Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “domestic violence”


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.




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.




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






Friday Mind Fuck


I learned a valuable lesson today. I will never step foot in another gun range.

I was raised in Kansas. I grew up around guns. I have enjoyed shooting guns.

I don’t enjoy it anymore.

I’ve been “on edge” since my first go-round with abuse. I don’t like people sneaking up on me and touching me. I don’t like people jumping out from places and trying to scare me.

And after being beat up this last time, I really don’t like loud noises. They make me jump. They make my heart race.

I tried to go to the gun range with some co-workers today. I put the ear plugs in. I picked up the weapon.

Someone fired next to me. I jumped.

I fired. I jumped. T

The person next to me fired again. I jumped again.

I laid the weapon down and walked quickly out the door, escaping to the street.

I’m still shaking inside. I want to go home and lay down in my bed, where I still keep a baseball bat at arm’s reach, and sleep and forget how the sound made me feel.

I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want for stupid shit like this to mind-fuck me.

But one thing I’ve learned since going into therapy is that broken can’t be fixed.

Broken can only be mended.

Opposites Attract


“Do you have a red sundress? Because I would really like to see you in a red sundress.”


“You have the most beautiful eyes.”


“Your skin is so soft, it feels really nice.”


*I don’t ever again want to hear the stuff in all caps, the stuff that Fuck Stick said.  I want to hear the other kind of stuff.  I want to hear it all the time.  Whether I will hear it again from “whatshisname” or not, remains to be seen, but it felt really great to hear it once.

Cock-Eyed Optimist

Photo Credit:  thesinglenester.com

Photo Credit: thesinglenester.com

Yep, that’s me. Always seeing the potential in a man. “A victim of my own optimism” on numerous occasions. I have high expectations of myself, and therefore tend to have high expectations of men I become involved with. I know. . . most of them never seem to live up to the expectations, but I continue to have them! Is this the same as believing someone can change? Yes, I think it’s very similar, and we all know we can’t go into a relationship with someone expecting them to change. I wouldn’t want someone to go into a relationship with me, and expect me to change, so it seems silly for me to expect that. And, I can sit around and say that I don’t expect them to change, that I like them just as they are, but when it comes to the majority of the guys I’ve been with in the last 12 years, that isn’t true. Really, there were these glaring things about them I knew I couldn’t live with, but I glossed them over with my cock-eyed optimism.

I need to remember what Maya Angelou says, “The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.” The first time The Fuck Stick kicked me and left the bruise on my leg he showed me exactly who he was, and I didn’t believe him. The second time, when he pushed me down and I almost hit my head on the paving stones, he confirmed it, and I knew, but I ignored him. The third time when he cut my face open, and had his hands around my throat, all optimism went out the window, and I saw him for the total fuck stick he was(is!).

I want to be optimistic about love, but I don’t want to be foolish. I want to be strong enough to walk away from men when they show me they aren’t worthy of my time. If they’re not worthy, and I stay, it is out of a sense of desperation, and I’m not desperate. I don’t need to be desperate. I just need to be happy.

A Small Price to Pay

One month rent, 1/3 of the utilities for one month, groceries, razor blades and new socks and underwear – $468.00

Rental of a storage shed for 2 months, plus deposit, and a late fee and lock-out fee because the bill wasn’t paid on time due to him lying to me about paying it – $211.00

Gas money to make 2 round trips to pick up his son for visitation – $100.00 (which I would gladly pay again, because I just ADORE his son)

Vehicle registration, insurance, and gas money, for vehicle which I let him drive because his truck has a blown head-gasket – $95.00

Approximate amount spent on trying to keep him in beer and skoal – $250.00

Getting out of a shitty relationship before he choked me again, or drug me any further down into his pit of abusive alcoholism. . . . PRICELESS.


D-Day has come. He is here right now, loading things from the garage into his truck. I am a mess. I am shaking, my heart is racing. This would’ve been so much easier if I didn’t have to see him. A good friend of mine is here, to run interference. I am hoping, since it is early in the day, that he doesn’t have an abundance of alcohol on board already. I want this to be over with. I want all remnants of him gone, so I can get on with the healing process. I never want to be in this spot again. The next time I see the red flags, I want to be strong enough to turn tail and run. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to make that run in the beginning, than at the end?

Butcher Knives vs Butter Knives

Some people say do it cleanly. Cut all ties and be done. Others understand the pouring over of old text messages, and the slow removal of memories, items, possessions; bit by bit. Tomorrow is D-Day. D-Day, meaning Done Day. I am done. I want all of his possessions out of my house and my garage. He hasn’t even contacted me about coming to pick them up. He is taking advantage of me again. My house isn’t the storage shed. He has a storage shed. I know, because I gave him over $200 just so he could get, and keep, the storage shed. I know I will never see a dime of that money back, or for that matter, any of the money. Another expensive lesson; in more ways than one.

I just wanted you all to know that I have switched cutlery. I may have started out using the butter knife, but now I have picked up the butcher knife. I started chopping a couple of hours ago, and the first thing that went was all of the text messages. Oh, and if you see a whole bunch of smoke tomorrow night, it’s not wildfires burning, it’s his shit on fire in my front yard, and I’ll be dancing around it.

The Spaces In Between Hurt & Healing

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?

You know what they say about time….


…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. 

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