This will be a meaty one.
Thick like my thighs.
I’ve had a FUCK of a week.
Not the good kind of fuck that feels like resuscitation. Or resurrection. Oh my god I need to have sex. Sidenote, find man worthy of sex.
As usual…. I got distracted by the D, but I have a solid point to make here. Such a brazen little slut. Zero fucks given.
It doesn’t matter how many times I conquer, or overcome in amazing style……. it’s always there. Domestic Violence does not stop when you walk out the door. In fact it gets worse. You’ve gotta check yourself before you wreck yourself.
The most dangerous time for a woman trying to exit is the first month post separation. (I’m about to celebrate the 3 year mark). I’m definitely lucky I didn’t get murdered or seriously injured. I was lucky to escape with a few bruises and some emotional trauma.
THAT MAKES ME SICK. That this is what luck looks like for me, and so many people I know.
The only thing that makes it worth leaving, are these things:
I am in control of when and how he’s able to abuse me.
I am in control of how much of my time he gets to waste with his bullshit games.
I am in control of shaping my sons to be better men, because my influence is strong enough to overcome.
There’s the main benefits right there. As someone who had all control taken from her forcibly, I now REVOKE his rights to harm me, and am 99.9% in control at all times. Call me a control freak, I don’t give a fuck. I have the right to be in control of what happens to ME in MY life. Thank you very much.
Even when he does something particularly irritating or vile, I can just silence my phone, hang up on him, and turn my fucking back.
He stabs me in it. Metaphorically thank god, because I’m not a fan of being sliced open in real life. Been there, that shit sucked even when it was done by professionals.
I bleed in black and white now. Word vomit. I write this tonight because I’ve been fighting HARD the last couple of weeks. My real life gangstas have been beside me propping me up when I slump. Shout out to the lady gang!!
I know all the steps to take to minimize his impact and yet today I still found myself standing in my kitchen, breathless and close to vomiting or crying. Sometimes it all just comes back and kicks my arse. C-PTSD is a motherfucker. It’s probably my worst symptom of fuckery endured. I try to wear it like a badge of honour, though.
I can guarantee anyone who’s been through similar and tried to co-parent with a narcissist is nodding their head so violently they’re at risk of headbutting something. A small, angry mosh pit may break out at any moment up in here. We’re not dancing. We’re FLAILING WILDLY hoping someone might notice how rampant this problem is.
FUCKING NOTICE ALREADY.
I considered not even writing about this, but how could I not when it’s literally the reason that I am so fucking badass. I was forged in FIRE. How dare I not share that. So many of us have been down that same dark path, and had to be our own goddamn light.
Rise like the sun, baby.
I’m not here to issue statistics and talk about who’s more oppressed. THAT’S FUCKING OBVIOUS. I’m done wasting my time trying to educate fucktards with entitlement issues on what abuse actually is.
I feel like it’s a lost cause. These men are not changeable. Satan himself attended a court ordered ‘Male behaviour change program’. His male behaviour has not changed.
Go on, laugh. It’s pretty funny.
At the same time though, It’s not fucking funny at all. I laugh on the inside only because I am done crying. It serves nobody and nothing. Also, eyeliner, people. For fuck’s sake.
I’m here to serve the women (and men) who are fleeing situations that are killing them from the inside out. Or the outside in. Whichever way that trauma is going, I’m here to stem the flow.
I can already feel the emotional hangover kicking in, from over-engaging and over-extending myself today in particular.
Do you think I should add a big scoop of ice cream to this vodka and coke? I’m pretty sure I can get an amen for that. That’s a giant FUCK YES to that.
The thing that makes DV so difficult to ever really put to bed is the fact that most survivors crave the care and affection of mankind. (That, and we have kids with these cunts). We will bend over backwards to please our man, but so many of us are bending over the wrong way to the wrong man. Taking it up the fucking arse in a spiritual way.
It’s a really conflicted way to be. It’s usually how we get into that situation in the first place, too. I’m very aware of the flaws that were my fault, as well as the ones that were just a result of my conditioning and socialization, which led me to make such soul destroying mistakes in my twenties.
We seek love, and we have our definition of love ALL FUCKED UP.
We lack confidence, and experience, and we get ALL FUCKED UP.
We think that’s the best we can do, that we’re overreacting and that’s ALL FUCKED UP.
So much fuckery, I couldn’t possibly touch on every point I want to in one single sitting. This is more of an exorcism than an article.
In the name of avoiding this becoming a weird rant without purpose (except to CLEANSE AND PURGE those demons…..) I’ll exit with a few quick strategies I use to increase my resilience and survive with fucking glittery goodness.
The first set of rules is useful if you don’t have kids together.
- Block, delete, change your number, change your name, change your number plates, switch cars, move house, CUT AND RUN. Farewell motherfucker.
Now that’s a pretty solid manual right there. One step- fucking disappear. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but if you’re committed to cleansing your life of this cunt, then that’s what you’ll do. Any and all of those things, as many as are necessary to become invisible and therefore invincible. Almost….
If you do have children, shit gets a lot more complicated. It’s beneficial for my family unit for the kids to have a meaningful relationship with their father, until they decide otherwise, or I assess him as a danger and take drastic legal steps to protect us.
Fuck, anyway.. here’s the list. I’m not here to issue disclaimers about my own personal situation. I’m managing it like I manage a child having a tantrum. It’s inconvenient but it won’t break me.
- Disengage wherever possible. If it’s not directly about the kids or an imminent issue- I avoid. This is when ghosting is 100% justified.
- Keep all communication in writing. (as much as is humanly possible) It saves you from having to take notes or save evidence with any particular effort. My phone is my log. My phone is my life. Do regular backups or take screenshots and file accordingly.
- Mute their notifications. Block them out of your social media. Better yet, use an alias. Better again, isolate them to a separate device with a $2 simcard. Money WELL SPENT. (And the screen on my old phone is already smashed so I can throw it in frustration if I want to.)
- Have a safety plan. Know when to initiate high level blocking and keep them out of your space. By this stage, most of us are skilled at predicting their cycle of escalation and de-escalation. If you’re a really good ninja, you can even manipulate that cycle to benefit your kids, but it takes a LOT of care and a LOT of planning. So I avoid if it’s not absolutely necessary for their highest purpose.
- Name their behaviours. No, it won’t educate them and it won’t stop them… but it will slow their roll just enough for you to catch your breath. I look at it as creating a paradox in his mind strong enough to disempower him and give me a chance to scramble away from his bullshit before it fucks my mind.
- Never bend your boundaries. This one takes practice. I still fail and bend a little sometimes, and I ALWAYS regret it in the end. Usually I bend when I am tired from doing the real fucking parenting, and desperately want a break. Trust me, if I had a full family unit around me, I would be utilizing that to its full potential and he would be lucky to get near us ever at all.
- Deal with the reality, not your dream of how it should be. This can be a bit tricky too. Sometimes I just want to scream until my lungs burst or throw a chair in his face. Obviously I don’t because I have fucking control over my actions and am highly evolved enough to know that this will mean DEATH for me. Legit death. I mean… asking him to honour his agreements sparks a massive argument and lots of yelling, damned if I’d ever strike out in anger. I’d be dead.
- Arm yourself with knowledge. Learn about their behaviours. Map their patterns. Understand why they act the way they do. It’s a bit like if you can’t beat them, join them. But without joining them. I’m just standing on the edge observing and learning from his fucked up patterns so that I can act accordingly in a way that benefits my children.
- Accept that you will be doing this dance for life. It’s a shitty truth. But acceptance of reality is key to survival. The ONLY thing that makes me able to handle that truth is the fact that I am doing my part for society by helping other victims to find their way safely out, and rebuild… as well as raising next gen men. That’s a fine contribution. It gives me solace in dark times.
- Find pleasure in the struggle. Put some pride in your stride. You’re overcoming fuckery with GREATNESS, and that is a massive accomplishment. Drink that wine (but not to excess). Fuck that sexy man (so long as he consents and is worthy of your attention). Buy those shoes (but wait until they’re on special because you’re gonna be poverty stricken for ages. Truth).
It’s a good thing I’m into bondage, because god damnit I am bound by some pretty heavy restrictions thanks to the poor choice I made in procreating with a prick.
In closing, I remind myself that he was the mistake, but my sons are the blessings that showed me the way to escape. They saved my life and keep me breathing every day. Even if it’s sometimes just to draw a deep breath to shout GET OFF THE FUCKING TABLE YOU MANIAC!!!!!!!
I love men. I am raising them. Next gen.