My husband, Jeremy, likes to keep me on my toes by surprising me.
Occasionally it’s with things like fresh-picked roses or a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, but more often than not he surprises me with something gross.
He’ll kiss me passionately, only to push some chewed up piece of plastic into my mouth with his tongue.
He’ll tell me to come and see something cool, and I discover a decapitated or disemboweled rat.
I love him dearly. Who wouldn’t?
We’d been dating for about 4 years when we took a week-long vacation to beautiful and romantic Cancun with our friends Kimberly and Fausto, who had just gotten married.
Our first night there, Jeremy took me for a moonlit stroll on the beach.
There was soft white sand as far as the eye could see, and the beach was deserted except for the two of us. The warm ocean lapped gently beside us as we walked, hand in hand, discussing our friends’ wedding.
He held me in his arms as we stared out to sea, where the moon reflected on the water like a path to eternity. I sighed contentedly as I leaned my head against his shoulder.
“Here, have this,” he said quietly.
He dropped something small and round into my palm. I glanced at what appeared to be a small ball covered in sand, and closed my hand.
It was squishy. Gooey. Disgusting.
“Thanks,” I said as I threw it over my shoulder. I heard a quiet thud as it landed somewhere in the miles of sand that lay behind us.
“Just so you know,” he whispered in my ear, “there was a diamond ring in there.”
To be continued…..
Category: Life in general
Categories
Snooze
It’s that time of year.
The time when we have to start waking up on time. To get somewhere, on time.
I decided that we’d spend this week getting used to the new (old) schedule so that when school starts next Monday, it wouldn’t be a shocker.
I’ve been setting my alarm at 6:30, so that I can be up, showered, and ready with breakfast on the table when I wake the kids up at 7:15. So that I can get them up, ready, and out the door by 8:00.
How is it going, you ask?
Well, apparently I like playing this game called “snooze”. Where I try to see how many times I can hit snooze before Blythe wakes up for the day. And in that game, I am able to immediately return to sleep between beeps of the alarm.
Even though, every time I’m woken up all damn night, whether by Alison or Blythe or the dogs or the cats or some cricket chirping like its performing an opera, it takes me a full hour to get back to sleep.
Right now, it’s 9:45 am on Friday. I’m in my pajamas. Blythe is nekkid. Alison is still sleeping.
No one has had breakfast.
I hope no one minds if we all show up in pajamas on Monday. Possibly two hours late, and hungry.
Categories
Thief
I want him to know what he did to me. Beyond raping me, what he did to my psyche. To my self worth.
I want him to know he’s the reason I have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror.
More than that, I want him to feel badly for what he did to me. What he stole from me.
I want him to hurt, deep inside, knowing that he, a grown man, changed the course of a 12 year old girl’s life and walked away as if nothing had happened.
If he’s married, I want his wife to know every detail so that she can look at him and see the monster I saw in 10 years worth of nightmares.
I hope he has a 12 year old daughter, so that he can look at her an imagine a man doing to her, what he did to me.
If his kids are little, I want him to lay awake at night, afraid of his daughters meeting a man like him. A man who will stalk them like prey, who will weave a web and catch them in it so that he can suck the life right out of them and spit them out as though they are nothing but garbage. I want him to take that fear right out of my head, so he can see what he did to me.
Twenty years has passed. I’ve never sought counseling. I’ve never dealt with being a victim.
And I know now, why I haven’t.
I’m afraid. Afraid to voice what I’ve thought all these years: that I deserve what he did to me.
I’ve worked my ass off to be the best person I can be. Trying to prove to myself that I’m worth something. I’ve only just realized, that so much I’ve accomplished in my life has been because I was compensating for being raped.
I didn’t deserve what he did to me. No more than someone crossing the street deserves to be run over by a drunk driver. I have to come to terms with that.
Who I am is more than what he made of me. I deserve to move on with my life.
I deserve to look in the mirror and see what other people see, for the first time in 20 years.
Categories
Coming
I can feel it coming.
Like a storm cloud off in the distance.
It rumbles and rolls, inside my head and my heart.
I hate that it can still do this to me.
I wish I could leave the past in the past.
If there were a pill I could take that would wash it away, I would take a dozen.
I can feel it coming.
I have to say I’m sorry, in advance, for what may appear here in the coming days. Weeks?
I have to let it out. It has stormed inside of me for far too long.
Twenty years of letting it beat me down, and finally, I will conquer it.
I’m ready to fight.
This time, I will win.
I will win.
Categories
Front and Back
She wakes in the morning, feeling a little blue.
Her favorite dress is hanging in the closet, so she puts it on. It will help her to have a better day.
She goes to work. She chats with her co-workers. She counts down the minutes until lunch.
As she crosses the street, she notices a man in a car watching her. She holds her head a little higher, her shoulders a little straighter.
At the bank, she chats with the clerk. Another man catches her eye, and winks. Her favorite dress has worked its magic.
She walks through the mall, window shopping on her way to the food court. She feels tall, beautiful, confident.
At the last store, she notices a dress in the window and goes in to try it on.
She steps into the dressing room, and there, in the glare of the three way mirror, she sees what everyone else has seen.
Her beautiful, favorite dress is tucked into her panties.
Her huge, stretched out, granny panties.
PMS is a bitch.
*Don’t worry, it didn’t happen to ME. I left off names to protect the em-bare-ass-ed *