Dead Anyway

In those famous words of Dr. Dre, "You never been on a ride like this befo'" Tell me about it.

Everyone that knows me knows that my life is a sucking pit of shit right now. I'm dealing with stuff that no one knows how to deal with. No one knows what to say. No one can empathize. I'm not trying to say that I'm the only person to ever be a victim of domestic violence, but I'm the only person I know who has been a victim, and no one that knows me knows how to help me handle it. In the words of one of my friends, "I mean, fuck! It's the most fucked up situation I've ever heard of, and I wish I could make it less fucked up. It's fucked up that I don't know how to fucking help you." Yeah…

I've managed to come through some sticky shit in my life, and I have usually managed to smile at the end of it all, glad that I was able to learn something, even if the lesson came at a horrific cost. My entire life hasn't been awful; far from it, actually. I can think of many happy moments in my life. But I've also made some dim-witted decisions that have placed me smack-dab in the path of the oncoming deluge. I've also been the victim of unforeseen circumstances that have been beyond my control. Nevertheless, the initial feeling is the same.

I've always been told I'm strong. Perhaps it's because I have come through much adversity. Perchance it's because I've managed to come through said adversity with a positive outlook. Maybe it's because I don't let the shit get me down for too long. I don't know. I know that I don't FEEL strong, but people around me keep saying it. I can't figure out if they're sincere, or if they think that, by telling me that I AM strong, I will somehow muster up enough personal oomph and BECOME strong. Or maybe they just can't think of anything else to say.

All I know is that I'm walking around, thinking of everything that I need to do, making mental lists of people I need to call, places I need to go, and forms I need to fill out, and trying to fit everything back where it belongs. I'm doing laundry, I'm cleaning, I'm cooking, I'm crunching numbers and attempting to pay bills, I'm showing up to work every day, I'm helping the boys with homework and science fair projects and girls and frogs and lizards. Ahhh… The kids. Reason Numero Uno that I've got to keep my shit together, no? Yeah, and as if that isn't enough pressure for any one soul to bear, now I've also got social workers and their thinly-veiled threats of taking the children from me if I don't cooperate in the way that they want me to (since when is it abusive to be the victim of a crime?), attorneys who are doing a bad job of trying to convince me that they have my best interest in mind, family members with questionable motives, victim's advocates, counselors, group meetings… I mean, does anyone REALLY think that I want to stand up in a group of total strangers and say, "Ummm… Hi. My name is Rita, and it's been 15 days since my husband snapped and my whole world went to shit"?????? Fuck no! But I'm expected to juggle all these new elements into my life right now. And they're supposed to be HELPING me to get over this thing. And never mind the fact that my best friend is in prison for committing the heinous act. What a mind fuck this has already been! I can't even begin to imagine what lies ahead. But the ball is rolling, and I'm strapped to that bastard, whether I like it or not.

When they see me, people see someone who seems to be holding together rather well, despite the circumstances. They see my clockwork functioning. They see me interacting with my children. They might even see me smile or crack a joke or sing a song. What they don't see, because they aren't really paying attention, is that there's nothing behind it. The light in my eyes has faded. Johnathan was making pictures of me the other day, trying to think of funny things to make me smile. Every picture showed a smile on my face, but my eyes were as dull as balls of lead. That's what I'm like all the way through now. I might be hard, and therefore able to withstand some amount of pressure, but there is no shine to me, and the amount of pressure I can take is far less than it seems. An old saying from Brian's Army days comes to mind: "If it looks good, it IS good." So the world accepts my current public persona and labels me STRONG. Blind bastards. Another saying from the past that comes to mind is, "Fake it 'til you make it." What happens if you just don't have the strength to pull it off anymore?

Why can't I just fucking scream out that I am NOT fucking okay? Why won't my mouth erupt forth with unintelligible nonsense, so that someone will turn around and notice that I am NOT fucking okay? Because I have always done what's expected of me, and everyone expects me to make it through, largely without help, and to come out stronger in the end. Okay, so perhaps my track record indicates that this is a likely outcome, given my reactions during past adversity, but I just don't see it this time. And I don't have the courage to stand up and say, "How am I doing today? Well, let's add up the factors. I'm overwhelmed, I can't sleep or eat, I've started feeling dizzy every time I try to walk across a room, the man I trusted to love and protect me is accused of trying to do me in with a fucking assault rifle, I cried AGAIN today, and I couldn't get my hair to do a goddamn thing this morning. How the fuck do you THINK I fucking feel?" If hell existed, Punxsutawney Phil would be predicting six more weeks of winter there before a saying such as that passed my lips.

So I've been having my breakdown in installments, in private, when the lights are out and no one can see me. Or early in the morning, when I'm in my car, hurtling down A1A on my way to Cape Canaveral to work. Or when I'm checking the mail or washing my hair or putting on my shoes. If anyone were to catch a glimpse, they would see me stop, close my eyes for a moment, take a breath, paste on a big fake smile with lots of teeth, and whisper, "Go on… Go… ON…" Then that particular installment is over, and I soldier on, going about my business, both the old and the new. And people tell me that I'm "amazing," that I'm "so strong," that I'm "doing wonderfully." What I really want to do is lie down on the couch with my stuffed turtle, pull my woobie up to my chin, and never emerge. I want to feel what-the-fuck-ever I'm going to feel, without someone there telling me that it's okay or that I should have a clearer mind or that I should be feeling something else. I want to have a proper breakdown and get it the fuck over with. I'm entitled, aren't I? As it is, I feel like someone is trying to prevent the blood spatter by only inflicting small wounds that are less serious but will kill me in the end all the same. Anyway, what does it matter, right? I'm already dead on the inside.

New Birth

I am alive. I know, I know... That kind of goes without saying, since I'm sitting here, pounding away at a keyboard... But, really, I'm ALIVE. I've spent so long just EXISTING, and I didn't realize the difference. Sure, I wasn't exactly pleased with the course my life had taken, but I couldn't complain, either. My husband worked and came home and at least claimed out loud that he loves me. I like my job, though I feel like my intelligence isn't being used to its utmost. I had wanted to get my doctorate in pharmacy at one time, but was satisfied to do what I do in the interest of my husband's happiness (which was probably the first in a very long line of mistakes). I was content to be a cake-eater, going to school book fairs and taking the kids to the movies and cooking dinner for my husband and being proud of my 2-story house with a pool in the back yard and two cars in the driveway. Now, in the past week, it's like I've been awakened. I can't even really describe it. My household and everything that I have come to know and depend on has been ripped apart, but I can smell honeysuckle and exhaust fumes and burning leaves - things I've never taken the time to pay attention to before. I can hear birds and the sound of my children's laughter and see the different colors in clouds and feel the salty sea air on my face. Honestly, I had stopped noticing how beautiful my surroundings are. How could I live this close to the beach and not notice the sound of the waves? How could I have a yard-full of flowers and never notice their intoxicating scents? How could I drive toward the ocean every day on my way to work and not notice the sun coming up over the water? Home come I never noticed just how much of my husband's presence (and how little of my own) exists in my house? How could I just take so much for granted? I don't know. Time. Unforeseen circumstances. How much have I missed? Too much, I fear, as hundreds of better wordsmiths than I have waxed philosophical about the precious nature of each moment we are given, and I have surely wasted millions. Alas, there's no use fretting over it. I am alive NOW, and I intend to LIVE from now on. My goals from now on are simple. I intend to never let my children wonder if they are loved or not, and I'll fight any bastard that even makes them THINK about wondering. I intend to never let another day go by that I don't notice how wondrous the earth is. I intend to do something to take care of myself every day (seems easy, I know, but it isn't easy for me...). I intend to laugh, to sing, and to shimmy as often as I can, even if someone is watching, and even if they tell me that my music is stupid. I intend to hold my head up high, to feel the wind in my hair, to face everything that's coming my way, and to never let anyone make me feel like less of a person again. And I intend to start treating every day just like what it is: a gift. I choose to break out of existence and begin living my life right now. November 22, 2007 is my new day of birth, the dawn of my new beginning. Although the events of that day are the stuff of nightmares, I hope, for my sake, that I never forget them. I awakened from that nightmare to this new life, this life of forced independence, this life of scary uncertainty, this life of sleepless nights and constant watchfulness. The important thing, though, is that I awakened at all. I don't want to waste another moment of this precious life.

Weird Dreams

I have some very strange fears. I know they are strange, and I accept them. For instance, I am afraid of monsters under my bed. I KNOW that it is an irrational fear. I KNOW that there are no monsters under the bed. My heart still beats fast whenever I get close to the bed, especially when the lights are off. I am also afraid of water. I mean REALLY afraid. I panic when water gets on my face. I take a shower with a dry towel nearby, so I can wipe any stray drops of water away. (Did you know you can drown in as little as a teaspoon of liquid? It's called a "dry drowning." Yeah, my dental hygienist told me that the other day when she was cleaning my teeth.) I am also afraid of stepping on wet carpet, and I am a HUGE germophobe. (No, I DO NOT have OCD!) The list goes on and on... My point (and I DO have one) is that I don't have nightmares about these things. I mean, these are my fears, but, when I have nightmares, I don't dream about monsters chasing me or being made to stand barefooted on a wet carpet that's crawling with germs. I haven't even dreamed of drowning since I was a kid! No, I dream about dirty bathrooms. At least once a week I dream that I am somewhere (The movies, a gas station, a resort, on a cruise ship, whatever. The scenery changes...), and I have to go to the bathroom. When I get there, the floor is always puddled up with mystery moisture (okay, so that IS on my list of fears...), and, no matter how many stalls there are, none of them is acceptable. One time I dreamed that I was in a huge school building, and I had to go tinkle really badly, and I kept going from bathroom to bathroom, from hallway to hallway, trying to find a toilet that wasn't putrid. I was watching other girls go into stalls and I thought, "Well, if she comes out okay, then I can go in there." There would be the sounds of flushing, dream girl would come out, and when I looked hopefully into the stall, ready to drop trou and let go, the toilet would be positively fetid. There are ALWAYS puddles on the floor, and I am always either barefoot or have on just socks or flip flops. Why can't I have on galoshes for once? The toilets always have poop floating around in them, or they are clogged with tampons or pee is all over the seat... And toilet paper doesn't exist in my nightmares. At least, not DRY toilet paper. The toilets are always overflowing with the stuff, but there is none to be found for cleaning away any of the foul contamination that lives in the bathrooms of my nightmares. These dreams are enough to keep me awake for the rest of the night after waking up. It is THAT disturbing! My question is this: Why do I keep having these dreams?!?!? I didn't have a fear of bathrooms before now, but I am developing one! Perhaps I should page through my catalog of irrational fears and update my records...