Monday, October 1, 2012


I don't mind taking care of the people I love- it's what I do best, in some ways.
Yet, I also need to be able to depend on them. I need to know that they won't have to be babysat to complete things I must ask of them, and that they'll do the job right. I don't ask for much, at least I don't think so, so when I request the trash get taken out, I don't expect to have to go through the house and get the rest of the trash that was left behind later.I expect someone who can at least slowly work towards their own goals, and be relatively self-sustaining.
It's not that I don't appreciate someone around the house doing laundry and dishes, but I need someone who respects me enough to treat me like an equal- no lies, no manipulation, no half-assed efforts to get me off their back, no avoidance or silly games. I don't have children, much to my dismay, so it would be nice not to have another soul completely dependent on me, trying to get out of the things I ask them to do. I am a woman, and perhaps I have an old-school frame of mind on what a man should be, but I want an equal, someone who pulls at least their own weight, who I can trust to make the hard choices to keep me, and us, safe, even if those are difficult choices like needing to separate for a while. I want love and partnership, not a lopsided merry-go-round that always comes back around to the same damn issues and me being tired and frustrated with a situation I've done everything I'm capable of to fix.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Military And The Mommy

I'm watching a movie called The Shunning on Netflix. It's about a girl raised in an Amish household and community who finds out that she was adopted.
As I watched this, I happened to be cutting pictures out of October's issue of Vogue and stumbled across an article about a couple who pursued domestic adoption. The woman writing it explained the very difficult path they had walked after finding out about their infertility and the choices they made, the profile they filled out which listed the races, ages and conditions they would accept... No drug or alcohol use, any races, newborns.... And, despite the fact that I knew this woman was so much like me, a mother at heart, someone who could not bear children, to all appearances at least reasonably stable and responsible financially, I found myself so angry at this woman.... So angry. It's not her fault she didn't spend time in the foster care system, it's not her fault she didn't grow up knowing anyone with Downs syndrome, or in a wheel chair.... These things aren't her fault, and, really, her life is better for the lack of those struggles. Yet, to a woman who's been there, but doesn't have the financial ability to pay for adoption, turning a child away.... even a child with Downs syndrome... a child who struggles to live is the strongest of children, and children with Downs... there are no happier people on this planet than those who live with this syndrome. The love of a child, taking a child home and knowing that this child will not face the wrath of foster homes, or the misery of abuse at the hands of their parents, what more can you really want? Your child will love you whether or not you struggle for money, whether or not you're bloated, tired, cranky,if you have zits or a perfect complexion, whether you're a dog person, a cat person or don't particularly care for animals at all.... They won't judge you for the things potential dates might judge you on, or employers--- well, at least not until they hit their teens.
I am looking forward to becoming a foster mother. I know too well that it will be challenging, but I also know that, no matter what challenges I face in this experience, the children who aren't wanted, aren't loved or simply can't be taken care of by their biological families are those who are most in need of a home, of love, and of anything else I can give them.
So, as I transition, all-too-slowly, out of the US Army, I know that this path is the right one for me. The path of loving children who, like I have, believe themselves to be unlovable, or who's families cannot care for them, or who have already survived the unsurvivable... that's where I will come in.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Socially Special

I don't like people.
Is that a surprise to anyone at this point? Probably not.
Anyway, it's been a weird couple days- other than my time spent in nearly useless groups, I've insisted on spending a lot of time alone, which is something I haven't done in quite some time. Therapists call it isolating, I call it recovering.
An extrovert I am not.
I'm watching Bones on Netflix this evening, and, after watching an episode involving a foster child, something dawned on me as I watched the very introverted, hyper-intelligent, heroine talk to the boy about some all-too-familiar experiences. I can't put my finger on what made it click in my mind, but it hit me that some of the refusal to accept other people's requests is because of a self-preservation instinct that most people seem to act on, expecting there to be a hidden agenda for what appears as a pretty straightforward request from another person. I have trust issues, yes, but mostly because, I think, I don't generally expect people to have a hidden agenda that might put someone else at risk.
This mess of a thought process eventually led me to realize I am also considered good with people (some of them- the ones I WANT to deal with- and this is NOT my perception but something I've been perplexed to hear repeatedly) because it doesn't confuse or surprise me that most people need to be nurtured just as children do from time to time... I remember reading a book that talked about a foster mother who got very stubborn when told that she needed to treat a special-needs child in a way that corresponded to their biological age. Her response to this was to tell them no, she would not, that his needs were that of a much younger child and she would see to those needs so that he would stand a chance to progress past that emotional stage towards his older biological age. So, instead of insisting this child "grow up", she would hold him and rock him and soothe him as he needed, instead of demanding he behave in a manner he was not yet capable.
Even adults need to be, for lack of better word, almost coddled at some point- have their emotions validated, their worth stated and their needs met, even if in some brief, semi-indirect manner, like responding to a friend's frustrated email with a validation of the feelings they are expressing if not able to understand, and giving them a more objective version of the scenario they explained, helping them to see the bigger picture while validating their point of view of it and emotions stemming from it.
Nobody relates to the need for nurturing more than someone with Borderline tendencies. NOBODY.
It's nice to finally have a positive twist on my very unique, if rather skewed, view on the world.

Saturday, September 22, 2012


A week and a half in the hospital... again.
It's after midnight, three days since I've been discharged from my third hospitalization this year for psychiatric BS, and now I'm sitting here feeling like I'm hiding from myself.... Hiding what? I haven't got the faintest clue... I'm emailing a girl I don't know in person, and I'm shocked at how much I crave time with a woman... I have embraced the idea that I want a poly-amorous lifestyle, and that makes sense to me, especially with the way I feel about marriage, relationships and monogamy.... Yet there's something tugging at the edge of my mind, and I don't understand what the hell else I could be missing from this scrambled-ass television picture I have of myself at this point... I have known my whole life that I wasn't strictly attracted to the opposite gender, now I know about a multitude of things in my past that definitely shaped who I am, and things that I will have to fight, likely for the rest of my life, and..... what the hell else could there frigging be?!
The worst part might be not knowing.... or it might be knowing that surrounding myself with people, electronics and noise are yet another means of distracting myself.... but I don't feel anywhere near safe without such precautions at this point....
I feel so lost, so far from what I want to be and feel..... I want intimacy, but keep pushing people away. I want family but am so so so scared of anyone who says they'll stay... I don't know how to fix this without being alone, but I don't know how to survive without being around people....
All this horrible emotion building up inside me and I still don't even know what it is that I'm so scared to face...I'm so terrified.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Reach Out And Hurt Someone

The almost-ex-husband has been allowed to use his phone the last two nights, and has text me both of them. While I expected some sort of closure to come from this, it has created a lot of confusion and pain, and the feeling that I could have avoided much of the pain each of us have been through lately- something I cannot reasonably say is fact. He continues to tell me to stop blaming myself, but, in the throes of treatment for PTSD and Borderline, as I realize how inappropriate and wrong many of my behaviors have been, it is nearly impossible to see that I have done anything right.
Now, I lie here, in a bed I may soon be without, as it does not belong to me, and realize that I may, in fact, be truly incapable of human interaction without inflicting some sort of pain on someone. I've realized I'd rather feel too much than be selfish and uncaring to those around me, but, really, what difference does it make if the end result is the same?
I'm just another Borderline. Ten percent of us die by suicide. Most psych studies say we can't be cured. I won't live to an old age if this is true. I won't have children if this is true. I am ashamed that I have exposed so many people to the pain that comes with being part of my life already.
I wonder how much longer I can hold on to the ledge I have dangled from for so many years.
I had to take "pm" over the counter meds and write this all out to keep my impulses in check. This time, I only took the legal dosage.
How much longer do I have?

Thursday, August 2, 2012


Dialectic... A combining balance of opposites... Dialectic Behavior Therapy is the most commonly prescribed form of therapy for borderlines and those with strong tendencies toward such behavior. Mood swings... I hate you, don't leave me... Constant struggles to avoid real or perceived abandonment... Idealization followed by demonization...
Can I see both extremes, the truth of each, and still allow them to coexist? Can two opposites both be true?
How am I ever going to get better?

Friday, July 27, 2012

Tiredly Tireless

This Borderline crap is for the birds.
I'm fed up with feeling like I'm the only one feeling these things, like I'm the only one who over-reacts, the only one struggling. I go to group outpatient therapy from nine to four every day, Monday-Friday, and, honestly, being surrounded by a bunch of military men all the time, hearing them make the jokes I used to think were funny, talking the crap I used to get heated over and throw a put down in their face for... It's like I'm constantly being reminded of what I no longer am.
I know I have made progress, as I've gone from that unstable, constantly-changing, fluctuating sense of "self" that depended on who I was around to this emptiness, this total lack of self all together... I know I've overcome some of my issues because I recognize the all-or-nothing thinking, and, sometimes, I can even control it. Honestly, I usually think I do a pretty good job lately in controlling at least the majority of emotional reactions... But judging from other peoples' responses to them, I could definitely be wrong.
I feel like a lost cause. The numbness is becoming the norm, and I'm not used to being numb or calm, I'm used to passionate, overwhelming emotions. I don't know how to deal with a total emotional void.
Tuesday or Wednesday, I fell apart for the first time in a while- the life-changing, I-can't-do-anything-right, I'll-leave-you-alone, I'm-hopeless sort of falling apart. I spent nearly two hours sitting on the bathroom floor of the clinic I go to outpatient treatment at, sobbing, afraid to come out, afraid of what would happen if all the guys saw me that weak... The next day the subject of sexual coercion came up in group and I had to walk out just to deal with the tears that came at the mention of details. I am so tired of being this fragile person. I miss being tough and strong and unbreakable.
My heart pretty much breaks on a daily basis now. I guess, at least for now, that's what I've traded the worst of my temper tantrums and over-reactions for. I'm sure it gets better... I'm just really hoping that part comes soon right about now.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Borderline Between Crazy And Insane

I'm tired of the hell I put myself and everyone around me through.
The combination of Borderline Personality Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is eating me alive, from the inside out.
I think I'm incapable of love.
I think I'm incapable of happiness.
I'm so completely lost.
I woke up this morning, emotionally exhausted and ashamed of last night's events.... again.
I know what today will bring, all too well, and I don't want to face it. I don't want to do anything, I don't want to try, I don't want to fight and I am so, so, so tired of crying I can't begin to explain it in any way that even vaguely resembles the rational side of me.
I'm tired of hurting the people I love. I know it's possible to get better, I know it's possible to live a life that appears normal.... But I don't know how in the hell I can ever hold on long enough to see that day come.
I'm exhausted.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Nobody's Angel

My stepdad called me Angel, when he was still alive. Would he still, I wonder? After three sexual assaults, after five years in the Army, after being a Carnie, after disowning my mother, after living the life I have, could this man still find it in his soul to see me as a creature of pure good? Or would he, too, see me as another product of a hard life lived, as so many seem to? Will I ever be an angel again, or am I doomed to be the "other" which I have fought so hard... This dark, dirty, angry, defensive part of myself? Is there any angel left? Is there anything still pure about me, anything unadulterated by the crimes I have witnessed or committed?
I tend not to think so.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Don't bother with pills kids

They take too long and mess up the goodbyes you already made.
Pills rage forever.

Monday, June 4, 2012


I'm so tired of fighting... Will things never cease to go downhill? I miss Danger, I'm tired of fighting...
I'm so tired of this endless battle within myself.
Everyone tells me I'm the strongest person they know, but I'm too weak to be happy, to weak to have faith, too weak to keep holding on.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Letting Go Of Abandonment

Abandonment has been both my greatest fear and my most painful reality.
I'm letting go of that.
I'm letting go of wondering who will be there in the end, because there's no way to know but to wait.
I'm letting go of other people's opinions and doing what's right for me, because I'm the only one who can make me happy.
I'm letting go of trying desperately not to be alone, only to wind up feeling that way in a relationship.
I'm letting go of the people who have hurt me- Jill, the rapists, exes. They don't have the power to control me anymore.
I'm letting go of holding on. I will feel what I feel, and I will respect myself enough to allow myself that much. I will stop holding it in and stop holding on to it.
I'm letting go.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Funny Farm

Overheard way too early this morning: "There's only three things in this world to be afraid of: polar bears, lions and jello."
Oh my lord, I need out of here already.
I can honestly say I'm not the same person that checked in. I am sad at the thought of the number of people who will probably not be okay with the person that they see who comes out, but, for the first time in my life, I have some appreciation for who I am. I will not apologize for who I am, not after I've spent twenty-six years doing nothing but apologizing and getting out of everyone's way. I am starting again, for the first time, as myself. I don't know what I'll do to survive, I don't know what life will hand me or what will become of me, but I will find my own happiness the way I need to.
I miss my truck, my friends, my tea, my music, my jewelry, and my freedom. I don't miss work, but I know I'll need to deal with those people again, and I'll roll with it. I am not less than them, and I will not be treated as such any longer.
This is the fresh start I've been craving since I was so young. I don't know if the world is ready for it, but I am.

Thursday, May 24, 2012


I must sound so cold these days.
I certainly feel like I'm being cold in some ways, but I also know in my heart that what I'm doing is right for me, and that they are things I need to do. I will be changing my last name once my divorce is final, not to my ex's name, not to another man's name and not even to my maiden name. I am beginning fresh, starting a life of my own, for the first time. I am building my identity, from the ground up, because, truly, I have been so immersed in everyone else's emotions and my own past that I haven't had a clue as to who I was or what I wanted until very, very recently.
I wouldn't have had it turn out this way, I wouldn't have hurt anyone, had I had the option, but I see no other way to start anew without starting anew.
I must learn to take care of myself, even if it's taken me until age twenty-six to figure out how to do that.

Upside Down

I need to write this, I need to put this where it can be seen, no matter who it upsets, or who it makes uncomfortable.
I am a survivor of an alcoholic mother with Munchhausen By Proxy. I am a survivor of two rapes and one lesser sexual assault. My mother's constant badgering of my instinct and emotion, her constant refusal to respect what I felt and knew, her refusal to parent me in a way that I might become a functional adult, all left me without the skills to set appropriate boundaries for myself with others. The abuse is the reason I couldn't avoid the sexual assaults any more than what I attempted. At 26 years old, I understand this.
None the less, I am a woman, in her second marriage, facing her second divorce, barely coming to terms with the idea that I have a right to feel what I do, and a right not to be questioned about it. I am also coming to terms with the fact that I have not had the capability to lower my walls enough to form a true trusting, loving emotional bond with any significant other.
When I am discharged from the hospital, I will be in outpatient treatment. I will also be moving in with a dear friend whom I look forward to being able to discuss all of this with, because this friend understands my PTSD, understands my symptoms and personality in a way I need. The man I married, who has repeatedly disrespected boundaries I have set since I came into the hospital, who has disrespected me in the process, whom my doctor felt was enough of a distraction from my therapy that he put a no contact order in place for the rest of my time in patient, has no understanding of these issues, and has appeared, at best, reluctant to work on the problems created by my problems combined with his lack of understanding of them.
I am starting a new life- one that will soon be void of the military, of marriage, and of anything but what I need to work on to improve myself and my life. Happiness has to be a goal, rather than something I am too scared to lose to ever attempt to obtain.
I do not ever intend to marry again. My time in the military has made it far more reasonable to marry than it would be otherwise, and I hate that I have let an outside factor influence me so. My personal values are quickly, and finally, being set in stone. Whatever changes, whatever comes after this I will deal with.
I am starting a new chapter in my life, and it will not resemble the previous ones in any way I can manage. I am learning who I am, and what I need and will continue to do so, this time with support and love from true friends and without regard for anyone who chooses to judge my actions or choices. There is no one right way to live, but I will find the one way- or many ways- I decide to live my life. Because I have only one chance at this, and I intend to do it right.

Monday, May 21, 2012

The Best Is Yet To Come

There isn't a single part of my life that isn't changing in some way right now.
It's scary, and it's dark, and I'm not really sure how I'll land on my feet from this one, but I have to believe that I will. Or at least hope.
There are a million things I'd hoped to be and do, and the reality of that is changing. I can be only one person, and I must choose who that person is to be.
Some people in my life, some who I'd thought very important before I began making my way through the darkest part of this, won't make it through to see the light at the other end. I'm sad that this is true, but it's something I need to do in order to survive. I need supportive, loyal, loving and understanding people. That limits the people I consider my true friends dramatically.
I'm holding on, I'm surviving, I'm making it, though some days I'm not sure how.
All I know is the best is yet to come.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Checked In

I've been at an in-patient treatment facility for a little over three weeks now.
I had no idea how much I'd been holding in, or holding back, or holding onto, and nobody had been honest enough with me to tell me that it was possible for me to let it go and move on. I met a friend here, a true friend, who has had the strength and courage to stand up to me, to watch over me and, occasionally, hold me as I've cried, and to tell me when I'm holding on to things that are making me unhappy. He's been tough enough to tell me that it's time to let it go, to learn to be happy.
All of this is frightening.
Life is not as beautiful as I'd hoped it'd be as I prepared to possibly get out of here, but I'm quickly realizing that all I can do is encourage the healing process to speed up, to push myself harder to get more out, and to attempt to move on from the bad habits, negative people and poor choices that have haunted my past.
I'm no less scared of getting out of here, nothing short of terrified of returning to work, and to trying to face all of this from the outside world... but I'm starting to believe that I might be strong enough to pull it off.

Monday, April 16, 2012


Just when I think I can't make things any worse on myself, I prove myself wrong.


It's almost time for me to leave for my therapy appointment with the doctor who talks more than I do, but I had a few minutes after I got done getting ready and I needed to write.
I feel like things are bouncing a bit right now- better to worse- on a near-daily basis. I feel so much better, and, other days, I catch myself contemplating suicide more than is even vaguely rational. I'm tired of fighting, and I want a release. I think I can make it after I get out, now, and I have a few ideas I'm scared to put too much stock into, because I don't trust myself to see them through, but they are, potentially, good ideas.
Buffalo Boy has been incredibly supportive of my ideas, though my husband seems to be drowning in my issues right now. I asked him to take some initiative to try and learn more about what I'm dealing with because, frankly, I'm out of ideas for how to help him. I really feel like I'm just dragging him down as I'm trying to stay afloat. I guess drowning really is a good analogy for this.
We see his chaplain and an actual therapist for marriage counseling, I see my own one-on-one therapist, the doctor at the treatment clinic and am enrolled in an outpatient therapy program, yet he still seems to be struggling to understand any of it. I've written emails, given him the address to this blog (which he reads about once a month) and suggested books. I've asked him to do his own research, because I don't even know what parts of the picture he's missing right now. He's going to be busy with training and deployment preparations for a while, and, frankly, if we don't get on the same sheet of music by the time he deploys, I am not positive we'll make it through that deployment. I want this to work, but I'm so damn tired of fighting for everything I just don't know what will anymore.
Just trying to keep my head up for another week....

Sunday, April 15, 2012

The Day Before

Sundays are so difficult.
They have so much potential, yet they're so full of anxiety for me as of late- all that anticipation of yet another week of juggling military nonsense with an attempt at survival- let alone happiness.
I'm a bad soldier right now, I haven't done my physical, I am still a week away from the dental exam I'm overdue for, and I haven't spent any excess time hunting down specific people because I was told to. I'm at a point where I will take nearly any opportunity for happiness, even if it means risking some punishment. I don't get much for myself anymore, and I have no escape from the darkness these days, so, really, when I see a bit of light shining through, who can blame me for trying to stay close to it?
Another week... I really hope I'm able to sleep tonight.

Saturday, April 14, 2012


I just flipped out on my dog and my husband.
Fortunately, it wasn't violent this time, but I'm sure I scared both of them badly.
I'm ashamed of who I've become, I'm ashamed of the monster looking back at me.

I don't get a break from the things going on in my head, from the problems, or from the pain. It all gets worse when I go to work, and that used to be my refuge from it all. I sobered up two years, eleven months and three weeks ago as of today, and it seems like a bad idea to go back on that, although, lately, words can't describe how much I miss the alcohol. Medical marijuana would certainly help give me a break, but that's not an option for me now, either. I can't get away from it, I have no escape and no refuge.
I have no idea how I'll survive this.

Friday, April 13, 2012


The two things I really feel passion for as of late?
Service dogs and medical marijuana.
I'm in the military, I'm not allowed to use marijuana or any other "illicit" substances, be they herbal or otherwise. Alcohol and caffeine are perfectly welcome, of course, and we sure don't get checked for steroids, but marijuana, game over.
I'd be lying if I said I understood the logic behind that.
Caffeine, alcohol and steroids all would incur some pretty serious side effects on anyone who dared stop using, but you can eat "pot" brownies all day long, and, whether or not you quit, the worst that will happen is you gain some weight and lose some stress. There's plenty of studies out there that say that you'll have issues with memory and such if you smoke weed.
I have PTSD. A decent memory is a thing of the past, and I'm not getting any of the benefits of the herb that stands to improve my ability to function the most.
The service dog thing is pretty obvious at this point.
What I'd really like, right about now, is something to take the edge off the pain.


Some days, I feel like I accomplish nothing in life but hurting others.


Yesterday was a very rough day around here.
It was the last day before my husband would be returning from a week-long field problem, our truck got hit in a parking lot, I helped teach a Service Dog training class, and, of course I went to treatment. I managed to sleep through alarms yesterday morning, so I missed the check-in with my unit I'm supposed to be doing every (very early) morning.
After I saw that the quarter paneling on the truck was crunched up pretty good, I went to spend some time with Buffalo Boy. I've missed hanging out with him a lot, and, these last few days more than ever. Mr Nice Guy is the best husband I could ask for, but there's a lot of qualities we don't share, and for the times I need someone who understands the PTSD, the non-shy introverted personality, and the wild streak, Buffalo Boy is my shelter.   Anyone who's been keeping up with my writing knows that I am quite frequently surprised by how close I've become to Buffalo Boy, and, all the while, still plenty able to keep up a friends-only boundary system with him that makes our friendship so much less complicated than it could potentially be. 
Anyway, we watched Eastbound And Down- a show I haven't seen before yesterday. It's not something I would have expected to enjoy, but it turned out to be pretty entertaining. Buffalo Boy and I also got a lot of venting and discussing of symptoms and issues done, and that always helps so much. I can't explain how easily I relax around this massive, muscular, tattooed biker dude that, in so many ways, should probably scare me. It was just really nice, sitting there on his couch, with the cat he didn't realize was pregnant running around crying, my service dog looking at the cat like lunch (even though that cat has made her point more than once with my dog) and us just, for lack of better word, bitching.
It's so nice to have a friend like that.
Anyway, the husband is headed back today, and I'm sitting here writing as I should be cleaning. I'm just so tired. Oh well, back to it.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Of Dogs, People And PTSD

So, amid all of this chaos with our post making it incredibly difficult to have a service dog, I was informed today by my doctor at treatment that I need to be involved in things that are, you know, outside my home.
The only thing I still have the heart for is service dog stuff. Even though the military is trying it's hardest to break me so that I might give in and let them separate me with fewer benefits, even though they're trying to make it harder for me to have my service dog, and definitely harder for others to get service dogs, THIS is what has made a difference in my life. The doctor actually point-blank said she was glad I had a service dog because, among other reasons, it meant I had a responsibility to someone else.
I just checked in with our former trainer, and there's a session this Thursday that we'll go to.
I guess we're going to do this.

We're also looking at adopting a male dog, as a secondary service dog. She gets along fine with male dogs, more often than not, and I intend to make her a part of bringing home a second. I want another dog around her size, maybe bigger, that she gets along with and that we can train. I know seeing another dog doing what I'm trying to teach her has helped her, so I think training a second may be easier.

So much going on in my head....

Sunday, April 8, 2012


One would assume that not ever getting out of one's pajamas would mean it'd be nearly impossible to have any sort of difficult day, right?
I fell apart first thing this morning- just a complete train wreck. Once again, I'll leave out the gruesome details, but, as you might have noticed from my previous post, it was pretty bad.
We came to a conclusion, though, and decided we'd try to go through the VA to see about in vitro fertilization once I get out of the military. I don't want to wait five years to get around to something we want so badly, especially when it's something nobody can ever be truly or completely prepared for.
I'm not ready to return to treatment tomorrow, to deal with the week ahead or try to face the people I know I will have to. 
I just want a break from the "real world".


My ex-husband let me think I'd cheated on him all this time, when he'd understood the entire time that it was an assault. It tears me apart that I've hurt several people whom I cared about very much because I was so convinced I was incapable of being faithful to someone who wasn't nearby.
I don't know how to process all of this, but it hurts me clear down to my soul. I let this man get into my head so much that I believed I was this horrible, cheating, out-of-control woman who was incapable of taking other people's emotions into account when she should have. I'm so disgusted with myself for all of this. Until recently, my ex-husband and I have been friends, but, right now, for the first time, I am so disgusted by the fact that I allowed this man into my heart and mind to such an extent that he could hurt me so badly for so long that I can't even speak to him.
Mr Nice Guy and I have been dealing with a lot of stress with an upcoming deployment that was recently announced, my medical board, all the fun PTSD stuff and just day to day life as newlyweds- not to mention the incredible amount of trouble I have gotten from the army side of the house as of late. Yesterday, we had the closest thing to a fight we've ever had. We've been discussing trading in his gas guzzling pick up for a car. Originally this was his idea, as he prefers driving cars. I prefer trucks, but $100/week in gas is enough to make anybody rethink their stand on that. Yesterday, I guess he was questioning his feelings on this, but he made the first passive-aggressive comment he's ever directed at me when he took a shot at my truck- which is paid off, mind you.
I went off the deep end, quick fast and in a hurry.
I'll spare you the gruesome details, but, eventually, the biggest reasons for me to feel so strongly about my truck being taken from me came out. Yes, I'm insecure and still believe my husband may leave me. The part that surprised me, though, was the part where I realized that I have nothing to plan for but a number of months without my spouse. Despite having put in for a referral for in vitro, they haven't so much as sent me paperwork to fill out, so I'm plenty aware they probably looked up my records in the computer system, realized I have chronic PTSD and scratched my name off the list. It's been months, and, well, they think it's alright to play God as long as they're doing it with someone who has no control over their conception without them. We can't start fostering or adopting while the other half prepares for deployment and then getting out- and while he's in college will probably be a pretty bad time to do it all, too. So, about five years from now, maybe we'll stand a chance. We called off the full ceremonial wedding because we didn't have the time and money to put into it and I was going through a med board and wouldn't be allowed to take leave to do it. We were planning on getting the actual ceremony done with family and friends this month. I don't know when I'll be out of the military, whether it will be before, during, or, God forbid, after he goes on deployment, so there's no way to plan for anything during that time frame, either.
I've taken up running to give myself something to focus on- we did another run last night, longer than the previous- but, really, I'm not sure what I'm doing all of this for. I have no goals that I can even plan for at this point, I'm not high-functioning enough to work once I'm out, and I don't even know how I'll manage to get through a deployment- what living condition, what state, what anything- without him around.
I feel like the ground has been pulled out from under me, and I'm just free-falling. Nothing I knew has proven real, not about myself, not about the world or people I trusted, and I'm really, really tired of fighting.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Childless Mother

It's so difficult to watch my social networking sites and see women talk about the babies they already have and the ones they have on the way.
I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself, but, really, I want it to be my turn already. I want to adopt and/or foster.... but it's such a long process we can't evens start it until we're both out of the military and settled.
I am tired of waiting.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Run Like A Woman

I went running today for the first time in about a month, and, hormonally speaking, my timing sucked.
It lasted less than twenty minutes, I have been hacking like a three-pack-a-day smoker since, and I still feel quasi-nauseated. My dog, however, thought it was the greatest thing EVAR.
She usually does.
Anyway, am I happy it was so short-lived? Not a chance.
Am I proud of myself for doing it at all? DAMN SKIPPY.
I'm not the best or the fastest- I'm sure not the most disciplined. I still got off my butt, put on my running clothes, and did it, though.
It was short, but there wasn't a single harassing comment or gesture the whole time, and, having PTSD and anger issues, I can't tell you how much better it made me feel that, at noon on a Friday, a heavily-tattooed woman and her dog could go running down a busy road and not get any sort of negative crap for it.
That will make it much easier to do in the future, no doubt.

I've been doing a lot of emotional work lately. I've started focusing on what attitudes and behaviors I have that make me happy, and which ones make me uncomfortable. I'm reading the book Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking right now, and I have to say, not only do I like it, but I'm incredibly impressed and surprised by this book. I have never considered myself an introvert a day in my life, and this book made me realize that, while friendly, I'm not actually an extrovert. I had, originally, started reading this book because I was hoping to get a better understanding of my generally not-outgoing husband. It turns out, that, in some ways, he's actually more extroverted than me. There's a difference between shy and introverted, and I'm the latter, while I believe he's either the former or an ambivert- about half and half. Shyness is more of a discomfort dealing with people, while introversion is more about how you process things and what energizes you- time to yourself or time with people. I need my alone time, in a very real way. I can enjoy being around people, but, as a rule, I absolutely must have some quiet ALONE time when it's time to recharge. I think my husband actually likes being around people, though he's just not someone who talks a lot. I love him not despite that but because of it. I can talk to him about anything- and he does talk more to me than to anyone else that I know of- but we can also just sit in silence and be totally okay with that. He doesn't feel the need to comment on everything that's said or done around us, and I really like that about him.
All that being said, I'm slowly learning to realize that my habit of responding to everything said to me is just that- a habit. It's something that I've learned to do to show people I'm aware of their presence and I don't completely despise them. In reality, I'm far more comfortable just observing and processing things for a while, rather than pressuring myself to immediately respond to the stimuli. I can't tell you the difference this one little thing has made for my emotions. Giving myself permission to keep my mouth shut has helped me tremendously.
So, I'm sitting here quietly sipping my green tea and writing, and mentally preparing myself to go see some friends of ours (and their ADORABLE infant daughter!) tonight.
I'm getting there.

The Plan

So, the husband and I haven't been eating as well as we should lately, and, while I can't bring myself to be upset about our occasional- or thrice weekly- indulgences in take out, because, man, it's just so much easier than cooking!- I also know that it needs to change. So, I've decided that, on top of pushing myself to go running and, hopefully, do yoga more often, the eating habits need to be improved too.
Mr Nice Guy doesn't have any problem eating the same meal frequently, and, even though he isn't a vegetarian himself, he has actively been trying to cut back on the amount of meat he's been eating. I wonder if his carb intake hasn't increased for this reason, and not the good carbs, but we're both trying to improve our habits, regardless.
I realized last night that, even though it may get boring sometimes, if I have 3 meals a day that I already have easy go-to meals for, I'll probably stop shamming out on the cooking quite so much, even if they're the same ones I had yesterday, so long as I like them and feel good about them. So, these are the things I've decided to start keeping on hand:

Breakfast: Yogurt, granola (I always have granola, don't ask me when THAT happened), fruit and oatmeal. I figure I'll only eat the oatmeal when I have time to actually sit down or a few extra minutes to make it to-go style, but with these on hand, I'll always have something quick to grab on my way out the door. I only eat certain flavors of yogurt, but I'm hoping my taste buds change to allow for the generic stuff.

Lunch: Many more traditional Buddhists believe it's less than purposeful to eat after around noon-time, because, after that, you're probably not doing it so much to fuel your body for the rest of the day as to, well, fill your stomach. I haven't gotten to the point where I can manage skipping my evening meal, but in an effort to focus on getting a lot of nutrition in during this meal, I am going to push the salads. Dark, leafy greens with peas, mushrooms and olives, at a minimum, are my plan. I'm hoping to gradually work in more diversity, but I'm going to start with what I know I'll eat, and go from there. (By the way, for you non-vegetarians, there's a LOT of protein in dark leafy greens, and you probably don't need as much protein as the Western meat-culture has you convinced. Many folks agree on about 75 kg if you're basing it on the generalized 2,000 calorie diet, or 0.8 grams per kg. KG=2.2 lbs. At 170 lbs, or 77 kg, I need 61.6 grams of protein. One 6 oz steak contains approximately 42g of protein.)

Dinner: I've gotten addicted to a concept I can only term as "refrigerator salad"- a term coined by a friend of mine who recently caught a glimpse of this concoction. The recipe varies every single time I make it, but the average is this: canned corn, a couple medium avocados diced, some feta cheese, green onions, red, yellow and/or orange bell peppers diced, and garbanzo beans (chickpeas- same thing). I might throw some of the ingredients in a pan, particularly the corn, to give it a grilled effect, but I generally try not to throw all of any ingredient in to be cooked. I've seen enough written conjecture and evidence that many foods lose nutritional value that I try to maintain as much of the natural state of my food as I can without losing flavor. I mix in some apple cider vinegar and seasoning to taste- Mrs. Dash Fiesta Lime is one of my favorites. It's just a cold everything-salad, but it is incredibly good, and neither me nor my husband have gotten sick of it, despite having eaten it at least two or three times a week for the last several months. There are so many variations you can make to it, just by adding a different vegetable or seasoning, and it's really healthy.

Especially during times my husband is out in the field or when he deploys, I'm really going to push myself when it comes to running and yoga. I know from experience these things always make me feel better- but motivation is key.

I can't get pregnant- in vitro fertilization is the only way. That is expensive, and, again, I'm just not sure that's the choice I want. While I still so desperately want to have children, I've come to terms with all of this, and understand that it's not meant to be part of my life right now. I have enough friends who are insistent that I will wind up with children that I have to have faith. Since pregnancy doesn't appear to be any concern, long or short term, I am looking at it as a push to get in shape physically. I will not ever have the excuse that I could be pregnant and I don't want to hurt the baby, or be able to convince myself that I should take it easy and I can lose weight after I have my child. I don't want to take it easy, and there's no reason to. This body is mine alone, and I need to start using it as the instrument that God created it to be. Most of all, I need to stop hating it, and using it as it was intended is the only way that will ever happen.

So, here's my plan. Wish me luck!

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Save Me

Today is my daughter's almost-birthday.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.

It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.

Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.

I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.

I need this.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

To My Daughter

My Angel,
               Tomorrow would be your eleventh birthday. How do I say goodbye to a daughter who's face I've only seen in my dreams? I will never forget the changes you brought to me, and to my life. 
               Yes, you know you were a product of rape- but you were my child, my daughter, from the moment of your conception. That boy can never lay claim to the child that I carried in my body, however briefly. You were the only positive thing to come from the forced loss of my virginity, and, even though my fourteen-year-old body couldn't carry you to full term, you WERE a positive thing. So many years later, I still have been unable to let go of the loss I felt the day I miscarried you. I was young, and still a current victim of abuse at my mother's hands. You were the first part of my life I could call my own. When my body wasn't even my own, you were, and nobody has ever been able to take that from me. 
               I still don't talk to too many people about you, but you know that, don't you? It's hard for most people to understand the attachment I still hold to you. I would do anything to be planning my daughter's eleventh birthday right now, rather than questioning how I'll make it through the day tomorrow. I would have done anything to protect you, and I tried. I didn't press charges because I was more concerned with my daughter's future than our past. 
               I don't know how I would have kept both of us alive, had I given birth to you at only fifteen. All I know is that I would have done anything to manage it. I don't know what you would like, or what kind of things you would be interested in now. I just wish I did. I love you and miss you. 
                 Your Mama

Thursday, March 29, 2012

On Rape And Predator Personalities

I've had several experiences over the last few days that really made my understanding of boundaries and predatory behavior explode into a new sort of real for me.
I had someone I'd already identified as a possible predator (your gut instinct and your close friends' opinions and/or instincts are incredibly important to trust!!!!) decide that, while I was alone, walking my service dog, he would whistle at me as he drove by. For those familiar with boundaries, and the pushing thereof, this might be a simple or obvious testing of boundaries with a passing acquaintance. For me, it was a slap in the face- a total wake up call. I refuse to take responsibility for someone else's actions, but I have learned one thing about predator's patterns: they will push any boundaries that aren't clearly enforced by the other person. I had not made my boundaries clear enough for him to respect them.
I stormed into the building, saw him standing near the entrance and, loudly, and without stopping to actually discuss anything or give him any play, I told him not to EVER whistle at me. The next day, he approached me, asking to talk. I told him we could talk right where I was standing, in front of several people I knew and trusted from group. That's when he apologized.
I don't doubt I was labeled a "bitch" that day.
To quote a picture I came across (and can't seem to track down now) the other day, bitch beats stupid m----- f----- every time.
A gentleman, for lack of other term, who I'd had to listen to my gut instinct scream "THIS IS WRONG!" about every single time we were in the same room- and we have never been alone, I promise you- admitted to, among other things, being a sexual abuser of children as a teenager the other day. I tell you, people, when my gut says something, I will listen every time.
Today, I ran across this article on recognizing a creepy dominant. It is written for the BDSM community, but, as I read it (it was linked in the survivor/anti-rape/pro-sexuality blog Yes Means Yes) it was blindingly obvious that, though these were rules set for that community, they applied to a much wider range of people.
The red flags listed in this article (and PLEASE feel free to read the original! I can't say enough good things about it!) are:  He comes on too strong too fast, He's consentuality challenged, He has "connections" and is "experienced", He "essentializes" dominance and submission, He manipulates your desire to be a good bottom, and He's usually doing something wrong.
For non-BDSM purposes, the wording changes, but the overall concepts are, more surprising to me than I would have expected, very much the same.
While I'm using this other post as an outline, I want to remind everyone these are just my experiences, and my opinions may vary some. Also, males are not, by any means, the only exploiters or abusers out there, so please forgive gender pronouns, and take them as non-gender generalizations, not accusations.
He Comes On Too Strong: This is an easy one. The guy/gal that is your new best friend, is all about changing your entire life/perspective/experience, etc. from the very first moment you speak to them. They deserve-and demand- all of your attention, and expect you to swoon from their advances. They aren't always loud when they approach- sometimes divide and conquer is the most effective, and dangerous, tactic for these guys. To be honest, more often than not, you never see it coming. This guy used to be the nicest/coolest/funniest guy you ever met. One of the best bosses I ever worked for was sent to trial for raping- with use of drugs- thirteen young women that he knew from work.
He's Consenuality Challenged: Oh, he didn't mean anything by it, it was just a joke. He starts with things you or a friend can blow off, but it's something that is pushing a boundary that you have. He makes a sexist, racist or dirty joke, often indirectly at your expense, to see if you'll object. Playing it cool might seem like the "nice" thing to do, and it is- but he has to start somewhere. The longer you take to put your foot down- to look them in the face and say "that's not okay" and walk away, the longer it takes you to not be flexible or give someone who is testing boundaries that second or third or fourth chance, the farther he'll go. You know what you're okay with- no touching, no inappropriate jokes, no anything YOU aren't COMPLETELY comfortable with, end of story.
He Has Connections And Is Experienced: The guy who knows the owner/bouncer/bartender, etc at this great little bar/club/whatever. He's moving in, making you feel like you should be bragging about even having met him, because, hey, this guy knows everyone! That's not to say the connections are real or fake- that can vary, though, often, they seem to be falsified. This one is key to making you feel inadequate, less than the predator, like you don't deserve the attention you're getting- weak and insecure.
He Essentializes Dominance And Submission: This one, at first, doesn't sound like it applies to non-BDSM'ers. However, the behavior is very typical of this type of person. He knows it all, because he generalizes in order to label and manipulate. Good girlfriends/boyfriends/etc do this, and behave this way- you're clearly not one of those or you wouldn't be dressed like that. Generalized statements that belittle those who do not behave as she/he expects.
He Manipulates Your Desire To Be A Good Bottom: Another one that some might not see as being applicable, this one is VERY important to watch out for, no matter who you might be or what you might be into. Anyone who uses your wants or intentions against you, especially in terms of twisting previously stated/expressed boundaries, is a predator, in one sense of the word or another. Like a good salesman might use your interest in one vehicle to get you to "see" why you really "need" this one that's priced $5000 higher, this guy uses your interests, intentions, and any other "bait" you give him/her as a vice to twist your arm.
He's Usually Doing Something Wrong: I can't restate this one enough: TRUST YOUR GUT. Whether he's violating a clearly-expressed limit or giving you that pushy-guy vibe, don't hand over the digits, or give this guy just five more minutes so you don't seem rude. Manners and self-image are easily preyed upon in these scenarios, and, when you're no longer comfortable, you're no longer safe. If you trust your gut and get away from this guy, the worst that's going to happen is you find out he didn't rape anyone. Seriously, though, what if your gut is right?
Now, I'm not, by any means, saying that all men even have the potential to be rapists. I truly believe there's a number of them who could never bring themselves to even be involved with something that could appear unsafe- these are usually the guys who are "too nice" for the record. If you haven't kept up, I am married to White And Nerdy aka Mr Nice Guy. About the only time he doesn't seem quite so nice is when his passive-aggressive side comes out while he's driving. That aside, there are good guys out there. Ladies and gentleman, folks of every shape, size, gender and sexual identity known and unknown, the folks who are most likely to hurt you are the ones you already know. One article on Yes Means Yes says that the figure of stranger-rapes lingers at about 15%. The guy in the bushes is more likely to have lost his watch than be looking for someone to rape. The guy who calls you in the middle of the night, and shows up on your doorstep when he knows you're alone, even though you asked him not to, he's the guy you need to be keeping an eye on.
I hope this helps someone- anyone.
I was recently thanked by a barely-20 year old local girl who I'd given some advice to on a stalker issue she had with an ex. She'd been raped when she was younger, which caused conflict within her very close family, and she was scared to bring this new situation to her parents, though she lived under their roof. I explained to her that, by going to her parents BEFORE this boy was showing acts of violence, she would be showing them she could, in fact, be trusted to handle herself, and, if that failed, play the daddy's little girl card.
A restraining order has been filed, her parents are aware of the situation, and they aren't upset with her for "getting herself into" this situation. I helped someone avoid the situation I found myself in. What more can you really want out of life?

Tuesday, March 27, 2012


Two people who I trusted very much- Buffalo Boy and one other- put down women, particularly female Soldiers today. It started off with comments about us receiving special treatment and turned to our perceived physical inequalities.
Then another guy, one who I've already had issues with and identified as a possible predator, drove by on his way in and whistled at me.
I lost nearly all control. I was angry after the first bit, but figured it would blow over. The second incident left me fuming, angry and enraged. As I came in from break, I yelled at the latter guy to never whistle at me again. I managed to keep my mouth shut to the guys until one of them said something about me being angry. It came out without me meaning for it to, but I told him I was still pissed off that he felt it was alright to put down women. He said he was just joking- a pretty common defense for him- and I said it wasn't a joke, and walked outside. Buffalo Boy saw me walk out, obviously upset and on the verge of tears. He came over to where I was and tried to talk to me. More calmly than I was sure I'd be able to, I told him that I was still upset over the derogatory comments about women, so I wasn't in the best mood. He got angry at me, made a comment about me and the other female in the group taking things too personally, and walked away.
I tried to clear things up with him, sending him a carefully-worded text message explaining why it upset me. I told him: "You'll always be my brother far as I'm concerned, and maybe if you were the only person pointing out our shortcomings, I wouldn't feel like I needed to defend myself. But there isn't one person or form of media that hasn't shown bias, either intentionally or without even understanding that they are. I'm sick to death of feeling like I need to be protected and taken care of and tired of being scared because men are bigger, stronger and faster. I'm done believing that."
He responded with another "you're taking everything too personally and blowing this out of proportion" bit, essentially saying that I was making everything about me. I told him I had tried very hard not to put him down or be disrespectful in my text message, and I wished he'd done the same.
I am done wishing I could be stronger or better or safer. I'm done being scared. I can't continue to live this way, because this isn't living anymore.
It's time to make a change.

Monday, March 26, 2012


I had read The Hunger Games Trilogy shortly after the announcement was made that a movie was in the works. I had a friend who commented on one of my pictures that I "look like Katniss Everdeen". This, naturally, led to a Google search, and the trilogy came highly recommended. (Warning: Possible Spoilers Ahead!) It was almost impossible to keep myself from reading a book about a girl who's physical description does sound eerily like me. This was the picture that received that comment/compliment:

After I began to read the trilogy, I was hooked. Suzanne Collins is a truly gifted, incredible author. The way she describe's Katniss' thought process as she goes through trauma and recovers from it, as she describes her thought processes after having been through some heavy stuff as a child, the woman is nearly describing me, in so many more ways than just the physical. The symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder, distrusting people and having abandonment issues, but, ultimately, being more of a survivor than anything else... Describing the way she feels about people in her home district after going through the games, the clear signs of Post-Traumatic Stress this girl displays, that I relate to on the deepest level, to include her inherent mistrust of her own mother, despite and because of her own maternal instincts, this girl is ME.
It sure doesn't pain me that this book has the single best strong female lead character I have ever run across in my life. I could not be more impressed with the depth of the characters in the book, nor with the intricate, beautifully crafted story line. Miss Collins is brilliant.
After seeing the Hunger Games movie yesterday, I am more determined than ever to focus my attentions, where the media is concerned, on games, movies and television shows with strong female leads. Especially as I lose the Soldier part of my identity, especially as I grapple with my own demons in treatment, especially as I unearth events I had forgotten, I need the influence of strong females. I wish I had a mother to turn to in these situations, but, for all intensive purposes, I never had a mother. What I need to remember more than anything in the days, weeks and months that follow is that, above all, I am a survivor. I have survived my mother's abuse, her alcoholism, I recovered from my own voluntarily, I survived multiple sexual assaults and molestations. I survived a divorce, homelessness, and joined the army, only to be put down by them years later, and, ultimately, am going to survive losing what I'd intended to be a career in the military.
I think the media could use more female survivors in the spotlight. I know I could.

Thursday, March 22, 2012


More than six years after my second rape, I'm still unearthing memories- whether I like it or not.
I'm staying with Buffalo Boy this week, while my husband is in the field- again!- and, last night, a memory came out- an entirely separate incident. Lurking in my dreams are images that bring fear, many of which I can't identify a reason or memory for. Yet they haunt me- a pair of gray suede shoes and original-cut acid washed jeans, bushes, a beach house...
I will have so much to try to explain to my husband, but, really, most of this will never be as simple as an explanation.

Sunday, March 18, 2012


I have made a decision.
I don't want to have biological children.
I'm sure it helps that it's not as easy for me as it is for most, and that my (sorry-excuse-for-a) mother convinced me to tie my tubes at eighteen years old, so I couldn't pass on my "issues" to any biological children. However, something inside me is shifting, fast and hard, and I'm barely managing to keep up with it all.
First, I think I'm finally accepting the idea of life with Post-Traumatic Stress and some BPD symptoms. Despite these issues, and maybe in some ways because of them- and the fact that neither are considered uniformly genetic- I am coming to terms with the fact that my past frigging SUCKS. My mother, another child, two different adult men and a 13 year old boy changed the path of my life, and took away a lot of happiness for me- but where they tried to leave a void, something else has begun to grow. It's big, it's tough and it's real scary, but I think it's a future.
I don't want to spend another minute obsessing over in-vitro fertilization or birth plans. I have spent so much energy hating that I wouldn't just find out that I was pregnant some day, when, all that time, the woman that looked back at me in the mirror was a child born of that situation. I was, if you ask my mother, an "oops" baby, although she said that about my younger sister at one point then changed her mind. I was a baby born to two married parents who had been together for over a decade. A DECADE!! That's unheard of these days! Two years later, they divorced, and it got worse from there. Why, why WHY HAVE I BEEN SO STUCK on having a child the same way my mother did? Giving birth does not make a mother, let alone a fit one! It's so cliche to say that there are so many kids out there who are unwanted and why not give one a home.... but, dude, I was one of them!!! My mother put me in foster care at one point, and that was the least abuse I underwent!
Why should I do it her way? Why should I work so hard to undo what my mother imposed on me, when I could keep someone else out of that situation? The two biggest positive influences on my childhood were my  stepdad, who never had biological children, but was quick to take care of my sister and I as his own, and my babysitter, Grandma Vera, who was- you got it- a foster mother. She adopted two of her foster children- at least two. The two people who made it possible for me to be as happy as I was when I was little were people who took care of OTHER people's children.
How did I miss this all this time?!
I was talking to my friend C who's teenage sister is pregnant with an unwanted child right now in another state, and I started talking to my husband, and considering the possibility of interracial, open adoption. Then I stumbled across a blog post titled Teenage Boys Aren't Meant To Live At Home and, at about the point the author says that everyone, if they're honest, wishes they could have the easier life of a biological child, it hit me: I don't do anything the easy way, and that's what I've been trying to do here- and, go figure, it hasn't worked. Yes, it WOULD be easier (and probably cheaper) to go through in-vitro, and have "our own" child, but a child who has never known abandonment, who has never known contempt and abuse and who only knows unconditional love.... Can I handle that? Unconditional love is a foreign language to me in so many ways. I still demand my husband explain why he loves me and why he stays with me some days. What about having a child "naturally" would be right in this situation? When all I've known is abuse, when all I can relate to is fear, would I really do more good than harm for a son or daughter who didn't know that life?
I work best under pressure- and I think I've finally found the challenge I've been craving my entire life- loving an unloved, unwanted child. What took me so long?

God And Community

We went to the Unitarian Universalist service this morning, and it felt like home- so much so that I filled out a membership card. Of course, I didn't remember that we have a unit marriage retreat with hubby's unit this next weekend, so we'll miss a week, but I intend to continue going, every weekend I'm able- with or without friends or my husband there.
It made me realize that I need a community, and one I'm honest with. My husband and Buffalo Boy are the only ones who know the full story of what happened on Friday. I'm ashamed of what I did, but it has changed my life and opened my eyes in a way that scares me, but also gives me hope.
I need to pray again, daily, I need to start attending church every week, I need to pull those people I trust in closer- which means asking for help. You cannot be part of a community without equal give and take, as well as communication, which means I need to start speaking up because I am not only depriving myself of that sense of community, but others, as I refuse to allow others to help me when I need them most.
I'm scared, and I'm worried, but the only way out is up, and it's time to start climbing.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Major Small Victories

Yesterday was a definite life-altering event.
Today, hubby and I did a lot- and almost all of it public. We got up early and went to the mall, where I got a pedicure and my hair touched-up, the latter of which almost ended with me freaking out... almost. I get why having my back turned to anyone freaks me out, but I can't comprehend how every other person on the PLANET seems to WANT their back to EVERYONE. My wonderful service dog even started getting upset at one point. The stylist had me sit at the back of the salon, while she had several other clients, right next to several people I didn't know, while multiple people walked back and forth in front of me. I had left Sugar with the husband, thinking it would be quick and easy- he had to bring her over to me, for which I got a great deal of dirty looks from said stylist.
Anyway, we went to see Buffalo Boy briefly after that, then lunch- at a restaurant. And then my husband took me to two different stores, and bought me a new pair of cowboy boots, a new straw hat, and a really cute necklace-earring angel wing combo.
I haven't been out in public nearly this much in.... I don't know- a really long time.
Granted, it's Saint Patrick's Day, and everything was relatively quiet (due to pre-gaming, I assume) but I did it- and without meds. I'm really, really happy. It wasn't as easy as I wish it had been, but I'm so thrilled I managed it all.
I may never be happy in the same way as I used to be, but I'm getting better, even if it's never the same... and it won't be.


Have you ever noticed how people only say that they are "happy to be alive" shortly after something nearly fatal has happened to them?
Well, friends, I'm not sure how much I'm willing to detail my stupidity on the world wide web, but I can tell you that, this morning, I am happy to be alive.
I had a serious wake-up call yesterday, in the form of a line of a song I've listened to a million times. I never caught or noticed the one line in this particular song before. I'll never know how I managed that, but, yesterday, it stopped me in my tracks, made me realize that what I was doing was wrong in a very big sort of way, and made me work very hard to attempt to correct my blunder. Naturally, my husband popped up at exactly the moment that would force me to explain to him what I'd done, and I did.
You know what the crazy part is? He still loves me anyway.
I don't know exactly how I'm going to move forward from here. The only thing I'm sure of is that I need to fix things, and I need to work harder than I've thought I was able, and I need to change a whole lot more than I believed I did before yesterday afternoon.
White And Nerdy and I talked some yesterday, and we think that our best long-term plan is to put off having our own biological children- maybe permanently, but we will revisit that when my health is more stable. We are going to look into becoming foster parents when we move to Tucson. I am going to go to school to be a mechanic, and my husband will go to school to become an engineer- which branch of engineering, he has yet to completely decide. Being a mechanic will give me a number of opportunities and possibilities I may not otherwise find all within one career/skill set. It will allow me to do one of the few things that's held my interest for any period of time, despite what some might consider a lack of natural ability, it will put me in the only career field in the United States in which women are nearly guaranteed to make more money than men (true story!) and it will allow me a great deal of flexibility in my work, as it's something that, under the right conditions, I can do from home or on almost any street in town. It will give me an outlet for my tomboy behavior and attitude without restricting my options as much as the military life has done.
So far as foster care goes, I believe becoming a foster mother will give me more of an opportunity to impact the future than having a child naturally- or as naturally as I'm physically capable, I suppose. I was put into foster care at one point in my childhood- for how long, exactly, I'm not sure- and I know the fear and horror that so many of those children feel. I know what abuse is, personally, on many levels. I understand the "lost boys" mentality of children who have grown up without adults they can really trust. I know full well that being a foster mother is going to be the hardest thing I ever do in my life, but I also know that, if I make a difference to one of those children, I've saved a life and changed the world for the better. We will have a three-bedroom house. It's really not that hard to make one of those a room for one foster child at a time or a set of siblings trying to stay together. I know that being a foster mother means I will have to, at some points, give up a child that I have started to love as my own. The fact is, maternal instinct is something I have almost too much of. I believe in my heart that I can do this, and that I can help children who's own families are, for whatever reason, incapable of caring for them. I expect I'll end up adopting one of my foster children eventually, and maybe that's what I'm meant to do. Maybe that's all I'm meant to do, so far as parenting goes. There's been more than one child I've loved as my own, despite my lack of children, already. I cared for two little girls for many years, Raven and Haley, who I still love dearly, but have no way of contacting. There is a precious little girl named Reyna who I hope someday is able to forgive me for and understand why I wasn't able to stay in her life in the role I wanted. She is a special, beautiful little girl, who is so smart and so loved and I really hope she grows up to understand that. I also hope she grows up to understand that what other people say to us, teach us, and do to or around us doesn't define who we are in the long run- that we are the only ones in charge of ourselves, and that we make the choices to throw out the bad and keep the good from anyone and everyone we come in contact with, even the women who gave birth to us. I wish I knew how to stay a part of her life without feeling like I was hurting her by being unable to see her, but I understand the pain that comes with separation, and reminders of someone's existence without their presence can make that pain so much worse.
Then there was Pyper, who I know will never read this or hear about it, but whom my heart still aches for. I knew her less than a month, but she told me she loved me the first day she met me, and, Lord knows, I felt the same then and I still do. I hope she's able to break the cycle her parents have created, and become the person I know she can be.
I think that's more than enough emotion for 4:30 in the morning.
Have a good day, everybody, and, please, be happy to be alive today- because, without a doubt, you are meant to be here if you are, so it must beat the alternative. I'm glad you're on this earth with me, no matter who else isn't.

Friday, March 16, 2012

I Remember

I remember when my husband used to look forward to seeing me, and be so affectionate and so excited, and we had so much fun. I remember when we'd decide to just go to the movies for no reason, and go to dinner to do something. He just wanted to be with me, I just wanted to be with him and we were happy.
Now, I spend a lot of my time talking to Buffalo Boy, because he gets what I'm going through, isn't going out to the field on a weekly basis, and he breaks down for me where I've screwed up and where my thinking is irrational. We don't do much, but it's easy to be with him.
My husband mostly seems to tolerate me- I know he still loves me, but I'm not any fun anymore, and it's getting harder and harder to open up to him. I can feel my defenses rising the more times I hear that he's going out to the field, the more I hear about preparations for deployments. I just wish he'd leave me sometimes so he wouldn't have to watch me freak out, fall apart, and melt down, especially when I seem so incapable of even talking to the man now. When he does touch me, half the time I don't want him to and don't know why. When he isn't touching me, all I want is to feel like he really loves me and wants to be with me, even though I don't even want to be with me anymore.
I want him to be happy, and he's not, not with me. I don't know if I'll ever get better, and there's a strong chance that I won't get much better than this. This may be what he wakes up next to everyday for the rest of his life- well, the ones that don't involve going to the field or deploying. I wouldn't be surprised if he cheated on me. I'm not capable of making him happy, I'm not even capable of making myself happy. I love my husband, and I want him to be happy....
And it's only 0630 in the morning....
It's going to be a long day.

Thursday, March 15, 2012


My husband has been gone so much for work, it feels impossible to talk to him.
How do you just open up about having been suicidal to someone who wasn't there or even reachable at the time?
How do you turn on the faucet to pour out emotions and stories that happened when the one you love and are trying so hard not to hurt or run from was away?
He's in bed, asleep. Despite my questions, and my attempts to talk today, I feel like my words were wasted. If he has feelings on any of what I'm going through, he's not showing them to me, and he's certainly not talking about any of it.
I hate that I make him deal with this, with me.
I feel like I'm slowly drowning in a tar pit- slow, dark, hot and never-ending.... and oh so eerily quiet.


After months and months of panic attacks, I've had several days straight of anger- some of those days had no anxiety at all, which felt great, but those were the ones in which the anger was swallowing me whole, a dark mass that would gladly engulf anyone who dared cross it's path, and violently.
I don't know if this is a step forward or a step back, but I feel nothing positive anymore, I'm dead to anything happy, cold to the touch.

Monday, March 12, 2012


I've never attempted suicide.
That statement has been a source of pride for me, especially when so many of my closest friends have at this point.
Today, though, I was a candidate for suicide. It wasn't any one thing- the fact that our post is trying to ban service dogs, the fact that my husband and I are now staring down the barrel of our first deployment together, the fact that I've been through child abuse, two rapes and a myriad of other abusive situations, the fact our apartment reeks of mold, everything to do with the army... It's not just one thing. When my husband's boss (e7 type for you military-savvy folks) told my husband that I "needed to learn" to be in situations that put me into flashbacks, well, I couldn't come back up.
I begged him to leave me tonight so I could do it without feeling guilty.
He wouldn't, and neither would Buffalo Boy.
I guess I don't get out of it all that easy.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Family, Love and Being Scared Out Of Your Mind

The Nerdy One mentioned today, in passing as he thought he'd mentioned it before, that his unit is looking at deployment in November-December time-frame.
Now, having been an Army wife for two years, a Soldier for more than four now, and soon-to-be Army wife again, well, there's no surprise when the word "deployment" starts getting thrown around- it's part of daily discussion, what-if's and just-in-case's. We are a nation eternally at war, there's no escaping the possibility.
Before I try to rationally explain the implications and total freak-out I'm experiencing in my head, let me tell you what our last few days have been like.
Recap: Wednesday afternoon, my husband calls me to tell me he'll be leaving for an overnight field problem/range the following morning. I avoid asking what time until many hours later, when he says he will be leaving the house around 0330. Thursday, bright and early, he's gone, and I'm too on edge to sleep. I manage to pack a lot of anxiety into that day, then spend much of the evening with a friend from treatment, who discusses his not-quite-ex-not-quite-girlfriend having Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and the symptoms he lists ring all too true of myself. My husband comes home around 4 Friday morning, and we crash-hard- until he leaves for work about two hours later. We knock out as early as we can Friday night, only to wake up to a leak in our apartment ceiling at 0630 Saturday morning. We call the front office, and leave a message when nobody answers. Nobody returns our call.
Husband then goes off to help his friend move for the day, and I head back to my friend's house, because I simply don't handle alone well, and, fortunately for us, neither does my friend right now. We watch tv, and hang out through the afternoon. Then I get my husband, and we come back to my friend's house for a few more hours, coming home after that to find it is nearly raining in our apartment. The "rain" progresses for the next few hours, until we're calling ever emergency maintenance number we can find, and demanding they do SOMETHING. The water has been shut off by around six this morning, and, now, at eleven at night, our apartment still hasn't completely dried out- and all that was effected was carpeting, walls, cabinets and ceilings, thankfully.
Now, about half an hour ago, The Nerdy One mentions we're looking at deployment in about nine months....  This means he'll be out of the Army within months after returning from this deployment. I text my friend, I'll call him Buffalo Boy, and tell him what's going on.
Now, Buffalo Boy has gone from being a friend I see regularly to FAMILY in the last couple days. He's saved my life with the information and support he's given me, and probably saved my marriage in more than one way. He's the first person to get my trust in a non-relationship and completely unconditional manner. I trust this guy, I know his values, habits, emotions and I've never understood what it's like to have a "family member" where there wasn't a question of some sort of perversion. This guy has my back, and it doesn't matter time, place, or anything else. He's my brother.
I found my brother in the looney bin, that could only happen to me.
Anyway, The Nerdy One and I are discussing possibilities and Buffalo Boy is reassuring me that, no matter what, he's going to watch my back, even if it means protecting me from myself sometimes.... and it does.
I can't lose my marriage, I can't wreck it or hurt my husband... I've made too many crappy choices in my life, and I won't go back to allowing that to be my norm....
I'm scared out of my mind, but somewhere in my gut, I know that this will happen, and that between my husband and my new-found Brother, I will prove something to myself, and, frankly, that's not a whole lot more comforting than knowing my husband will spend roughly nine months in harm's way.

Saturday, March 10, 2012


Hell is not fire and brimstone.
Hell is realizing that you are lost spiritually and that it's very possible you may not ever get any better-.that you may have come as far as you can.
Hell is trying to figure out how to avoid disappointing everyone you've made promises to if you can't ever become the person you know you should be.

Friday, March 9, 2012


So, my husband spends a LOT of time at work lately.
He's been working for nearly two days straight, with about two hours early this morning at home. He finally came home this evening, and I tried my best to bring up what I'd learned about the BPD.
"Honey, do you know what borderline personality disorder is?"
"How much do you know about it?"
"I mean, I've heard of it before."

....I didn't really know where to go from there. I gave up.
This man is my best friend, truly, but, it's frustrating to feel like you're talking to yourself sometimes. This isn't the first conversation that's fallen flat because his attention was elsewhere, but I personally feel like it's probably the most important. I just want to be able to tell him I know why I've been so crazy my whole life, I finally get it, and... I don't know. I know he would tell me it's great, and then he'd get distracted by something else, and I love him for who he is.
That sure doesn't mean he frustrates me any less, though.
He was tired today, he's going to help his friend move tomorrow, and Sunday we go bowling, and I'd REALLY like to go to church, finally.
And then it's Monday and back to the Monday-Friday only seeing each other long enough to figure out what we're doing for dinner and we don't even talk while we're eating anymore.
He knows I feel this way. I don't want to make him sound like a bad guy, he's not.
I just don't handle life well, I guess.

Borderline Between Happy And Insane

Last night, my husband had to work most of the night, and I thought he was going to have to be gone the entire night. Knowing I have been in a pretty dark, unstable place lately, I asked a good friend if he was alright with me crashing on his couch, so I wouldn't be isolated or alone in case something came up. Being the awesome friend he is, he said that would be great.
We were sitting there, about eleven at night, watching Smokey And The Bandit and talking. He was highlighting some papers he'd printed off, mostly about Borderline Personality Disorder. His ex-girlfriend of several years exhibits a LOT of symptoms of this, and he was reading some of the more surprising/dead-on ones out loud. Several of them hit me really close to home, although my habits aren't quite as extreme as most folks diagnosed with BPD exhibit.
When my friend mentioned that it's generally caused by neglect in childhood, my ears perked up. One of the most common symptoms is idealization and devaluation episodes- and I don't go to the extremes his ex-girlfriend did, but I have, for a long time, recognized the pattern of behavior in myself. Many of my relationships wouldn't last a month- things were ideal at first, beautiful, wonderful, what I wanted for the rest of my life, and then it seemed reality would set in and I was out. I can look at the explanations of BPD now, and realize that many of the behaviors I've worked so hard to change have been linked as much to a milder form of BPD as to PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder are very commonly diagnosed in the same person, and are considered to be very closely linked issues. I can see, with the information that I have now, that the way I've idealized my husband much of the time, only to find myself on other days playing with a lot of "what if's" in my head is simply another symptom of all of this. I can see that the rapid emotional changes aren't simply my reactions to trauma-related stimuli. I have recognized, over  many years now, that I have had some pretty major abandonment issues, and, reflecting on my life, I'm really not terribly surprised by that.
Am I happy to know that I have symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder? Not a chance. It is, however, a little bit of weight off my shoulders knowing that my lack of gratitude, my bouncy-ball emotions, my fear of abandonment and unexplainable jealousy isn't just a character flaw that I've inherited from my mother or something. It feels really good to know that even the non-PTSD behaviors that have frustrated and worried me are logical and something that can be dealt with.

The Feminine Tomboy

I was reading Jeanette's post on her feelings about tarot cards, and, while tarot is interesting to me (I have family from Old Salem, it's hard to avoid), the tarot discussion wasn't what caught my attention. It was this quote: "Maybe it's because of the way I was brought up, with my mother always speaking so warmly about feminine intuition, or maybe it's just me. I don't know."
It's no secret that I come from an abusive home, but the thought of a mother raising her child to trust her own intuition was such a powerful idea to me! I've had a lot of ideas, thoughts and plans on raising children when we finally have the money for in-vitro fertilization, but there was something so obvious about the idea of raising your child to trust themselves and I couldn't believe it had never occurred to me.
Then I realized something else- isn't that the ideal outcome of parenting? Isn't the ultimate idea behind raising a child into adulthood raising someone who is trustworthy and dependable, even to the extent that they trust themselves?

Thursday, March 8, 2012

When I Say Husband...

When I say "husband", I mean best friend.
When I complain about him not doing the dishes, it's because I love him enough that I spent an hour or two cooking him a homemade dinner myself, rather than just throwing something in the microwave or ordering in.
When I get irritated because he left the top off the Aquafor AGAIN, it's because I know that, even if his tattoo is peeling, he can rattle off statistics and facts about what that kind of singing where they change their pitch repeatedly is called (he told me last night, I don't remember), he can do serious math in his head in five seconds flat and explain things like calculus and trigonometry.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who can stop everything, no matter how I've treated him, no matter what mood I've been in or what I've promised him, and hold me through the time-traveling, talking to me and reminding me to stay with him. I'm talking about the man who teases me at dinner because he caught the waiter checking me out, and start playing Ms Tattoo Girl every time I get embarrassed because I know I stand out and people are looking at me.

When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who has taught me that unconditional love isn't some theory or myth, or something that only God and some animals are capable of. This is the man who has seen me so angry I've thrown things, hit things and people, he's seen me cry, he's seen me at my absolute worst, and this man still puts his arms around me every single day and tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me. He's seen me lose control of my emotions in really embarrassing situations and he still tells me he's never giving up on me or leaving me.
This is my second marriage. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I've hurt a lot of people. I don't understand why God or my husband believe I'm worth this kind of love, but I know that I've met the man that I want to argue over baby names with, and the man I want to yell at for letting the kids eat junk food and the man I want to drag out onto the dance floor on our 50th wedding anniversary.
There are men in this world who get what I've been through and/or who I am better than my husband, that's the truth. There is nobody else, though, that will be open to both me getting a Nightster (you know, when I win a few million bucks in the lottery) AND vegan meals, or who is totally okay with me putting up Buddhist statues (yes, I own that one) in our living room, listening to Kick It In The Sticks on repeat for days (okay, he's not really a huge fan of that repeat thing) and for not threatening to kill me for talking about dressing our dog up in costumes.
I love my husband with all my heart. I'm not perfect, I'll never claim to be, but I am so grateful for this man.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Rise Again

I need to stop worrying about getting better and/or going back to who I used to be. That person is gone, and she's gone for a reason. I need to simply get past being whatever this mess is, and focus on becoming the wife and mother my family deserves to have.  I need my husband and children to see me happy, to see that I love them, and to see that a woman doesn't have to be angry to survive.
I don't recognize who I've become, and I don't like who I see in the mirror, but whoever I keep trying to find under the rubble is gone, nothing but ash now, and I need to accept that so I can start building whoever this person looking back at me is going to be. Charli is dead, the bear has been fought, and the only thing left is to teach this new, baby phoenix how to fly before it turns to ash like it's mother did.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Setbacks and Progress

This week has been incredibly rocky.
I'm in the women's group now and, yes, it's an entirely different animal, therapy-wise.
And every single woman in there thinks she knows what the others have been through and what the answers are. I'm so not handling that well.
Today, however, Sugar and I managed to go grocery shopping- unescorted- after we had a long, ridiculous day.
I could not be more proud of us.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Traumatic Therapy

I got three hours of sleep the night before last, and around four fitful hours last night. Yet, I still got up and went to treatment as I should.
The therapist- and she doesn't deserve that title- walked into our group room and started moving chairs, saying she needed to have her back to a wall. While this is nothing surprising, as we all, always sit with our backs to the walls, it was odd for her to mention it out loud. One of the guys told her not to worry, nobody would hurt her with us in there, she was safe. She responded by telling him that our corner of the room needed to be quiet today, and stop "giggling and sharing secrets". Mind you, yesterday we spent much of the day outside because we were fighting anxiety attacks and angry outbursts from comments and discussions going on in group. He then told her he had no problem speaking to her about this privately, and he was very respectful, especially given her hostility, she snapped at him (again) and told him he needed to stop getting people kicked out of group, saying it was her group and she would run her group not him.
We talked to the admin guy she sent to try to get us to come back into group and explained our grievances and issues with what was being said and done in group yesterday. We did not ask him to throw anyone out of our group. We didn't even know what he said when he spoke to two people we all struggled with individually. It is not our job, nor within our abilities to throw anyone out nor to have anyone thrown out of any group.
She was extremely confrontational with all three of us sitting in that corner, and continually told one friend of mine he should just leave, and saying we were disrespecting her and she didn't see anything wrong with what was talked about. When I tried to calmly explain (as I started crying) that the discussion that was brought up early on yesterday was half of the reason I had to talk a certain friend down from going completely suicidal last night, she said that she didn't think what she said was that graphic and it was her group, not ours. My "big brother" asked one of the females with similar background to me to take me outside and calm me down when the crying became uncontrollable. The director got involved, though that therapist doesn't seem to have any repercussions from it all, and decided it was better to separate all of us. I'm being moved to the women's group, which makes sense, and I didn't fight her on it. I simply reminded her that her therapist was completely out of line. 
I know I don't handle confrontation well right now. I shut down and start crying. The klonopin didn't touch my anxiety, and my husband came up to pick me up, as I was afraid to drive in that condition. I am so disgusted and hurt and upset at this therapist it's incredible. She's the same one I've said before is a burnt-out hippie. I didn't trust her before she was our sole therapist, and now I can't stand her. I told the guys before she took over I didn't care for her, and they insisted she was a sweet person. They trust my gut instincts more than ever now, and so do I. I'm so sick of people like this!