this diary started off in one pursuit. i had become a victim of domestic violence more than twice and then our criminal justice system. I WAS GONNA ADVOCATE. turns out a “victim” won’t be taken seriously if she hasn’t left… who cares if she can or cannot due to.. the real life that real people have to live?!.. hasn’t demonized men and most of all…. FAILS to get a restraining order. yep. couldn’t get one, and didn’t end up needing one. the threat stood alone.
NOT FEMINIST ENOUGH. because the husband and police lied. couldn’t get safe so i made myself the safest i could… THEY TIED A SURGEONS KNOT AROUND MY FINGERS when they wove my wrist back together. if divorced… couldn’t get custody anyway. why? because i wore the cross, the apd had figured me.. small and weak then.. the aggressor. end of story.. except that my case was dismissed. gross negligence. gross.
…and then my body crapped and i couldn’t have taken custody anyway. besides, the mess i am now is not exactly what a family court judge would be looking for. one dreaded question: how many milligrams of morphine are you on each day???? give her to dad. but, dad can’t afford daycare and we also don’t believe in it. we made some romantic and great strides of love recently, but i’ve also been put on notice that i have one job that i can’t give up… which made me understand the true nature of the entire relationship and the needs of it. our needs of love and tenderness come last. last in a line as long as the yards between us. he will find a way to flourish beyond our legal marriage and i will not. i sense the wheelchair coming in the next 5 years… so i’m getting a little down. HA!
wants are carelessly tossed now. we’re up to what we never said we’d do. we’re doing it for the child. only her. we’re dying inside (maybe it is only me), and he seems to still believe that she won’t catch on. oh my.
i won’t do any further refreshing. refreshing what? my total failure as a human, a mother, a body? it’s been a long time since i got my ass kicked and i am confident that the person i share a child and marriage with will not be involved if i am to come into physical assault again. this is just something i know. he’s lost the taste for it. touching me not at all is probably a better choice for him. i can still feel and decipher loathing that takes apathy away. apathy was a previous phase. if he can stay away from me altogether, i think he’d be happier, but here we dwell together. and shit, do i dwell. i cannot often leave the house. i’m like an ugly lamp. needed yet despised.. probably to be replaced soon.
spare me, ok. i know that the “profile” doesn’t fit my situation and that all professionals have told me that it is merely a matter of time before he brutally kills me in front of our child or tosses me from a moving vehicle or begins to stalk me.. sorry, he’s lost any passion about me that could produce an outburst like those. it’s just gone. i have nothing to fear physically. i’ve turned to being so repulsive that these antiquated theories of DV make me laugh. if he actually beat me again, it would mean he had some sort of passion for me. those days are gone and so are my fears. i’m more like to hurt me than he’ll ever be again… and yet i can’t, since that isn’t in our plans for our daughter.
i gotta laugh here again. stalking! his stalking me is the graciousness that he puts forth in coming home to me every day after he works his ass off to support our family. he could be going out to bars or friends or women. it borders the amazing that he doesn’t yet have a woman, since i broke.
i rarely drive with him, because i cannot sit in cars for long periods of time and his stick shift can send me into two days of spasms. i’ll likely not be thrown out of a car that i never occupy.
since i’m the only one who still has a drinking problem, it’s very unlikely that he will strike me.. pretty damn near impossible.
i did ask a bit of leave tonight. just to check into a psyche hospital. turns out that’s not really gonna work out. i thought the best time to try and stabilize would be before school starts again. actually, that was thoughtless of me. if i need to go to inpatient… well… a lot of arrangements would need to be made. none that will work.
i’m ill now. things are different. i know some love still exists for me from him, but mostly… i have a really important place to hold as a mother and neither of us would be satisfied with the alternatives. i’m a place holder, actually. divorce just isn’t in us… yet. and, since my life is pretty much over due to pain, all i am responsible for is childcare. that’s it. i wept tonight. i want to go to a mental hospital so badly. someplace where they can keep an all seeing eye on me and medicate me back into life beyond survival and tears. oh damn the tears.
no one wants to cry in front of their child.
i’m just wondering if i can even make it.
it is as if my need for a stable environment away from responsibility is totally out of place and it is. there’s no fixing it, i can’t get the help i need right now. part of me wonders… if not now then…what will become of me? but, that IS selfish. he can’t take her to work. my parents CANNOT take her for even a few moments. getting the kind of help i know i need would uproot and confuse the shit out of our daughter. but, then, what will be the outcome of the neglect of my mental health needs? how can my suffering help anyone in the state i’m in. as i nursed my daughter’s bloody mouth, from a tooth so longing to be free, all day. i cried almost ten times. that can’t be encouraging to her. to ask for lunch, watch me hobble over to make it.. be displeased that i cannot allow her to help with heated soup. it split my brain open. i thought of my mother when she was young. it’s the same msg laded fare… chicken and stars. sick food. tooth hanging by a thread food. ice cream. anything.. dished up with mother crying again.
my mother was sooooooooooooooo capable. yeah, she was wasted by 6:30, but before that i never had to even ask for food. she did her job. from age 40 to 60 flawlessly in the light of day. even when i moved out… my visits were torture after cocktail hour. so what do i do? i take up the drink. i become the person i hate. i become the impossible.
strangely, no matter how many scientific studies i read about the devastation of isolation. i am not a fit. in a dark room without contact from the world, with no meaningful human stimulus…i would feel fine. i know i would because i try to invoke this into my actual life now. i don’t want people to look at me. i don’t want to talk with them. i’m doing fine without.
or am i?