Relationship Stupidity Disease… Do We Have a Drug For That?


I’ve been enjoying my new relationship. And being a completely disgusting loveydovey couple with the Luke Wilson look-a-like. But when moving forward, sometimes you have to look back at your past just a bit…


Relationship stupidity should be an actual disease. I mean, if we’ve gotten to the point in America to call obesity a disease, why can’t we do it for those that let themselves become verbally, mentally, and physically abused all for the sake of a relationship? I may be on the right track now with much soul-searching, self-improvement, and self-study, but I WAS an absolute mess… with no clue how to get out. Some call that growing up. I call it the Evil Ex fiance and the nightmare years.


The other day I was going through boxes of stuff in my guest bedroom… things I hadn’t opened in many years. I came across a letter about 10 years old. I remember that back then I liked to write things out before discussing them (you know, before you could write out and rewrite a text message before pressing SEND).

This is not my hand. For one it is not chocolatey. And… my fingernails and polish are so much more awesomer 😛


The conversation that I needed to have with the Evil Ex shows just how naive, mentally abused, and under his control I was.


Here in all it’s cringeworthy glory:


“Evil Ex,

I have no clue as to why you are upset with me. Why you decided that you couldn’t even sleep in the same bed with me. What did I do last night to piss you off? I was a little drunk, but I don’t remember saying or doing anything. All I was trying to do is what you wanted. You’ve kept saying that you wished I would drink because I’m more fun when I’m drunk. But still it seems I did something wrong. Every time I try to do what you want, I do it wrong by your standards, or you change your mind about what you wanted. I am constantly trying to live up to your expectations, your ideals, but I keep coming up short. And then you can’t talk to me, look at me, because I’ve hurt or pissed you off in some way. But when you hurt me, somehow I always end up comforting you because you feel bad. If I mess up, you close yourself off from me like I make you sick.

Is this how it’s going to be? Someone constantly telling me I’m not good enough… oh excuse me, not being the best YOU know I can be> Tell me this: do you ever comfort me when I’m hurt? Or do you just turn it around and say that you’re hurting more than me. You want control. To dominate someone. I just want to love and be loved. Can’t we see eye to eye on anything? Can’t you just love me?”


*gagging sounds*


There are days I want to go back and slap myself into an alternate reality. And other days all I can do is thank the heavens at how far I’ve come. But the mental/emotional abuse I received from the so-called man who would make me write such a childish crazy letter… well, this letter was just a drop in the bucket of crazy, and not my fun natural crazy. He preyed on my insecurities, my youth (Evil Ex was old enough to be my father), my introverted-ness, my want of a relationship, companionship. He used my secrets against me instead of holding them as a gift that I shared with him. He took my issues with women from a childhood molestation and tried to live out his fantasies and fetishes as a way for me to “let go of the past”. He took my beliefs, ideas, and personal studies on submissiveness and what it meant to me, and twisted it into having complete control over what I wore, who I talked to, the decisions I made, my life. And he took my ongoing depression and exploited me and my feelings and my sanity until my family didn’t recognize me.


Do I blame him for everything? No, I actively pursued him and ignored all the warning signs. I was still learning what a real relationship should be like and thought he would work because he wasn’t the “type” I had in the past. But those rose-tinted glasses of like/love/lust had me to the point of cutting myself to escape the pain of dealing with a twisted relationship. And I couldn’t figure out how to get out. I couldn’t just break up with him, he’d sit in my parking lot, constantly calling until I talked to him… and accepted him back. Somehow that behavior made me believe he truly loved me. Until the cycle of “you must do what I say to make me happy” began again.


So…. I ran. I had a job related offer/excuse and I took it and ran. I knew that if I stayed in the same vicinity I might let weakness and loneliness keep those rose-tinted glasses on my visage of what was really real.


Now, I use my experience to talk to friends/ acquaintances that may be headed for, or have experienced the same thing if I can. And I’ve been pretty good at running the other way from any men that give me the vibe of the Evil Ex. I dodged a bullet in more ways than one. No lasting damage really… except the scars to my soul. But hey, you haven’t really lived until you have battle scars to prove what you’ve survived.


I threw the letter away. I don’t need it to remember where I will never let myself go again.



The Death of a Disliked Family Member

I got into a car accident the day before yesterday. I think it may be karma beating my *ss.




My uncle died the day before my accident.

And I could care less.

And I feel somewhat ashamed of that.

See, this man tortured and molested his siblings. He did drugs and even at one time was a pimp that prostituted his own cousin. He’d been in and out of jail, in and out of drug rehab programs.

His stint as a reformed preacher didn’t last long.

He beat the crap out of his sister’s children and who knows what else.

Some years ago when my son was staying with my mom (and I was away at training) I found out he was living there. That my mom was allowing him to stay, but the kids had to keep their doors locked at night. That she kept a bat for if he came in “crazy” off of alcohol and stolen/bought prescription drugs.

At my grandmother’s wake he stood on a pew and took pictures laughing as he put his baseball cap on her dead body.

“I gotta laugh or I’ll cry.” But he still did. From guilt of how he treated her and others that for better or worse were his family.

I’m praying that the funeral is during the week so that I’m not expected to show (can’t take the time off). I don’t want to have to show up, and pretend that I don’t feel relieved that my cousins don’t have to deal with a horrible excuse for a father.

I ashamed, but it doesn’t change anything. My eyes are dry. I can laugh and joke with people. I’ve only mentioned his passing to my son and my boss. My day has not stopped, or changed course.

Am I horrible? Or just being true?

Behind Bloodshot Eyes…

A person I know, that possibly I may one day become good friends with, just came back after weeks of recovery after hitting rock bottom. Depression, PTSD, alcoholism the whole skinned cat. And it brought up memories. Of when I was there in that same place, freed after years of depression.

You get an emotional high for a while after you first break through the dark days and aren’t looking through smokey glasses at life. And then, of course, you have to maintain. The bandage is ripped off, you’ve gone through the hardest parts of psych surgery, and now its time for mental physical therapy. Make sense?

Its odd in this day and age in the military to talk about having mental problems NOT caused by the many deployments. In fact, I think for those of us like that, that suffered before, those deployments either helped us maintain in that time alone from all we cared about, or just put a band-aid on it. For my friend, it was a band-aid. For me, it was the former.

It’s been years since I was cutting on my wrists, trying to see how deeply I could cut without leaving permanent scars… of course I did end up having them, but I can only call it a miracle and blessing that they disappeared over the years.

I didn’t even suffer the kind of abuse that my friend did, not physical anyway. There was verbal abuse in my household… From my father even now. It’s why I don’t talk to him. Physical/sexual abuse in my early childhood years came from another female. It took me years to be comfortable with a female friendship after that.

But that is my past. One thing I’ve learned from mental health, and my own research is that you have to face your past and move on. You don’t let it rule you. Yes, I’ve gone to mental health over I’d say the past 15 years, off and on. Does that make me weak? Heck no! I’ve gone when I knew I was close to a breaking point, or just so stressed by my circumstances that I needed someone who didn’t know me to talk to. I don’t drink to excess, and keep in mind at all times that alcoholism runs on my dad’s side of the family. I hold my fathers picture in my head as a focus point of who I don’t want to be as a parent, and as a person. I wear my scars, the ones that cover my spirit, with pride AND humbleness. And I face new challenges, whether the outcome is good or bad, with no fear… But determination.

My friend will get through this time. He’s strong and surrounded by people who care. He’ll make it. And then, he’ll maintain.