My Story

So after three months Joe called and had a “come to Jesus” meeting with me about the ex. I was darn near broke trying to live in that state on my own. It’s expensive there. I was on the verge of being stuck there because of it when Joe called and said, “Please just come home. I will pay for everything if you will just come home Robin.” So I tucked my tail between my legs and moved back to FL. I was promptly greeted with a big ‘ol “I told ya so” and non stop bad mouthing from everyone about the ex, except Joe. I think he knew that a whole lot more had happened than I was talking about.

I never told anyone in my family he raped me or about the verbal and emotional abuse, not even Joe. I was so ashamed that I had put myself in that position again. I couldn’t have taken it if I heard, “I hope you learned your lesson” again from anyone. I had a lot of internal stress going on at that time due to the residual fear from some of the things the ex had done and said to me. I kept it all hidden. I was good at that. Too good at it sometimes to be honest. I was able to secure a couple of part time jobs and slowly started trying to pick up some pieces.

One of the jobs was at a homeless shelter for teens, where I met Barb, a co worker who was a Christian. We became friends, and I went to church with her… a few times. At that point I honestly didn’t know where I even wanted to stand with the Lord. I wasn’t angry at Him for how my marriage turned out. I knew I had made those decisions, ignored those red flags, disregarded everything people were trying to tell me they saw. I was angry at “the church” in general at that point. So disappointed that no one could seem to see the depth of the hurt it caused me when I would try to reach out for help, and get rejected in return.

I was angry that the ex's’ pastor was too busy to care about a couple that was struggling in his congregation. I was angry about all the churches I had been too in FL that seemingly rejected me. So, I was making no promises to no one about anything concerning my “faith”. I met a man, and decided because I was lonely, still scared and feeling a need to be protected, I would have a physical relationship with him. Well, Barb caught on to what was going on and began haggling me about it… non stop. She kept asking me, “What’s going on Robin? Are you sleeping with him?” All these prying questions that were none of her business.

I was completely aware of what I was doing, why I was doing it, and how the Lord feels about that kind of thing. I wasn’t proud of what I was doing, by any means. But I won’t tell you I was really ashamed at the time either. I just wanted people to let me be. Stop telling me what YOU think I should do and just love me instead. Pray for me. Let God do what He does best. He is after all the only One who can heal us. This went on with her for about two months and finally at lunch one day she was pressing me about it… again… So, I told her. Holy moly. This girl lit me up, right there in the restaurant in front of a bunch of strangers.

Told me how disappointed God is in me. How I was going to hell because I was willfully sinning against God and my body… on and on and on she went for almost 45 minutes. Strangely, I did not explode. I did not even really get that angry. Though I was quite embarrassed. I just stood up, looked around the room, looked at her and said, “Ya know Barb, that is quite interesting advice coming from someone who just cheated on her husband less than a year ago.” (She had) And I walked out the door. I decided at that point I was done with “the church”.

Not God. I was tired of being kicked while I was down. Bruised while I was bleeding. Despised when I already felt so completely unloved in some ways. Judged and condemned for doing the very same things those accusers were doing. I told my parents. Joe was heartbroken. He gave me a lot of credit for their getting saved. None of which I felt I deserved. They made the choice not me. I resumed heavily drinking, mostly out of spite in the beginning. Karaoke became a 5 day a week thing, sometimes more. I avoided being home because I didn’t want to hear the lectures.

I already knew God was disappointed in me. In the decisions I was making. I didn’t need to be reminded. One day (about three months after moving back to FL) I got a call from my brother. He wanted to let me know that Roger had just been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Why hadn’t Roger called to tell me? I made time to go see him. Three months later Joe got really sick and had to go to the E.R. When they X rayed his lungs they found stage four lung cancer. I wandered around drunk for days. Lost. Confused. What was happening? Singing became the only thing that gave me strength anymore.

That song I shared last night used to be one of my favorites to sing. Well that and "I Will Survive"... lol That one always got the whole bar going! It was the only thing left at that point that I felt I still had control of in my life. The most horrifying thing of all though was I suddenly had to decide between Roger and Joe because I couldn’t be in both states at the same time. At that point I did become angry at God. I chose to stay in FL with Joe. When it all came down to it, Joe was the one who had been there through all those years when I couldn’t even see it, and wasn’t able to receive it.

Roger took it well. He did not seem angry about my decision. I was still torn though. I wanted desperately to be with them both. I visited Roger as often as I could and continued living with Joe and my mom to help as he began declining. He begged me to come back to church. My mom did too, but with her it felt more like nagging. I refused though. Told them I hated what the church has become and refused to participate anymore. When Christmas rolled around that year they bought me a necklace. A gold circle with part of the footprints poem in it. I was angry, because I felt like they were trying to push me.

I never wore it before Joe died because of that, but I did keep it. My brother had jumped right in to “support” me after Joe’s diagnosis. He was the only one in our family I was talking to at that time about anything that had gone on in my life since marrying the ex. The only other person I talked to was my best friend Lori and my drinking buddy that I worked with. I was struggling and desperately wanted someone in my family to care… about me. For the first time in my life I actually felt like my brother cared about me. In the meantime I was talking regularly with Roger on the phone, but I noticed his attitude towards me started changing.

He wasn’t as kind anymore when we talked. Then, after my brother had come to visit when I talked to him he was straight up angry at me. He repeated some things I had only said to my brother, but they were wildly twisted out of context. I said to my mom, “Gee mom, I hate to think this about my brother, but I think he is talking to me, twisting what I say, and then going back to Roger with it to make me look like an irresponsible shmuck.” She said, “Oh, yeah. I wasn’t going to tell you this Robin but when he was here he told me he has been talking to Roger, trying to convince him to only leave you enough money to go to school in an account that can only be used for that.”

I was like, huh? I was so confused. First of all, the last thing on my mind was what my dad was going to leave me when he died. I didn’t even know he had anything TO leave. I just wanted my father to love me and to cram as much time as possible in with him before he was gone. I stopped talking to my brother about anything at that point, but it was too late. Roger had lost a lot of respect for me because of the things my brother was telling him. He was doubting my integrity… as a person. I was crushed. Absolutely crushed. No matter what I did for the last few months of Roger’s life he just never looked at me or talked to me the same.

I was furious with my brother. That selfish jerk who robbed me, as I saw it, of my father’s acceptance and approval… and for what? Money. My dad was worth a whole lot of money… I don’t really know much to be honest, nor do I care. He wasn’t his money. He was my dad who always loved me, even when I was told he didn’t. He was my dad I had worked SO hard to finally get to know those last six years. He was my dad who died… never really knowing the real me. It still breaks my heart when I think about it. So, just when you think things can’t possibly get any worse… sometimes they just do
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I got a call from Lori about three months before Joe died. I didn’t talk much about her in this, mostly for time sake, but if I ever had a soul sister it would be her. The guy she was dating when I tried to kill myself… well she went on to marry that jerk. He abused her physically, mentally, and emotionally for three and a half years before I was able to convince her to leave him. We went through a lot together through the years. So she called to let me know she had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was devastated. My behavior was getting more and more radical as things kept happening.

Sure, I was professional at work. No one ever really knew what was going on inside of me because I just wouldn’t talk about it. Most people had no clue three people I loved were all dying and I could do nothing but sit back and watch. I felt completely betrayed and helpless on so many different levels at that time. So, drinking and driving became a habit. Why not? I really didn’t care anymore. Maybe I’ll get lucky and crash into a tree. I never asked to be here anyway, and that remained my stance for the next eight years...

I never asked to be here.

Joe died 4 days before my 37th birthday. Roger died in September of that same year. I did not cry at either of their funerals. I still to this day am unable to show emotions in front of my family. Well, most anyone really. I try but it’s like there’s this big brick wall that rises immediately when I start feeling the pain and blocks it. I remained with my mother for a year after Joe died to help get her back on her feet. Lori’s health was up and down during that time because the pancreatic cancer had actually started on the side that causes the symptoms which is not typical.

She told me that the reason it’s too late when most people get diagnosed is because it usually starts on the other side and has spread throughout the whole body by the time it gets to where there are symptoms. I begged her for months to go to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America to get a second opinion. She worked at the hospital that was treating her and was fully convinced they couldn’t possibly be steering her wrong. I knew they were in some ways. I had learned a lot through the process of Roger and Joe’s illnesses. They had given Lori little to no hope of a full recovery and she believed them.

About a year after Joe passed away my mom told me that she was ok now and I needed to go spend time with my best friend before she died. I got eight months with her before she passes. And then I just... lost it for a while. Some how I had imagined that her death would be "easier" because I had already been through it twice. I knew what to expect. The emotions that would hit, and so on. Oh... but I really had no clue on what the intensity of those emotions would be. I was the one on my knees, balling uncontrollably at her funeral. I was the one who could barely walk out the door when it was over. I was the one.

I was questioning why about everything. Why her? Why my dads? Why the hell NOT ME? I have been practically begging my whole life to please be taken away. Please... but no God. Instead everyone I love just starts dying off. That makes a lot of freaking sense! Lets just leave the worthless shmuck who can't get her life straight no matter how hard she seems to try so she can suffer a few more years! Oh man was I a mess for a while. It became my mission to drink myself to death at that point. To just stop caring about everyone... everything... even myself. I just didn't WANT to care anymore. It just hurts too darn much sometimes.

Well, the truth be known, a few months before Lori passed away I began to drift away... emotionally. From everyone. Everything. I was going to a very deep, dark place I never wish to visit. I had this job see.. Bankers hours. 10 am to 4pm every day, six days a week. Then the doors were locked and the beer bottles were cracked. After a few at the work place, we (being me, my boss, and the rest of the "gang" I had joined, which were all his friends) would move on to the bar. And when we got bored, we'd move on to the next bar. Then when we got bored with that we'd head back to one of the guys places and they would all fire up a big fat one and pass it around. Every trip around the circle it was offered and I refused. Yet, every day it was the same ol thing.

It became predictable. Something I could depend on. I need consistency of some sort in my life or I honestly have a very difficult time even functioning. But I still struggle some days with guilt about those last few months. Like I abandoned her when she needed me the most. Even though I know that's not completely true. See, Lori was one of very few people in this world who has every really "known" me. She just always "got" me. I was a tumble weed... and still feel much the same some days to be honest... but fear not... eventually the wind will blow me back your way. lol And when it did... She was always there waiting. She taught her kids the same, and I have always been grateful for that.

See, there's this thing that can happen right before a person dies. I can't remember what it's called. I remember reading about it though, and then it happened with Joe. About three days before he died he just sat up in bed one day, after being bed ridden for two weeks, and said he wanted a cheese burger and a chocolate milkshake. So... I went out and got him a cheese burger and a chocolate shake. He was actually able to make his way out to the living room and we all sat there, at dinner, talked, and laughed one last time. Then he went back to bed and never got up or even talked much again.

Except the next morning. I went in the room and sat beside his bed for a long time just looking at him. Trying to find the courage to tell him all the things I wanted to say, because somehow I knew this was my last chance. So I did. I sat there for a half an hour and poured my heart out to this man who when it was all said and done, had become my hero. When I was all done he opened his eyes, looked at me, and said, "Gee Robin, you are talking to me like I am going somewhere." See, I am not sure I will ever understand this... but until the day that man died he was convinced he was going to beat the cancer. I respect his strength and determination, and always will.

I think something similar happened with Roger, except I never got to say my peace to him. I still know my dad loved me, despite his apparent distaste for many things he had been misguided on. I know it because of this. He waited for me to come see him before he died. See, I had made plans to come see him several times within a short period of time, but every time the plans were foiled somehow. Then when I did finally make it I decided to stop and see Lori for a few days on the way and somehow it got misunderstood that I was going to be three days later than planned. Literally withing 24 hours of my arrival Roger started declining.

By the following morning he couldn't even get himself to the bathroom. I called my brother to tell him because he only lived a few hours away, and to urge him to get there as quickly as possible because things had gotten so bad so quick we had to call hospice to come help. He didn't believe me and demanded to speak with the nurse. So the nurse got on the phone with him and was hit with "How soon is he going to die?" That was my brother's question. He was actually trying to get her to give him an exact time frame. In the meantime she's glaring at me like I had something to do with all that!

When my brother finally showed up, a day and a half later I think, it was pretty close to the end. My dad's wife and I had pretty much been doing round the clock care on him for two days straight and were exhausted. It was late at night so my brother offered to do a "shift" so we could rest for about three hours. My gut told me not to do it, but I didn't listen. I was awakened three hours and five minutes later by my brother, telling me Roger had been struggling for a few minutes before he died, but he didn't think to wake anyone up at the moment and he was so sorry. So was I.

And then Lori. I was at work one day... trying to work off a heck of a hangover... when her daughter called me. Lori had been in the hospital for about a week or so at this point. I had been there to visit as much as possible, but she was going down hill quick. Had hardly been speaking or even doing anything but sleeping. Her daughter was so excited, telling me her mom was all better now. Things were going to be fine because her mom was sitting up in bed, talking just like normal, and asking for an sausage egg Mc Muffin from McDonalds and a snickers bar, and was getting mad because the nurse kept telling her no. Oh my heart... It dropped to my toes. I knew.

Her daughter didn't know, her mom didn't understand either, nor did her son. I had to explain it to all of them and it was one of my hardest moment in life. So, I told my boss I was leaving, went to McDonalds to get her a sausage Mc Muffin with egg, and then the gas station to get her a snickers bar and a coke.. just to make sure I really pissed those nurses off. lol I marched myself right up to her room, ignoring the nurse who tried to follow me into the room to tell me she couldn't have that stuff, walked over to her bed and handed it to her and very nicely asked the nurse to leave the room, and she did.

So we chatted for a little bit and suddenly Lori turned to her mom and asked her to take her daughter to the cafeteria to get her something to eat. As soon as the door closed behind them she looked me right in the eye and said, "Robin... you can't let me die here. Please. Don't let me die here. They won't let me go home. We've been trying to talk to them about it and they just won't listen. I don't want to die here Robin... Please... don't let me die in this hospital." I said, "Okey dokey." and then she was gone. I don't think it was even an hour after that conversation she went back into an almost vegetable state. Not speaking, or really responding to anyone or anything.

So, the nurse came back in and I lit her up, right then, right there, on the spot. I told her we WERE taking Lori home TODAY whether they liked it or not if I had to carry her out of here on my shoulders. Her mom and daughter just sat there with gaping jaws because they didn't know about that conversation we had. The nurse immediately began to try to tell me there was no way I was getting her out of there. Well, about then Lori's mom worked up some courage and stood up behind me and said something like, "Oh yes we will. This is MY daughter and if SHE doesn't want to die here... as she has told you SHE DOESN'T several times... then she IS NOT GOING TO DIE HERE. PERIOD."

The nurse was beside herself at this point and went to get back up. Things started to get heated because they kept insisting that Monday (it was like Thursday) was the soonest she could go home because it was the soonest hospice would be available to assist... I explained that I had just walked this very road two times in four months about a year prior and had more than enough knowledge, if given the proper tools, to care for her until hospice could come. It took some serious determination on our part, but we got her home that day, and she died less than 48 hours later.

So, then it was over. They were all gone. I don't know if I have ever felt quite as alone as I did the day my best friend died. It was like losing part of me. Three parts of me. So, one night... a few months after Lori died I was just sitting there, drinking the beers, trying to keep up which proved difficult at times because the main bar we hung out at was like a local "cheers". Family owned. They were friends of the owners... Shoot, they probably bought about half of the beer I drank in that place for me. Then this one fateful day they had a new waitress who shorted me $10 on change. I flipped a wig right there. Literally. Screaming... yes... screaming... this woman was a thief, she ripped me off... blah blah blah. I stormed out... swearing never to come back again.

Then... the next morning in reflecting back on that embarrassing incident I realized there had to be something more going on with me. I mean at this point if someone even cut me off in traffic the first thought in my mind was, "Oh what the hell is the point anyway? I might as well kill myself. No one cares anyway." So I went to the Doctor and they tested all my hormone levels and a few other things, and informed me that I had hit full blown menopause and the beginning signs of emphysema and COPD. I thought to myself, "Great, now I don't have to try so hard to die. It's just gonna come sooner than later if I keep smoking." I asked for anti depressants. I hated to do it, but I was just at the end of myself, and for some insane reason just couldn't find it in myself to actually do the deed myself and end it all.

I especially hated to do it because a few years prior, maybe several years... either way my mother had told me, "Some day Robin, you are going to have to be on anti depressants too. It runs in our family. Every woman in our family is on them, and you will be too." And here's my most arrogant response like ever... "Yeah right mom. No I won't. It's not my fault you and everyone else in the family doesn't want to "deal" with their problems and would rather just take a pill and pretend like it's not there." Yep. I rode that horse for a while. Ms. Self Righteousness herself. I think I may have even had a cape! lol

Dark dark times those were... It was depressing getting on anti depressants... at first... then suddenly the little dark cloud that followed me around everywhere in my life no matter where I went... was gone. Oh, my life was far from perfect... and I still was a drinking like a fish determined to just drink myself to death. Carelessly driving drunk where ever, when ever... but there was this little spark of hope... a little ray of sunshine that had been blocked by that little dark cloud and I began to wonder if maybe... possibly there could be hope for me... to amount to something... some day.

It's funny... I have been thinking a lot lately. Things in my life are anything but simple... or even good... and everything in me today wanted to explode. Start screaming and hollering, "Whoa is me... Is life EVER going to get "better"? I've had enough." Oh wait, yes, this morning I did actually scream at God again... for like the 100,000 time in my life to just take me. Jesus God... would you please just put an end to this misery? When is enough enough already?" Another mirage... and they always seem to come with a bomb shortly there after. The bomb happened this evening. So, after my mini temper tantrum with God I decided maybe I should step back and try to view this all from a different perspective. I am, after all trying to move forward now instead of backwards. lol

Not certain how exactly to do that... I just started pushing back at the flood of negative thoughts and emotions and began looking back at how far I've come. The accomplishments... though small and few... I have made. The lessons I've learned from so many of those things I went through... just like this... and how in many ways as hard as some of those times were they 'grew" me some. Emotionally... spiritually... mentally... Then I got inspired to write down some of the thoughts I was having and share them on facebook, so I did. It went a little something like this:



I had the most surprising comment come from someone who actually was involved in my life at this very dark time. I haven't seen him in years as he moved across the US but he too pretty much felt like a helpless cause himself at that point, and has since found a way out of his own trials. Anyway, here's his comment,



That was a big encouragement. I needed it. To see that someone else saw a change in me, because to be honest, some moments of some days it doesn't feel like anyone really does... or even wants to. All that aside though... Another dramatic thing that was happening at that time was that my appetite disappeared completely. Poof. Just gone. I started losing weight and was happy about it at first. I have always been a little "fluffy". lol Once I got down to 100 lbs I started wondering what was going on though. Even the thought of food was making me nauseous at that point. It had been two and a half years I had been hanging around with these people drinking every day and watching them smoke it up.

When I was down to 92 lbs one of them looked at me one day and said, "Ya know, you really ought to consider trying this out Robin. They say it gives you an appetite." He had cancer and was smoking it for it's medicinal value.... well mostly... They all bugged me about it for about a week because my heels were dug in... no way... no how... not me. I will not do THAT. And... eventually I did... and suddenly I could eat again. Not much. At first eating half a sandwich felt like I just ate thanksgiving dinner. Almost too much. But see... here's the thing... I was in a very self destructive lifestyle at that point and it was really just one more tool for my boss to try to use to get his "thumb" on me, so to speak.

Meaning that for him, he was married and not even attempting to be faithful. He used this business actually to hire and meet younger girls and hopefully hook up with them eventually and get them under his thumb. Dependent on him so they had nowhere else to go. He'd been trying to do that to me for two and a half years, quite unsuccessfully, as you saw in that comment above, there was a time when "love" in any way or version wasn't even in my vocabulary. I was just passing time at that point... basically waiting to die. My "friends" at that time all panicked when I got the emphysema and COPD diagnosis. Hollering at me every day to quit smoking. Telling me if I didn't quit...

RIGHT THEN

RIGHT THERE

In three years I would be wheeling around an oxygen tank everywhere I went. They even went so far as to call in people I didn't know to come talk to me who's relatives had done exactly that... ignored the doctors orders to quit and had one foot in the grave three years later. All I could think to myself at that point was, "My God, it's going to take that long? Really? Damn." I had slipped low enough at that point to finally give in to my bosses advances and had an affair with him for several months. I felt worthless in so many ways at that point. I knew he was taking advantage of me, basically with my permission, as well as the other friend who started me "smoking".

Having a rough time of it financially as always I had moved in with him and his daughter because I could not afford, my own place despite working two jobs. I had moved on from working for my boss and we had all just become the drinking crew every day possible as my schedule allowed. I proudly called myself a "functioning alcoholic" at that time. Still not quite sure how I pulled all that off... but hey... grief, menopause, and failure can apparently drive a person to some un thought of extreme's. So these "friends" were charging me $350 a month to live on their sun porch with no heat. Winter was approaching quickly and I really didn't have a lot of options.

I returned to the local online dating scene again. Like I said, as strange as this is going to sound, after starting the anti depressants there was a new little spark of hope in me... So I met a guy. We went out a few times and realized dating was not going to work. But he was a "christian", I was in a tough spot, and so was he. Because he had a 13 yr old daughter who was getting into more and more trouble by the day. She had even called CPS on him. So after a couple of weeks of talking we decided to give "roommates" a try. I could live there for free if I could help him turn his daughter around. Well, despite all my shenanigans, I love teens and always will, and will never hesitate to help one if I think I can.

So it boosted my hope a little. Maybe if I tried to do something good... something good could come from it. I moved in and shortly there after was unexpectedly laid off of my full time job. Right after that though I was offered a job at a group home for troubled girls for the second time. By a friend I had gone to church with prior to moving to FL in the first place. I turned it down the first time. I had just gotten back to be with my best friend. I knew I was in no emotional place to help anyone at that point. I wasn't even sure I wanted to help myself to be honest. So I took the job. Uncertain where it would lead, but it seemed it could at least be a more positive direction.

I was pretty unhappy with my life at that point. Moving in with this guy was the best way I knew how to put a little distance between me and my ex boss, as I did not want to continue the affair with him, but was wrestling with a bunch of emotional stuff too. He had actually started acting like "serious" serious about me, and it freaked me out. I certainly did not want to replace his wife. A fling. That was what it was to me. Letting off some steam cause who cares anyway. All men want is sex. That's apparently all I'm good for. So, what the hell Nell, why not? Crap, in all honesty I darn near hated men at that point, and only put up with them because they didn't stab ya in the back nearly as often as women seemed to, to me, when it came to being friends that is.

I have to stop here... for I don't know how long. See, my life has taken another brutal turn for some reason, and my husband and I have until this Sunday to find a place to live... with no money. So... I have a feeling the next few days will be pretty busy scrambling around trying to figure something out. I'm pretty emotionally exhausted right now too, and am finding that I really have to TRY to find good things to talk about at most points. lol I am certain my only wifi experience in the near future will either be in a public library, or a Mc Donalds parking lot. I figure, if I can I'll still write and then when I can get somewhere to post I will. Just not sure what's gonna happen is all.

I hope to come back soon to report something good that's happening that's not just a mirage in this desert called my life. Be assured, I am not giving up.

So, here it is... Two days past the deadline and I am still alive... Imagine that! Lol Seriously, this turned out to be quite an interesting weekend. I will get to that eventually... but for now, we are good. My internet connection is still going to be iffy for a while, but I have something to go on for right now and am grateful for that! We are still where we were... Alcohol makes for loose lips sometimes and someone may have spoke before he should have, is all I am going to say about that. Irregardless of all that... my husband and I will be signing a lease for our own place tomorrow. Hopefully most everything can be squared away by next week, and I will finally have access to a bunch of information I have been waiting to get to!

As I have been sharing here I am finding I am quickly approaching a "very uncomfortable" zone, as far as things I talk about goes. See, I can share all of my past... no problemo. I have no emotional attachment to the majority of it anymore. That last post... Whoa... brought up all kinds of emotions in writing it... and even in re reading it four days later. I am not sure if the emotion is surfacing entirely due to un dealt with emotions on some of that stuff, or if it's almost a preemptive thing to what is to come... the things I haven't quite worked up the courage to REALLY look at just yet... Oh, believe me, I have a lot of buried emotions concerning losing everything last April.

More than I care to admit. It pops up at the most awkward times too. I feel a rumbling deep down inside as I get closer to talking about those things. I'm a little scared to even really think about how hurt I "really" am about how some of those things went down. Over the years I have developed this skill see... I can shove stuff down as far as I need to, to get through that minute, hour, day, month, year... whatever the case may be... until I can actually "deal" with it. Take it head on and almost literally fight to the death sometimes. Whatever it takes to just keep going... and going... and going... and I still don't know why. I don't even bother to ask why anymore most days... lol I'm just here. Take me or leave me... I will be here... until I'm not anymore I guess.

So... moving on... a whole lot was going on at that time. I was working the night shift at this group home which meant I had to move to being drunk during the day instead I guess.. gosh... how did I even work that? I never went into work drunk, or drank anytime near where it would effect my job in any way shape or form... after all... no job... no money... no drinky drink... Well anyway, be assured my drinking did not slow down much during that time, even if it was during a different time of the day.... either way... My "roommate" situation quickly moved into a "flingish" situation through a matter of "convenience".

Except that he was making promises he never intended on keeping. Now listen... I'm a straight forward kind of girl. Always have been. All you have to do to earn my respect is tell me the truth. It's just that simple. If all you want is a fling, say that. Don't pretend like you might be changing your mind about "dating" me. That's just wrong. But that's what he did. I would guess he just didn't know any better. Well, I did figure out after several months of the run around what was going on. So, I... being in this really weird emotional and hormonal state began seeking some "adventures" of sorts. Things I had always fantasized about, but never had the opportunity to try.

Yeah... That was a pretty fun time... I won't lie... no need for details... lol... but my interactions were careful and protected... "*ahem*... anyway, so things were progressing nicely with my roommate's daughter. She had started to behave better at home and in school. They were even working on repairing their relationship. My list of "untried adventures" was met eventually and it came back to Mr. Desperado... now squawking for some attention after being ignored for a while... Only now the promises were bigger... grander... more... "promising"... In the meantime I was promoted at work. I went from working night shift, which I liked breaking back into all that slowly... to working as the assistant house manager, full on contact with the girls I wanted to be working with anyway.

They appeared very interested in my previous training and felt I could be an asset to the "administrative team". Problem is I don't like hokey pokey crap. I was there to help the girls, not to line my own pockets at the state's expense. Argh... not going to get into all that. Let's just say I saw a lot of things from that position that me... being who I am... was the last person they wanted to see that stuff. Over the course of time my roommate and I's relationship had begun to take a very negative turn. As far as I was concerned I was no longer desperate. He certainly wasn't going to fulfill any of my fantasies, so whatever dude... bug off. But he became more compelling and started to convince me he actually wanted something real.

That's all I wanted. Was something "real". No selfish motives. Someone who just loved me for who I am. Not for what they wanted me to be. I thought maybe that could save me. If someone else could see a value in me that I couldn't see in myself. Look beyond all my walls, like I had done for so many over the years... to just see ME. Whoever that is. Things went good for a little bit... or so I thought... then one evening I went upstairs... His computer was at the top of the stairs... and apparently I walked much quieter than normal... which was in no way intentional, and as I rounded the corner of the stairs I saw him scrambling to close a web page....

The dating sight we had met on. I was like, what the hell dude? He then went into this long, tiring, boring, bull**** story about how he finally knew he wasn't "good enough" for me because God had a much bigger plan for my life than his... blah blah blah... what the heck ever. Oh... but the silent part of that whole thing was he still wanted sex from me until he found someone else. REALLY?! Are you kidding me? Seriously guys... help me out here... on what planet is that an even remotely POSSIBLE expectation? Here's the thing though... it was silent... I had no clue he actually believed for a moment I would ever have sex with him again after that... yet he just kept trying...

OK... hind sight is 20/20... yep... perhaps I should have bailed the moment I realized... but to where? with what money? I... foolishly fell into a financial trap that kept me stuck... completely stuck. A maxed out credit card payment and a stupid piece of crap car I never should have bought. I only bought it because I had gone to visit my Mom in FL and the compressor on my beloved Nissan Frontier (paid off) that I had for eight years went out. I was told it was expensive to fix and instead of checking further I just traded it in for the biggest piece of crap, roller skate, blown off the highway by any semi that drove by, Aveo. One of my worst decisions in life. For real! lol

Strangely enough, even as I was signing the papers for that stupid car I knew it was a mistake. I wasn't doing it because I wanted to. I was only doing it because I was giving my mom a ride to my brothers house on the way home and she had made it abundantly clear no air conditioning in the vehicle was not an option... soooo... yeah... oops. Either way, with my monthly payments... anything outside of a cardboard box under the E Street Bridge was out of the question... Well as time went on, he got more frustrated. I spent less and less time at home.

As tensions mounted he began being a little more aggressive towards me verbally. Then one day it turned physical out of the blue when I was just sitting there, drowning my sorrows as always, minding my own business. He picked a fight with me and then took things to a whole new level. I don’t even know what it was I said that set him off but he grabbed a mason jar and shattered it right at my feet. When I curled up into the fetal position on the swing and began crying he grabbed me by the throat and pulled me up into a sitting position, while screaming in my face to stop being such a G** D*** baby. The hold he had on me was terrifying.

I could tell that even though his hand on my neck didn’t hurt at the moment… he could have changed that quickly with one squeeze. He could have killed me… with one squeeze. He wanted me to know that. He then tossed me back against the swing, picked me up, threw me in the truck, and took off down the road going 80 mph towards this sharp corner asking me if I liked it. If I was ready to die now. I just cried until he finally calmed down enough to pull over into a parking lot and talk. We talked for about an hour. He asked me to forgive him and I did.

His daughter had witnessed the entire thing at the house and was crying in her room when we got back. I went to talk to her and she asked me to move out because she didn’t want him to hurt me anymore. I told her I wouldn’t because I wasn’t going to let him hurt her anymore. As long as I was there he never laid a finger on her. However, I suddenly had this huge moral dilemma. I had told my pastor what had happened and he flipped out. He wanted to start making phone calls, find me a place to go, get me out of there, RUN… JUST RUN FOR THE HILLS ROBIN. But no. That situation drove me to my knees for the first time in years and I knew in my heart God didn’t want me to go yet.

I couldn’t leave his daughter there alone and defenseless. I mean I PRAYED about this, almost drops of blood shedding prayed. Part of me was absolutely terrified and wanted to leave. To save myself. But on the other hand I had nothing left to lose by staying. I had already decided to drink myself to death. My job was going down the toilet. And there was this beautiful 14 yr old little girl who needed someone to stand up for her. If he killed me… so what? At least I would have died defending an innocent child. Over the course of the next couple of weeks I really struggled with what to do.

When I would go to God the only thing I ever got in return was, “Greater love has no one that this… that he should lay down his life for his friends.” Eventually my pastor stopped talking to me completely, even avoiding me at times. I thought, “God… are you SERIOUS here? Now what am I suppose to do?” He was on edge constantly, afraid I was going to call the police. Finally, one day He couldn’t take it anymore and asked me what I was going to do. I stayed. Not for any other reason than I felt God wanted me to. Which goes completely against any logic of any sort... lol And that is all I have time for right now unfortunately. Another long work day begins, but it appears our hard work might finally be paying off!

This right here is where I've had the biggest struggle with what to share and what not to share. I am honestly trying to tread carefully here as one of my primary battles lately has been with the victim mentality. There's been a lot of struggle over the last three years. I am exhausted most days in just about every way.... Then in comes, "Oh poor me". It's ridiculous and draining... but that reminds me... If you ever want to read a book that for me was life changing because it changed how I viewed a lot of things spiritually, I would recommend reading, "Hinds feet on High Places". Very good book.

Anyway, I believe I am finally ready to begin, perhaps by just sticking a toe in, to the cesspool of emotions that bubbles just under the surface of "me", from all of the things that happened last year, and all of the things that led up to it. I stayed there for several more months with no incident. I just spent more time withdrawn and drinking alone. I had rejoined the dating site after realizing he was looking, because well... I just didn't know what else to do. I wasn't hoping for a knight in shining armor, just someone who loved "me". All of me. This ball of mess that I am. I began talking with my husband (now) around the time things went bad with my roommate.

I wish I could describe completely where I was at emotionally at that time. I felt as though I was in this downward spiral that I had no say over. It really felt like everything I touched died... or went away. Like nothing I saw was real. I wanted so desperately to come back to the feeling of safety I had experienced years ago, when I finally felt "loved" and desired. When it felt like no matter what the world saw when they looked at me, I was still beautiful in His eyes. He loved me, and His love would never go away. This world has never been a safe place for me.

I don't believe that statement is even slightly exaggerated either. This world, from the day I was born, no... conceived... has never been a safe place for me. I know there are others out there who know exactly what I am talking about here. Who have felt the depth of my pain. I know there is, and that is why I am struggling through to share this because the hardest part of this struggle for me has been doing it alone, knowing that while I have struggled alone in many things, I have not been alone in those struggles. There are people out there who are hurting and don't even realize it because it's buried so deep beneath the life that we create for ourselves. The reality that we create... for ourselves...

So, shortly before I physically met my husband, my roommate was not having any luck finding a hook up online and well... I was the easiest available option I guess. I will spare you all the gory details. He raped me, plain and simple. I got drunk, stayed out late trying to avoid his advances, which unfortunately I unwittingly unarmed myself for what would really happen by doing that. *sigh* All in all, it was time to go. Undoubtedly, it was time to go. I was broke, with debt up to my eyeballs, and no where to go, unfortunately. So, somehow my husband and his kids ended up moving in there with us for a while.

Honestly, by this point I was so drunk... all the stinking time I wasn't working... I only remember bits and pieces of things. One night my roommate decided it would be a good idea to confront me about my drinking, WHILE I was already two sheets to the wind... on my way to four... and to convince my boyfriend to assist in the effort. My oh my. I might be only 4'11" but let me tell ya, whiskey gives ya strength you never knew you had, and confronting me while I was drunk... oh my oh my... Of course it all blew up.

After all, I was full force "I didn't ask to be here, and I'm bound and determined to stop caring" mentality almost all the time. Pity parties are easy peasy when you're drunk. So I decided I was leaving apparently, after a physical confrontation with my roommate. He instigated it actually. He was all calm and nicey nice when he first started "confronting" me. All I remember is that he didn't like my answers apparently, threw his glasses which broke them, then blamed me for it. He just suddenly stood up and started screaming at me.

I told him I was done talking to him and tried to get away but he was hot on my tail. tried to pin me between the screen door and the frame, then when I squeezed through that and ran across the room to the bathroom he caught the door right before it latched and forcefully swung it open. That was it. I was trapped and my boyfriend was just standing in the hallway quietly watching. Suddenly I just got SO pissed I shoved my roommate with all my might, then got up in his face and screamed at him that I was done talking to him and to leave me the hell alone. He just stood there in a stunned silence for a moment.

The look on his face... I can't quite describe it. But I knew at that moment, as drunk as I was, that I was the first woman who had ever stood up to him and he had no clue what to do. No clue whatsoever. Then for the briefest of moments I saw hurt in his eyes. I don't know why. In my heart I have always hoped it was a moment of recognition of the hurt he had caused. Then I saw anger and my heart stopped for a moment as I saw him processing the decision he had to make. To lash out at me with my boyfriend standing right there... ready to stomp him into the ground literally, or to just walk away. He looked at him, looked at me and walked away. Wise man.

However, still drunk, with a crap ton of adrenaline surging through my veins the event did not end right there all nice and tidy like. lol In my heart I knew there was truth to the things they had said initially, before the explosion. I had all that pent up anger inside from how my roommate had violated me. (Which my husband was not aware of at that time by the way.) So I blew my top and decided I was leaving. I was crashing my crappy little car into a tree and ending everyone's misery. I went stomping outside, hopped in my car, and started it up. My boyfriend followed me out, and when the car started my roommate came running out as well.

My boyfriend was in the door of my car trying to keep me from moving, and my roommate was in front of the car actually thinking he could physically stop me himself. Lol. He owes my husband a thank you for saving his life that night because honestly at that given moment in time, his life held no value to me and I would have run him over. I only didn't because my boyfriend told me if I left he wouldn't be there when I got back, nor would he come back. I dunno. I just wasn't ok with that, so I just stopped, went inside, and went to bed. Desperate times, those were.

We moved out, shortly there after. Moved in with his parents. It was over an hour drive to my job at the group home but I didn't care. I just didn't want to be in my home state anymore. However, the heavy drinking continued. I would stop at the liquor store on the way to the highway to grab a half pint of Jim Beam. I would have it all drank less than 30 minutes into the drive, then usually had more waiting at home. That only lasted a few months. My boyfriend told me if I didn't stop drinking and driving he was leaving me. So I stopped and haven't drank and drove since. Three plus years now.

Eventually I had to switch from Jim Beam to Southern Comfort. Jim Beam makes me mean now. Like... MEAN mean. So after driving that drive for several months I decided I didn't want to do it anymore. After a year at the group home I had been promoted to a position where I got to see the budget for these girls and had become quite discouraged to discover that less than $100 a month they received for caring for these children was actually going to their physical needs. All the while the people who started this "ministry" were VERY well off, and boasted about it in almost every way.

It was quite disgusting actually. Thankfully that group home was closed down less than a year after my leaving. About a month after my husband and I started dating when I had stayed the night at his parents, during breakfast his mom just off the cuff brings up my husbands cancer, expressing shock that I was still dating him. Well, he hadn't told me about it yet, for that very reason. He was afraid I would leave when I found out. Here's the thing though. We had this random moment, maybe a week prior, where we were talking about life, death, sharing pieces of our personal journey with each other.

Of course the topic of God came up. It was funny though, I don't remember what the conversation was that led up to this but suddenly we both just looked each other in the eyes and knew that God had brought us together to save each other. I didn't even understand what that meant at the time. But one of us said it first, and the other agreed. Yet really... I don't know if it really even needed to be said, because we both just knew. So suddenly a week later I understood some of the things I had been sensing from him. Anger, resentment, fear. Things he hadn't really talked about, but I just "felt" it.

Suddenly I was faced with this decision... to stay or go... I had already walked with three people I loved dearly to the grave because of cancer. Loving someone while watching them die is perhaps the hardest thing I have ever done. Though, I no longer look at things the same as I once did. Perhaps because I chose to stay. See, no matter who it is that is in our life we are technically all loving people while we watch them die. Just in a much less dramatic fashion. If there is one thing that IS certain in this life, it is that it is followed, with absolute certainty, by death.

No matter who you are. How rich or poor. Educated or uneducated. Skinny or fat. Straight or gay. Democratic or Republican. Death pursues us all, and unfortunately is able to overtake others sometimes sooner than we would hope. And then there's people like me... jumping up and down screaming, "OH OH PICK ME! PICK ME! I never asked to be here anyway!" Whom death passes over. Just leaving in it's wake a grieving heart. A heart that doesn't understand it's purpose, but... it's still beating... and it still cares. I am thankful for that now. Though I wasn't for a very long time. This may be my nine hundred and ninety nine thousandth do over for this life time, and I don't deserve it, but I am grateful for it none the less.

It's too long.

Edit:

OMG HI CI!!!!!

Perhaps. If I were to start reading from the beginning, yes... It's long. But I can tell you this... Some of the greatest lessons I have learned in life I only learned because I invested the time it took to see the whole story. Some dont wish to invest the time to read my story, and that's OK. No harm no foul. There are some who I think still do... Errr... I hope... Lol and it is for them I continue on.

Worst case scenario... I am talking to myself. Heh... Wouldn't be the first or last time I am sure. Either way it's helping me, and I hope it can help others... Somehow, someday. This may be the only place I tell my actual story... I am finding some ideals and past motivations are shifting lately. I am no longer certain writing a book is how I want to go about telling my story. tehe

Nothing wrong with telling your story - no matter how long. I'm just speaking for myself about 'long' stories. Keep on chugging.

Yours, among a few others... Is one I personally would like to hear some day. Just saying... Lol

It's not the length but the repetitions that are hard to take. That's not a criticism, lessons sometimes take several repeats.

It's just real important to realize that you are in an endless loop and take steps to get out of it.

Why yes. I do believe you may have hit the nail right on the head my friend. Thank you.

I composed one about myself many years ago, and I'm not so sure I have the heart to do another. I've posted most of my activities over the years. Thanks for your interest, anywhose.

Yep. I get it. Thanks anyway.

Leadfoot, I just wanted to say thank you. I can honestly say now that this statement you made to me in a spirit of love has changed my life. I want you to know that I am so grateful you were willing to say it.

It seems like I haven't crossed threads with you in awhile... Hope all is well.

Thank you for that onevoice, I'm glad you had the courage to take it in the spirit is was given.

Just yesterday I was thinking that your later posts sound like a completely changed person from the one who started this thread and I was so happy for you.

All is well here and wishing you all the best..

Well ya know, this thread is going nowhere... So perhaps it is time for a change in direction.

I was thinking about some things this morning. Hard to believe, I am sure. Lol Sometimes in life when you suddenly do a 180 it's easy to feel disoriented, and suddenly begin to question even where you are going. I think "My Story" more than clearly points out that chosing to take a negative approach in this time can be hazardous, to say the least... For once. Lol

The nice part is that even if it starts that way... It doesn't have to end that way. In thinking about all of this I had a memory from a few weeks ago pop up. Our winter here has not been close to normal. Unusually warm. Which is fine with me because we are currently driving a tin can on wheels that we call a car. One morning the weather was particularly nasty, which makes me a little nervous in this car.

I was on my way home from dropping my husband off to work. Driving through the busiest section of the highway, white knuckling it all the way. All the sudden a thought popped into my head, "Courage and Determination will get you through this." I thought about that for a second... Then released my grip on the wheel, took a deep breath, Sat back, and made it home in a much more pleasant manor.

Psalm 46:10
Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!

You know Leadfoot I have been thinking about this. I believe everyone has the courage to do this, regardless of the circumstance. I know that for me, as strange as this may sound, I actually needed someone to give me permission to let it go. All my life, it felt like anyway, everyone seemed to view me as a victim, a failure, some even going as far as to say a hopeless cause. Which wasn't necessarily wrong at times if the truth be told.

I have indeed been all those things. What I didn't realize was that I was allowing how others viewed me, or even how I thought others viewed me which was often times wrong, to hold me in an emotional bondage of sorts, keeping me basically just stuck... Where I was for a very very long time. I just really needed someone to look beyond all that garbage, see the value I couldn't see myself, and remind me it was still there.

I'm inclined to agree, I don't think anyone gets subjected to anything beyond what they can endure or see beyond, but it seems we all get tested right up to our own limits. I don't know what the factor is that determines whether someone takes that last step to get past it or give up but I can't deny the reality that most people give up.

But the thought that someone might give up too soon because we were too timid to say something does give me pause. Especially since I am naturally reluctant to question anyone about how they live their lives.

Honestly Leadfoot I think that is part of a much bigger problem. It's not at all about judging how anyone lives. That implies trying to bring someome "up" where you are or think you are. Every time I have been touched by something or someone, or had a defining moment in life it has managed to reach me right where I was at.

Because, even if it was just for a moment, someone looked and saw ME. A hurting, broken person who desperately wanted all the help I could possibly humanly get, but just somehow couldn't quite figure out how to get it. Or even what I was dong wrong to prevent the very thing I wanted most from happening in my own life. It feels pretty hopeless in that place. Like no one really does care if you exist. I would say dwelling there... In that place too long is more than enough to push just about anyone into giving up.