Happily Ever After

He Was We

“Happily Ever After”

Let me riddle you a ditty, it’s just an itty bitty, little thing on my mind.
About a boy and a girl, trying to take on the world one kiss at a time.
Now the funny thing about, ain’t a story without it, but the story is mine.
And I wish you could say, that it ended just fine.

We all want to know, how it ends.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn’t you know, wouldn’t you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who’d like to know, I’d like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

Inhale, breathe steady, exhale, like you’re ready, if you’re ready or not.
Just a boy and a girl trying to take on the world, and we want to get caught.
In the middle of a very happy ending, let’s see what we’ve got, let’s give it a shot.
Let’s give it a shot.

We all want to know, how it ends.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn’t you know, wouldn’t you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who’d like to know, I’d like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

We all have a story to tell.
Whether we whisper or yell.
We all have a story, of adolescence and all it’s glory.
We all have a story to tell.

Oh, happily ever after, wouldn’t you know, wouldn’t you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who’d like to know, I’d like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?

We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.
We all have a story to tell.

 

 

My “happily ever after”… this song… I feel so far from it. I would like to do just as the song says. I don’t exactly want to skip to the end, but if I had a magical looking glass or a genie, I would wish to see how my life turns out. In less than six months I will be twenty-eight. What have I to show for almost being thirty? I have no career… no job for that matter. I have no children. I am married; and happily most days. I’m dreading Monday. Monday will tell me if I’m going away for a while. I would say that I wouldn’t like to drag my personal life into this, but what is this blog anything but my personal life.

So, a couple of months ago I had to take Jason (my husband) to work and I had to drop him off two hours away which meant leaving at 4:30 that morning. I didn’t sleep well that night and I would just have let Jason take my car but he didn’t, at the time, know how to drive stick. So I took him and we got there alright. Then I came home and went back to bed. I overslept my alarm to pick him up and woke up an hour late. I was speeding and got pulled over by a “Statey”. Well, as things would have it, I hadn’t (still haven’t) gotten my license renewed. I got a ticket for DWSL (driving with suspended license) and speeding. I hired a lawyer, but then I got fired. So long story short, I still haven’t gotten the funds together to get my license back (which was suspended for not having insurance… and I’m still trying to get that straightened out, because I did have insurance.) So Monday is “Truth” day. I will find out if I am going to jail for four months. Yes, it’s that serious.

I’ve never been in any kind of trouble before and I don’t know what I am facing. I don’t know how it’s going to be with my treatment and I don’t know how it’s going to be with my medication management. I’m scared. Flat out, there, I said it. And, the question becomes, how come I am facing a possible jail sentence and my abusers never are or did. How could people so, inherently evil, never get caught, and the good person, who never does anything wrong, get in trouble. By the aforementioned statement, yes I was not doing a ‘good’ thing. It was an illegal thing. But, still.. good intentions? I don’t know. If I didn’t get Jason to work he would have been fired, too. If I had woken up or not gone back to bed at all, I wouldn’t have been speeding. It seems like the universe is not working in my favor on this one.

I’ve been… (deep breath here), treated like shit my whole life. How can I deserve this? How did I ever deserve any of this? Who would molest their daughter? Who would beat their daughter? Who would tell her she’s dirty and worthless? And who would have known that this strong girl, ten years later, would feel dirty and worthless? I don’t know what happened to me in my journey to get away from the hell I grew up in. I’m broke, my credit sucks, I’ve had my identity stolen, I’ve been homeless, I’ve been fired from a job because I was injured at said job. I was supposed to be a doctor, dammit! I was supposed to have children by now. I was supposed to marry someone else. I was supposed to.. I don’t know. Be happy, be better. I was supposed to have escaped my fate!

I’m so ANGRY! That’s the word for it. I’m angry all the time. I don’t care for anyone other than myself. I’m selfish. I’m a fraud. A joke. I’m a shell of some person I don’t recognize anymore. I … I fucking give up. I’m done. If I go to jail, I go to jail. Maybe Jason will be here when I get out, maybe he won’t. He probably won’t because that seems to be the path my life has taken. No matter how hard I try, I always fail. ALWAYS. My first marriage was a joke! I got married on a mania trip and tried to make it work. He told me that I was “fat and stupid.” And that the next time I tried to commit suicide, I’d “better get it right!”

Jason, he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s compassionate and loving, and probably more than I deserve. More than I feel I deserve anyway. Maybe trying to escape fate isn’t the problem. The world is harmonics. Everything falls into it’s own place in time and the world harmonizes. I had a bad, fucked up childhood. Now, I’ve fucked up my future. That’s where everything stands. Fucking harmonics.

Say Something

Say Something

A Great Big World

Say something, I’m giving up on you.
I’ll be the one, if you want me to.
Anywhere, I would’ve followed you.
Say something, I’m giving up on you.

And I am feeling so small.
It was over my head
I know nothing at all.

And I will stumble and fall.
I’m still learning to love
Just starting to crawl.

Say something, I’m giving up on you.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you.
Anywhere, I would’ve followed you.
Say something, I’m giving up on you.

And I will swallow my pride.
You’re the one that I love
And I’m saying goodbye.

Say something, I’m giving up on you.
And I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you.
And anywhere, I would have followed you.
Oh-oh-oh-oh say something, I’m giving up on you.

Say something, I’m giving up on you.
Say something…

 

This song has been speaking to me all week. I guess it’s because I’m finally giving up on my step-father. I haven’t spoken to him in about a month. I called him a couple of weeks ago to see if he could come over and help me mount a cabinet that I had to move in the house to accommodate my new refrigerator. He said he would be over that evening and I haven’t heard anything from him since. He has a new wife. Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with me either. I thought I would keep him in my life until I didn’t need anything from him any more. I guess he’s decided the same. I find that I have no feelings about that. Good or bad. Nothing, just nothing. 

But why does this song speak to me so?

Last night I had a recurring dream that I’ve been having for the last few years. In the dream I find myself at twenty-eight and I am back in high school trying to get my diploma. Like, actually in school, not a community college. I find myself facing all of these obstacles. Last night I found that I had a project to do. I was supposed to build the torch from the Statue of Liberty. I didn’t build mine. I had completely forgotten the assignment. The reason that I forgot is because I was still living with my step-father and mother and we were moving into a new house owned by his mistress. She was wanting to raise the rent because he was moving there with his family. We were making a lot of renovations. The place was huge! To big for the four of us. My little brother was there too. I remember that it was my job to pay the cell phone bill and I was discussing the bill and some discrepancies with the cell phone company. I was pondering the idea of turning off “dad’s” cell phone. I remember thinking this because I knew he was cheating on my mom with the woman that owned the huge house. I was walking to school. I was in a new city… I had visiting colleges and I found out that indeed I did already have my high school diploma and that I could be a doctor. I was talking to a counselor at the school and he said I would not have to pay anything for my schooling. Which was great because I didn’t have any money! Then I woke up.

Dr. Tony would have a field day with that one. I’ve been told that dreams like this are my subconscious acting out the inadequacies that I feel in my everyday life. Do I feel inadequate? I don’t think so; but then again, maybe I do. I feel like I should be further along in my life than I am. I feel like I should have children, I should have a job that I love. I feel that I should be so much father ahead in life than I am. I feel stagnate.

I was once asked how old do I think I am. I replied with my age. Then I muddled over the question and the answer seemed to point to the fact that I still felt fifteen. The person that I was speaking with shook her head and said, “Ali, you are much younger than you think.” She was referring to my mental age, than my physical one. My doctor is in agreement. It seems as if I am mentally stunted at a child’s age. This surprises me, because I feel like a responsible adult. But to answer that question truthfully… I would gladly give up my responsibilities to go back and do it all over again. But I would do it better, I would do it right. Dr. Tony would ask me why I feel like I was the one for my childhood being wrong. I don’t know how to answer that. I feel as if I can’t move on from this, I feel ready, but I feel stuck.

I feel like the child today…

Reflections

Let me start this blog off with one of my favorite survivor songs:

Broken Angel by Boyce Avenue

You showed him all the best of you
But I’m afraid your best
Wasn’t good enough
And know he never wanted you
At least not the way
You wanted yourself to be loved
And you feel like you were a mistake
He’s not worth all those tears that won’t go away

I wish you could see that
Still you try to impress him
But he never will listen

Oh broken angel
Were you sad when he crushed all your dreams
Oh broken angel
Inside you’re dying ’cause you can’t believe

And now you’ve grown up
With this notion that you were to blame
And you seem so strong sometimes
But I know that you still feel the same
As that little girl who shined like an angel
Even after his lazy heart put you through hell

I wish you could see that
Still you try to impress him
But he never will listen

Oh broken angel
Were you sad when he crushed all your dreams?
Oh broken angel
Inside you’re dying ’cause you can’t believe
He would leave you alone
And leave you so cold
When you were his daughter
But the blood in your veins
As you carry his name
Turns thinner than water
You’re just a broken angel

And I promise that it’s not your fault
It was never your fault
And I promise that it’s not your fault
It was never your fault…

Oh broken angel
Were you sad when he crushed all your dreams?
Oh broken angel
Inside you’re dying ’cause you can’t believe
He would leave you alone
And leave you so cold
When you were his daughter
But the blood in your veins
As you carry his name
Turns thinner than water
You’re just a broken angel

And I promise that it’s not your fault
It was never your fault
And I promise that it’s not your fault
It was never your fault

Tonight I find myself thinking about all the things that have happened to me. I AM a survivor. But what now? I’m currently attending college to get my bachelors degree in criminal justice. My goal is to become a detective for the Juvenile Specialty Team. I feel that by help other abused children I can somehow feel like I have gained power over my abusers. So, this is what happened to me…

When I was about a year old my mother and biological father split up. He beat the hell out of her and threatened to kill me and my brother. Months later I was kidnapped by this man under the guise that my mother was unfit to parent me. His words, not mine. He told me when I met him for the first time as an adult that he took us from her because she was living in sin with another man and he didn’t feel that she had the right to raise us. This.. this from a man that has no moral compass at all… so anyway.

I can remember everything from the two weeks that he had us. I can remember sleeping, not in my own bed, but his bed. I can remember the exact layout of his house. He made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Goober peanut butter and jelly; the kind that is mixed together…grape… I can’t eat that stuff to this day. I remember riding the bus. I would sit on “dad’s” lap and my bother in a car seat. I remember seeing two elderly gentlemen playing checkers in an alley on the way to his house. I remember telling my brother to eat the bologna string because that’s why it was on the bologna and he did. I remember bath time. I remember a portable t.v. I remember the sound of glass shattering and my little brother crying because he was being pulled from the broken window. I remember blue lights. I remember screaming… And I remember him…

It is to my best knowledge that this man molested me. No one has ever told me that.. I just had this feeling. Then a dream. Then I asked him point-blank, “Did you ever touch me inappropriately”. I got a guilty laugh and then he hung up. That was about a year ago.

Many years after that I was adopted by my step-father. I remember that I did not want to be adopted. I did not want him as a father. I never called him dad. He was not, is not, my dad. The adoption happened when I was twelve. Everything was fine for a year or two. Then it got bad. He beat the shit out of me on what seems like a daily basis. He was verbally abusive, mental abusive, and neglectful. I was never good enough. I was a girl. I was raised with boys and therefor was deemed a tom-boy. I was not a girly-girl. I didn’t like braids, or dresses, or make-up, or dolls; I liked to get dirty, wear jeans, and play sports. This was not the daughter that he had apparently envisioned.

He was always so angry. I got straight A’s all through school, I excelled in every extra curricular activity that I participated in. None of this was ever good enough. I lost my virginity at fifteen.. that’s when he became obsessed with my sexuality. He stalked me whenever I was with a boyfriend. He went as far as breaking into one’s house when I was waiting downstairs while he changed so that I could give him a ride to work. He dragged me out of the house by my arm. He was good though… only once did he leave a mark. He busted my lip and I don’t even remember why.

He locked me in cold garages in the middle of winter. He dragged me by what ever he could grab, kicked me, threw me into furniture. He left a scar on my back about a foot and a half long. That scar is from the time he drug me up the stairs by my shirt and my bra strap cut deep into my back. I showed my mom, but for what ever reason, she never seemed to believe me. He would always make up stories about how I had misbehaved or talked back to him.. one time he told my mom I went crazy and came after him with a knife. Lies.. all of it.

I ask myself what a child could do to deserve this. Any of it. Who would deserve my childhood. Who would deserve worse. I know that there are worse cases out there. I lived. Many don’t. Why was I so lucky? What makes me special?

Anyway, now I’m free. I’m free of the both of them. Surprisingly I have a loving husband who has never even raised a hand to me. We rarely argue. I guess I got lucky. They do say that women marry their fathers. Not me. So, I’m free, but at what cost. I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, PTSD (Post-traumatic Stress Disorder), and god knows what else. My doctors are still trying to sort through all the various mental disorders that I could possibly have and they are trying to figure which are genetic and which are caused by “trauma”. That’s what they call it. The abuse… “trauma”.

Anyway, that’s just the summary. Two fathers and one unwanted child. That’s just the beginning of my story.