A Poem: Call for Help

I put my heart into the wrong container,

expecting it to be healing and warm.

Instead, what I found was a complainer

whose affection hit me like chloroform.

In those years, every time I would wake

and work to fix the situation at hand,

instead I would find a man like a snake,

all too ready to lie and misunderstand.

My inner strength was sapped away,

stolen in pieces, he’d ruin it, bit by bit.

A kick or punch is so much clearer by day

than the words upon which he would sit.

How I was so blind, I ask myself daily,

wondering how I could be so broken.

If only he’d hit me, punching as gayly

as his words and dismissal were spoken.

Now, I find myself in a vice-grip by fear,

its cold, dead fingers attached like a leech.

My first instinct is to run away, steer clear

of any affection—anxiety makes me screech.

Please, I implore, help me pick up the pieces

of what is left in the aftermath of this fall.

Alone, impossible, but with help, it ceases

to be something for which I feel I cannot call.

Encountering Evil

Crawling out of the woodwork like a termite,

his toxicity, like tentacles slither out, poison

to the sweet sapling that must be moistened,

protected only by the tamarin and her vicious bite.

Damaged walls let the poisoned gases in,

inhabitant unsuspecting of incoming damage

or even the glaring lack of proper bandage

over wounds never healed; they easily reopen.

Small, innocent soul, unknowingly tortured by

the confusion and disruption: betrayed by him,

a most trusted companion she held above all sin,

in the highest esteem; surely, he was unable to lie.

Confusion and chaos abound in her mind,

put to rest only by motherly affection and love,

protected, held close within Mama’s glove,

so, to the demonic manipulation, she is blind.

Discomfort seeps in, touching everyone with infection;

social constructs do the best to make it squirm.

One can find comparison to it with the worm,

an apt comparison in terms of lacking verbal inflection.

It’s enabled and encouraged by a female so vile,

her vitriol, never-ending, just sprays and spews

to those she cannot control with her narrow views

and manipulation tactics that only provoke bile.

Nausea, rocking, churning, bubbling like a hot sea,

a physical response to psychological stress

unnecessarily exacerbated in times of distress,

appetites turned as sour as a lost, forgotten pea.

I knew what it was when I laid eyes on it at first,

a hideous, disgusting energy, vile as vomit,

disguising itself with the success of a large comet

shooting through a night only described as the worst.

As I watched, the shape transformed, a mask

seeping over the visage I’d glimpsed but quickly;

my soul knew the evil as I do now as its sickly

energy could be drunk like liquid from a flask.

But then I allowed it to slip on its mask before

I knew what was even happening before my eyes.

He gave meaning to the phrase, “time flies,”

and I became lost within its darkness, craving more.

Tinted Glasses

You perceive of me only what you wish to see,

but I’m a human with flaws, like you.

Like him, you’re quick to say, “It’s not me;

it’s you, you’re wrong,” but I can see through

it now; things will play how they must be.

At the end of the day, see, I have my crew.

How many close relationships does he keep?

Tones would change if you knew what I knew.

But you could never be wrong.

I recognize when I’m wrong, I write it down,

take note to make the needed change

and work on it every single day, through the frowns

that come when I’m feeling a little strange.

I’m learning every single day, yet like a clown

you recognize nothing of import, set a stage

to paint me as a villain all the way around.

To think I’d wanted to chalk ignorance up to age.

But you could never be wrong.

If this were a movie, we could flip; we could switch

perspectives, and maybe then you would see

the truth instead of calling me a rude bitch.

 Unfortunately, I can tell when it comes to me,

there’s nothing you want to see but that which

makes you pretty and helps you feel free.

So, then, like a disease, you pull at every last stitch

on my heart, doing your best to unravel me.

But you could never be wrong.

The meaning behind your words is so devoid,

I can practically feel your desperation

to control everything and monitor the noise

coming out of every radio station.

Your eyes glaze over, all you care for are coins,

ears plugged while you make accusations.

Your masks are so thin, it’s no wonder your boys

are so easily discovered, peeled like crustaceans.

But you could never be wrong.

Heaven forbid you see things through the eyes

of any person other than yourself,

but I won’t join in your pity-party or lies

or enable the bullshit to come back off the shelf.

I’m done with you and your slithering spies.

But you could never be wrong.

Perception

Mindful practice leads to mindful expression,

yet my words bring on unwarranted projection

of a psychotic, horrible, toxic perception

of unfolded events; denial; rejection.

Boomerangs aren’t my style; I prefer seeds

to plant as thoughts that, like food, feed

some ideas that might just let you see,

if I explain it right, I’m a human with needs.

Reputations do not depend on one person’s thoughts;

actions explain themselves, reason is sought,

and when reason comes up naught,

then, only then, is the true villain caught.

Those without balance devise their own doom,

regardless of dark or light on their loom

of life; the organization of their living room

does nothing to stop the disastrous boom.

“Unacceptable,” the consensus does say;

the same word is uttered every day

as an assessment of the inexplicable way

he decided he no longer wanted to stay.

A tiny spirit, confused, heartbroken, trampled and torn

over sudden abandonment, sharp as a thorn;

I do what I can to ease her pain, while my scorn

comes out in writing; yet it’s seen as something worn.

Distance, closed by screens yet expanded by air,

I am here and you’re all the way over there;

you will never see the why and the where,

the what or how I soothe her when she’s scared.

How To Identify Self-Victimizing Behavior and Stop Being A Victim

I have known many people during my short quarter-century of life who constantly play the victim. Some people call these individuals "psychic vampires," as they tend to suck you dry of your energy, time, and emotion. These are the people who never stop talking about how everyone has done them wrong. The people who say, "Woe is me," and, "So-and-so broke every promise ever and fucked me over this, that, and the other way."

Few people actually want to act like this. I have found that very few of the self-victimizers I know are that way by choice. Many of these people call out for help to end the suffering they perceive themselves undergoing. It is for this reason I am creating this list of identifiers of self-victimizing behavior patterns. I believe wholeheartedly in taking responsibility for your life and in order to do that, one must take responsibility for one's actions and thoughts.

I am by no means a mental health professional. I am not a counselor. I am a disabled veteran, I am a survivor of prolonged and varied abuse, I am a single mother, and I am a Paralegal student, but I am not a psychiatrist. These are based on my observations alone, but I believe they can be applied to anyone's situation and it is with the hope of helping others that I publish this entry.

Three ways to identify self-victimizing behavior and what you could do to stop it:

• Do you find yourself talking only about yourself, with no regard to your communication partner?
  Often, self-victimizing individuals will talk about themselves excessively. Pay attention to what you say. Become more self-aware. Doing so will help you identify the language you use when you open your mouth, which will allow you to put energy into changing your language to change your life and get out of the victim mentality.
• Do your thoughts and/or words often center around what other people are doing or saying?
  What is your next-door neighbor doing at this moment? What is your sister up to with that no-good circus clown? Don't you just hate how Jane stole your entire CD collection ten years ago? If you find yourself thinking more about what others are doing than what you're doing, or if you find yourself thinking more about how others treat you than how you treat them, you are likely stuck in a self-victimizing mentality. Instead of thinking about what people around you are doing, think about what you have to do for the day, the week, the month, and the year. What are your goals and what are you doing to achieve them? Do not think of what others are doing to help you, because others are not responsible for how you live your life or how you achieve your happiness. You are.
• Do you constantly ask people to spend time with you but also tell everyone how terrible all people are?
  It is exceptionally draining for people to put energy and effort into making another person feel better, particularly when the other person is expressing dislike with people in general. It pushes people away and the post that begs them to come back ends up sounding flaccid and insincere. Instead of complaining about how wrong you think everyone else is, think about the good things in your life. Do you have a roof over your head? Do you have food in your home that you can eat? Do you have a job or a career? Do you have pets or family members? Think of the good things and why you're grateful for them, instead of thinking about how disappointed you are in the perceived masses who ignore you or let you down.

Certainly, this is not an all-inclusive list of self-victimizing behaviors, but I do think it is a good place to start for people who wish to better themselves and be less draining on their loved ones and friends. This short list may give some insight to those who find themselves playing the victim more than they thought.

The Air Force believes in holistic health. This means that Airmen are encouraged to be healthy not only physically, but also mentally and spiritually. Freedom of religion is fiercely protected and people from all walks of life and of all kinds of beliefs come together under the same core values to serve a common ally: Our nation, the United States of America. Since separating, I've become more aware of what holistic health really means and how we can achieve it.

Nothing worth doing is easy. You may have heard this phrase before, perhaps many times, and it is never wrong, in my experience. Recovery is never a linear journey. Even if we take a linear step and never fall back on it, we all experience moments of weakness, usually due to increased stress. We develop coping mechanisms, healthy and unhealthy, to help us through the hard times. Even I have an unhealthy coping mechanism. The point is, we must create our own happiness. No other person will do that for us and we cannot blame others for the way we feel, the choices we make, the thoughts we have, or the actions we take.

We must take responsibility for our own lives. I'm doing it for mine. Will you do it for yours?

Drastic Change: Paradise Lost, or Paradise Found

May was a tumultuous month, though not altogether unpleasant. Naturally, my birthday came and went, and I managed to have a good time! Now it is June and things are so completely different than they were back then, it's hard to know where to begin.

So, I suppose I can begin by saying I am nowhere near where I thought I would be, today. I had a great birthday--my grandmother took my daughter and me out to lunch at a nice restaurant and I got a massage and a facial. Later in the week, I had my "Always" tattoo finished and I am in love with it! What happened after my birthday was supposed to be a smooth transition. It was supposed to be smoother than any transition prior.

It wasn't. Instead of continuing on the course I had set with my husband, I was derailed by an intervention from my best friend. He was the one and only person in my life to point out the ways in which I was not living the way I wanted to. He was the one to point out why I was unhappy, while I ignored many problems that continued to grow within my home life. His intervention, with some help from his wife, really provoked me to take immediate action.

And so, instead of taking off to California at the end of May, I sat down in our ever-emptier house and began a conversation with my husband. I wasn't sure where I would end up in this conversation or even what I wanted him to say. The problem was, it seemed he only wanted to give me words I would want to hear. So, when he brought up the word "divorce," for probably the third time in the duration of our marriage, I thought about it seriously for the first time.

Where I am now is not where I wanted to be, but it has turned out to be better for me than I could have imagined. There are downsides, of course: The Internet usage is limited to 5GB per month until further notice; the computer I use does not have Microsoft Word for easy blog making; I have yet to figure out where or how I should set up my computer to do my art. But there are many upsides, as well: I unplug much more often and interact with my daughter and my family; I have my little girl on a meal and potty schedule and she is thriving under my care; I watch old Disney movies with my daughter every chance we get and I take her to the park at every opportunity to let her play. There is not a day that goes by in which she doesn't have a total blast playing with toys, watching cartoons, playing outside, and talking our ears off.

We're staying with my grandparents for now. I've begun seeing professionals in the Mental Health Clinic at the American Lake Veterans Association. My goal is to set up couples counseling, as it has always been my desire and my goal to have a healthy, lengthy marriage that is strong, stable, and lasts. Unfortunately, shortly after I expressed my desire to set up couples counseling, my husband took off in his car across Canada, driving east back to his home state. I hope he is happy, staying with his mother and receiving the validation he so craves.

Meanwhile, I have paid off several overdue bills related to our relationship and the house we rented together. I have realized, with help from family and friends, there are many ways in which I allowed myself to feel the way I did and I allowed him to make me feel worse. There are many things coming to light in his absence that have been shocking, disheartening, and even heartwarming.

We are halfway through June. The difficulty has only just begun. I've broken down crying, sobbing my eyes out while I was home alone, over ideas of what I should do for myself and my daughter. I've received various messages from him and responded as kindly and pleasantly as possible, while the nastiest and dirtiest thoughts crossed my mind. He called me hateful and spiteful and I know those things are inside of me but they are not what run my life.

I will never again allow someone to dictate my life in such a way that I act out in hateful, spiteful ways, nor will I allow someone again to make me feel as though everything I do is pointless. Regardless of who did what while we were together, I know now how to make myself feel good about myself. It is a process. It is a practice. It is difficult. It is not a linear path; I fall and I have to get back up. But now that the rotten apple has fallen from the tree, the tree is growing yet again and it's healthier than ever.

Efforts in Futility

Nothing hurts me more than disrespect from someone who has asked for my help and accepted my extended hand. Nothing disappoints me more than someone who has requested help yet refuses to help themselves.

            My hand extends to every person who deserves it. I do not always know who deserves it and who doesn’t, and so my default reaction to a request for help is to respond in as helpful a way as I know how. Sometimes, my response is to ignore the request either because I do not have the resources, or because my resources are limited and I must care for myself, my family, and my household first.

            My assistance is not free, but I do not charge money for the service I provide. I charge resources. Guests—extended guests, more specifically—and couch surfers are charged in the form of food and other items consumed. Usually, these people also pay us back monetarily, but this is not required except by those who board here.

            We have four boarders and one applicant to our lease and things in the house tend to run smoothly. Two of these boarders will be moving out in the very near future, but we refused to let them get into paying rent at another hotel because it is unsustainable in every sense of the word. These people are our friends. We do not invite strangers into our home. Ours is a family home, first and foremost and always. Even when Persephone is gone, this remains a family home, no matter what amazing acts of sexual exploration occur.

            Recently, we paid for one of my friends to fly from her location to our state. We picked her up at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport baggage claim carousel. We brought her into our home, explaining in the car on the way that our primary expectation was for her to listen to us and do what we say as well as keep to her own word and do what she says she will. She agreed on all fronts. She met Stacie, our boarders, and our new swinging partners. She is a male-to-female transgendered individual with severe psychological issues, so, I promised to get her to the Department of State and Health Services and the Social Security Administration in order to get her started with food stamps and Medicaid. She failed to get her food card because she failed to tell the truth of her homelessness—after all, she was to board at my house and give back by cleaning. We were providing literally everything for her. So, she didn’t get her card, but she ravaged our food supplies and ate foods that had been planned for meals.

            There’s more. She disrespected every single person in my home. She disrespected the space of every person in my home and she disrespected my belongings and the belongings of every person in my home, whether staying or visiting. I told her to stop touching things that don’t belong to her. She continued to move things around that weren’t hers, such as my books and Pat’s bong, and she would take drinks that weren’t hers and drink them, such as Pat’s Rockstar and Marie’s can of coffee. She was absolutely insufferable and she did not understand the mere concept of personal space or boundaries. We told her multiple times to give us space and not to touch us, yet she continued to hover over people, stare at people uncomfortably, and invade their space by standing mere inches from them and touching or leaning on their shoulders.

            I went so far as to write a contract for her as a boarder in my home. I itemized basic respect and consideration, yet she spat on it. She basically said, without speaking, “Fuck you and everything you are trying to do for me.” After all, we took her to DSHS and the Social Security office. We took her to Goodwill and Value Village, because we do not have the incomes we had recently, and we purchased ladies’ clothes for her so that she would feel more comfortable in her own body and feel as though she was moving forward in her life. I gave her space in my study to keep her things and to sleep, yet she disrespected the space by spreading her belongings all over the place, taking over space on my desk and taking my books off of my shelves and failing to put them away properly.

            Four days. That was all. She didn’t last a day past the fourth, as she broke her contract the moment she signed it and did so repeatedly—lashing out for attention like a neglected two-year-old. She is 28. She made everyone so uncomfortable that every single person who had any means or future means of income was offering to pay to get her out of our house. Randy purchased a Greyhound ticket for her to go back to her home in Tennessee. He spent nearly $300 on this ticket, after spending nearly $200 on her flight here from Montana, and after spending at least $100 on clothes, food, weed, and drinks for her. That’s a conservative estimate.

            She checked in at the Greyhound station, then ripped up her tickets and ditched the station in favor of a bar on 4^th Ave. We heard this from her girlfriend, who called the house phone (since Becca had been using it to call her girlfriend) and told Randy what was going on. Somehow, Randy ended up speaking to Becca’s mother, who begged Randy to ensure that Becca get on a train to Tennessee. I understand Randy having empathy for Becca’s mom, as a parent, but the fact of the matter is, at this point, we simply cannot and will not support Becca in any way any longer. She is no longer our responsibility, plain and simple. Point blank. The way I see it, there are two options, because Becca’s mother offered to reimburse Randy for the cost of a ticket. Becca’s mom can either reimburse us for the ticket we already bought, or she can buy a new ticket for Becca and Randy can track the bitch down and make sure she gets on it. Either way, we are not about to buy another ticket for her.

            I cannot believe the level of disregard she had. I did not expect it in any way. When I had spoken to her online, she had come across as level-headed and sane, for the most part. When she got here, she could not actually adjust or settle in with the group. She could not stop focusing on whatever obsession she had and when she got high, it was an exacerbated problem. So, we cut her off, but she didn’t improve…

            The effort I put into this person has been reciprocated to me by all of the people in my home. Pat, Nikki, Stacie, Leo, Kayla—everyone who has either visited or stayed in my home and witnessed what happened with Becca has been highly supportive and helpful, taking all of the stress that they can off of Randy and me. My house is being cleaned right now without my or Randy lifting a finger, because we have an internal inspection tomorrow and we have a lot of people here but we are overwhelmed, personally.

            Becca was one example of many people I have attempted to help. There are other friends I’ve lost through much the same way, including Mary and Alex. I simply cannot tolerate someone asking for help and then shitting on the help that is offered, nor can I tolerate someone failing to uphold their word to help me. Now, I feel as though I am at a crossroads, in a way, though I’m not sure that’s the right euphemism. Now, I am working to help someone who is not really a friend, but who has reached out to me for help due to a mutual friend.

            This person believes people hate her when they do not. Her anxiety and depression push people away and she recognizes it yet fails continuously to take action to correct it. That’s okay, except that she simply ignores advice that is given to her—or, she has, so far. The one time she took my advice, things went well. We went out and had a social outing at a café, where we got coffee and tea and played chess. It was a good time and I told her how good it was. Now, I’m telling her that she needs to take care of herself and she’s telling me she doesn’t know how, but when I tell her what she can do to help herself, she makes excuses for why she can’t do it.

            She says her excuses are legitimate reasons, but the fact of the matter is that she is allowing her depression to run her life completely. I’m telling her what she can do and she is not doing it, she’s claiming that she is “trying.” And so I said as Yoda said.

            “Do or do not. There is no try.” And I said what Gizmo says. “Trying is dying.”

            I am tired. Those who energize me are the ones I keep because I am sick of putting effort into futile endeavors. It was an effort in futility and it had a pretty steep cost to help Becca. I do not want to think it is an effort in futility to help this severely depressed woman in Tacoma, but frankly, I’m seeing all the same red flags. I cannot help those who cannot or will not help themselves. It is that simple.

Abusive Relationships: Parenting and Romance

There are very few things in this world that I simply fail to understand. It is true that in almost any case, if someone explains something well enough, I will understand it. I may not understand well enough to explain, myself, but I can at least grab onto the gist of the idea and go from there. Some things, though, do not allow such grasping of comprehension.

            I do not understand deadbeat parents or parents who keep their children from each other. I simply cannot fathom why anyone would make a child only to abandon it. I cannot wrap my head around any parent preventing the other parent from seeing the child. It boggles my mind when women stay with abusive men who demonstrate a clear lack of interest and effort—these women bending over backwards, rubbing the men’s feet, giving them head and poon, and otherwise doing everything possible to make these men’s lives easier when these men are doing nothing to reciprocate… I do not understand.

            Now, those statements are simple and broad enough to allow for easy argument. “People have babies on accident all the time.” First of all: How? Babies are not accidents. There are entirely too many ways to prevent pregnancy and even further options for terminating unwanted pregnancies for it to ever be an actual accident. Next, I could see someone saying, “Well, I keep my kids from their dad because he’s on drugs.” Okay, I get that. You don’t want your kid around an addict who is abusive. I get it. That is completely understandable. I’m on board. As for the women staying in abusive relationships, I’ve heard the other side for that, as well: “It’s so hard to get out of it because we really believe we do not deserve better, will never find better, or else there is the very real fear that he will kill us.”

            What I am not on board with is how some mothers will prevent their hardworking, more-than-willing-to-provide, wonderful fathers from seeing their children. There may be dads who do the same shit, keeping their kids from seeing their moms, but I get the distinct feeling that is much less common. What I am not on board with is deadbeat parents pretending to want a place in their kids’ lives, only to never call. I am not okay with a little four-year-old girl saying, “No, it’s okay, Daddy is probably busy, I’ll just wait for him to call,” when her mother asks her if she wants to call her dad because the little girl asked why he hasn’t called in a while. I am not okay with a mother telling her children’s father, “The girls are too busy to see you,” when the daughters are ages 4 and 1. Before school age, there is no such thing as too busy, ever. Then, when kids start school, there are always breaks. Winter break, spring break, summer break, weekends. What I cannot get on board with are women who reach out for help and do not take it when it is given—those women who continue to defend and make excuses for their abusers, saying things like, “He’s just so stressed out because of factors X, Y, and Z, he’s really not like this.”

            If you do not want children, use a condom or birth control. When that fails, as it does, use Plan B, spermicide, or run off to Canada for an abortion because we all know America is going back to butcher abortions within these next four years unless Angela Merkel appropriates the U.S. government for Germany. I wouldn’t complain, but I digress. If you have children, share the children. It’s okay for parents to split up. It’s okay for relationships to fail and for people to move on and find love in others. But there are things that are simply not okay.

            It is not okay to withhold your children from their parent. It is not okay for you to influence your children’s opinions of their parents. When you tell your little girl that her father is some kind of piece of shit, when that man was willing to support your ass to be a stay-at-home mom, you are wrong. When that man supplied you with your own cigarettes and never complained about you stealing the ones he had for himself, you are wrong for demonizing him. When that man was bending over backwards to make you happy, I disagree with you dumping him out of the blue for someone who is far less productive and has three additional children. Yes, that is quite the specific example, but they are specific examples that have inspired this post.

            It is not okay to treat your partner like shit. I cannot and will not tolerate my friends being treated worse than they deserve. When my friend tells me that nothing she does is enough for her man, I want to tell her to leave him, but it is against my spirituality to provide unsolicited advice. Therefore, I ask if she wants advice or sympathy. When she says she’s not sure, I opt for sympathy but slip in a word of advice to test the waters. I say things like, “I’m sorry you’re dealing with that right now,” and, “You deserve better, that’s bullshit.” My advice sounds like, “If you treated him the way he treats you, he would have left a long time ago.” I want her to see what I see and I want her to leave him if he’s not putting anything into the relationship. I simply cannot understand the mentality that makes someone allow anyone to walk all over them.

            I will end this entry with some good news. While there are these things that I cannot comprehend, I am grateful to spend time with friends. I took a high chair to Federal Way for my friend’s youngest daughter, then took another friend out to her neighborhood Applebee’s—on her dime, because I’m waiting for my check, but still. She needed the time out and someone to accompany her, so I took a friend with me and there were three of us. Even these good times, though, are marred by darkness around me. Deadbeat parents, withholding parents, abusive men… It is true that social issues are important.