Settling is an Unsettling word

Lately I’ve been questioning everything trying desperately to determine where my stance is on a multitude of subjects. To no avail and much to my disarray.

Romance has especially been on my mind as I have not been in a defined relationship since the boyfriend I had right after my divorce was final 4 years ago. Everything since has been “casual”, but I’m starting to rethink this whole entire process. Are there really ever no strings attached since we are not labeling our relationships or are we just closing our eyes so we can ignore the cold hard facts that we are indeed sharing a part of our souls with another that we cannot ever get back?

It is so much safer to not set clear perimeters that way there are no expectations, but that doesn’t assure that there still won’t be disappointment. Actual relationships or these “quasi relationships” hurt you the same exact way. Just perhaps the intensity is not at the same level of severity thereby having the propensity for emotional devastation. The seemingly less sharp end of the double edged sword. The safer of the two options.
It’s easier to put yourself out there knowing you have a “Get Out of Jail Free” card stuck in your back pocket since you are not “technically” together.

Time and time again I have heard the same pathetic line of “I’m not ready for a real relationship right now”…. Well who is? No one can sit there and say “Why yes I have determined at this very moment that I am indeed ready for monogamy!” and proceed to go out immediately and date someone with the intent of marriage. It’s like having a baby- you can either think you are or think you are not ready but ultimately it just happens, and it happens purely on its own time-frame and agenda.

Like the great John Lennon said “Life is what happens to you while you are making other plans”.

It’s like craving sugar but not allowing yourself to enjoy it, so instead you only consume artificial sweetener in an effort to trick the subconscious into believing we have gotten what we wanted.
But it’s not what we actually want…
However most do not want to admit that.
Ignorance is bliss~ after all!

I’ve had quite a few options in these past few months where men wanted to be serious with me but for one reason or the other I ran the other direction…?! Sometimes it was big red flags that I determined to refuse ignoring (things I saw in my previous abusive relationships where a controlling nature was the first sign), or feelings of a more platonic nature instead of romantic. Although I do have to wonder if perhaps I pushed myself away from these seemingly great guys since I am not actually ready. My insanely busy life with college resuming, my sweet autistic son that I am raising/have raised pretty much entirely on my own (even when I was married), and the fact I developed such a thick independent skin from all the traumatic things that happened to me.

The walls I constructed were done in order for protection to keep me from potentially landing myself back into a boat unequipped with a life-saver so that I will Never drown again just like in my past. Thankfully I was able to abandon that ship and safely rescue myself. Call me crazy I am not looking for some “Knight in Shining Armor” to sweep in and think he is “Fixing” me and my sometimes chaotic filled life because Let’s face it:
Life is never that easy. Life is never going to be 100% great all the time Sorry! After all marriage vows they do not say “Through Good times Only”- No the line is “Through Good times AND Bad times”. And yes I’ll admit that my life is not always perfect. It’s chock full of a LOT of sacrifices and plenty of hardships that I’ve endured, But you know what…?
This life is MINE!

I took it for myself leaving an atrocious situation and surviving that also plenty of others to come in the future. I DID!
With that came feelings of Strength but then also Fear.

Fear to let someone fully into my heart and life as what I am most fearful of (and rarely even speak of) is that I will end up with another abusive man and let him consistently steal my sunshine again.
No doubt you’ve heard the expression “Don’t let anyone Dull your Sparkle”- and that is what happened to me. I became so entrenched in trying to be the “perfect wife” so I wouldn’t be screamed at within an inch from my face and intimidated by the wall being punched by my face. I tried. I did. I was hit and abused in other ways daily. But then I just stopped trying. I wanted to push him away because every time I would get strong and believe in myself he Hated that and would look for ways to tear me back down so that he could better manipulate and then throw me to the ground.

It has taken a long time to gain that perspective, but it is indeed a precious gem that once discovered you do not ever want to lose again!
So very precious and earned-  to learn and know that you Do indeed deserve happiness. It can be very hard to comprehend at first since victims of abuse are generally left beaten and feel in shambles until we start the climb up from the ground.

Oh how very beautiful the view is so once you reach the top!

YES more talk about Rape!

My recent posts have primarily been focused on sexual abuse as I adamantly feel that by not speaking out about the topic then we inadvertently are contributing to the dismal lack of awareness on this imperative matter.

Every single horrific experience in my past shaped me into a stronger person as I survived those events despite the wave of devastation they caused. Did you know it is customary procedure for a rape victim to be admitted into a psychiatric ward for the evening after having a rape kit done in order to be on suicide watch? I hadn’t known that- not until I was told by my nurse that they felt I didn’t need to. In fact it was around 4 am when all was said and done at the hospital and my friends that said they would pick me up did not answer their phones unfortunately. So I took a cab home by myself in the early morning darkness back to the scene of the crime- which was my own house. If that doesn’t scream strength then honestly I don’t know what on earth does?!

Here is a chilling excerpt of the “awareness” we have:

“Republican nominee for Senate Richard Mourdock’s recent “misspeaking” is unexceptional. Despite what he may have meant when he said “even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape that… is something God intended to happen,” he is unexceptional.”
A fair reflection of our cultural tolerance, one without party affiliation, for rape and its qualifications— “Legitimate rape” versus non legitimate rape. “Forcible rape” as “stock language,” “lemons from lemonade.” Women “should make the best of a bad situation,” “horribly created gifts from God,” husbands can’t rape their wives, because of science and technology no woman ever needs an abortion, “emergency rape,”women lie about rape legislation, “honest rape,” rape blackmail, “the sodomized virgin” rape, rape is like auto theft. But, again, all of this goes hand-in-hand with Facebook rape pages, Daniel Tosh rape jokes, Reddit rapist threads, music, videos, movies, ad infinitum.”
(retrieved online via http://www.huffingtonpost.com/soraya-chemaly/50-facts-rape_b_2019338.html)

I realized after 12 years of repressing memories that I had been sexually violated more times than I had even realized! And the scariest part of being in my previous ignorance was an evening when I had a traumatic nightmare painfully revealing that my own ex had raped me several times as I said NO and his response was “That’s MY S**t!” and refused to stop. I have a multitude of stories that I won’t get into right now as my body physiologically responds with redness and flushing heat to my cheeks along with red heated blotchy marks all over my chest with intense panicked tightening. Breathing becomes labored. Faintness upon standing ensues as I just walked to get some water. I always ask myself Why, Why, WHY….? So many brutal questions that I cannot fathom an answer to as I do not fully understand the rhyme or reason to it all….

Bad things happen to good people all the time they say, however that is not a means of comfort in the least bit. I don’t know about other PTSD sufferers but I find it extremely difficult to cry when I think or talk about what has happened to me in my past. Crying is a healthy way provided by nature in order to help you release negative energy from your soul. No matter how hard I try mine seems to grasp on to the pain, and I find myself unable to muster the courage to attempt letting it go.

 Join me in standing up and putting our voices together boldly speaking with heads held high. My intended goal is to help women navigate through this excruciating minefield, and empower them to report these crimes so charges can be pressed! No more Silence! I did even though nothing came to fruition as there was not enough evidence (I was drugged), and then my rapist died before the corroborating witness that finally came forward could get my case reopened. It’s not about vengeance- It’s the deserved right to have justice! No more Victims- let’s become Victors!

Every voice matters- I implore you to awaken yours too!

Karma (ahhh)

They say you cannot truly love someone else until you truly love yourself.
Today I can say with unwavering certainty that I love the woman I have become.

Physically I know I can survive anything as comparing the excruciating process of natural childbirth dwarfs anything else; however emotional pain was/is always an uphill battle like trying to gain control of momentum on a roller coaster. The name of my roller coaster was Husband. The terror of the ride still haunts me. I remember with perfect clarity so many times he stood over me laughing at his own destruction and making a mockery out of my pain. I would be curled up in a ball laying in the fetal position on the floor of our bathroom (the designated spot I chose and went to countless times) crying so hard I would vomit gasping for air barely able to breathe. Eventually 10-30 minutes or so later he’d come in laughing, pull me up on my feet, hug me, and then say a derogatory comment while still laughing condescendingly.

Then, with a smile on his face and amusement in his voice, he’d tear me down even further. It was almost like foreplay for him. He enjoyed it. Sometimes, he would even become sexually aroused, and it sickens me to think of what I unwillingly permitted more often than not to happen.

Looking back now, my own tolerance and permissiveness, sickens me. Why didn’t I leave?! Why did I stay? I tried to bury some of those atrocities deep down inside myself, in an effort to block it out and forget. But I didn’t forget.  His abuse planted seeds of self-hatred and self-doubt so deep in my soul…. seeds that I let him plant and I let grow inside of me. Then drastically grew into an overpowering entity of bitter resentment eating me inside and out. The longer I avoided facing the pain I’d been through, the more overwhelming the bitterness and resentment became. You never forget pain like that.

I realized, I don’t have to avoid it anymore. I can’t.

I do not wish to hate the father of my child and would never wish that upon my worst enemy, but here I was sitting 3 years post divorce letting his cruelty haunt my usually happy demeanor with flashbacks from the past. I have decided to accept what I cannot change and acknowledge my own fault in that I allowed myself to be abused so long without standing up for myself. Most people go into Fight or Flight response but instead I went into a state closely resembling a kicked puppy dog whimpering with a tail in-between it’s legs. I let it happen over and over again. I did allow myself to be demeaned, but Not anymore.

“The only thing that is ultimately real about your journey is the step that you are taking at this moment. That’s all there ever is.”
~Eckhart Tolle

Today the ongoing battle of custody/child support came to a climactic conclusion. The dreaded court case that made me lose so much sleep and gain so many new grey hairs is now finally over! I was petrified that I would fall to pieces and directly on my face. Not the case in this case however. I held my head up high even while being cross examined by the devil incarnate himself in the courtroom, and ended up winning everything I asked to be paid. Heck- I could have even asked for more and most likely would have been granted it, but I am perfectly content knowing that I finally got a piece of the delicious karmic pie I’ve been desiring to taste for so long now. Like a stranded traveler in the desert starving for water who constantly only saw mirages. Only this time I got to savor it for real and it left such a sweet aftertaste in my mouth.

Every single horrific experience in my past shaped me into a stronger person as I survived each and every single one of those moments even when doubt came to mind if I could withstand it all. Every so often I have those moments of clarity in life where the stars align and I can finally feel an overpowering urge of utter joy bursting at the seams. I want to jump up and down or twirl around dancing today knowing I took action and changed things for the better for my son and I.

My life is exactly where it should be and I am exactly who I should be. I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses. I know myself finally. Who could ask for anything more?

The definition of Insanity – AGAIN

One would think that a person who was robbed and raped 2 years ago this month would have learned the lesson to not trust so easily. Yet here I remain an anomaly that repeatedly jumps into the frying pan time after time again. Putting your hand on the burner to test the heat is one thing however typically the act is not repeated….

A few weeks ago my “best friend” decided to rob and strip my house clean of everything with material value except for this computer I am typing on currently. All my incredibly expensive camera equipment, wall hangings, DVD players, 100’s of DVD’s, video game player and games, BUT worst of all my sweet son Lincoln’s Ipad (with his autism it has helped him so much to becoming more verbal plus semi easier to control out in public during meltdowns). An autistic child’s Ipad- How sick can one person be?? I had been oblivious and now horribly blind-sided to how much of a drug addict she was.
An unfortunate series of events went on these past few months when All of my prescription medicines would disappear. Stupidly I believed her when she blamed our other friend. Then it was her semi sketchy cousin next month. Then I caught her red-handed the following month but when I confronted her 3 times she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. I dropped it until the next morning and once again finding all my pills gone… ! This time I took a photo of all that was missing and sent it to her saying “How could you do this to me? I have PTSD for goodness sake?!”. Her reply was an immediate (seemingly) heartfelt response about how incredibly sorry she was since when she gets into that “zombie state” she doesn’t even remember how many pills she takes, and claimed to not remember stealing them even tho I assured her I had confronted her 3 times! “I’m so so sorry, I promise I will make it up to you” she says… And naively I believe her. Did that happen? Of course not.

The ONLY reason I had even let her back into my life after cutting her out for a solid 6 months after the rape was to angrily tell her off since I was shocked that she did not bother returning the repeated phone calls from the State Attorney trying to get ahold of her to corroborate my story. Since I had no memory of that night after being rufied (3 beers does not constitute a mind erase) my testimony was not enough because the grueling rape kit I underwent came back inconclusive…

My body told the story without any words needed from the fingered-tipped bruises all over my legs and arms I was covered in with a deep bruise on my butt. Which I was told later she heard loud noises coming from my bathroom so I can only assume I was pressed against my counter to explain that dark purple bruise. The shower curtain and towel racks were pulled off left on the ground. Piles of my puke covered the floor as well. My guest bathroom had indeed become a crime scene.

The night at the hospital getting that dreaded rape kit done I was thankful to have Christine from SPARCC (Safe Place and Rape Crisis Center for those of you that are not aware) come to my room and advocate for me helping me fill out the mountains of paperwork, and the scary stuff like stripping down naked being combed everywhere to collect any sort of DNA. I knew the chances of them finding anything there was slim to none since I do not have very much body hair, and even though I had not showered I did change clothes since mine had vomit stains. My nurse was a very kind woman but nothing like my fellow New Yorker Christine who helped distract me during all the antibiotics, anti-HIV shots injected, along with countless horse pills, and of course intense questioning. We had thought provoking conversations about philosophy, religion, and other topics to keep us entertained- even laughing despite the situation.
However when the moment came finally all prepped and ready for the doctor to come in for the pelvic exam, swabbing, and examination of my vagina the VERY moment his fingers touched me I instantly burst into tears. I hadn’t cried that entire time. The slightest touch from this male doctor (how insensitive in my opinion given the situation- couldn’t they have paged a woman?) sent me into panicked tears making my stomach heave so much that he had to stop momentarily until I could regain my composure. My nurse and advocate held my hands crying themselves and said “That is ALL the proof needed to know that you were raped”- you cannot fake an instant involuntary reaction like that.

Those words still chill me now even writing this.

In a former post about other details of that night I divulged the information that this guy had been a fellow photographer that I was close friends with for 3 years even while I was still married. Never anything romantic between us in the slightest bit. I knew him so well to know that he always had carried a condom in his wallet. So of course my kit came back “inconclusive” or rather an infuriatingly unfair insult to injury. My now ex best friend who just robbed me had told me that her boyfriend who was also there that night began to later tell her details… the heroin they bought with my money, stealing and damaging my new car, things he had done/joined in doing to me, but even more sickening is that he and this other “man” (I use that word with complete condescension) apparently both put me naked in the bath tub still vomiting profusely. The amount all over my living room, all over my bathroom, and bathtub is obviously what saved my life since the drugs were not able to stay in my system permanently- just long enough to completely wipe my memory and make me violently ill.

The silver lining to that is of course that I did not die. However waking up that morning can only be described as awakening in a foreign country with no idea how you got there and no explanation to the million questions whirling around in your head a mile a minute. If you have ever watched the show “The Living Dead” the very first episode the main character wakes up to walk out and see a desolate destroyed incomprehensible world, and that is the exact feeling I felt.

There will be no “Victim’s rights” brochures handed to me by the police again.
There will be justice this time. This I vow to myself.

The Worst 4 letter word: RAPE

Why do we as a society keep brushing off the torturous atrocity of rape under the rug? I have noticed that this word falls into this sad don’t talk don’t tell hush-hush category. I find that appalling. Every time I go to write abuse and rape on my I-phone it auto-corrects it to say abide and tape. Is Apple too afraid to use unpleasant emotionally devastating words? Shame on them. It’s conceptual ideology such as this that guides this generation into hiding an epidemic that everyone is too apprehensive to acknowledge. I find that very sad. Not just being a victim of sexual abuse but as an empathetic soul touched easily by others misfortunes. The Bureau of Justice Statistics states:

Rape – Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as
well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the
offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and
both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal
threats of rape.

Sexual assault – A wide range of victimizations, separate from rape or
attempted rape. These crimes include attacks or attempted attacks generally
involving unwanted sexual contact between victim and offender. Sexual
assaults may or may not involve force and include such things as grabbing or
fondling. It also includes verbal. (retrieved via http://www.bjs.gov/index.cfm?ty=tp&tid=317)

I realized that I actually have been assaulted and raped before but didn’t process it besides the time in Italy I’ve yet to divulge. MULTIPLE times.
Even last year around this time last year I found myself in a situation where I was pinned down by my wrists and repeatedly penetrated with fingers begging him to stop as he lifted me up effortlessly while laughing dragging me into his bedroom where again my wrists were pinned over my head. “I’m going to rip your panties off…” he said with no emotion again seeming entertained and amused. I finally said besides the countless repeated “NO Stop Please” that I had been raped around this time last year so sex of any kind would be completely off the table and then immediately burst into tears. I sat there on his bed sobbing and shaking. He then realized what an A**hole he had been and let go then offered to hug me!? I said “NO, no thank you” and finally found the strength and courage to bolt out the door.

Unfortunately I have plenty more equally and worse stories than that. That is just the most recent…..
What is wrong with this world? Had that guy (who I had photographed for head-shots that day and thought we were cool enough to hang out afterwards) treated me respectably who knows he might have achieved his goal without assaulting and almost raping me. I can’t even look at the photographs I took of him because I am so repulsed- not just by his actions but also letting myself get into a situation that could have easily landed me back in the hospital getting yet another rape kit done. It is quite sobering.

Do actual men exist that don’t think that abusing women is as much of a normal pastime like baseball or football? I may never know as my guard of course is up now having made SO many mistakes in my little life. Will I ever learn the lesson? YES, yes I do believe I will finally. It has taken me an eternity having been first assaulted and almost raped when I was 18 years old during my dream vacation of backpacking Italy. Sad to think that experience pales in comparison to what I have been through now.
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…. Well I have to wonder if who said that actually went through any trial tantamount to paralyzing ones such as these.

Let it be…

Sentimentality…. Oh what a double edged sword you are. On the one hand taking a stroll down memory lane promotes smiles, belly laughs, and a sense of joy from familiar memories. However the flip side of that coin is seeing pictures of yourself remembering how you were faking that smile and vividly can see the pain in your eyes. Or seeing photographs where a series of events play out that led to an eventual disastrous course- the look of joy and happiness in your eyes was real; yet it was soon to be replaced with sorrow.

Friends lost and gained…
Lovers lost and gained…
Jobs, aspirations, marriages, pregnancies, and *fill in the blank of something meaningful to you*
Lost and possibly never regained…

It is all there on your Facebook for a nice emotionally cutting experience.
Why do I/we do it? I know that I have always been the nostalgic scrap-booking kind of gal who enjoys remembering days and evenings that burst and overflowed with laughter and adventures. Even when I was younger I would keep every little momento- down to my first reciprocated loves guitar pic he had flung at me during a “jam session”. The bad times of getting over him passed by long ago, and we actually maintained a friendship that when we talk we end up being on the phone 3-4 hours. Then there’s all my Italy photographs I am able to look at now and only see the beauty (not all the near death stuff) instead of being too afraid scared that all the traumatic scars will reopen.
I am still actively working on getting the pain from my ex-husbands abuse gone (including cheating on me with the teenage girl he recently married) after realizing recently that I am not 100% over it all. These instances however of having my home and body robbed are something that I just currently have no hope of ever being capable of letting go. The pain intensifies and resurfaces frequently and just trying to shove it down and ignore is like putting a band-aid on a bullet-hole wound.

Let it go… those words roll off the tongue so easily from someone who either has no capacity to emphasize or has no one to relate the situation to personally. I would not/could not ever wish this pain upon anyone else- I just wish there was more compassion and less judgement especially when ignorance is the only foundation for no awareness.

I am not afraid to speak now….

Time heals all wounds… Well when?!

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
-Rose Kennedy

I have to share her sentiment as unfortunately I cannot shake these godawful wounds from having been robbed recently, and now this coming Thursday is when it will be the 2 year mark from when I was robbed and raped. It’s not about the tangible items that were stolen- it’s the part of my soul that feels it can never recover. I was violated in every meaning of the word. By people I trusted. How can I not feel to blame for being so naive to let myself get blindsided? I asked my ex-husband to take our son next Thursday so I can try my best to do some nice things for myself and stay busy so I can desperately try to keep my mind off of the tragedy. His response was “What are you going to make an anniversary out of it?!” laughing at me to my face. I said to him it’s called PTSD have you ever heard of it, plus what if this had happened to someone you actually still loved would you be so callous and have such unemphatic attitude …? His reply was less than cordial.

The wounds from 2 years ago are re-opened even further having recently been victimized. I despise how when you receive your police report and case number you are referred to as a Victim on tangible paper in your face and given information on your Victim’s rights. It’s like an extra jab into your already broken back and heart.

Sometimes I fear that I will never be able to let go of all my traumatic experiences…. Being attacked, nearly killed, and abandoned in Italy, my ex-husband who was abusive constantly but actually hit me for the first time when I was pregnant, and of course the robberies ESPECIALLY the rape. I was never able to press charges on my rapist because I had no corroborating witness since I was rufied, and then he died months ago. That is not justice. I wanted him to pay for what he had stripped me of literally and figuratively speaking.
I have tried everything… counseling, yoga, antidepressants, anti-anxiety medicines, positive reading, But it just isn’t cutting it. Hypnotherapy or Electric shock therapy sounds enticing at this point. This affliction can be debilitating to say the least, and I feel so much that NO one understands. No one that I know of has been through trauma like I have, so I feel absolutely lost most days and find myself just looking for ways to mask it.

Anyone remotely familiar with PTSD knows that anytime someone experiences a “trigger” they can be brought back to that place of horror instantaneously. Oh how I wish I could erase all of this from my psyche like the quote from Alexander Pope:

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”

Perchance to dream. In the meantime I have no other choice than to take care of my sweet autistic son and eagerly await next week when I possibly will have 3 days to myself instead of the normal 1 & 1/2 day per week of freedom. Tie a rope and hold on right….?

The fear is back…

This weekend I became another victim of crime and I am in disarray still. This flooded back the moment when I was robbed/raped 2 years ago next month and the wave of shock and sadness. Thankfully this time my son wasn’t looking up over me smiling since that night they put me in his bed naked after everything violating that was done to me.
I will never forget that chilling moment. Never. It is burned into my nightmares.
Today however I have to deal with the realization that all the material goods I had saved and made payments for years to own for myself were now all gone. And my “best friend” was the one who did this beyond evil stab in my back. Ironically she was involved in that above mentioned atrocious incident. Having PTSD makes this even worse than an average person who just had their world turned upside down. I say that with no judgement, however this brings back all those horrific experiences like they happened last week. I would do anything to erase those memories from my head and heart. Sometimes I see people that have no defined mental illness and I think that it is unfair that I live with the fear everyday in the back of my head of something triggering my past and then the chance that I could spiral out of control into a dark place again. I’m not sure if I gravitate towards people that will abuse/use me subconciously, or there are just too many deceitful people out there in this world looking for the next person to victimize.

12 years ago a different former “best friend” abandoned me in a foreign country, laughing when I told her I was sexually assaulted, and left me for dead way too many times to count where easily I could have been killed. The coping mechanism I learned then was to eat. Not normal eating but eating for a family of 4 uncontrollably. You might read this and say “Yeah right” but that is how my brain short circuited. It was an addiction created in order to mask the traumatic feelings I could not deal with. To this day I still grapple with it… I’ve thought about going to Over-eaters Anonymous but have been too scared and I’m not sure why…. Maybe I don’t want to be labeled publicly. I am not obese by any means but just have body/self esteem issues, so maybe am afraid of being judged like “what the hell does this small girl know about it?!”, or maybe I am just too afraid that by telling my stories it will make my issues even worse. Now again for those of you who may not understand this- it is not something you can just easily say “Oh I’m full so I’ll stop eating”. No you eat for an hour straight to the point where your stomach is distended. The worst part about it is that I never had these issues until all those tragic things in Italy. I was a “normal” 18 year old girl that loved her hobbies, friends, had a craving for living life to the fullest, and loved being outside active in any way shape or form! However afterwards I would find myself hiding in my cave, not wanting to leave my room, even hiding my food (much like a drug addict hides their drugs), and trying to fake it when in public until I was alone at home “free” to let this overpower me.

I once discussed this with someone who is in Narcotics Anonymous- and when I described the cycle of how it completely consumes your life he understood that my issues were one in the same. It made me realize that virtually anything can become an addiction- food, alcohol, drugs, sex, and even working out too. Anything you cannot control in moderation is a red flag that you need to potentially seek counseling so you can catch it before it falls so to speak.

I am a photographer so having my at least $6000 worth of equipment stolen (that took me 4 years to acquire) hurt immensely, But the absolute worst was my son’s Ipad since he LOVES that thing to death. Honestly I would have rather been physically assaulted than knowing that both of the things that my son and I love the most were taken away. I was never able to press charges against my rapist so this time with this crime I want justice! I will stand up and fight because anything to do with my son brings out the “mommy claws”! He cannot speak so I will advocate for him so hopefully he at least can get his prized possession back. I will not be silenced this time by the previous failed efforts of the judicial system- No I have to succeed at pressing charges this time because I am not going to allow myself to sink down into a deep dark hole ever again. I will choose to live our lives to the absolute fullest at whatever the cost!

Irretrievably broken…

Those are the words used in divorce proceedings which are effectually efficient in describing the situation; however hearing it and reading it on signed papers is like a knife to the kidney.

My 3 years divorced anniversary was 3 days ago.

The late great actor Robin Williams spoke about it ever so eloquently “Ah, yes, divorce … from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man’s genitals through his wallet.” -Yet to me it has always been about the fatal damage my heart received. My illusions of what “happily ever after” meant were so distorted I may have well been on LSD when imagining them. In my case especially from the abuse I received those blissful dreams had been shattered long before I left and then drawn up those fated papers. How come there was no section to discuss reconciling the psychological damage? Only physical assets were of importance to him but all that mattered to me was my happiness and my sons happiness!

To my divorced friends without children I cannot stress to them enough how lucky they are to not have started a family with the wrong person. As you are still tied to this person until 18+ years you obviously have to continue having contact (which can bring up a lot of atrocious memories). Sometimes I find myself feeling bitter thinking about how I should have taken my entitled 50% of everything per Florida state law; however I just wanted out. I was thinking in a flight or fight mentality and I was too scared to fight… Too scared of him and how he claimed he would never see our son again if I did go after anything. So I didn’t and left the nicest of everything behind to live in squalor basically. The tiniest apartment, no cable, furniture from goodwill, and living on my credit cards since I couldn’t work due to all my sons therapies and the care he needs. I made my bed, laid in it, and grew into so much of a stronger person. And that is more invaluable than anything I had ever owned previously.

the daily struggles of a single mom with a special needs child

I love my son more than life itself despite the setbacks of having him not be able to communicate with me (which of course sometimes absolutely breaks my heart to shreds). Today however was rough. I try to not be bitter; However my lovely Ex-husband and father of my child is currently trying to reduce his child support payments knowing darn well that the 6 & 1/2 days a week I have him make it virtually impossible for me to work given Lincoln’s therapies, constant sicknesses, and the fact that I would need an impossible dream-like set schedule of when he is at school. Not taking into account the summer/winter breaks, the professional days (which he does not ever help out with), and the Incredible amount of sick days he misses school since his often stomach sicknesses made me decide to take him to the best gastrointestinal specialist in the area at All Children’s Hospital. So add in allergists, feeding therapists, and nutritionists (did I mention all by my myself again?), and basic speech, ABA, and occupational therapy I am basically up not just an unfair creek without a paddle but actually a winding river of rapids trying desperately to navigate myself with all the choices, incredible amount of paperwork, research, and etcetera that comes with the territory.

Sometimes I get quite resentful that he has his day & 1/2 of time when they just play and have fun, But then mommy has to be the mean one taking him for skin and blood tests, tons of evaluations to get him into new therapies, and other implementations from the therapies I have learned. Insurance companies don’t want to pay for these in case you weren’t aware. So it is a constant battle of phone calls, paperwork, faxes from specialists, and constant headaches basically trying the absolute best for your child who does not have his own voice but sadly also not another voice from his family. I’m not going to sugarcoat this- it’s disheartening, and some days I feel like throwing my hands into the air and saying “Forget it- he will just continue to exhibit behaviors of a 2-3 year old yet he is 6 & 1/2”.

My normally positive posts are not so glowing tonight instead there is a haze of sadness and hopelessness.

I know there are resources out there (Especially for single moms) but I have no clue where to look or where to begin. Anyone reading this in the Florida area please leave a comment to give me any advice since I fear I am fast approaching the end of my rope.

Yet I have to hang on as there is NO other option for my sweet boy.