photo credit: Alyssa L. Miller

Let me begin this first-hand account of spousal abuse, in four parts, by saying that, on some level, marrying an abusive man was my choice. He’s still responsible for every single thing he did, and I’ll probably always hate him for what he did to me, but I’m not blameless.

I had a responsibility, too – the responsibility of a person with low self-esteem to learn to take better care of herself and make better choices, the responsibility of a codependent person to stop trying to fix others and fix herself.

When you grow up with parents who don’t love you, consciously you may seek out love — you’re starved for love — but often subconsciously you look for the same pattern of abuse. I don’t know why.

From what I’ve read, it’s especially hard when the parents insist, as mine did, that they love you, while clearly demonstrating that they don’t. This “double-bind” situation really messes you up, while if your parents tell you they hate you and act like it too, it’s somehow easier to survive.

My second marriage, which began in 1985, only lasted three years. (The first marriage was not good, but nowhere near as bad as the second.) Although I spent two or three years in therapy afterwards working on the damage that was done, ultimately there were issues that were too painful to deal with.

Those issues have stayed inside the past 20 years since my divorce. It’s only in the past year that I’ve begun working on undoing the worst damage, because as I get older, I long for the companionship of a man in my life, despite the awful memories.

My mother, father and stepfather all expressed anger with screaming, rage and violence. So it’s not surprising that I married a man with violent tendencies. The violence began, actually, on the night we met. We were at a Mensa social event and caught each other’s eye. After an evening of conversation with four other people, the two for us left to continue the evening.

At some point while we were out, he playfully swatted me on the rear. My first signal.  I think he was testing me.  Not that this is always bad, but we’d just met. I felt demeaned but did nothing.  I had just moved to a new city where I only knew one other person.  I was desperately lonely. 

George enjoyed all things that seemed or were illicit. He liked biker gangs, working and hanging out in strip clubs, he had a lot of friends who were “dancers” and some who were hookers, his male friends were sleazy. When we met, he was working as a bouncer at a “go-go” club.

He was fascinated by firearms and had once had an ammunition and firearms home business,  He later worked as a security guard, which gave him the ability to carry a gun on the job. Had I known all that from the start, I might have asked myself what I was doing with a man whose interests were so far from my own.

Abusive, controlling men often start out being extremely charming. They shower you with affection, take command of many situations, and want to spend every monument with you until they’ve won you over.

It seems like you’ve met an assertive, affectionate, caring man who is crazy about you and wants to protect you, but their goal is not to love you; it’s to possess and control you. I mistook his smothering for love, love I was desperate to have.

We married within three months. It seemed clear we were crazy about each other. Over the next three years, we battled over everything. I often said, “If I say the sky is blue, George will say it’s green.”  He debated, belittled and insulted everything about me, a pattern I was familiar with from my mother.

He persuaded me to dress in dowdy or military-styled clothing, insulted and belittled my friends, and monopolized my attention until I had no friends left.

To control me, he bullied. He used rage or the threat of rage to scare me into compliance. He threatened to leave me or said that our marriage must be over if I was behaving the way I was.

Escalating from that, he’d corner me somewhere and not let me move. He was a former bouncer, 6′ 3″ and weighing over 300 pounds (1.9 meters, 136 kg. or 21.5 stone). When he placed his arms against the wall on either side of me and blocked me with his body, I wasn’t strong enough to get free.

The worst incident of incipient violence was during a bad argument we had over money. I swept all of his papers and our bills off the dining room table in my anger, admittedly a violent act, but not violence against a person.

He grabbed hold of my upper arm and forced me down until my nose nearly touched the floor. He refused to let me up until I picked up all of the papers.

This was the most humiliating experience I’d ever had. My personal autonomy was completely taken from me by force. I was so angry that if I’d had a gun, I’d have shot him. I learned later, after I left him, that the violence would surely have escalated over time.

By this point, I had become so depressed that I began envisioning various methods of suicide. Despite being an emotionally and somewhat physically battered spouse, I was lucky in that I saw this as a wake-up call.

While I should have walked out, RUN out, instead I insisted we go to couples counseling (I wanted to “fix” him), which ultimately led to the end of our marriage.

I wasn’t sure I could finish the puzzle. It was the hardest one I’ve ever done, and I’ve lost a few of the pieces. Everything in the picture is made of something else. For example, the old lady’s apron is made of a dollar bill. My next puzzle is a water scene — almost entirely blue. I’m not sure I can do that one, but I like challenging myself.

I don’t really hate other people, as I’m sure you all knew, but when I get REALLY overwhelmed, life just gets too hard. It turns out that for the past two weeks I had the mother of all sinus infections. Oddly enough, it hurt the back of my head.

When I was little, times when I was sick were the only times my mother acted like a normal mother, so when I’m sick I tend not to take very good care of myself, instead longing for a “mommy” to take care of me and reassure me. That’s why all your hugs were so helpful.

I dragged myself to a clinic. My doctor was on vacation. The clinic doc said she didn’t see any signs of an infection, because I tend not to have a lot of symptoms, I just feel awful. She gave me antibiotics anyway, because they “couldn’t hurt and might help.”

I love antibiotics! I worship them like a god! (Or God’s best work, if you prefer.) Now I feel like my normal self again.

I suspect that my anxiety over my two procedures, plus the very trying “prep,” may have left me run down and vulnerable to infection.

I’ve blogged a lot about being sick lately, because it’s been so front-and-center in my life since the fall.

As you’ve seen, as soon as I get started on any hobby or enterprise, along comes an illness, old or new, and disrupts everything. When I recover, then I have a whole lot of housework to catch up on, which further delays any hobbies or activities.

I’ve given up on the idea of trying to start an online business as Betsy Wuebker of Passing Thru and I discussed in our series. Having researched a variety of options, I realized they’d all require hardcore marketing efforts to get enough visits to pay off. I’m not good at promoting and I don’t like doing it, so I’d rather continue legal secretarial work instead.

Most of my life I’ve had a pattern of plunging into things intensely until I burned out and then quitting. Months or years later, I’d go back to some things. Add the recurrent illnesses, and I’ve become even less consistent. So, my learning to cook is on a back burner — so to speak — as well.

The household notebook hasn’t worked out. I still keep it as a resource, but as a reminder of things to be done, it needs to beep. Otherwise I forget to consult it.

I’ve given up on CommentLuv. I had posted a support ticket and followed the advice I got, I’ve read the author’s website and tried to follow that, and I’ve changed my feeds and my theme, and CommentLuv still doesn’t work. Now it says, “Feed has changed.” Whoopee, that’s not what I want.

Next up, a four-part first-hand account of spousal abuse. (Gee, Dot, what a fun topic. Yeah, I know, but I need to write this. You don’t have to read it.)

photo credit: Ed.ward

No, not you, or you. Just other people. Like, I hate my upstairs neighbor. During the blizzard, she held a shouted conversation, through her open window, with another neighbor who was digging out a car down in the parking lot. They did this at 3 a.m.

She later told me that the woman who lives above her complained that they woke her up, and they laughed about that. I didn’t mention that she also woke me up that night.

In fact, she wakes me up in the middle of the night regularly. If I complain, she makes more noise to spite me.

Should I tell her that fibromyalgia pain doesn’t respond well to medication, but does respond to a sound night’s sleep? I doubt it would help things.

I hate the people who ride the subway. They don’t know I have arthritis when they roll their bags over my foot and knock their briefcases into my knees, but I still hate them for causing me more pain.

I hate the people who ride the bus. One stuck out his big feet, and I tripped because I have tunnel vision and can’t see the floor. Another was rude to me because I didn’t see her coming and got up right in front of her. I hate them for not knowing that I’ve got vision problems.

I hate the people on the street. The woman who tries to make me feel guilty for not giving her money for the homeless. I want to tell her I spend $200 a month in prescription drug copays alone and I still give to charities.

I hate the people on the street. They assume I see them coming from one side and they slam right into me, then get mad because I didn’t get out of the way. Even if I wasn’t partially blind, what gives them the right of way? I hate them because it hurts when people slam into any of my fibromyalgia-pained muscles.

I hate the people who shop at the coffee shop. The people who think that the fact that they didn’t get up early enough gives them the right to shove in front of me in their rush to get to work on time.

I hate other people’s music and the people who play it so I can hear it. Especially when I’m sitting in my own living room trying to recuperate from all the other people.

Isn’t my life hard enough without all these other people adding to my troubles and pain?

I hate other people, but most of all, I hate that so much of my life sucks, and so much of it is, just like those other people, beyond my control.

photo credit: BadrNaseem

A little over a week ago, at the health spa, I did a fabulous juice fast. I was served delicious juices from around the world – pomegranate, mango, papaya, guava, even passionfruit.

Then, in a softly-lit room, while listening to serene music, I was gently given a high colonic using soothing, healing herbal waters, after which I drifted off to sleep. I feel rejuvenated and more spiritual.

I WISH!

My real weekend was spent doing a 24-hour clear liquids fast to prepare for endoscopy and colonoscopy on Monday.

I was scared of the procedures, but even more scared of the prep.

STEP 1.  Mix an entire container of laxative powder — 14 doses, according to the label –with 1 quart/liter of liquid. Drink this over 7 hours until it’s gone.

STEP 2.  Take four double doses of stool softener over the next eight hours.

STEP 3.  Drink 1-2 additional quarts of clear liquid.

STEP 4.  Spend the next 8 hours dealing with the consequences. Let’s just say that you don’t get a whole lot of sleep that night.

They didn’t mention cramps. Or shivering with cold, or shaking.

The procedures went fine, despite my fears. I learned later that the endoscopy — down the throat to take videos of the stomach, which were displayed on TVs for the doctors — showed the bleeding ulcer and reflux problems are completely healed up and gone.

The colonoscopy — up from the other end — is to screen for polyps, which in rare cases can turn into cancer. A medium-sized polyp was found and removed. It was the type less llikely to become cancer.
Now I have to go back in 3 years, instead of the 7-9, because there was a polyp. Do this again? Yikes!

They use air to open the passages for the tiny video camera in the end of the narrow hose, so after the procedure you are instructed to pass as much of the air as you can before you’re allowed to stand up.

The rest of the air comes out at random over the next day, at least when you’ve had two procedures as I did. At least it’s odorless.

I was given color photos of my insides, which I won’t share with you. You don’t want to see that, am I right?

Not exactly a day at the spa, but worth the good results. Unfortunately, the stress of the anxiety I had, plus the diarrhea, plus a couple of other stresses, caused me to get sick and miss three additional days at work.

photo credit: Ninha Morandini

Are you a book lover? I am!

Patricia recently posted about donating 192 books to a church sale, and that got me thinking about my favorite books. I have a lot of favorites, though not really 3,172.

I don’t really have a single favorite book. I’ve been reading voraciously ever since I got in trouble with my second grade teacher for finishing See Spot Run before the class did.

Here are some of my favorites.

- Detective/Police Procedurals/Mysteries –

     - Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle and novels by Laurie R. King;

     - Travis McGee detective novel by iJohn D. MacDonald;

     - Lindsey Milhone detective novels by Sue Grafton’s detective novels;

     - Michael Connelly’s detective novels;

- Quilller spy novels by Adam Hall;
 
- P.G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster novels; and
 
- Lots of other things.
 
I’m pretty sure your favorite(s) will be different. Would you like to share what it/they is/are? (How’s that for a smooth sentence?) You could even (probably) list 3,172 if you felt it was necessary.

I lose my creativity when I’ve been cut off from people for too long, as in the recent blizzard. So, I did what writers do – I researched the problem.

If you’ve dealt with your life issues and pesky personality problems, here are 8 links to help crush writer’s block, should it dare to strike your illustrious self.

1. Darren Rowse of Problogger, in “Battling Blogger’s Block”, offers a whopping 25 tips for defeating a block, including 10 types of blog posts you might want to try.
2. 911 Writers Block is a fun site directed at fiction writers only. I tried “Dial 8 to Kill a Character” and got this suggestion: “Deep vein thrombosis on a 22-hour flight to Mumbai.”
3. Hack Your Way Out of Writers Block on 43 Folders has a nice list of suggestions. I liked the one called “vacuuming your lungs” – sort of a reboot for your oxygen system.
4. Dissolving Writer’s Block has some fresh suggestions.
5. Writers Block – Discuss your writer’s block with others in the forums for prose writers, poets, artists and musicians.
6. Marelisa at Abundance Blog has a list of ten Thoughts to Get Your Creative Juices Flowing.
7. John Warner has some hilarious tips in “Breaking Through Writer’s Block.”
8. On Dumb Little Man, Abhijeet Mukherjee offers 15 ways to come up with a new idea to write about.

Most of all, don’t panic. Try to laugh instead.

photo credit: elisfanclub

Here are a few more photos. This is how things look, one week later. In the first one, what you’re looking at is the arm of my patio chair. The icicles and snow are covering the hedge.

I went out at 2:15 pm to mail back a movie to Blockbuster. Here’s the parking lot now.

And in the other direction. Note that everybody’s out now, except for those two cars.

On Friday, my office was open, but the metro line to my area was not. I had to stay home another day. The sidewalks are clear now, and with the high snow they almost look like a luge run.

I moved here because it’s so pretty.

I’m off to work tomorrow, transit permitting. I’m definitely going to duck quickly out the front door. Check out the size of this icicle!

It’s snowing again now, but not sticking yet. They’re forecasting a total accumulation of only an inch. Of course, that’s a lot when added to 31 inches, or in the case of a friend, 43 inches. Hope you’re all safe and dry.

Some History

Long before Desk-Mess, I wanted to use CoffeeDesk, but it wasn’t ready. The designer had left it half-done because of a problem he didn’t have time to solve back then.

So I chose something else. Then I chose Desk-Mess, which has been getting on my nerves because I had to hand-code headings and block-quotes. I discovered CoffeeDesk was finally finished.

I was about two weeks away from finishing my tweaks to CoffeeDeskwhen Barbara Swafford revealed her new site design, CoffeeDesk with lots of well-done customizations.

I debated going ahead with CoffeeDesk anyway, but I wanted Deeper Issues to have a unique look. Also, a simpler design would be easier to live with for a long time — as Vered says . Plus, that would let Barbara enjoy her new design without competition.

So, here’s the new Deeper Issues. It’s a more polished format than I’ve had before, it adjusts to fit your screen resolution (no more scrolling back and forth for those, like me, who use 600×800), the header photos were chosen and chopped up by me, and there’s no more hand-coding. I hope you like it as well!

Here’s a view of our twin-trunked tree from indoors. I don’t know if you can tell, but the left trunk is still leaning away from the right. I hope it straightens up eventually.

It’s sunny and very bright today. My office is closed, my bus line still isn’t running, and the metro is struggling on a limited schedule.

I think those who live close in will be able to go to work tomorrow, and my office will likely reopen. So in the morning I’ve got to investigate whether I can get to work without huge amounts of stress and delay.

Our next snow is due on Monday, 2-4 inches.