Your trauma is valid ...

I saw this today and felt like it was speaking straight to me.  I know there are many out there who unfortunately can say the same.  

In the past 17 years I've been to many, many group meetings at a variety of places.  Some were focus groups, or women's shelters, or one-on-one counseling, drop in support groups, all sorts of groups in all sorts of places with all sorts of people.  For the most part they are helpful, very helpful, because (ideally) you get a chance to open up in a safe environment and air some things that you normally have to keep to yourself.  You can get information, or opinions, other resources that may be helpful to you in your situation.  

Sometimes, though, they're not all that helpful for me because they can also be very triggering.  I know that's not just my own perspective, most groups will state right at the start of the meeting that you may feel triggered and that it's important to do your own self care to make sure you're okay.  Nobody's going to hold you down and make you listen to something that is setting off all the alarms in your head and making you feel worse than you did when you got there.  

One incident that stands out to me was my first meeting ever to a group.  There were probably 8 women in the group, from all different backgrounds and histories, we were all there for our own reasons.  I was the only new person to the group, the others had known each other for some time.  I'll freely admit I was terrified to even just be there.  It's always scary going to a new group.  You don't know these people, they don't know you, you don't know how it will go, what the normal flow of conversation is like, there are a lot of unknowns and possibilities, but you have to start somewhere.  

It turned out that all of the women in this particular group had been emotionally/mentally/psychologically abused.  I won't say this is all they had experienced, as in an "is that it?" kinda way, I just mean they had not been abused in other ways.  I had experienced all of that too, but I was the only one who had also been physically and sexually abused.  I was the only one that had been raped.  I was the only one who had been punched.  I was the only one who had experienced someone trying to kill me.  We did our check-in and as the new person I was encouraged to tell a little bit about myself, only what I was comfortable with.  I didn't say much, as it was my first time there and I didn't know these people.  I was pretty quiet for most of the meeting, as I am for my first time at pretty much every meeting I go to of this type.  I have to get the feel of it before I'll speak up.  It doesn't take long, but I'm definitely not going to spill my guts at my first visit.  

It was a 2-hour meeting, and about halfway through, just before we were about to take a little break, one woman stated that emotional abuse is by far worse than physical abuse.  As I've said, she'd never experienced anything else, none of them had, and all of them agreed with her.  They went on to talk about how physical wounds heal but emotional/mental ones are with you forever.  The facilitator didn't comment, just said it was time for a break.  I left and did not return.

They had a point in one way, that emotional/mental/psychological wounds DO stay with you forever.  You can't just turn off the memories, the feelings, the nightmares ... they affect what you do, how you conduct yourself, how you react to situations, literally everything.  But they are not worse than any other kind of abuse.  No abuse is better or worse than another.  The woman that said that couldn't see the gigantic bruise on the back of my shoulder.  She didn't know that I couldn't use my right arm for 3 days.  She didn't know I'd had to have jaw surgery and have my mouth wired shut for a month because of damage done to my face.  She hadn't seen me crying as I got an x-ray on my chest to check for a cracked sternum.  

Many people who don't experience physical trauma don't realize that it in itself causes mental trauma.  The fear of it happening again, the crack it makes in your self, the way it makes you brace yourself every time you're near someone just in case you get hit again.  

I sincerely hope she never does experience any of those things, that none of those women do, but I also hope that at some point they see or are told exactly what the above quote stresses ... that ALL trauma is valid.  Whether you experience one thing only one time, or many things many times, it is a trauma and it is valid and should be acknowledged as such. 

Trauma isn't just abuse either.  It can be anything that you experience that affects you negatively, like a death in the family, or a car accident, or a natural disaster, there are so many things that can cause us pain and stay with us for a long time, whether we realize it at the time or not.  

Often you hear someone say people are too sensitive and need to "grow a pair", walk it off, rub some dirt on it ... I'm guilty of this myself in some situations, though usually just in jest.  But when it comes to mental health I think that is the one time we need to be sensitive to what other people have gone through, whether we know the details or not, whether we know anything at all about it or not, just for the simple fact that we are all human, and all trauma is valid.

Down the rabbit hole .... or raccoon hole ...

I hate to say I suffer from PTSD and depression ... suffering sounds like such a self-flagellating word.  Kind of like people who have a disease ... they say they are "living with cancer" rather than dying from it or suffering from it.  It may not mean anything different, they still have cancer, but it sounds better.  

So I have PTSD and depression.  I live with them both.  We are close room-mates who do everything together, go everywhere together, joined at the hip.  More accurately joined at the heart, that's how closely we live together.  

Depression has had a good sturdy grip on me for a long time now, but he's grabbed on a little tighter in the past few months.  When I lost my grandfather in July and then recently a dear friend passed and that kick-started a roll down a hill that seems to have no bottom.   

Things at home continue to get progressively worse; I recently had x-rays to confirm that I have significant arthritis in one shoulder from repeated trauma (i.e. being punched over and over and over again).  The pain from that affected me in a few ways ... there's the physical pain that is often debilitating, I take T-3's on the bad days.  Then there's the emotional/mental pain of the actual event(s) and knowing that there's likely more to come, particularly when he admires his handiwork (when there's an obvious bruise) and boasts about what a great job he did.  This exacerbates the depression, it makes you feel hopeless, helpless and unable to conceive of a way to make things better.

Which brings me to this lovely picture.  Yep, it's a dead raccoon.  I was out for a walk last week and there he was.  I stopped to look at him for a bit to make sure he was actually dead, though it was unlikely he was sleeping there in the middle of the morning, but he could have just been hurt.  Then the practical, responsible part of me opened up the app to contact the city people that deal with this sort of thing and told them to come get him.  I felt bad just leaving him there, so I stood with him for a few minutes then went on my way.  

I was already having a bad day.  It had been a rough week all around, but yesterday was particularly bad.  A person can only stand so much yelling, berating, mocking, and when it happens every single day without reprieve it tends to build up until it threatens to smother you.  So when I came across this little guy, as I walked away from him I was crying.  Some people cry at the sight of any injured or dead animal, I'm not one of those people.  I didn't know this raccoon personally, he wasn't my friend, I'm not super-sensitive to these things.  But I was already on the verge and this was the tipping point.  I found myself feeling kind of jealous of him.  He was done.  He didn't have to deal with predators (in this case likely a car) anymore, he had no problems, no worries, he was finished with it all.  

I just went home after that.  Outside I'd let some tears quietly slide down my cheeks as I walked, but when I got home and closed the door it was like a tsunami ... it was uncontrollable, I completely fell apart.  I've never been a fall-apart person.  I usually handle stress pretty well; I get things done that need doing, I can get crying babies to sleep like magic (a nurse at the children's hospice once called me the baby-whisperer), I'm the person people talk to or the shoulder they cry on when they need someone there.  When my daughter is having a problem I do my best to talk her through it, get to the root of the problem, offer suggestions, work out the kinks, figure out what can be done to fix it.  But when it's yourself, it's not that easy; it's hard to be objective and unbiased and just figure out how to get through it.

You see commercials on tv all the time about depression.  I've seen it often described as walking up a down escalator, or swimming against the tide, trying to work your way through something that is pushing against you.  All valid perspectives.  For me it's like being in a deep hole.  The hole is deep enough that I can't reach the top no matter how high I jump.  There is nothing to stand on or hold onto to climb out.  The sides are slick and smooth.  Sometimes they are bright and glaring so I can barely open my eyes, other times they're dull and dark.  There is no way I can get myself out of that hole by myself.  I know this.  I know that I need to reach out for help, but I am resistant to doing it.

People that don't understand depression sometimes think that's just ridiculous.  Why would you not ask for help when you know you need it?  That's all part of the core of depression ... you may not feel worthy of help, or of even asking, you may not want to burden other people with your problems, you might even just want to be completely done with it all.  And by 'done' I mean finished, like the raccoon.  When a depressed person hits that point, often referred to as "rock bottom", that's when things get really scary and dangerous.  They may be reckless, or even do something to hurt themselves.

Right now, I am in a hole.  I know I need help.  I get offers or suggestions of ways to fix my problems all the time, literally weekly if not daily.  A lot of people think they know what is best for me.  They send me hearts on facebook and say "keep your chin up" or "get out of there".  Thank you for the hearts, it does mean a lot to know I'm thought of and loved.  It doesn't change anything but I appreciate it.  My chin is up, I'm not moping, I'm doing my best to not drag anyone else down with my problems.
It's the "get out of there" that is the issue.  Get out and then what?  How?  Walk?  Do they propose that I beg friends and family for money to travel to impose on other friends and family for a place to live?  What about the things I have where I am?  Sure, "things" are only things, people think they can be replaced.  They can't.  Not all of them.  I lost pretty much everything the first time I just Got Out of There and I just can't do that again.  Could you?  I'm betting not.  So getting out itself is a problem, plus I do own things that I need to take with me.  And I won't force myself on other people to house and support me.  I can't do that to them, they have their own lives.  So it's as simple as that ... very NOT simple.

Recently two of my uncles were diagnosed with cancer.  Growing up they lived with their families, my cousins, on either side of us.  We were all very close and this is hitting me hard.  So I'm doing what I can do, getting things done for other people, while still stuck in this deep, dark hole of my own.  I usually manage to put on a pretty good show of "normalcy".  Anyone looking at me on the outside would never know what's going on inside me, inside my home, the physical and mental pain I'm in all the time.
Then every now and then when I least expect it, the facade I put on for everyone else just shatters and I fall to pieces.  I head down the rabbit hole and that's when things get really real ... scary and dangerous.  Today I had the sense to reach out to my sister via text and she talked me down.  I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around, if she'd been off doing her own stuff, too busy to check her phone.  I'm so grateful she was there this time, but what about next time?

Bike, Bike, Squirrel ....

You know how if a kid knows he's getting a bike for his birthday that's all he can think of.  For days on end up until the big day all he can think is BIKE BIKE BIKE BIKE!!  Or if a dog is playing fetch it's throw, fetch, throw, fetch, then suddenly it's SQUIRREL SQUIRREL SQUIRREL SQUIRREL!!  Something gets in your head and it consumes you so that it's all there is.

One night a year ago I was in bed sleeping, quite soundly for a change seeing as I'm not a great sleeper on average.  I tend to sleep back-to, facing out, because I don't like sleeping with someone breathing in my face.  I must have rolled over in my sleep because all of a sudden he screamed in my face " MAKE THAT CAT SHUT UP!" and BAM - punched me hard full-on in the chest.  Just imagine being sound asleep and this is what wakes you up.  It knocked the wind out of me, took me a minute to catch my breath and absorb what had just happened.  Once I did, I took care of the cat, coaxed her out from where she was hiding to come sleep with me on my side of the bed (I'm not allowed to sleep on the couch, he comes out to get me if I try).  He gave me the usual speech about how I need to keep track of my cats (this is his cat btw) and make them shut up when he's trying to sleep, that he does this to teach me a lesson or how else will I learn.  He got up, went to the bathroom, then back to sleep.  Needless to say I didn't get a whole lot of sleep the rest of that night, I was busy just processing and trying to remain completely still and silent.  

I was incredibly sore the next morning.  I hadn't heard or felt a crack when he punched me, so I was pretty sure nothing was broken, but it hurt so much to move certain ways, hurt to lift things, hurt to breathe.  It was really red in the punched area, but didn't actually turn into a surface bruise.  The redness went away after a few days, the soreness lingered for a few weeks.  

I had a regular doctor's appointment the next week for my allergy shot and told her what had happened.  She sent me for x-rays to make sure nothing was broken or cracked (nothing was), she figured the soreness was likely a bruised sternum/breastbone and tissue damage.  She wanted to call the police but if you read my previous article "Excuses, excuses ... not really ..." you'll know why I declined.

It was just before December, so I should have been decorating, baking, shopping ... I couldn't, I was too sore.  He commented about the lack of Christmas decorations because usually I don't waste any time getting them out once December hits.  I told him I couldn't because I was still too sore.  He asked why I'd be sore.  Yep, he asked WHY.

I'd been quiet about it until then, hadn't said a word, pretty much just laid low.  My M.O. in these cases is usually keep quiet and stay out of the way, so that's what I was doing until then.  I told him I was still sore from when he punched me.  He played dumb, as he does every single time he does something like this, said he didn't know what I was talking about.  By then I was crying, but I went through the whole scenario for him, told him blow by blow (no pun intended) what had happened and how it had affected me.  He's been doing a back punch/elbow for years at night if I sniff or cough or snore or make any noise at all, always gives a speech during and after (and often also the next day), or turns on the radio for the rest of the night and bitches about how he can't sleep after I let him get woken up, so I know he knows what he's doing when he does it, and I have no doubt he knew this time too. 

So I'm used to getting it in the back, unfortunately, but this time I happened to be facing him and got it hard square in the chest.  And for some reason even now, a year later, I'm the kid with the bike, or the dog with the squirrel, and it's all I can think of.

He screamed in my face and punched me in the chest.

It runs through my head like a video on repeat, all day, over and over and over.  I cry a lot of the time when he's not around (crying around him is just asking for ridiculing, name calling, or worse).  I'm afraid to go to sleep because what if I roll over and he does it again?  What if he breaks a bone next time?  Or worse ....

He's still claiming he doesn't remember it.  He played the martyr for about a minute and said he'd sleep on the floor so he doesn't accidentally do it again.  Claims he didn't know he'd EVER done anything.  I don't believe that either, I know him too well.  More denial that it doesn’t matter to him because he doesn't remember it ... apparently if he doesn't remember then it didn't happen by his logic.  I don't care if he remembers it or not, it won't leave my head and my body still hurts.  He sucked up to me for a while, as he usually does when he knows he screwed up.... telling me to buy things for myself, anything I wanted, for Christmas and beyond.  Despite his claims that he didn't care who I told or even if my doctor called the police, I think he was afraid I would tell her about it and he'd get in trouble.  He's no doubt afraid people will find out what he's really like behind closed doors.

Over and over in my head.  So much crying, so much pain; physical, mental, and emotional.

I'd been going to a PTSD group for months because of my ex and another incident last April that kicked my PTSD into high gear, but right now it's gone from PTSD to cPTSD. 

cPTSD is also known as Complex PTSD, and is basically a response to an on-going trauma, besides that which happened in the past.  It includes all the symptoms of PTSD and adds on a few more, which I found interesting because I'd been experiencing them without having known why until recently. 

In regular PTSD the symptoms include: re-experiencing the event in your mind, flashbacks, nightmares, avoidance of things, people, places that remind you of the event, hypervigilance, and an exaggerated startle response.  

With cPTSD you can add onto those: trouble regulating emotions, sudden anger outbursts, easily hurt feelings, negative self-concept, feelings of worthlessness, guilt, problems relating to other people, feeling disconnected or cut off from others.  I'd felt some of those for quite a while, but not to the extent that it was very noticeable, but I have definitely noticed it in the past year, and now I know why.

I'm used to his other behaviours ... that doesn't mean it's good or even acceptable, but it's what I'm used to.  I'm not used to this.  It's been a year since this first hard punch happened.  There have been several since, but not like that one.  That one still stands out in my mind.  I had thought I'd get used to it too and it would go away, but here I am.

Bike, Bike, Bike, Bike ..... Squirrel, Squirrel, Squirrel, Squirrel .... Punch, Punch, Punch, Punch

It's not going away ....

The Pit of Despair ...

One of my all-time favourite movies ever is The Princess Bride.  And one of the best scenes is when the albino is talking about his Pit of Despair ... just the way he says it at first with his hoarse voice rasping over the words makes it sound truly horrible but also quite fitting since it is a pit of despair and should sound horrible.  All part of the movie and in that context funny and entertaining.

I was diagnosed with PTSD and severe depression about 15 years ago.  Anyone who has either or both of those will know what I mean when I say that despair kind of becomes your buddy, as in he's right there by your side all the time.  He hangs around with the PTSD ghost, working in tandem with him to drag you down any chance he can.  

On a good day my "happiness scale" sits right around a 6.  I'm not way down, but never really way up either, just kind of gliding along in the middle.  I stay hyper-vigilant so I can avoid most triggers, I'm careful what I read or watch on TV, who I talk to, what I listen to on the radio .... hyper-vigilance is a full-time job, but it's an unfortunate requirement to keep me from dropping below that 6 and heading down the rabbit hole.  It's not fun but it's absolutely necessary and unavoidable.  I think of it like a bubble shield that I wear around me.  In my own home I don't need to wear it all the time, though I often do, but I never ever leave home without it.  It may keep people from sometimes getting too close, both physically and emotionally, but I feel like I need that little buffer to stay safe.  

So what happens when someone who is already dealing with PTSD and depression is hit with sudden loss and grief?  Well, I'll tell you this much, it's not pretty.  A Sudden Loss is like someone shoots an arrow at my bubble shield and just shatters it, my defences fly off in every direction and I'm left there wide open with no protection at all.  Grief comes along and just envelops me; making it impossible to move or get my shields back up or do much of anything at all.

My grandfather passed away last week.  He'd been ok ... he was 97, so yes, he was old, but he was doing really well.  He'd decided a couple of years ago to move from his condo into a senior's home, which was kind of funny because even as the oldest resident there it was like he was surrounded by old people with their scooters, walkers, and canes.  It irritated him some, having to tolerate being nearly run down by the scooters, but he knew it was time.  Then this past winter we learned he had bladder cancer.  I began to try to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable, but when I'd call him every few weeks he sounded like himself, not sick, certainly not like someone on their way out.  He had radiation and handled it fine.  He had been told he could have 3 more years. Wow.  

Then last week he had a heart attack, followed by another one, but again we were told that he came through that ok, he was strong and doing well and ready to go back to the home on Friday.  But on the morning of his release day he had one final heart attack and my Papa was gone.  

I had been planning to call him on Saturday.  I figured I'd let him get back home and settled on Friday, then call and see how he's doing.  He didn't want a big funeral and people flying in from all directions, he considered it a waste of money and had already left instructions for something small and dignified.  So I didn't talk to him, then I didn't get to go to the funeral.  Instead I just cried, and I haven't been able to stop.  

When I found out he was gone I was walking home from somewhere, only about 15 minutes away.... I tried to keep it in but that wasn't happening so I just let the tears come as I walked.  I'm surrounded by strangers anyhow so what do I care if they see me crying.  I got home and my emotionally detached partner met me as I walked in the door and asked if I was ok.  I had texted him what had happened, so he wasn't surprised that I came home crying, though a hug would have been nice.  He just stood there and let me lean against him, that was it.  Papa never liked him anyhow, so he wouldn't have been surprised or impressed by the lack of support, physically or emotionally.

So what does happen to someone with PTSD and depression when they're suddenly facing the impact of grief?  For me it's a one word answer: meltdown.  My bubble is gone.  When I go outside I'm still hyper-vigilant but I'm also terrified.  Normally I go through my day doing a variety of things; I quilt, do housework, walk, do some ancestry on the computer, window shop, chat with friends or strangers, read a good book in the bath, watch some late-night tv, I'm always doing something.  It's rare that I'm ever just sitting still; even watching tv I have to have something to do while I sit.  

For the first two days I don't think I spoke more than a few words.  I had nothing to say.  I still have nothing to say, and anyone that knows me well will realize what that means.  I can't eat or sleep, I have no interest in anything at all.  It's been a week and nothing has changed.  I feel like I'm wearing really heavy clothes that are weighing me down, keeping me from wanting to even move.  I feel such an immense sadness all the time and it feels like it's never going to leave.

Papa was a veteran of WWII, he outlived 2 wives, a daughter (my mom) and a son.  He outlived his brother by 16 years.  He loved golf, woodworking, model trains, covered bridges, lighthouses, and good scotch.  He had a good, long life, but somehow I guess I just never imagined he'd someday be gone, and now I can't imagine anything without him.  I don't do the "shoulda woulda coulda" game ... I know that I should have called him before he went home, but nothing can be done to change the past so I just don't do that. I do wish I had called, but it wouldn't have changed anything.  He'd still be gone and I'd still be missing him.

I know that it's normal to feel sad and miss someone when they're gone, but I'm also recognizing that this deep, intense sadness that I feel is something more.  I need to police my thoughts, I need to try and climb out of this pit of despair before it buries me, and I have no idea how to do that.  And most of the time I'm not even sure I want to.

Excuses, excuses .... not really .....

I walked into a door.
I tripped, I'm so clumsy.
I jammed my finger in something.
I didn't watch where I was going.
I should think before I speak.
I contradicted him.
It's just a little bruise.
I'm fine, it'll fade soon.
I don't even remember how I got that one.
I can't come out, I'm not feeling well.

So many excuses, all completely plausible, but in an abusive relationship all entirely unlikely.  Excuses, that's all they are.  Cover-ups, evasions,  false rationalizations, fish stories, call them what you will, they all add up to the same thing.  We feel we need to make up a story to deflect attention from what actually happened. 

And why do we do this?  It doesn't make any logical sense to the outsider.  Why would you lie to hide what someone did to hurt you?  Back before my first abusive relationship I thought the same thing.  I couldn't comprehend why a woman would even stick around when she had been abused.  Why doesn't she just leave?  Go somewhere safe ... there are shelters for this sort of thing, aren't there?  And why would she lie for him?  It's not her fault, she should be shouting from the rooftops that he hurt her, not making up a story and covering it up like she did something wrong.

Now that I'm out of my abusive marriage I see things from a completely different perspective.  It's sad that it takes going through it to understand it, but that's often how it goes.  Most people just will not understand something like this until (God forbid) they actually experience it themselves.

** Let me state right now that I say "she" for the abused person basically because I am a she and I'm speaking from my perspective.  If you're not a she and have been abused, then read it your own way, this is how I'm writing it.

So why does she hide what has happened, or lie for him?  There are a few reasons, probably more than just the ones I can come up with.  From my own experience, if word got around (and it would)  that she was blabbing about what he did, there would be repercussions when he found out.  These repercussions could and likely would be worse than what was done in the first place.  Also, she's embarrassed.  Who wants to be known as the person who gets abused?  This makes her a double victim ... a victim of the abuser, and a victim of the scrutiny of all the people who will think all the things I used to think.  If he happens to have a position of power, or is well known and well liked in the community, then she could come across as a liar, someone just trying to get attention, trying to cause trouble for him.  After all, how could someone as wonderful as he is possibly do such things to the woman he loves?  If he also happens to be a narcissistic sociopath  then likely he's got a whole other public persona than the one you see when you're alone with him.

So if things are so bad at home, why does she even stay there?  Why stick around and just let him do terrible things to her?  Is she a glutton for punishment?  Looking for the attention?  Is she twisted or weird and somehow likes it?  Playing the martyr?  

Ok, put yourself in her position.  Think about it seriously right now.  If something happened to you that your home was no longer safe, where would you go?  Maybe you're one of those lucky people who have relatives with unlimited funds and space in their homes to shelter you and your kids indefinitely.  Maybe you're independently wealthy and can just walk out and get another place easily.  But most women in this situation do not have those options.  I know I don't.  Sure my family has and would always offer to help me in any way they can.  I have stayed with them for a time in a pinch.  But I wouldn't expect them to take care of me indefinitely, plus think about this: he knows where they live.
When I left my ex the first time, he hid in the woods around my family's homes, stalked them, called them incessantly.  Do you really want to put your family through that? 

So now you're thinking ok, what about shelters?  Yes, there are shelters for women to "hide" and have a safe place to stay.  In most cases though, you can only stay there for a set amount of time until you can get yourself sorted out and find a more permanent place to go.  They have some resources to help you with that, but again, it's all limited.  And in my own case, I went to a shelter in the next town, an hour away from where we lived ... I was there just a few days when my ex was told by a cop where he could probably find me and that was the end of that.  He stole my car from the parking area, then called the shelter over and over until I would talk to him. 

Shelter situations work differently in all areas ... where I live now they are mainly for the Indigenous people or women addicts.  Yes, they need help too, but that means it's not the place for me because I'm neither of those people. 

So, she doesn't leave because most of the time, she has no place to go and often no way to get there.  Plus, if she's been out of the work force for any length of time whatever skills she once possessed are now outdated and she may not be able to find a job at all, let alone one that will support her and her children.

Also, if she's been in this abusive situation for a long time, once she leaves and it sinks in that she is AWAY from him and safe, or semi-safe ... chances are that's when the PTSD kicks in.  PTSD is not just for soldiers, it happens to anyone who has been in a traumatic situation of any type.  The first word in it is POST, meaning after, which is because it only starts once she's out of the trauma.  And this brings with it a whole plethora of issues, including and not limited to flashbacks, nightmares, an exaggerated startle response, paranoia, and everything that comes with it, making it difficult to find and/or keep a job, manage her life, trust other people, basically just functioning out in the world is a huge challenge.

Another treat that comes along with being in an abusive relationship is the effect it has on your self-confidence.  If you've been told for years, over and over, that you are stupid, ugly, fat, useless, an embarrassment, etc, you start to believe it.  You may have been a confident capable person in the past, but not anymore.  I remember times when we'd decide to order pizza and I'd make the call, with him standing beside me telling me word for word what to say because he didn't think I was capable of doing it right.  I was ordering pizza!  How hard can it be?!  Then another time he'd been raving about this great cell phone deal he'd seen on tv and decided he wanted it, but didn't have time to drive all the way to the store to get it.  I happened to be there later that week and thought I'd surprise him and get it.  Let's just say it didn't end well.  Eventually I was pretty much convinced that I was incapable of making any decisions, let alone important ones, and I was second-guessing every single thing I did.

Pre- all this crap, and then the crap that followed it, I was a pretty confident person.  I had a good job and I was great at it.  I was a force to be reckoned with.  In the past 30 years I've been called every name in the book, including but not limited to a complete useless retard (his words, not mine), too f*cking sensitive, a moron, a waste of skin, too stupid to live, the list goes on.  It wears you down.  It chips away at your self, who you are; it makes you question everything you used to know/believe.

So why doesn't she leave?  Why does she cover up the bruises and lie about how she got them?  She's essentially standing behind a tall fortified concrete wall and can't see anything past it.  She can't imagine what's on the other side - what if it's worse than what she has now?  At least now she knows what to expect.  Where will she go if she crosses this wall ... how will she take care of herself ... what comes next?  It's not scary, it's terrifying.  It's immobilizing.

I do believe 100% in empowering women to take care of themselves, to do whatever they can to run their lives their way, heck - they can run the whole frickin' world if they choose to.  But I also know that regardless how strong and forceful and confident she is, she can be torn down by the right/wrong person and it takes SO MUCH work and it's so incredibly terrifying to take that first step to setting things right, that this horrible cycle can just go on and on indefinitely until eventually it's just too late.

People say "it's never too late to change".  Sure it is.  When things look hopeless and there seems to be no end, no way out, no solution, then unfortunately she may just decide she's done.  There is a 23% chance that victims of domestic violence will consider and/or attempt suicide ... just to make it end.  I know that applies to me, it's a bloody miracle I'm actually still walking the earth today.  All because of a bad partner choice ... all it takes is that one person to tear her down, destroy who she was, and bend her just far enough that she finally breaks.

Something has to be done about this.  To tell the truth, I have no idea what CAN be done, but there has to be something, because from where I sit, we're losing.