Archive | June 2015

Shut Up

Jun16

Oh, my dear Ronovan, why are you trying to make my brain explode?  I’m sure you are just trying to make the Weekly Haiku Prompt Challenge a little more, uh…challenging, but c’mon now. Here we are at Week #49 and by now I was pretty sure you liked me. So, I decided to lighten up my usual Haiku mood and played around with the words this week, to show my fun loving side. 🙂

Prompts: Lock & Gab
Incessant chatter,
Filled with mundane rhetoric,
Fasten the muzzle.

Incessant chatter filled with mundane rhetoric.
Filled with mundane rhetoric, fasten the muzzle.

Opposing themes: Noise and Silence

Losing Oneself

Jun13

Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Prompt Challenge #48

Prompt Words: Inspire & Loss

This prompt made me think of how people can lose themselves to so many things in life. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, and yes…even an abusive relationship.  Sometimes the smallest thing can become the inspiration that person needs. A pivotal moment in time to help them gain the perspective needed to turn it all around and find their real selves again.  For me it was blogging.  Writing about all I have endured has helped tremendously in the healing process.

No matter the loss, you can find inspiration.
You can find inspiration, and gain perspective.

Opposing themes: loss and gain.

6 things you should NEVER say to a domestic abuse survivor

Jun13

Avalanche of the soul

As many as one in three women will suffer physical or other form of abuse in her lifetime. Lots suffer in silence. Those who speak out run a gauntlet of often well-meaning but profoundly ill-informed remarks, that can leave us groping for the right words to respond. Here’s how I answer the most common comments.

1. “Are you sure it’s abuse?”

It’s abuse. I’m constantly tiptoeing around him, yet somehow everything I do is wrong in his eyes. I’m afraid. I’m not the person I was. I sometimes wonder if I’m going crazy. Worst of all, I can’t see a future for me beyond this. And the fear of not being believed by people like you is one of the (many) things that make it so much harder to escape.

2. “I’d never have thought he’d be capable of that. He seems so nice!”

He’s a regular, model citizen isn’t…

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Why So Many Domestic Violence Survivors Don’t Get Help — Even When They Ask For It

Jun10

This is the sad reality as to what is really happening in the U.S. when Domestic Violence victims finally gather the strength and courage to leave their abusers and seek help.  Without the proper funding from Congress, it seems those requesting help will remain victims of a system that does not acknowledge Domestic Violence to be a high priority.

Thousands of victims are being turned down on a daily basis due to lack of space and resources.

“In an ideal world, the victims would be able to stay in their own homes and live without fear, but unfortunately that is not possible,” Southworth said. “The most dangerous time for victims of domestic violence is when they are leaving the abusive partner or soon after. More homicides occur during that window than during any other time.”

Emergency shelter and housing are critical for a survivors’ safety, followed by proper legal representation.

“We know that victims need attorneys, and if they don’t have them they end up in dire straits when they go to court,” Southworth said.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE:  Why So Many Domestic Violence Survivors Don’t Get Help — Even When They Ask For It.

Unraveling

Jun7

As per the official definition, it would seem, on any given day I am prone to becoming unraveled.  Typically, in the preferable term which would be to free from complication or difficulty.  This is actually on most days.  That’s a good thing.  I have found that by telling my story, not only out in cyberspace, but also with each – real life person – that knows me outside of this box, I am becoming disengaged and untangled from this web of lies that had become my life for so many years.

Then there are days where I become mentally unraveled.  They are few and far between but they pop up every once in a while.  For so many years, I disconnected from the people I cared about and probably needed to be around more than anyone else but because of the life I was living I hid away and secluded myself from all.  Now that I am so close to being truly out there about all of this [once I’m out of here I’m OUT to everyone] and no matter how much of a relief that day will be, I think part of me wants to retreat and take it all back. Hide it all away so no one knows why I left.  Just leave and be free and happy and not have to explain all of the crap that has manifested into becoming this grandiose escape plan.

So I cry, lash out, and cry some more.  Try to explain and not blame and then wish it all back into my mouth so that none of the words were ever said out loud.  Delete the account and voila no proof I actually spewed out all of the atrocities of my life.  So that it would all boil down to one day I just got up and left.  No explanation.  There she goes…moving on.  People could chalk it up to a mid life crisis or what have you.  It wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t owe anyone an explanation.

But then what?  All of this junk would still be inside of me.  I can’t even imagine having all of this nonsense still bottled up.  I can barely remember what it feels like when no one knew.  It seems like that was a lifetime ago.  Part of a different person’s story.  Something I read about halfheartedly because I couldn’t connect with the storyteller. Ha. If only. Truly though, those fleeting moments when I wish my secrets were still my own happen as if an out of body experience.  I’m not even really sure what triggers those thoughts.  Maybe just in knowing how close I am to being on the other side of the mirror my subconscious plays games with me.

The real deal of the matter is that…it’s so freaking close I can almost touch it.  It’s simultaneously awesome and scary as hell.  The day I’ve been waiting for, for what seems like an eternity, is at hand. Literally – at my fingertips.  The closer it gets the more hungry for it I am.  Salivating at the images my mind paints of what it will be like when I am sitting here writing about how it all went down, smooth as can be.  Background noises of my choosing – or blissful silence.

In the past year and a half, I have allowed six people that know me in the outside world to read my blog.  People I was comfortable with knowing the real situation.  For a while now, I’ve been contemplating whether or not to let my sister and mother in.  I wasn’t sure how well that would go.  I was unsure whether or not it was the right time just yet.  Would I even know when the right time would be?  Should I wait until I’m closer to stepping out of the door?  What if telling certain people at certain times of my journey is exactly what I’m supposed to do?

Last month, I found a letter.  It was a letter my sister wrote to me when I was leaving to go to the battered women’s shelter – way back when I was 21 years old.  Mostly, she had written the lyrics to Mariah Carey’s song “Make It Happen”.  The rest was telling me she loved me and knew I could do this, and how when this passes I will start a new life.  That I would never forget what I had been through but it will be in my past and all of it will make me a stronger person. My sister was only 16 when she wrote this letter to me.  I thought, how sad that my 16 year old sister had to write this to me.  Even sadder was that I was 21 years old and on my way to a shelter for battered women.

When I came across the letter I thought, maybe now is the time I should share this, my story, with her.  After all, I am beyond the embarrassment part of my story.  I think I’ve come a long way in how I’ve told my story and what I’ve learned from my story.  As I started to tell my sister there was something I wanted her to read, I found myself saying…I’m proud of what I’ve written.  I’m proud that I have shared my story and I’m proud of where I am now as opposed to where I was the first day I sat down to write my very first blog entry.  And as I’ve done with everyone else I’ve shared my story with, I sent her the link – and ran. Lol.

After she read it in it’s entirety, she told me how even though she knew some of it, she really didn’t know how deep it was and how long it was going on.  She said how, now, it all made more sense.  The person I am, the way I am – makes sense.  She also said…what a great author I am (still debatable) and that she was proud of me. Aww.  I’m not really sure I’ve ever heard those words – for real. I’m sure they’ve been said. At some point. Over time. By someone. Parents, relatives. Who can recall?  It’s all just fleeting words in a fading memory. This is now.  It’s real.

Above all else, I am proud of myself – as I continue to unravel myself from the past and move that much closer to the future I was meant to have.

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To read from the beginning… my story starts here.