Honesty

  So, I apparently blog unlike most bloggers.... not that anyone is going to read this, or care. It's a journal, an open book, the place I vomit my thoughts (and sometimes wind up deleting them the next morning if I've had too much bourbon to navigate good taste... wait, I apparently don't know what that is when I am stone cold sober).
  I'ma bitch now, kk?

  I won't know until tomorrow, just how soon I can get in to see a therapist- I say "A" therapist, because I'm frankly undecided that this is going to be helpful, or successful... but not for me and kind of worried that whatever I say will be taken out of context and used against me. At least here, I can say what I wish and there is a small footprint to be referenced when it's used against me. *sigh*... Either way, I'm in a bad spot and trying not to say anything that I'll deeply regret, even if it is completely true.

  In personal relationships, I am not known for diplomacy, or even tact. I assume that being intimate with me, you're fully aware and okay with the fact that I simply speak the truth, as I see it. I throw that card down on the table to be played off of. Pussyfooting around the truth doesn't make it any lesser an evil. However, in completely superficial social situations, I'm good with playing the diplomatic role, even that of peace keeper- because I... Just. Don't. Care. The long term outcome means nothing, so my personal integrity isn't as much a consideration. Fucking personal integrity.

  I'm a fan of people being completely, one hundred perfuckingcent honest with me, one hundred fuckingpercent of the time. I take being secretive as having something worth hiding, which I will *never* be ok with. I just won't. Period.
  If I can't trust you not to need (or want) to hide the truth from me, well... I just can't trust you. Especially if you've left evidence in the past of your bad behavior- or your intent to behave badly... Which, by the fucking way, I have the decency to announce BEFORE hand. Yeah, if I'm going to do something earth shaking, I'll let you know first, so you have the time to fucking come to terms with it.

  In so many ways, I'm  old fashioned as a mother hubbard.  I expect, even *demand* decency from those who I am closest to. Being fucked over isn't my favorite past time, but it's one I've learned from... If you cant claim me openly, happily, proudly, well... You don't deserve me, or all that I do for you. If you're going to behave like you're ashamed of me, I might as well behave accordingly, no?
  It's like accusing someone each and every day of cheating, being a cunt about it, eventually he'll do it because he has no reason not to. You already believe he has, what would it change?

  Unlike those who use their intellect as a superior throne, I claim nothing other than being a plain spoken, self educated, left leaning, free thinking highschool drop out who makes incredible grammatical errors, but at least knows how to fucking read and spell (OK, so grammar isn't as bad as it could be. Notice there is no comma between and, and spell(: ).
  Take it or leave it, I am what I am. If you're ashamed of my unpolished form, I'm ashamed of your superiority complex. When it comes down to raw humanity, I can successfully navigate around the piranha. Can you claim the same? Fuck an an, I've made my mistakes, but I OWN them. Integrity? Anyone?

   Why does being honest always have to hurt?

Prowler

  So, I made the mistake of telling my ex that we would be away for the weekend camping... Yeah, I'm a fucking dumbass.

   While I was picking up the kids toys in the back yard (yeah, the ones they were told to pick up), I notice that the row of corn planted next to the garage has been trampled- directly in front of the window. To anyone else that wouldn't look lie anything important, but I now better. The kids hadn't been in the back yard since before we left. My lovely stated that he had been incredibly conscious not to step on it... It couldn't have been done by the 9 lb dog.
  Upon further inspection, I find the grate which is in front of our crawl access ajar. I consciously closed it all the way before we left, because I didn't want critters in there.
  At that point I felt incredibly uneasy, so I walked around the property checking doors and windows, only to discover that the back entrance to the garage had been tampered with.

  Coincidence that he knew we were supposed to be out of town, and I stumble across evidence of attempted intrusion? I doubt it.

  Just when I was finally beginning to feel safe here.

Hallmark Holidays

  This is the time of year I feel completely unappreciated. It is entirely selfish of me I know, to want or dog forbid, hope for a little pat on the back for everything I do.

  Mother's Day absolutely is a Hallmark Holiday. It would take a complete fool (or idiot) to deny that, but it is not only a justifiable Hallmark Holiday, it is one that Dog damn it! We deserve.

  For 40 weeks, we puke, stretch, gain weight, have headaches, are constantly tired, grow into planet sized belly status, are an insecure, worried, miserable, emotional wreck as we obsess over what is best, what is harmful, what we should do.
  We cope with heartburn, which just breathing seems to cause. Incontinence- fuck, sneezing, coughing, laughing, doing nothing will cause us to piss ourselves. The roids... yeah, those fun, swollen, itchy, painful ass bumps that only get worse when you actually shit out the little "miracle". An inability to sleep in any comfortable position, and then being told if we sleep any way other than on our left side, we'll kill our babies. Yeah, that's helpful!... The constant back pain, stretching ligaments, muscle cramps, constipation, fuzzy vision, foggy brain, sciatic nerve pain, swollen ankles, feet, hands, everything. Sore, saggy, leaky, swollen, milky, stretch marked boobies. The smells... Yeah, everything smells approximately a million times stronger- I can tell if that baby in the basket over in isle 5 needs a change, all they way from isle 23. The constant nausea, you know, like you ate 3 foot long corn dogs and then rode the Ninja half a dozen times in a row.
  I could keep going on about how miserable being pregnant is... But it won't mean anything to anyone who hasn't been pregnant.
  Then comes the really fun part! Labor. In may case, never less than 36 hours worth of it... Then... Actually forcing another living human being the size of a large melon, out of a hole the size of a ping pong ball. Then... the best part of all!! Recovery!
  You get to spend weeks with a crying, shitting, spitting, sucking bundle of joy that needs you 24/7, while your crotch which feels like a pound of ground round tries to heal. Every time you piss it feels like someone's dropped a fucking napalm bomb on your twat. Every time you shit, feels like giving birth alllll over again- and remember those roids? Yeah, they're not ass bumps anymore, they look like a fucking bunch of grapes. Your tits are as hard as fucking rocks, leaking on everything and hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes just remembering it. Oh, and the cramps, you know, as your uterus tries to shrink from watermelon back down to pear size. Then there is the period that never ends- kinda like the song that never ends, except that there isn't a cute little lamb singing, and you're passing blood clots the size of a gerbil every few minutes, and can't use tampons... so, should your pad leak- yeah, there goes the only pair of pants that fit in the wake of all of this destruction.

  In the months to come, you're nothing but a walking milk dispensary. Your sole purpose is to shove a boob in the crying little miracle's mouth, and wipe it's ass. Which would be fine, if you could lose weight while doing it, but unfortunately dieting and nursing are not compatible if you desire to keep an adequate milk supply.
  Then, they hit that stage where they start moving around. Crawling, walking, getting into absolutely everything that hasn't been nailed, glued, or otherwise sealed completely shut.
  After that, the terrible two's- the only word they know at this point, is "No". Which they use for everything.
  Later, kindergarten... learning to be social and navigating all of the pitfalls that come with... Then, then comes the really fun age, when they think they know EVERYTHING there is to know about anything- then the teen years, which thank Dog I haven't had to cope with yet, but anyone who has deserves a fucking medal simply for not killing the little bastards, or committing suicide.

  Moms are the snot that sticks the tissue to the lining of the jacket pocket. There isn't anything we don't sacrifice to take care of our families- and not just our children.
  We lose sleep, skip meals, are denied all privacy (I have yet, in 10 years to piss by myself), we keep everyone else going even when we're sick, when we walk into a store and look at sales, we're looking at teenie sneekers, pants, shirts, next year's school clothes... not a sexy little black dress. We skip showers when the clock is running fast, and forget about having our hair or nails done, we learn to be happy when we have time to brush our teeth- things that everyone else takes as granted, because we make sure that they have the time they need to do them.
  We give up friendships, hobbies, alone time, careers... We give up our bodies and our lives. They're no longer ours, they belong to our children. We give up control, which is the hardest part... letting go of what you want, to do what everyone else needs.

  So... It may be just a Hallmark Holiday to you, but to me, it is the one day each year that at least some of those life altering sacrifices are acknowledged. In fact, it is sad that it took corporate America to realize this, and capitalize off of it.
  We deserve a thank you, ALL of us- regardless of how shitty your mom might have been, you wouldn't be here without her.

  If you're not a mother, you'll never understand just how much we give up- or how much it hurts that it is simply taken as granted that we do so without thanks. That it is simply expected of us. As rewarding as motherhood can be, it truly is thankless... Having one day a year that we're acknowledged should be a granted. But, I guess it isn't.

A little insignificant thing called "Corporate Identity"

  I've had just enough bourbon to realize that A) I could really benefit from a therapist *right now*, and that I am going to make mad pytos. B) I've had just enough bourbon that I don't give a shit about either.


  Since I don't have my DL yet, therapy is out. Since I don't have access to a car I can drive during the day so I *can* get my DL, therapy is out. Fun, eh?
  That leaves me full of bourbon, pissed at my ex, the judicial system, my lovely, his fucked up mother and the rest of the world that has beef with me because I have not been successfully brainwashed into needing a deity to dictate what does, or does not happen to me, with me, my children, or my life.

  The ex, I can't do shit about. I am Northern stock, raised in the dirty south, bred with and married a good 'ol boy (now, if you can take into account that down here, rape does not legally occur within a marital bed, you'll understand much clearly)... I made my bed, now to lie in it. Fuck me running. One of these days he's going to kill me, I'll be another unidentifiable body if ever I'm found. Thank the US Navy for that... the fucker had already graduated BUDS when we met, though the story surrounding his "Other than honorable" discharge is one for another day... lets just say, if I had the balls to talk about the shit I've seen him do, he'd be done.
  The SC judicial system is something which I shouldn't need to explain. It is broken, utterly fucked. Run by "Good 'Ol Boys". If you have a clit rather than a cock, you best just shut the fuck up and bend over.
  The never-going-to-be-inlaw... She's a piece of work. So incredibly ashamed of the fact that her son, her baby, the one she wishes so badly to control is involved with me, that she LIED to her bestie about having visited. Having been in our home. Having seen us together. Having knowledge of our relationship. Man, how fucked up is that? Seriously?
  She's a fundie. So is my mum. We were raised in the same 'first generation crazy' household... On the same street. In the same church. We saw the same reality, though it took him longer... It took the pain of naivety. It took being taken advantage of. Which I had nothing to do with... but the simple fact of my presence is enough for her to place blame.
  I must laugh at the fact that, though I am far removed emotionally, mentally, demographically, politically, I am still attached to the grape vive. Whatever is said, eventually trickles down. Especially when you say it to one of the biggest gossips in the south eastern US. :) Yeah, that bit about not knowing (after you'd already visited) that we were living together, resulted in an *immediate* phone call to my mother. To "warn" of what her daughter was up to. LMMFAO!!!

   The thing that bothers me, is that more than 2 1/2 years later, because of all of this, regardless of what life is like at home. Regardless of what we really are, he is afraid to admit we are anything. He won't let us be seen as a "Corporate Identity" ie, a couple.
  Thank you JW. Thank you for fucking up one of the most incredible men I have ever known. Just because you were an obese, schizophrenic, homeless, jobless midget who saw easy prey. Then tore him to shreds when you realized he was better than you. You can take the trash out of the trailer park, you can't take the trailer trailer park out of the trash. Glad you feel all cozy and at home now, back in you element.
  Thank you LB for causing my life to be a living hell by spreading rumors. By speaking out against me in our community (which resulted in abuse you can only imagine). By accusing me of somehow leading your children astray... if only you knew of all the things I talked then OUT of doing. If only you knew the things they really did- because you were so barbaric in your religious control.

  It really doesn't matter that I'm not openly an important person. That I'm hidden behind the curtain, I wash his clothes, cook his meals, support him in any way I can, without a second thought.
  It really doesn't matter that I can't be a prize, or that I'm even something to be hidden from others... I keep things moving smoothly, on an even keel. I know how important I am to him, even if he is afraid to say it to you.
  It doesn't matter that it hurts, that you will always see me as a lesser human being- I've PROVEN to be more than you ever could have been. I am stronger. I have stood in the face of adversity and said Fuck You. I have been through the fire. I've stood up for, beside, and behind in support of him through the hell which was opened up in her wake... in wake of the woman you opened you life up to without question, because she "appeared" to you as someone she was not. I am what I am. I am honest. I hold steadfast to my integrity- no one can take that from me. Honesty is threatening.
  Much as it'd be wonderful to be accepted. To be open. To be proud... the reasons that can't happen are obvious.
  You don't have to like the reality, but understand that what the outside sees, or is allowed to see and what actually is, are two different things :)
  Love is a verb. Love is a verb.

Bin Laden Mania

  Kill a terrorist and every fundie comes out of the woodwork to say "Thank you lord!". Seriously. I don't know how much more I can take.

  Mahatma Gandhi said "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." More accurate words I can not find to describe what is happening.

  Why is is so complicated to comprehend? Every action has an equal reaction. By killing him, you're simply asking "Please, please fucking attack me. We're bored and need a reason to make the general population fearful, because they're easier to control that way."
  I'm not suggesting that we turn our cheek, only an idiot does that. But it takes a FOOL to provoke a snake into striking.

  On this day, I can say without malice that I am ashamed to be an American. I am ashamed of my fellow Americans. Of their behavior. Particularly those who claim that Jesus was the Christ.
  On this day, I am proud to be an Atheist. I am proud to be able to see things for what they are. I am proud that I have not lost the ability to look at the world around me in a practical, rational, analytical manner.

  As for OBL... Well, I really have nothing to say. Nothing that anyone wants to hear.

Goddamnit

  Two things have pissed me off today. Here is the first. My ex husband. Not an unusual thing to be pissed st, or about. But, get this... He just got out of jail time for the $6,000+ that he owes in child support payments.

  You know you live in the dirty south when, your criminally abusive ex can walk into court, throw a sob story at the judge and have it come down to simply being a "Good 'Ol Boy". Yeah, I know. My fault for marrying him- I knew it was a mistake at the time. What I didn't know, when I was 17, when I met the sorry sack of shit was that he would be like fucking cancer.
  So, he goes in there, says "I broke my knee, lost my job and when I have the money I pay." Judge is perfectly OK with that... NEVERMIND that he works under the table so he doesn't have to pay taxes because he can't claim the kids and get his $2,000 when he only made $17,000 that year.

  Right now, I could spit fire. It isn't about the fucking money, I'll never see any of it. It is simply that EVERY time he winds up in trouble, he slimes his way out of it... AND.... AND.... AND.... The goddammed judge TOLD HIM that I filed the complaint against him!!!
  The judge in question, was the one who handled our divorce. THAT is another issue which will always piss me off. So, the sorry fucking sack of cheese curd vag puss tells him that *I* am the one responsible for his presence in court... He tells that to the psychotic piece of shit that tried to kill me for not cooking his eggs correctly!!! The same sack of shit that tole me I deserved what I got, because I slept with another man before we were divorced... Yep. That sack of shit who refuse a protective order, despite the evidence that my life was and IS in danger.

  Why I ever thought that the system would actually fucking help, I will never know. Maybe I am as delusional as those who attend church every sunday.

The Drama Llama Needs To Mosey On

  I've had enough drama to last several lifetimes. So much, in fact, that I can say without malice, that if you are a Drama Llama you can just mosey right on out of my life.
  For years, and years, I put up with it from all sides. I mediated, listened, was a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board. I should have nipped it in the bud then, alas, I did not and am now saddled with the reputation of being a "safe" person to talk to. Which is true, whatever you speak in confidence stays with me and me alone... But, do you really expect me to fucking care? Especially when it is something you, with foresight, decided to do- even when you knew it was either none of your fucking business, or a really stupid idea to begin with.

  You know, if I want drama I'll go pay $9.50 for a comfy stadium seat. I'll sit back with my bladder buster & popcorn, enjoy the show and walk away. THAT dearie, is what drama is for. It shouldn't ever become a normal, daily routine for anyone. But, it is for you, and you, and you, and you, and you. I don't know if you prefer it that way, or if the cycle has you trapped.
  My ex provided me with an endless stream of unwanted drama which I will forever be linked to... It'll never go away until he is either abducted by aliens, or makes some typically stupid decision which results in his death. That said,  I have enough exterior pressure form it to make me implode, without your added bullshit.
  Sorry, but it isn't your business who got who knocked up. It isn't your business who someone decides to sleep with (or what gender they are!!!!!). It isn't your business who someone decides to befriend, how many animals they have, how they vote, what the eat, believe, or how they dress. It isn't any business of yours if they don't make the same life decisions you do- and it certainly isn't your place to stick your big ass right in the middle of it... FURTHERMORE, your hatred and intolerance disgust me. But, you'd never know that for all of the patience and reserve I exercise while dealing with you.
  If you could leave well enough alone, you wouldn't have drama- neither would I. Unfortunately, I gave you the benefit of the doubt... My bad. You're simply a Drama Llama, you always have been. You thrive off of the negative energy it creates.

  This is me, being finished with the fucking bullshit. Yes, bullshit apparently fucks.
  This is me arriving at the reality that I can't be good for you, because you aren't good for me.
  This is me taking a step back, reevaluating the situation and saying "Oh, fuck no!" which I should have done years ago.
  This is me letting go of the broken people who refuse to rebuild... I've been broken too, but unlike you, I want more out of life. I've rebuilt, I have a foundation to stand on- where's yours?

  So long, fare thee well...

Ouch

  I'm hurt. I believe any 'normal' person would be,  and some have even gone as far as to say 'red flag! that is abusive behavior!'... but they don't see the life I live, or understand how magically good it is, in spite of everything evil that has happened to prevent it.
  If there were someone for me to safely talk to right now, I would. There isn't, and I can't sit in my own thought stew and fester. Doing precisely that is what has lead to my current emotional state. Then that last straw drifted down from the sky and it's weight broke my back.

  Looking at all of these "Happy Couples", their smiling faces, cute kids, outwardly beautiful life makes me feel sick. For years, I looked like the happy little housewife when I was anything but- appearances really mean nothing. If I could just get someone to understand that.
  It is the little things that matter. The seemingly unimportant, mundane details of life which, when put together over time have a cumulative effect which forms a picture of reality. Not a facade, not the "Happy Couple". An actual mural of reality, expertly painted by all of those mundane details, remarks and events... Anyone can photoshop a happy picture, only reality can paint a mural on the walls of our minds and hearts.
  As much as I would like people to see us as the happy couple, not even a single picture of us together exists- Not one in 2 1/2 years (that I am aware of). Worse, is the fact that publicly I'm single. Publicly I can not distribute any information about the reality which exists within these walls, in our day to day life. I'm not permitted to present myself as a happily spoken for, content woman who is not on the market... He will not allow a "corporate identity" to be presented to anyone, for any reason.
  Meanwhile, I see the picture of what he still holds in such high esteem... the picture of the happy family, of what he feels he had- Even though it has been admitted otherwise- the perfect happy picture which he so very proudly distributed in as many places as he could. Yet he claims to "enjoy my company", he claims to "like having me here", which I can only assume is some warped, twisted, mangled way of saying he cares, or is interested, or in some way attached- because he will not say those things. Nor will he allow me to say them to him... that maybe hurts the most. Anything I say is perceived as shallow, misguided, a lie. That the words I speak are just words, they mean nothing... which couldn't ever be farther from the truth. Perhaps I am an anomaly in the world of women, I say the things I actually mean and I mean the things I say.
  When I use the word love, it is not tossed around lightly. It is never spoken in jest, it is spoken with reverence for all that it was designed to encompass.


  The years I spent trying to build the facade of a happy family, taught me just how fucking dysfunctional we all are. That even though a picture may say a thousand words, they are often a work of fiction.
  Trying to present a photoshopped picture to the world *is* something to be ashamed of. To try and create happiness where there is none is a lie, and I am ashamed, I was ashamed when I did just that. I know better now, and I knew better then. False representation of any situation has no good final outcome.
  On the same token, falsely representing something good, wholesome, beautiful even, by not representing it at all is even worse. Hiding a reality which can only be clearly seen over time, through the seemingly unimportant and mundane details, as the entire mural comes into view *is* something to be ashamed of.
  Our life circumstances are most definitely not ideal, but then, who's are? The "happy couple" with the corporate identity who are always putting on a face for the world?
   Most people would be ashamed, I guess. I'm not kidding myself there, I know what this looks like compared to what it is (which I'm not even sure of, since it hasn't been defined as anything). There is this saying though, that I have heard all too often as of late and found frighteningly true- "You make your own reality"... and we have, and it has been one of the hardest things I could have chosen to do at this point (even further complicated by his ex wife, who with malice attempted to wipe him clean from the slate of society), but we succeeded. We have something to be proud of. Something that most people will honestly never know they are missing out on. That *is* something to be proud of. That *is* something worth sharing even if it doesn't fit the societal norm, I've never fit any mold why start now?

  I refuse to continue to be ashamed of my mistakes. I made them, I own them. I learned from them. They do not define me, but they presented an opportunity for personal growth, and through them I have become who I am today. Without them, I wouldn't be equipped to appreciate life as I do now.
  I thought that was understood. I ASSumed that I was not something to be ashamed of because of it. I was lead to believe that I was of value.

  Is it so much to want honesty? Active exclusions of reality is, in effect, a lie.

 

A promise

  When we met again, I promised I'd never hurt you intentionally... but I've hurt you through the act of reaction, being rash before reason, I'm damaged goods baby- you cared for me gently.
  When we met again, I knew I couldn't let you go. We both needed safety, and freedom to simply be. It was was it was, and we are what we are- Which is beautiful, if not a little heart breaking for all it took to make this seem ok. We're still wary of the outside world, of what we are helpless to control, of the people in new strange places will say, think, or more importantly- do. We've got ground to cover, and uncover.
  When we met again, we were lost inside of our selves and wouldn't let anyone in. We were cold, hardened, afraid... and somehow made the fear slowly dissipate. We stood behind, beside, and in front of one another when missiles were hurled at us with then intent of destroying everything we knew to be good, or true.
  When we met again, something that had felt broken for so many years slid back into place and began to mend. It was the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. Now we're in the thick of it, we waded through shit, we fought for what was right, we were wounded but somehow survived- and those broken pieces are still finding the time to mend.
  When we met again, I told you how I had always loved you. I promised to always be honest with you, if not completely forward at least finding a small bit of tact- I'm prickly baby, but you know how to handle those thorns. I promised not to hold back the truths which should have been spoken so long ago.
 
  When we met again, I promised to be good to you. To never intentionally cause you harm. To be honest with you (sometimes to a fault). To accept your quirks, and love you all the more for them. I promised not to fault you for being you. I promised to be good with you.
 
  I'm imperfect, I've hurt you. I'm human. I love you as the treasure you are- for all of your imperfections, not in spite of them.

Gettin' My Bitch On

   I'm not your mediator, your therapist, your personal advisor or your life coach. I'm not here to be your personal dumping grounds. I don't give a flying furry rats ass what happened, who did it, or why. You played a part in it too, own the fault you should be rightly in possession of.
  I'm one of the most fucked up individuals you have the pleasure of knowing, even if you don't know it. Just so happens, that I'm also one of the most patient people you're ever going to cross paths with. I'll always lend an ear, but in exchange, you get my opinion. My take on the situation... Most of the time I refrain from telling you how badly your perception of reality has been warped by the pain you've survived. I get it, you're always going to project your unhappiness- the result is, that you're always going to make *everyone* around you unhappy.
  
  Say it one more time for me baby, I don't think I heard it hon... Okay, so this time it was her fault too... I see, you didn't say *anything* about her, her life choices, her sexual orientation, her parenting style- which, by the way, I don't agree with, but she doesn't agree with mine either. Live and let live.... No, it's not 'wrong' or 'fucked up'.... So, because you pay rent somewhere, and the other person has a few beers after work, they're stealing from you?.... Oh. Got it. You did *everything*, and you got fucked... Yeah, you know what? Really? You want to know something?.... When you walk around spewing hate, talking shit about someone, making their business your business, you can expect a backlash.... I don't give a fuck what you feel is "wrong"! People are born Gay, straight, bi, black, white, green, blue, orange, brown, yellow, or polka dotted. We are what we are, and there isn't anything that can be done to change it- you can accept that or move on.... But doesn't your very own religion preach love for your fellow man?.... Oh, I see that only applies when they believe the *same exact thing you do*.... But you're not going to burn in hell for ruining someone's reputation. For intentionally undermining their authority as head of household- and telling their children that they're a sick, bad person?... K, well... You can take it and fucking SHOVE YOUR HATE BOOK UP YOUR ASS...

 ^^^^^^^
THIS is what I *wish* our conversations sounded like. What I wish I could just come out and fucking say. Nope. Not me. Not the "Good friend". Not the person who always has the tolerance to sit through a couple hours of hate spewing, trailer park politics, scripture misquoting, rage driven conversation. Even when I *WHOLEHEARTEDLY* disagree with absolutely every thing that comes out of your teenie-itty-bitty-uneducated-miserable mind, via your southern, white-trash-speaking mouth. Yep. Always have the time, the patience, and the respect.
  NOT NO MORE. Not me. Nope. I do not possess the mental or emotional bandwidth to fucking accommodate your bullshit. In fact, I believe I'm going to pass on this year's bullshit-o-meter calibration. It's functioning just fucking fine and dandy, in fact, it is finally working properly... no need to fix something that isn't broken.

  If I *dared* to call any of you up, simply for the purpose of dumping emotional baggage you'd blow me off in a moment. You'd say you have your own shit to deal with, when I know damned well your "shit" is not having enough $$ for some stupid shit you don't actually need. Or having to be a responsible adult, and own up to your share of fault... Yeah, heavy shit man. *sarcasm*

  Well bitch... Here's the condensed version.
  While you were bitching about how someone "stole" from you, because they forgot to pay the rent on time and there was an extra fee- I was wondering if my child, who had been abducted was even still alive. But I sat and let you have your say.
  While you were distraught, because your boyfriend of two weeks bought someone else a drink- I was living in sheer terror while my ex threatened my life, and moved himself out in the woods behind my home so he could "keep a watch over me".
  While you were bitching about the 4th speeding ticket you've had in as many months- I was living day to day, wondering if I would be able to keep my family together.
  While you screamed about your roommates pets, and what a mess the house is, and how much you hate living there- I shared a dorm with 13 other women, and 20 children. I was videotaped 24/7 for my "safety", even while I bathed. I was exposed to illness, deplorable living conditions, and desperate to keep my children safe amongst it all.
   While you cried over having gained 60 lbs (which didn't exactly happen over night, and you *did* have something to do with), and bitched about not wanting to exercise- I gave up meal after meal to make sure my children didn't go to bed hungry. I lost 20 lbs in a month, just so they could eat.
  While you got drunk and dialed, incoherently complaining- I had to hide enough money to keep the water on, and take a good beating for it. 
  While you complained that you didn't get to go out with friends often enough because of work- I was literally a prisoner in my own home, and I was repeatedly beaten for talking to you at all.
   Through all of your bullshit... when have you ever taken a moment to consider the fact that you might just have it pretty damned good? NEVER.

  As bad as my shit was, someone else had it worse. As close as I came to being another obituary, someone else did. When bad shit wasn't happening, I made of it what I could... WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANYONE.

  Fuck You. Fuck you very very much.

Sprung

   See, I have this bad habit of writing something, then walking off of the platform and allowing my train of thought to leave the station without me. End result, 45 incomplete blog entries... yeah, I decided that if I haven't gone back to look at them in months, I likely am not missing anything. Delete.
  It's spring, though everything around me has sprung into foliage, flowers, and edibles, my mind is still a murky, muddled mess. 'Need' doesn't begin to describe the urgency of what must be, what has to be done... need to clean out the cobwebs that have overgrown the corners of my mind, where I stash away my personal goals, desires, and even happiness.

  If only my oven really were a time machine.

The Cost of Victory

  The past year has been a nightmare, which I've not been at liberty to talk about. I don't think I'm going to say much now... I just want to cry.

  When another human being does something with malice. Makes claim of heinous acts perpetrated by an innocent individual, with the express purpose of wiping clean their existence in society (and more importantly, the lives of their children), it leaves a void that can not be filled with anything but hatred, fear, anger, loss... despair.
  That is what the past year has been full of. Anger at the fact of a lie which could not (until today) be proven. Fear, so much fear of what *could* happen in the event that this individual actually succeeded. Hatred, I admit the hatred... So much hatred. Not the petty dislike which people refer to as hatred. True, honest hatred, which until you've felt you know nothing of.

  Every day has been an exercise in patience, restraint, love. Compressing, neatly packaging, and forcing that anger to the pit of my stomach until it began to dissolve... End result has been the physical manifestations of stress- Migraines, Insomnia, Anxiety, Weight Gain... Oh, so much fun!

  One day, when it is all said and done, I'll have my say... I'll tell the world what this cunt did to her own daughter to try to make this appear real.  I'll confront the investigator who refused to take evidence which did not help build her case. I'll tear apart the social workers who refused to actually do their jobs... When it is all said and done, I will be able to speak my piece regarding the injustice which I've witnessed.
  The system is so incredibly broken.

  My alcoholic, drug abusing, rapist, child abusing, thief, sociopath of an ex husband gets off scott free- is allowed visitation, and I've been denied protection from a man who has beaten, raped, burned, poisoned, thrown me from a moving vehicle, tried to kill me while I was pregnant, literally imprisoned me by nailing the windows shut and reversing the locks on the doors (for weeks)... Would you like me to continue? I've got at least two more pages worth. The sick bastard even sexually assaulted my dog (a 7 lb female pomeranian) in front of me- and threatened to kill her.
  Now he's threatened to kill me again ( "You know I won't let you keep the kids. They're mine, and I'll kill you before you get to keep them."... His threat, which he has already attempted, is to kill me so that he can have the children) and there isn't a damned thing I can do until he breaks into my home while I'm sleeping- Did I mention that the judge who denied me protection said, and I quote "You deserve what you get", when my ex stated that I had had an affair. Beautiful, isn't it? The man is an ex seal trainee drop out... and not because he couldn't make the cut. Because he couldn't do that AND maintain control over his then fiancée.
 
  Meanwhile, a man who is nothing if not good, has loved, cared for, and attempted to provide his family, his children with the best things life has to offer has been forced out of the picture so that the trash can return to the trailer park.
  I  know he didn't realize what she was when they met, how could he have? No, not under those circumstances... it is painfully apparent now though.
  She succeeded at alienating the children... that is it. I feel sick, and my heart aches for justice to be done. I'm helpless, and yet I see the wealth of evidence that can, should, and needs to be used... but at what cost? The cunt will stop at nothing. Absolutely nothing, to leverage the broken system against him again... That is one thing she knows how to manipulate all too well, since she's done it before- Eventually, she'll do it again, just like she did to the one before him.
  When a woman has a string of 'psychotic exs' one must look to see what the common denominator is... HER.

   I come from a "Blended Family". My mother was me- a victim of CDV, and like me she survived. She still exhibits symptoms of PTSD from over 30 years ago... I wonder if I'll be the same way.
  My father had his children taken from him by his ex wife (who, we now know has several conditions (mental) which she has been treated for), was accused of abuse, alienated and replaced by a new man who subsequently DID the things he was accused of.
  My mother's children for the most part resented me for having been born (I am the sole product of their union, which came to them at great cost- even the reversal of sterilization). Even though my father had adopted them years prior... My eldest brother and I were always close, while the other two (especially my sister) loathed my presence in their lives.
  My father's children were in and out of our lives, convinced of some wrongdoing which never occurred. Now, as adults they've become more aware of what actually happened... My older brother is in the *same* situation with his soon to be ex, the system has been leveraged against him. Now he's drowning in it. It is so incredibly common that these deranged women simply LIE to get what they want, that the system accommodates them to get the process over with more efficiently.
  Now, here we are, he and I. In the same exact position as my parents... and all I can do is be angry at the system.

  I got bent over and had the judicial system rammed up my ass repeatedly, simply because I am a woman, and after 6 years of violent rape, physical and psychological abuse, imprisonment, and even forced pregnancy...after all of that, and two years of being confined to a separate bedroom, told that I was unworthy of HIS bed... I finally took it upon myself to finalize our physical separation.
  Literally all he had to do, down here in the dirty south, was breathe the word affair and every judge in the district wanted to see me publicly raped, beaten tarred & feathered, then hung from a tree...


  Words from the slightly wiser, broken, fucked over individual... Unless you can see yourself wiping his ass when he's 80- don't marry him. Seriously.
  Unless you can see yourself hauling her sz 42 LONG tits off of the floor, and into a warn out bra... don't marry her. Seriously.
  Eventually that is where you're going to wind up, and if you cringed at the reality of who you'll some day be married to, know now that you're not going to make it.
  At the end of the day, it's not how great the sex it, how much money he/she makes, how attractive they are, talented they are (be it physically, artistically, or otherwise), funny they are, smart they are... none of that is going to matter.
  When you get down to it, the shit that really matters is whether you look forward to seeing that person when you wake up in the morning- even when things aren't so great. If you can live together peacefully, without fear of reprisal for unimportant, petty shit. If you truly trust them... I find that most people don't even know what trust is, let alone have it for their significant other. If you know that when shit hits the fan, they'll stand behind you to keep you from getting blown over, or jump in front of you to bear the brunt of the impact, or simply stand beside you so you're not alone and covered in shit. What matters is that the petty shit doesn't matter- at the end of the day, you're there. THAT is what matters.

  I wish someone had told me that 10 or 12 years ago. I might have actually listened. Instead, I had to learn it the hard way... so did he. We're still learning. But the one thing neither one of us ever anticipated having to learn the hard way, is that when someone attacks you, leveraging they broke ass system against you, even a small victory will be of immeasurable cost.
  He lost his family, and was almost wiped clean from society- and to prevent it from happening again, has to let go of everything dear to him. I lost my right to protection, the sanctity of my physical safety, and the right to provide for my children's physical, emotional, and mental safety. Both of us were violated- Him, emotionally and unlawfully had the legal system leveraged against him. Me, physically- and I have no legal recourse, since there is no such thing as rape (even what is now defined as forcible rape) in a marriage.

  We both had victories. They cost more than they were worth. So much more.

Jealousy

  I should be sleeping... it is after 2 am, 6 comes early. I'm pretty sure the time stamp on my blog says something different though, but I really don't give enough of a fuck to go change it. More random thoughts.

  Look up "Damaged Goods" in your Websters, my picture is right next to it. No matter how hard I fight that reality, no matter how much I wish for it not to be true- I am Fuckdidid in the heart, and in the head.
  Growing up in an environment where love was something they preached about on sunday, but never a warm fuzzy feeling you got from your mommy was pretty fucking confusing. I admit that as a child, and even until I had children of my own I had no clue what love felt like beyond the love of a girl fro her dog. Let me tell you though, I still shed tears over my best friends Toby & Orla. I was more connected to them emotionally than I have been to most people in my life.
   I'm guessing I need help. No, I was told that I do dammit, it's the truth too. I'm totally fucked, completely insecure, and when someone does manage to break through that wall I find an excuse to build another- so a relationship with me looks something like plowing a bulldozer through a 3ft thick cement block wall every few weeks.
  All good things come to an end, but even entertaining that idea leaves me distraught. Simply knowing what I do now about love, about what it means, how it feels, what it does... it makes me terrified of losing it. It would be easier to see someone I love die, than it would be for me to cope with their rejection. I don't do rejection. Another reason that being in any kind of relationship with me in my present state poses an occupational hazard. I throw darts when I feel attacked, rejection is a personal attack.

  Just a short bit ago I said that I didn't have anyone to talk to, which I don't. No one who I can actually trust not to intentionally cause harm with the knowledge they would glean from our conversations... So, brilliant me thought "Hey... I'll just fucking start typing, no one reads this shit anyway." which is likely the truth, and best for it. The venting I mean.
  No one listens to my words either, especially when spoken. They come out a jumble, a mess, a fucking mixed bag. After spending 1/2 the conversation agonizing about what is actually the important point to convey, I generally stick both feet in my mouth until I gag and involuntarily spew words. Not the best plan, I do realize- but generally better than being a selective mute (which would otherwise suit me just fine).
  Why Is that, I wonder? Why is it that I am perfectly capable of conveying an ideal, instructions, abstract thoughts, etc using the written word (ok, typed- my handwriting is halfassed at best, and simply indecipherable st worst).
   People who are well spoken often turn me off. Seriously- I can feel my twat drying up when I hear them speak. I rely so much on words though, because I can't read people. I rely on what they say, rather than what I can see because I don't fucking understand human body language, or how to interpret it. I *need* words to know where I stand with someone, but in turn I suck ass at providing feedback that people find helpful- which leaves me wanting to cry like a baby over my shortcomings.
   Animals. I get. They are so clear with their "words". Put me in a room full of angry dogs and in 5 minutes we'll all be rolling round on the floor playing. Drop me in a pasture with a horse that doesn't like to be caught, and he'll wind up coming to me. With people. Not. So. Much.

   I'm ashamed that I need so much assurance, but I do. I actually need it, and when I don't get it I feel terrified, alone, and completely rejected. It doesn't matter what you already told me with your actions, until I hear it, it isn't really true. It's been quite a fucking while since I've felt any measure of......
~*~This is the point at which I decided I could say nothing good, and closed the lappy for the night, wishing sleep would find me~*~

   I guess since I am going through a "reevaluate my fucking senses" tell all session to an imaginary therapist (not much different than prayer, except that I realize I'm the one who has to decide to do something rather than wait around for it to happen) I might as well admit to being truly jealous for the first time in my life.
   Jealousy has no place in a healthy relationship, it makes people do stupid things. Makes us feel insecure when we shouldn't, makes us lose trust for people who haven't actually done anything wrong. It's generally damaging, which is why I have always reacted with a rational approach to the idea when it has been introduced- shove it out of the map. This time however, it is proving to be an immovable obstruction.
   When I hear a woman say "my man" I generally laugh, simply can't help myself. It's funny to think of people as possessions, slightly demented as well. But I can't help wanting to say "MINE!". Juvenile, insecure, and hurt am I.
   As it would turn out, the past can not simply be negated by the now... whoda thunk?


   I've always been OK with being me, well for the most part. Being the odd man out has never been completely cool with me, but I understand people's hesitation when it comes to something new, something unknown, something different.
   Problem with that is when people not only actively exclude (oh, boo hoo... woes me) but attempt with malice to remove the anomaly from their plane of existence. We're ruthless bitches, even when we decide we don't want something that was once perceived as "mine", we still don't let go of it- let me clarify that "we" is purely in reference to the % of the population who were born with vaginas and not me specifically.- and even attempt to undermine anyone else who wishes to stake a claim.
   Seeing people (mostly women) behave badly in a fit of jealous rage has always given me a laugh, because I never understood how threatened and vulnerable they felt. That is the heart of jealousy. It is fucking excruciating. I actually feel for people who experience jealousy on a regular basis, I can't imagine my life being completely permeated by it. I'm blown away by the reality that it has found a way into my life at all, and even worse... is actually doing harm.
   All of that said, I'm overwhelmed with jealousy over an insignificant, used-to-be-important, BUBBLE... a fucking bubble who watches glee. Jebus what the fuck is wrong with me? She is a BUBBLE. But apparently is "really cool"... yeah, I'm sure... and about as deep as a kiddie pool too.
   Maybe it is the lack of intelligence which causes me to recoil from a reality which once was, questioning whether or not I'm undesirable because I am capable of independent thought... perhaps it even stems from my insecurities regarding my own broken, used, destroyed body- that is what happens when you're forced to carry a pregnancy before your body has properly developed to accommodate the task... Meh, nah... that bothers me too, but I know plenty of men who would kill to get just a taste of me. Its the idiot thing. What kind of man is attracted to that?

   Why are men attracted to fluffy, bubbly, STUPID women? Why? Really, does it make it easier to convince them to gobble your knob? Or to assign an opinion to them because they aren't capable of doing so their self? Control... maybe that's what it actually boils down to for most men.

   So, like it or not I have to put my big girl pants on and simply fucking cope. Like always, even when I'm not wholly responsible for the miscommunication which resulted in the fucking uncomfortable fuckedupdididness.
   Though, this is one time I just wish I could fucking climb up on my high horse and drag MINE up there with me, and be the cunt of the century.

   I don't understand my own mood, my frame of mind... It just can not be framed.

   A few moments ago, I looked myself over. A long, hard look in the harsh light of reality, and that of a mirror too.
  My youth has escaped me, simply slipped by without warning. I've no more chances for wild fun, for making mistakes, for being beautiful. My once firm body is firm no more, is covered in battle scars. It isn't youthful. It isn't beautiful. It simply is.
   I got glasses this week. Now I feel old. That was the icing on the cake... The things I didn't realize I wasn't seeing with razor sharp clarity anymore. Even just the minor, pathetically weak prescription that it is, makes me feel so old. So worn out, so un-sexy. I look geeky, which would be fine- if I were an uber hot geek who all the other geektards wanted to fuck. I'm not. I'm not sure that I even qualify as a MILF anymore.
  Fuck an A. I used to be hot. Well, ok... for a 15 year old, before my body was totally trashed by pregnancy. I worked my ass off, and deserved the rock hard abs, tight ass, toned thighs.

  Normally I'm not this vain. Really. No, I mean it. I'm not.

  Things in my life, my body, my mind, they're all changing so rapidly. The sense of urgency is almost as strong as the sadness that possess me. In retrospect, I gave it all away. I blew my life away. All the things I *could* control, I used to fight the reality that they were preparing to saddle me with... and I bought myself this new, not so pretty, murky little pond to swim (wallow) in. I did it to myself, but I didn't have a clue what I was doing, or why. Just that I had to do something to change what was happening.
   Strangely enough, the only things that actually matter to me are the things that I stand to lose if I can't roll with this tide. If I can't force this sense of urgency to become productivity, to drive me to success, or at least to veer me away from perpetual failure.

   Ever have that feeling like you're floating in space, caught in a vacuum, you can feel your lungs being torn apart by the pressure... I can't breathe. I know what I have to do, I know, I fucking know damn it. Its the only obvious thing in my life.

   I've been accused of being angry/irritated all of the time. As in 100% of the time.  Well, I'm not. I'm scared shitless of my own inadequacy. Even though I can't say that to your face, and even though I become defensive and project irritation/anger, I'm not actually angry. I'm afraid. So fucking afraid.
  Its amazing how far a little encouragement goes, or a little security, or a little compliment, or a little assurance, or a little positivity... Its amazing how much of a difference being acknowledged as more than a simple failure, a no longer youthful failure, can change someone's perspective. Seems like I'm always changing someone else's perspective, but can't change my own.
   God, how wrong is it to want to be loved? To be of worth to someone? To be wanted? To be beautiful? To be good enough...

Afraid

  

Rejection.   False Judgment.    I fear that look in his eyes that says, "I'm trying to care, but I just can't".  Being thirsty, and being denied water.   Being burnt.   Small spaces.   Clown Faces.    Zealots.    Always being the last to realize what should have been obvious all along.  Being the butt of the joke.   Inadequacy.    Growing old.   People who believe in figments of their imagination.   My ex husband, and all the promises of pain he still has to make good on.   Failure.   Driving.   Getting my hair cut.    Weighing myself.   Looking in a mirror, and realizing that I am no longer young.   Singing in public.    Being misunderstood.    I fear that no matter what I do, it'll never bee good enough.   Drowning in my own vomit.   Cancer.   Losing my sight.   Being on life support.    Being alone, and realizing that I'm not really lonely.   Being seen crying.  People.   Being raped, again.   Being burnt alive.  Not being able to love.    Bridges.   Becoming bitter.   Jellyfish.    Needles.   


   The things I fear are real, they're valid, they frighten the shit out of me... and I'm helpless to control almost all of them.
   My parents are to thank for my security issues, and lack of positive self esteem, or healthy body image... for my lack of confidence, my fear of failure, and the bitterness that lurks just beneath the surface. I can thank them for fucking up any chance I had at a real education, or ever going to college. Thanks mom. I know you meant best, right? I was the golden child, right?

    Is it wrong of me to want to be loved, to be shown love? Is it wrong to believe that it could build confidence in something which may, or may not be? What it is, it will be, and it's not... so here I begin to see, that I'll never be good enough. Or even enough. She was, and the one before her, and I'll never be. No matter how much I do, or give, or am to anyone. I'm not her.
  Bitterness is seeping in, and I want to be alone. I want to be angry, to be violent, to destroy, because I fear my own bitterness more than I fear rejection. Here I sit all paint covered, being hailed for food, and not done earning my keep... and I'm bitter. I want love. I want to hear it, to see it, to know it, to share it. Can't have it.
    So afraid, I'm so afraid. I don't want to be alone, but not lonely. I'm blocking out myself too, and all that is good will soon be completely gray, and tasteless, and dull. And for what? What the fuck does it accomplish? Nothing... I'm just afraid, and shutting down.

Fuck Valentine's Day and the Horse It Rode In On

    Fucking Valentine's day. Something most people buy into wholeheartedly, and spend an ASS LOAD on, even though it is completely asinine... totally not worth your time.... and all of the sappy smoochy pictures plastered all over their fb pages. OMFG....

  OK, now Ima admit that I am incredibly fucking jealous.

   I've never been much of a holiday person, and knowing that service is my love language makes it even harder for me to participate in such shenanigans. BUT (there is always a big fat but in the middle of everything, isn't there?)... I'm also inwardly the sappy, romantic type. This is likely the only time I will ever admit that to anyone, let alone everyone on the interwebz... Must be my codeine and beam induced haze (really, not mixing the two- haven't had the codeine in 24 hours)... Sometimes it just hurts to want something, ya know?


  While everyone gets their Valentine's on, I quietly make his morning coffee and walk out the door to the bus stop with my son in tow, setting the alarm and double checking the lock on my way out.
   As soon as I walk back in, my baby is awake, so I do what I can to keep his moans of hunger at bay until the cereal hits the table... All the while my manimal sleeps. He needs his sleep, a lot more than I do and I try to make sure he gets it.
   8 AM rolls around, and I have to wake him. If I don't he'll have a hard start to his day instead of lying around drinking the coffee I bring him, and waiting for me to finish his breakfast... He's a creature of habit,bad habit. Maybe I shouldn't interfere, maybe I should let him learn for himself what is best.... But then I would have to watch his misery on a daily basis, as he wanders around decaffeinated, hungry, and clueless.
   It's but one of the ways, that I know I can show him I love him without actually saying it. Without forcing him away with the words he doesn't believe, doesn't want to hear, and are still tainted with the bitterness of wrongdoing. See all of the beautiful things I inherited?  The things she left for me?
  

    Never an "I love you". Never an assurance. Never a promise. Never a commitment. Never.
   It is what it is baby.

   Nothing is fucking simple, and you take all of the warmth, happiness, comfort, surety, newness away from your happy little picture, and what do you have? Nothing... But I'm still jealous of the fact that you can celebrate freely what simply is, even if it only lasts a moment. It is worth celebrating.
  
   Regardless of how solid, fluid, understanding, well mannered, well behaved, considerate, peaceful.... We'll never have the ability to celebrate, even though we have more worth celebrating.

Homeschooling IS Abuse

   Alright... I honestly don't give a shit if I catch flack or not. Hell, I almost hope I do- because that means I fucking struck a nerve, and I'm undeniably right.

   I forgot that as a homeschooler, you have more right to accommodation than anyone else...  that the whole fucking star spangled universe revolves around what *you* want to do, and perceive as a need.
   I forgot that you need special treatment, because you operate outside of the acceptable social norm... That you're above interacting with dirty, uneducated public school families. That your children will learn bad habits (like maybe, just maybe how to fucking interact without your constant guidance, supervision, or intervention), or perhaps see that you are not the absolute authority, nor is your knowledge infinite.
   I forgot that exposing your child(ren) to anyone you haven't pre-approved presents the risk of your child learning what "Social Isolation" is, and that interacting with people outside of your tightly knit group poses the threat of your child coming to grasp that social isolation is abuse.
   I forgot that you're the god of your little universe, and if your child lives under your rule alone, they'll know no better than to blindly worship you.
  
   You're no better than a religious homeschooling zealot, as you sit upon your pedestal, shining down in all of your shrouds of deceptively believable  intelligence, purity, and sense of entitlement. Portraying yourself as the only person qualified to educate your child properly, and prepare them for a successful adulthood.
   The reality is that you're afraid of losing control. You're afraid of no longer being the God who rules your child's life. You're afraid of your child becoming an individual, capable of making their own life decisions, and learning to be a part of the hive.
   A single bee, left to its own devices will die. It needs the hive, for shelter, for protection, for food, for its livelihood. The same is true of us bipedal mammals.     
  Our society does not make accommodations for those who can not be assimilated. Nor does being assimilated make us any less individual, capable of critical thought, or analytical process.... Those who possess those traits simply do, regardless of whether or not they've learned how to navigate the hive.

   You go ahead and make your argument against public or private schooling...

There are bullies;    You mean, like the one they live with who prevents them from experiencing any sort of normal existence?

They won't get a proper education;    No, not if you don't bridge the gap. But you're not singlehandedly qualified to provide for their every academic need either.  

They'll be exposed to violence;    Just like you (and your child) are every time you walk out your front door. So, are you going to bar your doors and windows, and start stockpiling food, guns, and ammo now?

They'll be exposed to drugs;     Because as we all know, those only exist in public schools, and that is the only place to learn about them, gain access to them, or get away with using them were you so inclined. OK, yeah, makes perfect sense.

Children in public schools do not learn to socialize;    No, they learn how to become pack. How to successfully navigate their peers, and survive without you. An important skill to have later in life, when you won't be a helicopter hovering over their every movement.

I don't feel that they're safe;    Because no house is ever broken into. No family is ever murdered. No car is ever plowed into by a mack truck. No child ever falls down on a playground and breaks their arm. No convenience store is ever robbed while you're paying for gas. No one walking around the supermarket is ever sick, and willing to share their illness, and  you can prevent all of these dangers by simply being present 100% of the time?


  Lastly... You know as well as I do that in a perfect world, we would have evolved past the point of a need for religion at all. But, this isn't a perfect world.
  It was argued with me last week that "It isn't fair to say my rights should be taken away because someone else uses homeschooling to abuse their children" OK... well, I would like you to tell that to the little Paradise girl who recently died as a result of homeschooling... Oh, wait. You can't. She's fucking dead. 

   Homeschooling for the sake of keeping your children at home, under your rule, in your world, associating with those who you choose is abuse.
   There do occur circumstances in which parents should consider homeschooling, and I respect those who can successfully segregate home life, from school. I respect those who realize when their child needs something more. I respect those who do not feel they are masters of the educational arena, and ask for fucking help when it is needed.
   What I am against is the "right" to homeschool. It isn't a fucking right, it shouldn't be... It is a privilege. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

   "Police allege that the younger girl was being disciplined for mis-pronouncing a word during a home-school reading lesson the day before she died."..... 
   Is that an extreme example? Yes. 
    
     Do these types of beatings occur each and every fucking day? YES.
     
     Are children emotionally scarred, physically and sexually abused, raped, psychologically abused, and falsely imprisoned EVERY DAY? Fuck an A, YES. All because parents have the "Right" to homeschool.


   But that should be overlooked because in order to begin to put an end to it, your *rights* would be violated. OK, yeah. I got it... Welcome to the same plane of existence as the fundies.
   It's okay that they do what they do, as long as you get to do what you do. Makes perfect sense. Kinda like blaming the rape victim.

   I offer no apology for speaking the truth. What is right isn't always popular, especially when you're dealing with a subculture that is self persecuting.

    As a survivor of religious and homeschooling abuse, I have every right to state an informed opinion regarding the effects of homeschooling, unlike you- who has only been on the instructional end of the spectrum.

  FYI- the higher the horse you ride, the harder you fall.



  *****To all you the responsible home/unschooling families that I know- I commend you for your effort to do the right thing, regardless of your reason, if you're succeeding you deserve a pat on the back.*****

Single Parents

 I never thought I would say this... But maybe it is in the best interest of parents to stay together (even if shit sucks) so that they at least have one another to fall back on when raising children. Screw whether or not it is better for the kids, no one will ever be happy if the parent they live with is always stressed, and has no help. No support. No one to stand behind them and make discipline a less daunting task.

 Now, anyone who knows me, knows damned well where I've been... the abuse I lived with, and why I have a problem with people staying together for the kids. But this isn't for the kids. This is for sanity. This is so that the little shits don't gang up on you, and slowly destroy you.
 If nature had intended for up to care for our young alone, we would be able to reproduce without men. Unfortunately, most men aren't interested in being a father, let alone a daddy. I think my ex pretty well demonstrates what a fucking deadbeat looks like.
 Any man who is interested, or inclined to be the nurturing, fatherly type is either married and serving his role in the household... or so fucking damaged by what an incredibly violent, vicious, heartless, sociopathic bitch did to him that he'll never go there again.

 Can you tell I'm having a bad week? Maybe just a bad reality.

 Why is it so hard for two people who are inclined to hold the same value in a relationship to come together, rather than getting snagged in the net of evilness that some immoral fucktard threw out?
 I know I had a chance, once upon a time... I fuckingblewit. Now I'm stuck between a jackass, and a cliff, and trying not to fall off.

 No one realizes until they become a single parent, that the mental, emotional, and physical recharge you get from having an involved partner meant more to your wellbeing and stability than ANYTHING else in your life. Simply not having someone to stand behind you and tell the little monsters 'No' is completely draining. Not having someone there to give them a bath at 3 am while you clean up the vomit. Not having someone to help with the homework, or sit and read a book with them long enough for you to run the laundry... I could go on, and on, and on about everything that you take as granted. Well, it's NOT. Once you split, it's all on you baby!

 I couldn't have stayed with my ex, he would have killed me. Hell, he still may... Big invisible skydaddy knows, he's tried to carry out those threats enough times, and if I ever give him the chance, he will. But damn, simply having 2 parents is the ticket to semi-sanity.
 I see why women get involved and push their kids on a man, I really do. I disagree with it, it's wrong, but I understand that they do it so that they won't wind up going crazy like me.

 If I could turn back time... damn, now I've got that song stuck in my head. Fuck. I'm so sick of the bullshit. I have 15 more years until I'm free from the drama of being legally responsible for these little carbon copies.