Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Relationships”

Warning Labels

warning

 

 

I lived in a walled fortress most of the time. . . with a moat. . .and a dragon.  But no knights.  My life doesn’t currently have, and has never had a knight, or a true partner.  Mind you, I know knights don’t exist in anyone’s world except Walt Disney’s, and truth be told, after the shit relationships I’ve subjected myself to, I should probably come with a warning label.

If any man ever happens to express interest in me again, here is what I would want him to read on my label:

  1. I don’t trust you. Most likely I will probably never fully trust you. If I come to trust you, it will be because you’ve backed up your words by deeds.
  2. Don’t ever think scaring me is funny.  It’s a trigger for me, and you might possibly be met with a slap to your face or a knee to the balls because I will feel as if I need to defend myself.
  3.  No yelling. EVER. Yelling sets off an immediate panic attack in me, and then when the yelling is done, I immediately dissolve into a puddle of tears.
  4. PTSD.  I have it, though I hate to admit it.  There’s no shame in having it, but I constantly try to minimize the situations I was in and deny that I have it.  It will rear its ugly head, and you will need to love me through it, or you will need to leave.
  5. Touch.  I will need to sense your presence before you touch me, or I will be startled, even if you’ve never put your hands on me in anger. I can be a very affectionate person, but it will take a little time.
  6. Jealousy.  Don’t get psycho jealous with me, because I’ve been there and I won’t do that again.  It is possible I might experience some jealousy and read something into situations which are harmless because I’ve been cheated on numerous times and lied to too many times to count.  See #1 for further clarification.
  7. Guilt.  Because I’ve been told numerous times that everything that goes bad in an asshole’s life is my fault, I still have a hard time believing that it isn’t, so I will always feel like shit is my fault.  I will always assume worst case scenario in every situation and will prepare myself for the blame, so don’t be an asshat–you own what’s yours, and I will own what’s mine, and we will forgive each other and move on.

 

I think this about covers the basics.  If you’re still here and have an interest in understanding more about me, then maybe you give a shit and you’re interested in sticking around.  If not, that’s cool too, and I get it.  The rollercoaster isn’t for everyone.

 

 

Battle Weapons

sing me to sleep

your arms wrapped around me

 

kiss my cheek

my brow

as passionately as you kiss my lips

 

show me that hands are made for kindness

and words are meant to elevate

 

and maybe, just maybe

my sharp edges will be smoothed

I will lay down my weapons

 

and allow you a glimpse inside

 

before you turn tail and run

 

Speech Impediments

This time last year, I loved you, and thought there was still a small chance you loved me.

Now I wonder if you ever loved me, or if it was just easy to type because the words in print, held no weight.

It always seemed when we talked that you would have trouble forming the words in your mouth, and I don’t remember you ever saying it first, but only in response to my telling you.

I’m not sure what hurt worse:  knowing you didn’t love me anymore, or the realization that you may have never loved me.

 

 

 

Ghost of Christmases Past

xmaspast

 

I hate the holidays.

For numerous reasons.

My parents divorced years ago, when I was around 12, and that is when my hatred of the holidays began.

Up until then, it had been presents, and aunts and uncles and cousins, and cinnamon applesauce salad, and grandmas and grandpa, and some damn ham, and crocheted ponchos for everyone.  Except the boys, of course.

After the Big D, referred to as “A.D.” at our house, meaning “After Divorce”, everything changed.

A.D., we would spend Christmas Eve with my mom, and then my dad would pick us up on Christmas morning to take us to our grandma and grandpa’s.

I remember the sick feeling I’d get in my stomach at having to leave my mom home alone.  I hated it, and would feel sad for her all day.

Even then I knew I never wanted to spend Christmas alone, while my imagined, future children went elsewhere, but oh, how things come to pass which we never expect.

Here I am, 30 plus years later, doing near the same thing: swapping holidays with my son’s father.

Every year, the closer it gets to the holidays, the more morose and irritable I seem to get.  I want to skip them altogether and go straight to the New Year, because I’ve given up on trying to schedule time with my limited number of family members, whose schedules don’t ever jive, because of divorces and remarriages and extended families and step-families.

I realized this morning, I think this hatred derives from the fact I’m being eaten up with jealousy when the holidays roll around.  I don’t have a husband, or a boyfriend, and my family seems scattered and all kinds of fucked up.

You sit over there with your Christmas card perfect spouse and kids, and their spouses, and maybe even a couple of grandkids running around at this point, and I hate you just a little bit.

I wonder why you deserve that family, and why I don’t.

All I ever wanted was to be a part of a big, loving family, and when I was really young, I thought that’s what I had. But then I grew up.

I grew up and discovered those types of families are mostly just myth.

Like unicorns, they don’t exist.

Families are messy.

Parents give each other the cold shoulder, or make biting comments about the others’ appearance, or sometimes have affairs they scream about during late night drunken fights, or god forbid over Thanksgiving dinner.

Siblings argue because they don’t like their sister’s choice in a mate so they refuse to sit down at the same table and dine with them, or you find out your brother had sex with your wife.

Kids grow up and are too busy to travel an hour or two to see their non-custodial parent, and when they’re forced to do it, they’re pissed off because they can’t be with their friends over Christmas break and they make everyone’s life miserable because of it.

And step-families become the first priority, and you will always have to take a back seat to their plans, and often figure out excuses not to attend combined functions because you don’t fit into their mix, and all you really want is just a few moments alone with your dad and your brother to make fart jokes and laugh.

Life in general, is messy, and fucked up, and complicated.

But right here, right now, I know this:

In 5 days I will drive to the airport to pick up my little boy, who now stands 6’2, and has a booming tenor voice, and who will soon be 15 years old, and in that moment, and the 10 days following that, I will be happy.

I will be happy because my boy is sleeping in his bed down the hall from me once again, and for 10 days, everything will be right with the world, regardless of what Christmas plans are made or kept, or how fucked up our family is.

I wish the same for you, and your fucked up family.

Peace on Earth and pass the vodka.

 

 

Flashbacks

I hear the frantic yelling and I look up to see her attempting to usher kids out the front door, with tears running down her cheeks, and shame and fear written on her face.

An icy hand grips my intestines and squeezes because the scene is all too familiar.  I have lived this life.

I ask if she wants me to call anyone for her. Does she have a place to go and take the children.

She tells me she can go to her mom’s as she tries to get a pair of socks on the bare feet of her young daughter.

I stand and I wait while she gets her purse from the house; the children’s father throws it out the door at her.

I’m ready to call the cops if I see him make any gesture towards her. He slams the door.

She leads the children down the steps to the car.  Two are without coats, all are without shoes, and one is without socks.

I tell her it’s okay, I have been there.  She doesn’t respond and I understand the embarrassment.

The little boy looks at me and I tell him it’s going to be okay, and he smiles.

I smile back.

 

 

* This took place last night as I left my mother’s house.  It brought back too many memories. It left me with a huge rush of adrenaline–fight or flight terror.  It left me grateful I am no longer living that life, and even more grateful my son never saw the really bad stuff.  It also left me knowing she would go back to him, and I was right, her car was there this morning.

 

 

 

Harsh Realities

I knew the minute you held my hand

your fingers didn’t intertwine with mine
you didn’t grab it like you never wanted to let it go
it felt awkward
uncomfortable
like it was difficult for our palms to be touching
foreign and out of place
your hand was an intruder
it didn’t belong

after all that time
months spent loving your from afar

I knew the minute you held my hand

you didn’t really love me

Life Lesson #564

The things you said

Or all the things you didn’t say

In the end

Didn’t make a damn bit of difference

It was what you did

Or all the things you didn’t do

That did.

So when all was said

And

All was done

You weren’t the one

**Note to self:  Actions speak louder than words. Always.  If you’re important to him, he’ll find the time.

False Gods

I gave you too much of my truth
I presented you my soul stripped bare
like a communion wafer
laid upon your tongue
so you could devour
the very essence of me

And you chewed me up
and spit me out
and picked your teeth
with my bones

What gave you the right
to preach your gospel
while I tossed
my coins of devotion
into your collection plate
only to have you
lay waste to me
as I knelt down before you

You are the worst kind of deity
a devil in disguise
and I refuse to worship you

Keep Your Hands to Yourself

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you’re aware I’ve been involved in more than one relationship which has been abusive, be it either physically, psychologically, or both.  I prefer not to label myself as either a “victim” or a “survivor” of domestic violence.  I prefer to see myself as a scholar of life in general.  There have been times in my life when I have made poor choices about relationships, and I have learned many hard lessons, and have moved on to make better choices.  That’s all.

You might not think someone who has learned some of these particular life lessons might want to see any sort of violence, but when the now infamous video of Ray and Janay Rice surfaced this week, curiosity got the best of me and I watched it.  I watched it, and then I started reading everyone’s reaction to it, and then I got irritated.  The more I read the more irritated I got.

Did these people see the same video I saw?  It seemed that maybe they didn’t.  I didn’t see one “victim”.  No, I don’t see Janay as the victim in this as so many others seem to.

I can almost hear the collective “oh my gods” as I type that, and I realize by even writing this blog post I am subjecting myself to all kinds of criticism of my opinion, and even possible backlash, but obviously I’m still doing it, and I can, because this is my blog.

Let me tell you why I don’t take the same view as others have.

I have had vitriol spewed at me, I have had hands around my throat trying to choke the life out of me, I have been kicked and pushed and even had my face used as an ashtray, and never once, not one fucking time, even during states of inebriation, would I have thought to smack one of my abusers in the face, or spit at them, or taunt them with words.

That’s not proof that she’s not a victim of domestic violence, you might say.  But if getting punched in the elevator by Ray makes Janay a victim, why don’t her actions towards Ray make him a victim also?

You know why?  Perception.  Society seems to have an extremely skewed perception that men can’t be victims of domestic violence because they’re often taller, or more muscular than their spouse or significant other, they often make more money, and seem to have more power within the relationship.

But the way things seem to be isn’t always the way they are.  Statistics show 40% of domestic violence victims are men.  40%.  I would guess the actual number is probably higher than that, as most men are often embarrassed to come forward and admit they have suffered abuse from their partner because of the stigma attached to it.

In my own personal experience, I have seen my brother take being hit, scratched, having his clothes torn off him, and called names by his drunk high school girlfriend while he just stood there and took it.  I know other men who have suffered constant verbal abuse, and have been slapped and pushed, by girlfriends or wives, who never once even lifted a hand to defend themselves against these physical attacks, who have stayed in relationships for the same reason abused women do, because they made a vow, or for their kids, or because they’re too scared to leave for fear of what their partner would do if they did.

Am I saying Ray Rice is a victim of spousal abuse?  I can’t say for sure, but it appears to me Janay dishes out abuse to him also, just without the same physical result of the abuse he dished out to her.  It appears to me they have a very volatile and mutually abusive relationship, and I think it’s sad they feel the need to be in that type of relationship.

My point is this:  maybe it’s time to bring the subject of males suffering domestic violence out into the light, because it’s a reality.  It happens every day, and it’s very possible you know a man who’s suffering in silence right now.

Please take a minute to check out the following link, and watch the video. This is a hidden-camera experiment which was done to gauge reactions to violence.  The differences in onlookers’ reactions to man on woman violence, as opposed to woman on man violence is unbelievable, and to me quite sickening and inappropriate when it comes to seeing the female being abusive to the male.

 

http://www.buzzfeed.com/candacelowry/watch-how-people-react-when-they-see-a-woman-abuse-a-man-in#12r9a1p

 

No one, absolutely NO ONE should have to suffer abuse, be it physical or verbal!

 

 

 

 

 

A Country Crooner’s Relationship Advice

“I don’t know if there’s a secret. I think you have to have the same sort of priorities and outlook. You’re sharing a car. You’ve got to want to be going to the same place. You have to decide early on that failure’s not an option and that you’re going to evolve together. You’re going to change. . . . . .”

Thanks Brad Paisley. I love the often quirky, always catchy, sometimes heart-wrenching ballads you write, and now I love your relationship advice too.

Have a great Friday all you Fat Bottom Girl stalkers!

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