The effect I used on this photo is called “overexposed”. It perfectly describes the way I am feeling tonight. This is a photo of a new wall in my upstairs bathroom, which I just got done putting a second coat of paint on. When I paint I think. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but tonight it wasn’t because I thought about The Fuck Stick. I am starting to delve into it. It’s what I do. I dive into the deep pool of crap, immerse myself in it until I nearly drown, and only then can I right myself and swim for the surface. This is the way I deal with shit in my life. I have to pick it apart, to try to reassemble it in an order that makes sense. For awhile I will have a had time being overly jovial and will probably isolate myself. These times are uncomfortable, but necessary. It means the healing has begun.
While reading on the exercise bike this morning, I flipped the page and came across this fortune. Seems the person reading before me, had stuck it in there to save their place. Sometimes the universe puts the exact thing in front of you that you need to see.
I am struggling tonight. I don’t miss him, necessarily, but I miss a presence. It is quiet except for the hum of the window air conditioners, and the tink, tink, tinking of the pull chain on the ceiling fan as it hits against the glass globe.
My heart hurts and I am lonely. I know it will pass, but I feel like I have a lump in my throat that won’t budge, and I can’t stop myself from crying as I write this.
I made the mistake of reading through all our text messages. He seemed to really like me at first. Everything seemed great. It didn’t last. He started accusing me of wanting to spend too much time together, of being too mistrusting. He started picking, and I started believing what he said. I went from being a confident woman to a meek girl who fell in line with his wishes.
I will be that confident woman again someday, but it will take time. It will take at least as much time to build myself back up, as it took for him to knock me down. Right now I have bursts of emotion, but quickly go back to feeling dead inside. It amazes me how I can still see the bruises on my face, but I can so easily separate myself from the reality of what has occurred. I guess it is a process which has to be worked through, and I must be in the first phase of it. I wonder how long the denial will last?
The following is my “Today’s Note From the Universe”. Is it just coincidence that I get this particular one today? Also kind of strange that I am from Kansas, and it makes reference to the Wizard of Oz. Spooky weird, just like my life.
By design, FBG, you are stronger than whatever you may create.
Including the lions and tigers and bears now in your life.
…that it heals all wounds. This one is healing, but I think it’s going to leave a scar, not just on my face, but on my soul as well. Maybe someday, a man will come along who can love not only my scarred face, but also my scarred soul.
I am at work. I didn’t want to come to work with this shit on my face, but what choice did I have? You can only hide from shit for so long, and it will take days for all of this to fade. Sitting and eating lunch, one of the guys jokingly asks if my boyfriend beat me up. I tell my lie, saying the patio umbrella hit my sunglasses, as I was trying to close it in the strong Kansas wind. My boss knows the truth, and maybe others will see through my lie too. I don’t know. I hate that The Cowboy has forced me to lie, because I am a truth-teller. I was born a truth-teller, and I shall die a truth-teller. The Cowboy has his own skewed version of the truth, soaked in Bud Light, whatever other beer he can get for free.
I am a mess right now. I am mentally and physically exhausted. My entire body hurts. I alternate between missing him and hating his guts and hoping he hits rock bottom and seeks help. I want to cry every few minutes, but I tell myself not to. I am replaying it all in my head; every cruel word and every second of choking. When I think about missing him, I touch my throat because it’s so sore from where he choked me and I hope this reinforces the fact I can’t allow him in my life.
***I want everyone to know how much I appreciate the outpouring of support!! You all are so amazing!! It’s quite ironic how supportive all of you, who have never met me, are so kind with your words, but The Cowboy, who has been a recipient of so much from me, can’t seem to do nice things for me.
I am not a good liar, but I tried to lie to my son about how this happened. He didn’t believe me. He is a very perceptive boy, and always has been. I came clean with him about it. He told me, “My dad was afraid something like this was going to happen.” His dad worries that I make poor choices in men, I guess. My son wanted to know if I need his dad’s help. My son said, “Please don’t ever let anyone do this to you again.” My heart hurts tonight. I don’t know how I got back here again. This isn’t the first abusive relationship I’ve been in. I want it to be the last.
You know the worst part? I hit back. I was tired of just sitting there taking it, so I hit back, and then he choked me, right there in his pickup, while we’re sitting in a parking lot, truck running. Pretty sure you stand a better chance of encountering a cop when you’ve had a couple of beers and get behind the wheel, than when you’re getting choked out in a pickup.
I titled my post last night “Stupid Girl”, because I feel stupid. I am a college educated woman, with my own home, and decent credit, and a good job, but sometimes I am still a stupid girl. I should’ve never gone back after the first kick and subsequent bruise, I should’ve told him to pack his shit after the second shove and subsequent landing on my ass on the ground and my head barely missing the paving stones. You know what cut my cheek? A baseball cap. The plastic thing on the back of a baseball cap. He got pissed off at me and threw the baseball cap right at my face. I didn’t even realize that it had cut my cheek until I pulled my hand away and saw the blood. He told me it cut me because I am “weak”. That’s what he said—I am weak. He wouldn’t have thrown it, but I pissed him off because, I “don’t know when to shut my fucking mouth”.
I think that motherfucker better just be glad I didn’t call the cops. Not only would he have been arrested for a domestic, I am guessing he would’ve also gotten charged with DUI, and it would’ve been his 4th. Here in Kansas your 4th DUI is mandatory one year in jail. That’s a good long while to sit and think about shit, isn’t it?
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 