I am Sam: Piece Four

           There were horse ranches of immense size all around us. I never would've guessed crop farming and animal husbandry would be such a big theme outside of upstate New York. Small side roads cut in between the agricultural masses. Curvy and cracked, we manuevered our way to the designated coordinates on the GPS. We affectionately call her "Karen". At times Karen tells us to, "....get out of your vehicle and finish walking to your destinaton". That's either a really good or really bad thing to hear. Dependent upon which kind of adventure we're having of course.
This morning isn't one of those adventures.
 I've got very little information to go on. An online website, two addresses and some input from Eric was about all I needed to deem it worthy of at least, an attempt.
   The last driveway at the top of the hill was where we needed to park. I am sweating bullets inside. No matter how skilled you are at small talk; convincing strangers ~that do not know you're arriving, to share personal information with you, is a bit intimidating.
 I will start with what I know best, "I am Sam." Eric convinces me that exactly that will be enough. We turn the jeep off and head for the door.
   At one time I think someone loved the property. There is evidence all around of gardening and typical miscellenous home projects left unfinished. Bird feeders hang sideways from willow trees.  All appear empty. A wood splitter hiding under blue tarps, ripped and frayed. Such a cute little home, drenched in abandon. After the initial walk up nerves, I finally settle into my skin after no-one answered the door. Eric, a bit more cautious, advices me to get out of the windows.
Still, he asks what I see inside. It looks as if someone had vacated the place back in 1980. There are shades of brown on everything. The floor, the couch, the wallpaper. It's all super retro. "This" would be the perfect house for a single cat lady.
Interestly enough though, that's the exact opposite of what I am looking for. I am seeking an aged man. Big stature and about 60 years of age. His parents were immigrants from Poland. I had found the records from Ellis Island. An attribute only rare names can offer.
I traveled a long ways to find an abondoned house with a "bird sanctuary" surronding it. Adjusting from the varying levels of anxiety and curiousties, we both plop a spot on the steps of the failed house. There's something okay about taking this break. Maybe while we sit someone will come along and claim the property. At this point I'd even take a tresspassing risk to get another lead. Stubbornly defeated, I rise to make my departure. I feel somewhat at a loss. Eric again- ever so clever, has a last ditch attempt to make sure someone knows we were here and what we are looking for. Even though we don't know who will find our note of desperation, I attach it to the squeeky front door. Head down, I take a big breath and clear my mind for the next address on my list.
         This time we are looking for a woman. I have no idea what she looks like, nor how old she should be. I have only a name...which indicates to me that she is married and a news article about events in the area that she lived in. The drive is not far. Maybe 20 minutes from our current location. We are coming down from horse land into what appears to be a more developed area. Churches stand ornate and strong, on many of the street corners. I wonder if this is how everyone feels when they're searching for something.
An unexpected sadness creeps in.
I do not know these places. I have never been to this state.
But, it feels as if I've missed them.
People would say that you can never miss that which you never knew. I disagree. With enough subconcoius proof now to back my beliefs up, I will find everything that's been buried here. In college once a professor told me that, "...a lie stuck to, is as good as any truth." Getting to this point has been like seperating salt from ocean water. I believe that as long as you're in control of the lies, you can shape them into whatver you like. But, it takes only one other person to unbind it all. Human error can be vile and atrocious. At the right time however, this will lead to something beautiful and tragic. This time the stories are me.

At the Mouth of a Monster

I was only a girl. Maybe about six years old. My grandparents would kick me out into the mud and fresh air, only to come back when called in for dinner. I had been claimed by a mother killdeer this week. She had five healthy, happy babies, who traveled behind her as well. Up until this time my memory remains somewhat neutral as to the potential evil in the world. There was nothing that provoked ill feelings in me. Somewhat confused about the end goal of life sometimes, I was genuinely content.

 Until this day.
I was following behind my adoptive family. There was a whole forest to cover. Halfway through our trek we circled my grandfather's three ponds. He had each pond dug for a type of fish. A particular habitat for particular creatures. We were on the banks of "Trout Pond". The dry heat of summer made for thirsty babies.

Without notice, a giant head gulped out of the water and into the air.
It took one of her babies. One swallow.
Tachycardia immediately took hold in my little heart.
There was nothing I could do.
I waited and waited to see bubbles, signs of a fight, or even a way to grab that baby eating demon and yank the bird from its belly.
The surface again grew still. Momma killdeer had finally seemed to understand that her baby was gone. It felt like an eternity, but after about five minutes she seemed ready to trudge on with the surviving offspring.
In my afterthoughts, I began to wonder if grandpa could come save my friend. I then worried that he would blame me for being with the animals in the first place.
Or worse, he wouldn't even be hurt by what happened to baby bird.
That's if I could even get him to believe me that a giant mouth came out of the water and on to the bank just to eat that baby in one gulp. I was  mortified.
I spent the rest of the day on the bank of that pond, alone.
 What good was a world where the babies get eaten and the monsters are real?
To this day my developed adult brain cannot fathom the true identity of the killer. Giant trout, rouge muskie, homicidal turtle....I couldn't pick him out of a line-up. This small afternoon occurrence scarred me for life though. It's something I'll never really let go of and it was my first instance of realizing how terribly wrong things can go. 
My heart was broken and nobody understood. Best to work through it myself than babble nonsense to my elders. (They were savage. My grandpa had been in the war and traveled the world. I'm pretty sure they'd eat the dog if they had to. I can't throw a rock at a nuisance squirrel.) I wasn't upset that the bird had to die, I was upset that I could do nothing to change what happened.
A horrifying realization, but a necessary truth. Fast forward twenty or so years.

Another year has gone by and my struggle of dealing with small minds, continues to grow. Complacency makes me ill. My eternal patience grows thin.
People who see no deficiencies in themselves, are not my kind of people. I myself am fully flawed.
Regardless of your god or belief system, you must know by now that negative people and negative interactions are as toxic as drinking a self made poison.
If I do not guard my weak spots, the rot will get in. I have gotten good at this over the past few years. What I thought was a phase of life, has actually turned out to be an immense period of growth.
I am "shedding skin" again.
 I can feel it.
While I am no fan of constant change, I do believe in necessary change. My life is best when I embrace it, rather than fight the pull.

But there's a nagging realization that I am just a baby on the shore, and there's monsters just waiting to pull me in.
My absense would only be noticed temporarily. While the belly of my enemy will be full. Everyone else around the pond will say,
"That's the price you pay...."

Inner strength creates the outer foundation and I'm in the midst of a big build. Ironically after all the things I've seen, I do not fear death.
The fact that I am mortal gives me no anxiety.
There is clarity in permanance.
This is part of the fuel for my drive.
I have no time to waste.
 Adventure is calling and I must go.
And for the first time in all of my years, I know my head and my heart are in the right place.
If  I am to be swallowed, I hope it's in one gulp.


   

Laying Love Down in the Driveway

"What weird people.", I said as I slammed on my brakes. This crazy old man and woman were veering in and out of their driveway on bicycles. I waited, somewhat annoyed, for them to complete the action and be roadside but no such luck. Even with the multiple chances I had given, they stayed glued to their paved driveway. I was about 5 miles from being done with my work day. I didn't have time for this nonsense.
 I was on my favorite mail route, about five years ago that I first met Mr. & Mrs. P. Before I came to know who they were they seemed awful strange from the outside, and trust me, I shouldn't even judge! My first run in with them was brash and quick. The second time I ended up there was for a bit longer....
   My old blue mail jeep strikes many peoples interest. With her steering wheel on the opposite side and odometer tipping 250,000 miles she's of novel curiosity. Mr. P caught me one day while stuffing bicycles are us magazines in his mailbox. I wasn't fast enough to get away without the introductory conversation that becomes necessary when a mail customer flags you down. It's never easy to be a speed demon, like headquarters desires and to be your neighborhood Mr. Rogers like your customers deserve. I accepted defeat and put on my best "I love new people" face. I could tell by the bicycle incident that this guy was going to be a weird one.
      Mr. P was in his 80's and nothing like the conclusions I had jumped to. He and Mrs. P moved here to be alone in their latter years. Which was going fairly well until I came along. For being in a town where there are more bovines than people they lived a fairly secretive lifestyle. Besides their daily bike charades!
 Mrs. P was his true love and that was about all I knew of her. He was a coastguard, a mathematician, a mad scientist and a mechanic. He talked of philosophical beliefs and scolded me on my cold views of humanity.
"There's good people and there's bad people Sam. Don't ever let the bad guys win.", he'd say.
Instead of using my lead foot, I began to slow down in hopes that Mr. P would be outside to entertain me with a new story of living and learning. My young brain enjoyed the tales of travels these two had made since the 1950's.
The only thing that became apparent...besides how wrong I was to judge this couple by first impression, was how much he loved Mrs. P. I had actually wondered if maybe he was in the beginning stages of dementia with all his repetitive elaboration on how wonderful his wife is. I swear her rosy cheeks were some form of permanent blushing caused by sharing a life with this man.
She was a woman of few words and many smiles. Mr. P would visit with me whenever I could make an appearance. Some days though they'd both kindly wave me by. If they were both on their bikes and riding in their weird ritualistic circle in the driveway they were not to be disturbed. Not that I ever understood this, I always respected it. I also began to pull a little farther away from their mailbox so not to scare Mrs. P into thinking I was about to put her under my jeep tire.
 A couple years had passed. Old Blue and I were still delivering together but this day was a bit different. I'd been overheating for about an hour now. I knew my time before complete disaster was limited but I was down to my last 5 miles! Sure enough my radiator blew it's top at Mr. P's. No one was riding bike in the driveway today, which seemed strange because it was beautiful out. To my relief Mr. P came out to their garage when I rang the door bell. I noticed his bike in the garage on the ground. Mrs. P's was hung up in the rafters. For safer keeping I imagined.
Sure enough I was right. Paul confirmed it. For the time being though, he said I could take whatever stopleak brand radiator crap he had along with however many gallons of water I could fit into the back of Old Blue. Everything combined should be enough to get me up and down my last hill and back to the post office. Success! That's all I could ask for. While we were filling jugs from the garden hose that's when he told me. Mrs. P had died. It was so unexpected that I managed to maintain my composure and focus on the tasks at hand while he told me what happened.
     I blanked out bits and pieces though....it was much easier on the heart to focus on the water jugs. She had gotten sick since my last visit and I hadn't been back to deliver mail there in so long that I never even knew. Immense guilt washed over me. Not that we bonded much, but I loved Shirley indirectly because of how much Paul loved Shirley. I needed a sidelining topic. This was a conflicting time for me...I told Paul of my beginning stages into the abyss that is divorce. I currently despised life and any type of "investment" into another human being. What a waste. I waited for his disapproval. Without a tear in his eye or a frog in his throat he said,
 "There is no divorce in love. There's not a thought or action towards it. You cannot come close to dissolving someone that is your entire existence. You don't know what I speak of Sam because you obviously didn't have it, but do what you need to do and get it done because that is not the kind of love you live your life for. No ma'am. It's unfortunate that you didn't know this sooner and that children have been brought into it but thank your stars for the chance to get it right because if you get it right you will find someone that would literally die for you if they had to. I always thought that I'd go before Shirley. I had everything set up for her so that even though she'd have to carry on without me she could do so without any worry about who was going to take care of her or that she wouldn't have the means to get by. I took care of EVERYTHING to make sure she would be okay when the last thing I'd ever want to do is leave her and now in some sick joke life has taken her from me.
Do you know why we rode the bicycles Sam?? We'd ride here in the driveway because our plan of traveling the country after my retirement was halted by the risks of Shirley's declining condition. She'd always say we could go but it was never worth her health. So instead of biking the big roads we circled the driveway. We may not have seen all the sights the world had to offer but just seeing Shirley's bike wheel right behind mine was enough for me. She was enough for me. The world can have all of it's glory. The best time of my life was the love we laid down in this driveway. I am not a simple man Sam, but I can tell you I have found beauty in the simplest of things. Do not have sympathy for me for I know what true love is. I will hope that it finds you someday. Only then will you understand what it is."


We put 5 gallons of water in the back of my jeep. The stopleak in the radiator seemed to be holding. I tried to pay Paul $20 for all of his help and supplies....he wouldn't take a penny. He shook my hand and told me it was a delight as always, even in the darkness of both our situations.

I cried softly the remainder of my mail route. I actually didn't even realize it until I saw the dampening dots on the front of the farm magazine I was holding. Oddly enough I didn't know if the tears were for me, Shirley, Paul or something completely unrelated. I just know the realness of what I just drove out of shook me. I would never see Mr. P again.


He died shortly after I saw him. It was November of 2014. He plugged the exhaust to his car and let it run inside the garage with all the doors closed. He was an intelligent man and I imagine he made it as painless as possible. He had hung his bicycle up with Shirley's.
People called it an "unexpected suicide".

There was a request for no donations, no service. No goodbyes. Paul didn't believe that he was going to a pearly gate to be united with his long lost love in heaven but a world without Shirley in it was not a world he wanted to live in. Although any chance at seeing her again, through any means possible was worth whatever sin was in his way. Death was not going to stop him from trying. There is no divorce in real love and there's no way to dissolve it. There was more love in that driveway than there had ever been in my heart in 23 years. I did not cry for Paul the way I did for Shirley. I'd been holding on to this story for a couple years now. Maybe it's taken me that long to actually appreciate the depths of it. But when I passed their driveway today on the mail route my heart "pinged" and I realized  how much their example meant to me and that just maybe you needed to hear it because it could mean something to you too. This really happened and the people are real. The love even more so...

Huntington's Disease: A Lesson in Love

        Awhile ago I shared with you my family's genetic vulnerability to Huntington's disease. If you missed it, Huntington's disease is an incurable, hereditary brain disorder. There is no (currently) 'effective' treatment or cure. Nerve cells become damaged, causing various parts of the brain to deteriorate. The disease affects movement, behavior and cognition - the affected individuals' abilities to walk, think, reason and talk are gradually eroded to such a point that they eventually become entirely reliant on other people for their care. Huntington's disease has a major emotional, mental, social and economic impact on the lives of patients, as well as their families. It is an atrocious sickness that no human being deserves. I want to share a positive story with you, but you should also see how powerful the disease is.  Below is another family's story to give you an idea. 

         

 Huntington's disease (known as HD to those familiar with it) affects both men and women equally and more commonly appears during middle-age. The Huntington's Society of America says 1 in every 10,000 Americans has the disease - that's 30,000 people nationwide. It is estimated that at least 150,000 other Americans have a 50% risk of developing HD, while thousands of their relatives carry a degree of risk too. The "at risk" category is where I fall. 

(Uncle Jimmy Center, surrounded by his siblings)

 This month my Uncle turned 55. He has HD. A celebration was planned by his sister just for him on his special day.  Family members from 4 generations attended. His aunts and uncles all the way down to his great nephew were in attendance. Everything was perfection, joint laughter filled the air. Cake was gulped down, balloons were everywhere. Smiles were contagious. 
     Silents thoughts stop me momentarily. I catch myself wondering if these memories will remain this way for years to come or if they will turn into painful reminders of what used to be. How we all used to be. But that's the kicker isn't it? Love is such a powerful thing. It brings with it happiness, security and peace. But, when the things we love are lost, we tend to feel the opposite. Pleasant memories become laden with jabs of pain. I realized then that maybe that's why love is ours to give. In a family where a disease can obtain more control than yourself, we learn to value the power over the things we could undoubtedly keep just for us. This is what makes our love strong. We can't take one family member's diagnosis and carry the burden for them. We can't stop the decline when it starts. We can't walk for them when they have lost the ability to. We can't force them to remember our name. The game changer is that we CAN love them. We can always love them.  It's a shoulder to lean on. It's days spent on a party that will only last hours. It's the perfect cozy sweater in the perfect wrapping paper. It's the homemade card covered in crayon. It's in an opened car door and a phone call to make sure you made it home. I didn't know all the people at the party but when I looked out all I could see was acts of love. I felt fuzzy and warm. I could tell Uncle Jimmy felt it too! This is huge. I wonder how we overlook these things every day.

(Uncle Jim & I)

               Maybe you can't always hear it but those cookies your grandma made you, the flat tire your dad changed, the impromptu visit from your sister, the rock your son just gave you......all very big acts of love. So even on the days when you feel like you have nothing to offer the world, always try to complete at least ONE selfless task a day. Don't wait for something negative to happen to realize you wish you could do more. Call your grandparents, hug your children twice - just because, hold that door for a stranger, let your sister borrow your car...or maybe even those jeans she really likes that you refuse to share. Bring your co-workers donuts on a rough day. Help the neighbor shovel snow off their steps. Smile at a stranger. 
      We can't control everything and we never will, but if we're here together anyways why not make it easier for each other when we get the chance. You'll never know how much it means to the person you do it for, or how greatly it will touch the people watching you. 

Shattering Silence: A Stand Against Domestic Violence

My name is Sam and this is just a part of my story. There may be others similar but this one is mine, please try not to criticize if you know me or the people whose names I've changed specifically for this post. This was my past year's experience....unless you were here with me to counter it then keep the hate to yourself.  Each year for my birthday I try to give back to others by taking something I've learned and sharing it. My 24th year was a big one! This isn't my favorite share nor do I enjoy writing about it.....but it's relevant and I know there's more of you out there. Let's start simple with a definition....

Domestic violence....
and emotional abuse are behaviors used by one person in a relationship to control the other. Partners may be married or not married; heterosexual, gay, or lesbian; living together, separated or dating.

Examples of abuse include:
name-calling or put downs
keeping a partner from contacting their family or friends
withholding money
stopping a partner from getting or keeping a job
actual or threatened physical harm
sexual assault
stalking
intimidation
Violence can be criminal and includes physical assault (hitting, pushing, shoving, etc.), sexual abuse (unwanted or forced sexual activity), and stalking. Although emotional, psychological and financial abuse are not criminal behaviors, they are forms of abuse and can lead to criminal violence.

  

 The Backdrop: 

       I was still a teenager when my family started talking about marriage. Surprisingly, not a topic I'd ever really looked forward to. I valued myself and relished the feeling of freedom. Most little girls became giddy at the thought of a ball gown paired with princess heels and a prince on a valiant white steed carrying them off to be domesticated (gag).  I was personally more entertained by the thought of being the first female war lord (imagine Mulan minus the love junk), slashing all adversaries down with a sword larger than myself to maintain leadership over my set kingdom. Apparently my ambitions were slightly off from the usual expectation. With 3 kids at the age of 18 I was badgered daily over my relationship status and how the proper thing to do would be to marry to make my situation more appeasing to the general public. 

The Reasoning:

        When I was young I had always loved kids, but never thought I would have my own. An accidental pregnancy at 16 while I was class president proved otherwise. There were options but none seemed more viable than loving the life I created. After starting my family young I decided I wanted to finish it young as well having 4 beautiful girls by the time I was 20. My plans of having no offspring of my own had changed drastically and I couldn't be more thankful. To this day I wouldn't change a single part of who my children are. 

The Mistake: 

    I never expected a story book romance, the world can be a cruel place and most people set themselves up for disappointment right from the start with their unrealistic expectations. The sick part was the fact that I knew X wasn't right for me and I chose to step farther into the relationship instead of getting out like I should have. Why? Because, it was easier....leaving takes so much work and energy and involves so much change. This is where I blame myself. Hindsight is 20/20 and some times we can't see things clearly until they're behind us. That change was not something I put at the top of my list with all the young children and work to keep up with. It should have been a priority, it effected me daily and I underestimated how much damage it could actually do. I had beautiful kids and most smiled upon my family with praise at a job well done. I could deal with this. It wasn't actually that bad....was it?? 

The Outcome: 

      Let's fast forward through 3 years of marriage. Each year things got continually worse. Out of shame and fear of judgement by others I tried to deal the best I could. Only letting the secrets out when the wounds were to deep and the tears fell to hard. I wasn't a crier. I wasn't weak. My best friend of 10 years (Mercedes), knew this so each time she got a break-down call about how badly it was going she'd beg me to get out. I'd realize how stupid I felt crying over a man and become defensive, telling her it was going to be okay and that I could handle it. I had to suck it up for the kids. Fast forward another year....I can't handle it. X had managed to gain control that I never realized I lost. Not only was I losing the control, I was losing myself.  Instead of a weekly blowout, fights started to become daily. Here's a sample list of common occurrence:

* Any time you go out with a friend or speak to someone you will automatically become a whore, slut, skank, c^%t. 

*Whenever you go out with a skirt, dress or a shirt with the V-cut neck you will also be called the above names and be accused of sexual adventures you could never imagine.

* When you try to argue for your respect you will be assumed to be mentally ill/crazy and be told that you are sick and need serious professional help.

*They will threaten to tell your boss whatever may be necessary for you to lose your job so that you are financially isolated and unable to leave because they have cut off all resources.  

*When you threaten to leave, you will be told how worthless you are and how no-one could ever deal with you, let alone want you. You will also be threatened with loss of your children. If you go, they will make sure you lose everything you've ever loved. If you go they will make good on promises they made you years ago about what would happen if you leave them. If they can't have you then no-one will have you.  

* When you say you're going to tell family they will counter with saying you are mentally unstable again and that if you tell you'll also get a one way ride to the insane asylum. You will be reminded of how lucky you are to have that person and that you should be on your knees in praise instead of being so disobedient. My family had very little knowledge of these incidents because to me it felt like admitting failure. I was failing as a woman, I was failing as a mother. X's family however knew of a few because they happened in a back room of their house or he'd go there after a big blow out. With respect to them I never remember them saying it was deserved or completely my fault. I remember them saying that it had to stop. Not just for me or X but for the kids. They knew it was getting worse and it wasn't healthy. They knew the tempers involved.  

* You will need to keep the spice alum on hand for any given fight that can turn physical. Not wanting to seek medical attention at a doctor's office for a swollen lip that wasn't healing I discovered that this pickling spice will painfully suck out pooled fluids causing the swollen area to minimize. I used this method five times in one year.

*You will need to keep windows open in the house when possible. Some times X would escalate from the usual fist throw to the choke hold. Believe it or not this can actually be more powerful than any shiner you've had. When the person with their hands around your throat weighs at least 100lbs more than you and your eyes feel like they're about to burst from the pressure you will try to scream for help with whatever oxygen you have left.....make sure that window is open so your neighbors can hear.  

* You will need to blame the bruised eye or facial marks on the rowdy kids you have at home and their toy throwing. Be ready to have people second guess this one.....it never goes over too smoothly with suspicious friends or family. 

*You will need long sleeve (non V neck shirts) for the matching arm bruises for the times when you try to walk out the door and they find it necessary to stop you by holding you forcefully in place where you stand. 

The Escape: 

        People will tell you to be strong enough to get through the rough times....that's crap. The real strength is needed to leave, not to stay. On a clear summer night the girl I was, before this relationship, came through to me. She pleaded for change. Everything in me felt like it was dying, I begged the stars for the strength to make it happen. I told X for months that it needed to change, I received the usual backlash for such suggestions. The victim in me became furious, I started making my changes. When I started to show control I was met with the utmost force. 

 My bank accounts started to clear out....finances were drained. 

My cell phone chargers would be cut.....

Any interaction would lead to police response, on this specific day he argued that he needed his guns before I could destroy them....they made him leave....and he took the guns with him.... 


The front door was smashed which meant it was necessary to go buy a new door...with new locks....it was wintertime, so it couldn't wait.  




He attempted to forcefully remove the kids from the house until I "smartened up" and had time to think about how stupid I had been...this lead to my mother showing up because of my hang up call yelling for help. When she got to my house I was being dragged....she told him to let go and for the kids to get in her car. After she showed up X called to have family send the cops, I was told to be fully responsible of course.....I assure you I wouldn't free bleed for nothing. The patrol insisted they couldn't arrest just one, they were told I was the attacker. So for me to walk....X got to walk too. It was after this altercation that I started filing court papers. He was now living with his new girlfriend and I had hoped that would keep him occupied. 

After pink domestic dispute reports piled up to a level that couldn't be ignored I filed for a protective order for myself and the kids (times when he'd say he was taking them for a visit he decided to not tell me where they were or bring them home, those were rough nights). Alarms to detect unwanted presence and cameras to record any interactions were also installed.  

When it seemed like I was finally making some progress I started receiving court papers backed by his newly discovered soul-mate. The first accusing me of being an unfit parent and that the courts needed to remove the children immediately from me before harm came to them......the charges were dismissed and the kids never had to leave home, The second accused me and the people around me of extensive drug use....tests were conducted and results taken to court.....negative for all drugs and substances.  Now that I had all of my family court issues in order I thought there'd be breathing room with less tension involved....again I was wrong. When I paid in full and I filed my divorce papers X contested it. 





The Conclusion:

I don't have all of the answers and I don't know exactly how it will all play out but I know this battle has made me a much stronger version of myself, for that I am grateful. It's worth every lawyer fee and every trip to court. I finally stood up and did the things I needed to.  Never was I more disappointed then when I finally woke up to see how wrong I was living. Letting someone else have that control over my life just wasn't me. I didn't even know how bad it had gotten until I got out. I couldn't be happier now. No-one should feel that much despair. I know there are things I could've done differently and I know I don't make the best victim. My family seemed so shocked that I concealed so much. But that's where the silence comes in, and we're silent out of embarrassment. Most who talk to me or seek advice do it because I seem strong to them. To those who thought my situation was ideal, I am sorry. To all that I hid the truth from and told much more pleasant lies to, I am sorry.    
         I can tell you that if you're still reading this than it probably resonates with you or a past situation you were in or friends, parents or grandparents were in. You are not alone. It's not "just" you, you are not wrong or crazy and there are many ways to get out of a place you never should have been. The first part of solving this problem is realizing that there's a problem and not being ashamed to admit it. Shame for such things is not yours to carry, it is their actions that wronged you. There needs to be less silence and more action. Shame has no place here. It can happen to anyone and does not care whether you are a weak or strong person. Control is not love and love does not mean ultimate control. The important part is to have the ears and support you need to stop whatever violence issue you may be in and understand that there is nothing wrong with you. We can only decide our own actions. Accept nothing less than what you'd want your daughters or sons to have. If you wouldn't find it acceptable for them then you definitely shouldn't deem it acceptable for you. It's really never to late to write yourself a better ending. 

Addiction: When the Bottles are all Empty

    I heard a bottle pop today, when you set it down, I sipped.....it wasn't very tasty.
Halloween night, both of us ready. No candy for us.....you couldn't walk steady.

I heard a bottle pop today, unfortunately for us, you were too sick to come out and play.
We giggled and laughed the evening away, but not you, the arguing lasted most the night and half of that day.

I saw the bottle pop today, I'm no longer four. It's weird how now I realize, you're actually passed out on the floor.

The years pass by and your method has been tried and tested, not much to show for how much you've invested. They hide in the cabinets, they hide behind the fridge, I guess this is proper behavior for one that may need a binge.

I found a bottle stash today. Cops bring me back, apparently it's me who's character lacks. When a teenager leaves home it doesn't matter how much you've poured.....how easily that enormous fact was ignored. 
      I take the blame and I feel the guilt, meanwhile your cries should be for your own help.

We struggle and battle. I can't keep up, with the amount of self pity, your hiding in that cup.

You popped too many bottles this day. The ambulance came and took you away. Off to the hospital to make you feel better, they couldn't figure out why you were so under the weather. In loyalty I shook my head and turned away. I said I had no idea what was causing your pain.

They let you come home, they said you were all better. To my relief I finally thought maybe we had it together. Two months in, I saw that damn bottle pop open again.

I no longer hear those bottles pop, instead I wait for the phone calls you don't remember you dropped. You've called all the family, you've called all the neighbors, awkward for me comes pretty standard. I've attempted before to bring drunk you back down, to realize that maybe it really is safer on sober ground. The help came and left when you declined their advances. They look at me crazy, like I'm the one doing drunk dances.

I've  begged for your health, for sanity, for real laughter. So that maybe our relationship wouldn't be such a disaster. I'd do anything to make all your bad days feel better... but it's not me in control, by now you should know better.

I know the bottles will continue to pop, until you figure out it's time to stop. Let me tell you a secret. I'll sit and I'll wait while you continue to pour. Later these bottles will be empty but tomorrow you can buy more. I am only one person, I'm not sure what to expect, but each day it feels a little more like regret. 
I'll give you what I've got, so please take my help while you still can. The bottles will be to full to fall over and I'll be to empty to stand. I'll be powerless while alcohol wins this battle over man.

The Art of Divorce

               It was bright. The sun shot through the living room with urgency I couldn't ignore. Summer isn't one to wait, it's days are over before you're able to remember when they began. I loved these mornings.  With feet dragging but eyes shining, I got the four littles ready for the day. The previous night I spent hours with the stars, hoping they'd whisper some universal truth into my ears to help ease me through another week. Something wasn't right, I'd felt it deep into my bones for months now. The kids were enjoying breakfast while I hurried around the house with a bowl of cereal, packing the last few necessities to get out the door and go fishing. 
        Maybe it really was me or maybe it was him. Maybe it was the sun's fault for shining light into rooms, that for every night cradled only darkness. It happened. A sentence broke into a conversation and a conversation birthed into an argument. Tongues were razors and the room reeked of disgust. I really wanted to eat my whole grain cereal. I know how tired I'll be later on when the hustle doesn't slow and my mind is too overcome with the joys of the day to stop and waste time on making a sandwich.
                 A Corelle bowl was in the air, my precious plans inside. It shattered, into a million little shards. It shattered. He picked up a piece like an Olympian would a medal. He laughed, he had won. The mess was beautiful. Milk peppered with opaque chunks, circled by wheat flakes. The hardwood floor took the role as canvas and I was the creator. It was art and it spoke to me.  I was glued in thought....the first one being that I just lost my breakfast. The second thought was "Who in the hell makes this Corelle guarantee? It says right on the damn box that if one chips you get a replacement without question! If that's the case then how do I get a replacement for 850 chips in my bowl?!? -shit). Kids were still eating. Unaware of the life changing game that just took place in the living room. My faith in relationships and kitchenware had failed that morning. Pre-marriage Sam didn't know you would actually need to use your warranty on your expensive dishes. 
              If you're reading this and your searching for some understanding let me share with you what I learned. You're allowed to try and fail many times but when the chips turn into an all out shatter, let it shatter. Let it smash to the ground and explode where it lands. We won't always get the clean breaks we hope for, but if the torque and tension build into a force large enough you will be able to sweep the pieces into a dust pan and toss them away all at once. I don't think he knew it then but that minuscule bowl of cereal showed me more than 5 years of marriage could. After he left the room I cleaned up my mess with the summer sun witness through the windows. I heaved the grain sized pieces into the trash. I signed my divorce papers last month. This month I plan to get new dishes. I want to see a complete set shining in my cupboards again. 

Pickles in the Making

As of today i have finally started making pickles out of the cucumbers in my garden. I didn't buy the usual looking cucumbers, instead I purchased "Pickling Cucumbers" this year! They are much smaller and shorter than the norm and they don't need to be peeled! Plus they don't take up the garden space that the other plants do and they produce like crazy! I plan to pass on my opinion of the BEST

pickle recipe after I try a few! It's far more interesting than having just one type of pickle to choose from!