or Health class. This wasn’t something that happened at my school, or to people like me. Girls like me are all sunshine and rainbows; we don’t have dirty little secrets, we don’t have anything to be ashamed of. This sort of thing happened in other places, to girls who came from broken homes and did drugs or slept with everyone or so many other things I deemed to be not normal. I was 15 and I didn’t know shit.

2325: Nice Guys of OKC are Really, Really Real! Or Douchebag Mother load

2013-12-02T00:17:00.001-05:00

I recently found a website that had posts from users of a dating site called OKCupid in which they showed the particularly douchebag behavior of men on the site. Usually the behavior was screened behind the guise of being “a nice guy” but really is just a passive aggressive backdoor form of misogyny. In the spirit of being a humanist (or at least having some faith that men could not be that bad) I decided that these accounts of horrors inflicted on my female compatriots had to be fake or at least exaggerated. So in the interest of journalism and blogging everywhere… okay… and for my own amusement I sought out the right guy to test my theory on.

Under any normal circumstance I would and have always ignored rude messages I received from any guy on a dating site. Out of principle I would not rise to the occasion but this was different and I had to know how far I could take it before the lady in me could take it no further. Enter a man who’s screen name is “sayyessir1” who clearly did not take the time to read my rather descriptive profile… that is quite clear on the fact that I am not, NOT, looking for just a sexual encounter, a random booty call, or any other untoward affair. I am after all “the Belle”. I have standards, and they are exacting, as should any lady. I think most troublesome to me is that if he is sayyessir1 that usually means that he is the second and there are more out there.

On his profile he states he is a “dom”. Gag. After reading over his profile and his obvious glee in sexually objectifying women and his disdain for any woman with spirit I knew he was the right guy for my experiment. Further still his first message to me proved it. He actually wrote to me “I’m not sure we are looking for the same things but I am interested in a sexual relationship.” And so dear readers… all 12 of you… I lowered myself into the pit of nauseating banter to glean the following gold for you and your entertainment. Enjoy.

So there it is my loves… that sad truth. Was I too bitchy? Too snarky? Since I was really baiting the situation maybe I was not entirely fair…. given the fact that he is still messaging me after that response perhaps not. Judge me with all fairness my friends, the dating world is a nasty one.