Author Archives: myjournaltherapy

About myjournaltherapy

If the title of the blog doesn't sum it up, then you are too dim witted to be reading this.

Feb.24 2012

I can see where this is becoming a record of not just my random thoughts, but also of daily events that may be useful sometime in the future.  Not just so I can relive the joke that is my life, but for documentation purposes.

He has a “man cave” off the kitchen.  Once upon a time it was a garage and it still has the original door leading into it from the kitchen, which is glass in the top half.  The glass, or window, has a small curtain on the kitchen side, for privacy purposes. He is on night shift and was supposed to be in there sleeping.  Our son was being a bit noisy so I peeked through the curtain to see if he was disturbed.  I caught him looking at porn on the tv via the PS3.  I asked him what he was doing looking at that.  No reply.  I replaced the curtain and dropped it, not really caring enough to fight.  A few minutes later I looked in on him again and could tell he was….relieving….himself.

A few minutes later he came out and asked if I liked peeking in on him. I asked him if he like jerking off to porn.  He denied that it was porn.  He also denied he was jerking off.  Um, a website entitled “Boobs in Motion” is not porn? Puhleese.  And what?  There was a kangaroo bouncing up and down under his comforter?

I have decided I am not going to blow up over this because it would do absolutely no good and would only result in a traumatic scene for the kids to witness.  He will not get away with this however.  When he least expects it, it will come back to him.  Eventually the world will know the truth.


He has

called her “Bitch”, “fat ass”, “stupid” and a “nag”

He has: put his hands around her throat and held her against the wall

tipped over the rocking recliner while she rocked their first born to sleep

shoved her to the floor while she was pregnant with their second child-this child was born with the cord around his neck

raised his fist as if to strike, but didn’t

told her her fibromyalgia was all in her head

told her she needed to go back to work one day after miscarrying

made her drive herself to the hospital while she miscarried

fussed because it cost 100 dollars to be examined by a OBGYN after miscarrying

did not come see her sing a solo in the Christmas production, nor see his special needs daughter in her first play

refused to go change his sister-in-law’s flat tire, leaving her stranded on the side of the road

pushed his mother-in-law to the floor because she stood up for her daughter when he called her stupid

of course there are more.  of course they are over a ten year span.  of course she isn’t perfect.  of course she must be quite pathetic.


Perhaps a better woman….

would kick him to the curb. Would’ve done so a long time ago.  At least that would be the popular secular thought.

I always shook my head in confusion at those women who stayed with their abuser.  But what constitutes abuse?  Hitting, slapping, physical aggression is of course abuse.  Must it become a common event or is just once enough to tell him to take a hike?  What about emotional or mental abuse? Verbal abuse? Name calling.  Control.

What kind of man says to the mother of his children-the woman who cooks and cleans for him, who encourages him and makes sure he wakes up in time to go to work-“It’s my money. I go out and work for it so it is mine.  You need to ask me before you spend anything beyond what is needed for groceries” ? What kind of man says that one moment and then is okay the next?

Who avenges a broken spirit?

 


Ernest Hemingway Quote

Ernest Hemingway Quote.

Here is a relevent post by a kindred spirit.


Just a Woman

I am just a woman.  Not just, really.  As if to imply that somehow makes me inferior.  I am a woman. One woman. In this big, chaotic, selfish world.  And since this is a selfish world and I am in it, here is my tiny corner of selfishness.  This is my journal. My therapy. My voice. The voice for a woman who is struggling. Struggling with marriage. With motherhood. With sanity. With an unbalanced body and mind.

My journal. My thoughts, as random as they may be. I’m sure I’ll find reflected here the rollercoaster of emotions and ideas that is me.

Here’s one random thought. I am using word press as my host for this blog. This journal.  I am not sure I like it. I am accustomed to blogger which seems so much simpler. More simple. Whatever.

Anyway, back to random and selfish ramblings.

Most days I feel as though I am drowning.  Being sucked up in a whirlpool of conflicting emotions and thoughts.

Expectations. So much is expected of me.  And BY me.

I have a daughter who has learning challenges.  Mental Retardation, Unspecified, they say.  I didn’t think they still used that term. Mental Retardation. The school says she has an IQ of 55, maybe lower.  I don’t know.  I home school her so I am well aware of her hang ups academically.  I also see where she is very bright in other areas.  Her education doesn’t concern me quite as much as her training.  And her moods.  She shows many autistic tendencies, such as meltdowns and language delay, but they say she isn’t autistic.  Doesn’t matter. I home school her so she doesn’t have to live with a label.  I had her diagnosed so I would know what I was dealing with.  So I would not expect too much or too little of her.

Like it was and is with me.

Too much expected in some areas and too little in others. Just follow the rules and do what I say and all will be fine.  Try to think for yourself and you will be accused of rebelling or being on drugs.

Reading over this post I am reminded of how crazy I am becoming. That’s okay.  This is where I can release the craziness in an effort to find order.

I know God is order.  No doubt.  No doubt He created and sustains. He saves.  Though many atheists would misinterpret my random crazy selfish thoughts as indicative of a weak faith, they are not.

I know these ramblings are the by-product of unbalanced hormones brought on my two births, depression and fibromyalgia.  Not to mention a life time of unhealthy living.  Fifteen years of that filthy, awful habit of smoking.  There. I am a closet smoker.  Not entirely hidden of course.  My husband knows about it. And the kids, though I do not do it around them. I’m hardly that selfish.  While I am on this subject, let me just say I want to quit but am terrified. Terrified of the withdrawal. Terrified of who I’ll be without it.  Maybe just a small part of me too has a death wish.

This happens when you are depressed.  When your rational self flies out the window and your personality is split between who you want to be and who you are right now.