Know What’s Scary … Men.

The thought of ever trusting a man stops my heart … still, I don’t want to be alone. And the damnable part about it is that these horrifying memories of mine surface and the trust factor disappears, still, I want to be loved, and yet I don’t want to be vulnerable again. Powerless. Afraid. Out of my mind.

That is scary – aside from two men – one being my father. The other, well, it’s a complicated story. He is a hero in my book. A private book. Someone who stands out in a crowd for integrity and drive. I admire him. Hope to be like him when I grow up. Both of them are fallible. I know. Somehow that fallibility is forgivable … but, that being said, as I look into the world of singleness … it is daunting and my haunches are up. High. Understandably so, I realize.

It’s not that I can’t be single – until I am whole, I probably should be. I’m doing it now, and I’m okay. There is much to focus on … finding that job that’s just right for me, loving on my babies, and finding peace after having lived so torridly for a long time.

But, good conversation I want. Laughter, I want. Nice dinner. Walks. To be cared for. It would be nice. Perhaps … someday … marriage again. Perhaps. That in itself is terrifying … I do not want to turn around and find a man believes me to be his “property” and that I am unable to think without him or make decisions on my own or put me down so that I don’t believe I am worthy or beautiful enough for a good man to want.

Met a gentleman. He has a farm. Handsome. Says he is a Christian. Drives a nice truck. Has a great job. Cattle. But odcr and oscn paint a different picture. DUI. Assault. A number of other things. Good grief. That won’t be going anywhere.

I cannot and will not be abused ever again. Nor will I put myself in an environment where my mental state could be destroyed another time. Trust is shaken in me. And I’m thankful for internet research tools and best friends who love me and do that research for me … because they know emotionally I’m not the sharpest crayon in our tray.

This is all unsettling. But … one day at a time … I press forward. Learning so much about myself and what I want. What I will settle for. And what I will not.

For that, I am thankful today. Still, think men are scary though, but on the converse, they can be so nice to talk to. What is that?

Bleeding on the Page Tonight

The worst part about abuse recovery is thinking you’re on top of it – that you are a conqueror, and then you find out that person who abused you said something about you, and your entire bravado crashes to the floor. Smattering smithereens.

Had that yesterday … internally and private, spoke to no one about it.

It wasn’t even what was said about me, it was just that anything was said, that I was on the tongue of that person. That I am not hidden! That his anger still exists – that it will always exist because he does not see or accept his culpability in anything. No … he will say “I have done wrong things” but will never speak to what those things are, and if they are addressed … will say it was because of me …

For years I was told, if I hadn’t done this or that, he would never have said the things he did or hurt me the way he did. It matters not any circumstance – it is my fault in his eyes and will always be. I have ruined his life he says. I should have been honest about my BPD, which I never knew that I had. I should have just communicated with him … someone tell me please, how do you communicate with an angry person who accepts no fault and snaps on a dime and has held you down, spit on you, smothered you, stripped you and threatened to toss you outside naked, slapped you, broken your things, ripped your clothes, slashed your shoes with a knife, hit you, humiliated you, tossed the gun at you and said pull the trigger, and I can’t keep going because I’m starting to hyperventilate … but there is more, so much more. My mental state did not survive that relationship. All of it is my fault, he said. He says. All of it.

That is, no – it WAS my reality, and I try every day to live this new life that I have apart from him. I try every day to push aside the anxiety and the shame and the self-loathing it all has caused. I try to cover the humiliation and anger that I lost my children due to that ugly, awful fear of that man. I smile. I laugh. I say I’m okay. And, I have been feeling on top of it. I have been feeling okay. And then … yesterday when I heard that my name had crossed his lips – that he was angry and questioning my decisions, I felt debilitated – unable to breathe, curled up into my emotional self, ashamed, and tears threatened to fall. I couldn’t breathe. And I told no one. Slipped off to my room and tried to distract myself with music and texting and tried to play my open games on Words With Friends.

The idea that in 9 months I have to be in the same room with him again has me unable to concentrate and feeling completely exposed and vulnerable to it all over again. To believe that I am safe is laughable. I wake up terrified that the dream was real – that I am stuck in a room alone with him again – him sitting against the door not allowing me to leave – that he has my keys, my phone, has cut up all my wallet contents again – that he says no one could ever want me – that he would trade up from me – and he is taking pictures again of my naked body threatening to send them to this person or that, and asking me why would anyone want that – pointing to me in the photo.

I struggle with hate. Deep, wretching hate.

And I believe I created the abuse. My therapist says I didn’t. My friends and family say I didn’t, but I can’t help but think it is all my fault.

At times.

Other times, more and more often, I know better. I know so much better. I am getting stronger and healthier … but it’s always there.

I’ve been told to just get over it. I’ve been told to let the past stay in the past. I’ve had it said to me lately that because I let it get to me, I must miss it and want it all back. That I must like that kind of treatment. I broke up with the man who said that to me (we had been dating a few months). And because I had the strength to do that … I know I am better. I will NOT be treated that way again. Just living with the memories is enough. I will NOT have it again.

I was told today that thus far my blog had been fairly surface. I couldn’t agree more. I started this new blog to cut myself open and bleed on the page … to let my words heal myself and, I pray, others who struggle and don’t speak.

There should be a #metoo movement for all abuses a woman endures and stays quiet about. There are so many forms. Each devastating. For so long I believed I was alone and that I was bad, that God didn’t listen to my cries for help.

I know this is not true. And the longer I write here tonight, the stronger I feel in this moment. I need to talk about this. I need to talk about my struggles through mental illness and domestic violence. I wonder if I truly do have Borderline Personality Disorder or if the circumstances of my life have messed up my head and heart. I don’t know. But what I do know is this … I am covered by the GRACE of GOD.

No matter my struggles or my sins or my deficiencies … GOD LOVES ME and wants to use my life to touch the lives of others. This I know.

And … I know this too. That God loves him – my abuser. That he too is a child of God. And God is working in my heart. I said today that I pray he finds someone who will love him – the way he needs. He is a wounded person. I was/am a wounded person. And we two together were a volatile explosion. I pray he finds peace and happiness. I truly do. That doesn’t change that he terrifies me based on experience, but it does soften the hate walls hidden deep in my core. It is mine to focus on my own healing. And it is mine to love and pray for my enemy – not to trust him, but to pray for him – that the wounds inside of him will be rooted out and healed in Christ.

See … all of this happened under the guise of being “good Christians.” And that added layer made all of this all that much worse. The hiding of sins because of what people would say or think – and that Christians don’t divorce. It was always said to me, “You make me out to be the bad guy” and I would cry b/c I wanted just for Jesus to save me … even though, in retrospect, Jesus gave me ample opportunities to cry out for physical help – to counselors, friends, family. I was never brave enough or honest enough. I hid behind the ‘rules’ and stigmas of the church and what I believed was right … and I listened to the words of Christian writer Debi Pearl who said divorce was wrong and I would never be blessed in life if I left my husband – that if I would seduce him, cook for him, pray for him, that he would love and treasure me. And I tried. Oh, how I tried.

And I broke. I stepped outside of my marriage. I had affairs. I did. And he despised me more … and life became hell.

I ended up hospitalized twice for suicidal behaviors in under a year. The first time for 5 days. The second time for 8 – on lockdown. Suicide watch.

That second time, I found some answers and my journey with therapy began. I stepped away from our hostile, damaging existence and into a journey on my own. It has been painful. Heartbreaking. Long. Scary. Lonely. Shame-filled. Wretched. And yet … I am learning me. I am learning to forgive myself. And again … I have learned that GOD loves me, and covers me in GRACE. I am valuable. I am worthy. That He can do a new thing with my life … and I will continue each day to start anew, to make a conscious decision to walk in forgiveness and to love on the people God places in my path.

Please … If you are a victim of domestic violence, reach out for help. Search online. Speak to a friend. Contact a church. Run to a neighbor. Call the police. Reach out. It is not “normal” to suffer and it is not “normal” to be abused. It is NOT okay. Ever. No matter who you are or what you have done … you are VALUABLE and WORTHY of LOVE. Please … do not take as long as I did to value yourself.

This Job Searching is … Interesting

Since the 17th of December, I have applied for 32 positions – and have had 2 companies respond.

For both, there was a phone interview and a sit-down interview. The first was a part-time gig. Literally, a gig. Perhaps 3-10 hours a week presenting/teaching science to grade school kiddos across Oklahoma. Super fun … if the 4 classes I had been placed on for TCC made it. But, they didn’t.

2 of my 4 classes were canceled due to low enrollment … and with that, it is a must that I find a full-time spot. The second company is, I pray, a good possibility. Both interviews went very well, and I am on board with the school’s vision and mission. One question is … am I ready for 2nd graders? Or rather, are they ready for me? But the bigger question is the “elephant in the room.” It is a work environment where I would be the minority. The first person on staff/faculty who is white. So, there is that “issue,” as the decision is considered – what is best for all. I get it. I welcome the opportunity, but I am pensive.

So, I continue looking … I wonder if I have found each and every possible avenue for my skill set here in this little city. I keep coming across the same positions on multiple job boards online. I’ve update LinkedIn and Indeed. Doin’ it to it.

I fear I am limited though …

I have a Master’s of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, a Bachelor’s of Arts in Religious Studies, and a Bachelor’s of Christian Education … and I am an educator. It’s in my soul. Was going to say “blood,” but that felt icky, so I will say “soul.” Teaching is who I am. To continue to do this, to do what I am made for and what I desire and what I excel in … this is what I desire. I pray God brings just the right thing.

He will. I am just impatient and anxious.

I know better.

Life just feels heavy and big right now. You know?

“Interesting.”

31 Voicemails Later

Maybe it’s just me. Then again, maybe it is not. I feel that 31 voicemails in 7 days is potentially excessive considering they are all from one person. My initial reaction is to curl up under covers and not come out – not for a long while. 31 voicemails. 59 emails. Didn’t count the texts. I am really not that cool – not to deserve that amount of initiated and unresponded to contact. This is just the latest in my laundry list of dang.

It seems drama loves me. I don’t love drama, but it seems to search for me, find me hiding underneath my covers, and climb on in and cuddle up while I struggle and squirm to get away. And then I stand there next to the ridiculous heap of blankets thusly strewn on the ground – wondering how, when, why, and what the hell.

My therapist says this is BPD. We have worked hard to get me to a place where I am not marching into every emotion I feel as if it were plastered-to-my-fate truth. With each passing month, I look back and I see progress …. it appears the fog in my emotional mind is lifting and I am able to think with rationale.

That clarity hurts. But I guess to get to any healing – I have to acknowledge the hurt exists – and I have to see it, admit it, and know I’m not the only person out there with the “crazies” and sins that stack a mile high. Of course, I feel like mine are worse than yours. #mysinsarebiggerthanyours #mylifeisroyallymessedup #everydayisastruggle #bpd #ididntspeakup #ididntspeakupever #dishonesty #metoo #abuseisreal #christiansdonttalkaboutwhatswrong #shoveitundertherug #sufferedandsnapped #baddecisions #theadulterywasmine #divorced #lostmyjob #vatterottdied #therearedayswhenallicansayaboutmyselfisIsuck #momwithoutherkids #nomorebaddecisionsplease #nomoreinternetdating #hookedupwiththewrongguy #hashtagstophashtagginginyourblogpost

Yeah, laundry list. And that’s not all of it. And yes, I used the hashtags to hide and not write it all outright. But, you get the gist. It is ugly and full of pain. I have hurt and been hurt.

There is work here to do inside this 46-year-old girl that I am – and the 31 voicemails and 59 emails caused regression this week.

I see it – what they caused. I feel it – deep to my core. I know it all – as something I do not desire for myself any longer. I am naming this thing that has plagued me and torn me down -SHAME & FEAR. Calling it out as a giant NO … not going to define me. Not going to keep my making decisions that I shouldn’t because I don’t feel worthy of more.

There is too much else to do and be.

#jobinterviewtomorrow #tccrocks #ilovemykids #gettingrightformybabies #grandbabiesarelife #goingtogetinvolvedatchurch #spendtimewithmybffs #loveonmyparents #MOVEFORWARD

Talked to my brother yesterday on the phone, and he said, so sweetly, that I deserve a break. Good brother. He loves his big sister. I love that kid.

Here’s to a new day tomorrow!

Here’s to not saving the drama for the momma!

Here’s to getting that dirty laundry clean!

Here’s to a brother who totally rocks!

Wow, Dacia. Just wow.

Reached out to some friends and family today and let them know about this blog’s existence. THEN … the first thing my crazy self did … went back in and edited my first post. Changed some of the language. Made it less honest, less blunt. Wow, Dacia.

It was without thought almost – just panic. And right after I’d written about being brave.

Isn’t that just how this struggle with authenticity can go? Up and down, back and forth. Though, I am still so pleased about this morning and the getting up and just going by myself to church. What a step! … and another stone on this journey’s path.

Big Brave Girl Day

Home now. It’s 10:42 a.m. But it has already been a big day. I did something I have never done before – and I did it with my head held high and a smile on my face.

I went to church by myself.

Not just that. I greeted people. I said hello. I smiled at folks. I walked straight and tall. I walked around until I found just the right spot to sit. I spoke to the people around me. I sang as loud as I wanted. I listened how I wanted. I nodded as much as my head could. I did it. I filled out the Connect card because I want to know more about community groups and get involved. I did things I wanted to do.

No … not just me. I wasn’t alone … and I didn’t do this on my own.

Thank you, Lord, for being there with me.

Thank you that I have found the courage to begin to piece this life you have given me together – this life that I have so cluttered. Thank you for the bravery to step out today and drive to the church of my choice. Thank you for leading me to a section full of ladies. Thank you for the smell of perfumes which comforted me. Thank you for the young woman who sat beside me – who I should have spoken to but didn’t. May she be in the same spot next week. I will speak to her. Thank you for the Message on Anointing. Thank you that I know I am yours. Thank you for grace and mercy. Thank you that although I have strayed so far the last few years of this life, that YOU have not left me. Thank you that I know I have nothing to fear in You. Thank you for your great love and mercy – thank you that your love covers all of my shame. Thank you for your forgiveness – and your great, strong arms. Thank you for your strength.

You make me brave.

I Ran Home

I am done being manipulated and I will no longer settle for less than I want.

This is new for me.

Most folks think I am a strong woman. My secret is that I am not. Well, have not been. The majority of my life has been dictated by Borderline Personality Disorder. At least that’s the diagnosis by the professional mind doctors. Therapy has changed my outlook. I recognize how my self functions now. I see it. I accept it, but only in so far as to acknowledge it and push myself past the emotional upheaval that has been my norm.

I am in charge of me.

For most folks, that’s just reality, but for me, this is NEWS. And I like it.

I made a big move yesterday and stepped away from a relationship that was unhealthy and not what I wanted. I ran home. Came back to live with my parents as I continue on my “I love this ME” journey.

Today is a new day!

Alopecia Haunt Me No More … Please

This thing that I have – this Androgenic Alopecia – haunts me. Only a handful of people know my internal shame and struggle, though it is an obvious issue atop my salt and pepper head. Never have I spoken of it publicly, but I feel it necessary now – not only for my own healing but to strengthen others who suffer hair thinning and loss in silence.

Thank you to the ladies on Instagram whose posts give me courage. #baldmothertucker #kindasprkly #disruptive_beaute #polycystic_coiffure #itsjustalopecia #mama.is.bald #wigwambaldybam #melissa.kunst … your resilience gives me wings. I grasp that I need to embrace who I am and look forward to doing this Alopecia journey with fortitude and humor, with grace and dignity.

Androgenic Alopecia is a common form of hair loss. In most women, it does not begin – if they will ‘chosen‘ to have it – until after menopause. For me, it began in my 20s. There is some question as to the role of stress in my hair loss, though a dermatologist in St. Louis did diagnose me with Androgenic Alopecia. I have tried Rogaine and other forms of Minoxidil. I’ve used Nioxin shampoos/conditioners/products for years. Vitamins. Tried Mane & Tail shampoo/conditioner. Visited a hair loss center in St. Louis once – and I loved how the toppers/wigs looked on me, but it was not affordable. So … I pressed forward, trying each day to cover my thinning hair and visible scalp the best I could, praying no one saw it or asked about it … wishing it to be my imagination, not my lot in life, and filling with jealousy at every luscious head of hair that passed me.

The thinning continues despite the things I’ve tried. Perhaps the stresses in my life, especially in the last few years (BPD, Marriage Issues, 6 Pregnancies and subsequent wonderful kiddos, Divorce), have contributed to this mess on my head. Perhaps not. It may just be that this is the course for my head as life rolls on.

My 19-year old daughter is now experiencing hair thinning, and that is part of what has spurred me to locate others who go through this as well. I’m grateful for the ladies I’ve found on Instagram and the support groups on Facebook. It’s time to not keep it all shut up inside me and pray no one notices as my hair continues to thin (I’ve counted it a blessing to be turning white-haired so young – had my hair stayed dark like my eyebrows, my scalp would glow through strands of dark brown).

It is time to step up and to say, “Hey, I have Alopecia, and I’m still me.” This ENFJ that I am – this me with a passion for teaching and writing and laughter. It is time is explore options, to make a plan, to talk about this thing, and be cool with it. (As cool as I can be). [See, how I’ve learned to have light shining on the top of my forehead in photos … lol. It “covers” the thinning. Or so I’ve thought].

Mondays. #MondaysSuck

Internal conversations blast around in my head and my heart this morning like fireworks, and I need to concentrate on work, but I am firing on multiple levels. I miss my children. It sucks to be separated from them because of my own instabilities, decisions/indecision, and fear. Alopecia has a torrid grip on me – and that is something I’ve not spoken of. Ever. Borderline Personality Disorder is not my friend. Though, with the diagnosis, I learn about myself and how to “deal” with it each time I go to therapy. Back to that fear … it chokes me … and that gives me moments of self-loathing. I despise that I am afraid of him. Still. My therapist says 23 years does not just go away, so I work to hold myself together. This morning, it is hard. Mondays are hard.

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

It’s not so much that the journey begins now – it is an ongoing process and has been for quite some time. Most of my life in fact. There is much to my tale.

I am a writer. I hold a Master of Fine Arts in Writing. Despite this, writing has been elusive to me the past three years as I have struggled and fought with myself to simply stay living. I am only now at a point where I am ready to begin writing for my own health and perhaps to assist someone else in their struggle to push through the fog of Borderline Personality Disorder, Domestic Violence, Adultery, and Divorce.

This being said, today I sit facing my computer screen realizing that a few moments ago I knew what needed written, and now, I find myself stifled as to where to start. This I will begin with … I miss my children. I lost them.

My Borderline Personality self (BPD from here on out) lived in a toxic marriage (never helped along b/c of BPD) for 22 years – full of anger, hate, abuse, and my adultery. 6 children were born into it. When I left for the final time – after 4 other attempts – I lived in such self-inflicted fear of my ex, that I let him “bully” me through the entire divorce process. Now, my 3 youngest children live with him and in another state. I was too weak and scared to fight for them – consumed by fear, all of my judgment clouded. Lost. My parents, friends – all tried to coach me through and help me keep more rights, but I let irrational fear monopolize me, and I lost my children.

That’s where I am this morning. Missing my boys. Shaming myself and pushing through it. Trying to focus, practicing mindfulness, starting to write. Telling myself – I am on a journey of self-discovery and that the big picture must stay in the forefront of my mind. My children know I love them. My children knew how we lived before. My oldest children support me in my fight to find healing for myself. They assure me they are okay. They assure me that their younger brothers will understand soon enough. So, I am better now.

I have therapy today at 2:00. There will be much to say following that, I am sure.