Intake Appointment May 1st. Good Grief.

Intake appointment May 1st.  Good grief.

When you’re reaching out for help, a “ I’m sorry, the girl who leads that program isn’t here right now, can you call back tomorrow?” will set me back at least a week.

It may seem petulant, but when you get up the nerve, it may be fleeting, and you need someone to catch you. Right then.

I don’t think you’ll understand this if you’ve never been in crisis mode.

I am an adult, and, I’m sorry, I can’t help the fact that I just need a damn hug today.

Jesus has a place for me, a life of sin and infamy

When I met him, I was certain I had found my soulmate.

I was a miserable teenager; I was always unhappy and never understood why.  I think I understand better now, but that’s a post for another day or blog.

He presented himself as exactly what I needed. He had a shaved head, with piercings all over his face, a leather motorcycle jacket and chain on his wallet. When he found me I was in ripped fishnets and my catholic school skirt at a bar underage.  We were wasted, and convinced it was fate.

He introduced me to ‘real’ punk: Dead Kennedy’s, Choking Victim/Leftover Crack, F-Minus, Pistolgrip, etc.  He told me he found solace in punk when his home life turned sour in his early teens. This music aligned with everything I was feeling (angst, restlessness, anger) and hated everything I hated: in short, boo discrimination and establishment, yay liberty from the reign of old white men. 

I felt I had hit the jackpot.  I had met a handsome bad boy who was just my type at the time.  He was a rebel who’s views mirrored mine (so I thought), who stood for something.  And he was absolutely mad about me. He spent his last $10 on me. He would send me songs that he knew would tug at my heart  - “Who wouldn’t be the one you love” from the Pumpkins - and draw us bubble baths.  He scraped together what little money he had and bought me a ring - the one I just recently took off - and told me that one day he’d marry me. He wanted us to live for one another.  He called me his saving grace, “the one”, his beauty, his reason. 

I remember distinctly thinking that I would take a bullet for him.  I was inconsolably in love.

The first incident occurred within the first two months of us being together officially.  However, I chalked it up to a stressful home life, and with the stuff above, found it easy to ignore him screaming at me.

He was testing my boundaries.

Little by little it all ebbed away. All of it.  The kindness, the rebellious spirit, the spontaneity, the love, even the values I thought he and I shared.  

This all seems… so long ago, but I put on a song today that I haven’t heard in years.  It took me back.  Back to when I didn’t see him as a monster.

The first time I saw him get violent it was over me.

He grabbed the guy by the nose ring and punched him in the head.

The poor bastard's crime? He tried to steal my drink.

I realize that this could be textbook gaslighting, but he used to tell me that I was awful to him.  He told me I was neglectful and emotionally abusive. And when he first kicked me out he threatened me with a restraining order, a peace bond and legal action. 

I don’t remember doing anything sufficiently to warrant these allegations and threats. But maybe some of what he’s saying is true.  Maybe I’ve just  blocked it out or not recognized that my actions were abusive.

These are the things that keep me up at night and curled into a ball during the day.

I have been asked a few times by well meaning people if I'm dating. The answer is no.

Mostly, I need to piece myself back together. Heal so I can feel confident in my judgement and ability to guard my heart.

However, there is another consideration: when the time comes ( or if the time comes - just being realistic) I would like to be a good partner.

The last thing anyone would need would be for me to turn into a cornered, wounded animal over a minor argument.

I don't want to hurt anyone. Least of all in the ways that I have been hurt.