UP DATE! (do not become ill)
At the behest of a long lost friend I am asked to blog again. Yikes. It’s not that I don’t miss you guys, cause I do. It’s just that I am loath to open up old wounds. Truth is I sat here reading much of this and it made me cry. Some of it because it reminded me of things that were painful (the baby and all my married lover bullshit) and some because it was just bittersweet (tweeting number three and the noodle dog).
I do not think I have the time nor the inclination to get all the way back. Maybe just part way. Here goes:
I had to end it with the Bartender. It is sad to say had to like there was any hesitance but there was. I am puzzling it out still. I cringe when I write this because one of the many things he did to me was to take away all of my private places and thrust me into the blazing sun with out even the shade of an occasional “Whaz up??” from you guys. One of those private places is here. Does he stalk my Penny Blog still? Who knows. But there is a teeny part of me that flinches a bit because that’s what happens when you are repetitively smacked (emotionally) down. Wince.
I don’t want to catalog the whole thing but I will tell you that my boundaries went all to hell and I lost myself. Lost. Myself.
Do you remember all the work I did on my project? All the painful looking and tweeking and working and making myself “Hot When Naked Writer Chick?” In a fit (little infantile baby piss fit of pique) he called me a wrinkled up old bitch. And it deflated me. All the work flushed down the toilet of his selfish, purulent snit. I was lost. But now I’m found.
But in this effort to stay found I suppose I best admit some stuff. Like the fact that I did not put him out after he followed me into the locked bathroom and ripped the curtain down and screamed at me wet and naked and small and cornered and crying so hard the snot runs down my chin. He does not consider this abuse. After all, I EARNED it by being bad. I don’t recall what the bad thing I did was but clearly it was bad. How about the countless nights where the lights were kept on and the interrogation did not cease and when I hid my head under the blankets he ripped them from the bed and demanded I attend to him NOW.
How about the day he sat in my office across my desk from me and pointed out that my hair clearly indicated I had been fucking someone at work that day.
And how about the day I saw the email he sent to 20 random women on MySpace looking for a girl to fuck him AND some girl from work without waking me, asleep on the other side of the wall, grateful that I was not being subjected to the interrogation? This one I do not have to admit because that was the day I put him out.
But why, you might wonder, did it take so god damned long?
I suspect that I was punishing myself. He was brutal about the affair. He twisted my soul apart and I let him because I AGREED WITH HIM. I had done a hateful, ugly thing and I deserved to be punished for it.
That’s my best answer. What do you think?
I do not think I have the time nor the inclination to get all the way back. Maybe just part way. Here goes:
I had to end it with the Bartender. It is sad to say had to like there was any hesitance but there was. I am puzzling it out still. I cringe when I write this because one of the many things he did to me was to take away all of my private places and thrust me into the blazing sun with out even the shade of an occasional “Whaz up??” from you guys. One of those private places is here. Does he stalk my Penny Blog still? Who knows. But there is a teeny part of me that flinches a bit because that’s what happens when you are repetitively smacked (emotionally) down. Wince.
I don’t want to catalog the whole thing but I will tell you that my boundaries went all to hell and I lost myself. Lost. Myself.
Do you remember all the work I did on my project? All the painful looking and tweeking and working and making myself “Hot When Naked Writer Chick?” In a fit (little infantile baby piss fit of pique) he called me a wrinkled up old bitch. And it deflated me. All the work flushed down the toilet of his selfish, purulent snit. I was lost. But now I’m found.
But in this effort to stay found I suppose I best admit some stuff. Like the fact that I did not put him out after he followed me into the locked bathroom and ripped the curtain down and screamed at me wet and naked and small and cornered and crying so hard the snot runs down my chin. He does not consider this abuse. After all, I EARNED it by being bad. I don’t recall what the bad thing I did was but clearly it was bad. How about the countless nights where the lights were kept on and the interrogation did not cease and when I hid my head under the blankets he ripped them from the bed and demanded I attend to him NOW.
How about the day he sat in my office across my desk from me and pointed out that my hair clearly indicated I had been fucking someone at work that day.
And how about the day I saw the email he sent to 20 random women on MySpace looking for a girl to fuck him AND some girl from work without waking me, asleep on the other side of the wall, grateful that I was not being subjected to the interrogation? This one I do not have to admit because that was the day I put him out.
But why, you might wonder, did it take so god damned long?
I suspect that I was punishing myself. He was brutal about the affair. He twisted my soul apart and I let him because I AGREED WITH HIM. I had done a hateful, ugly thing and I deserved to be punished for it.
That’s my best answer. What do you think?
posted by Bad Penny at 6:58 PM
2 Comments:
This puts your recent advice in another light. I'm so sorry for your pain, but glad you are getting better. We'll recover and be better than ever, right Penny?
Hello Penny,
I read this and cry. I've been down my own bad road. I finally realized it was walk away or go truly insane.
I walked away from 17 bad years. A friend sent me a card with a picture of a dark hillside, a night sky, and the moon just rising. Inside it said, "My barn having burned to the ground, gives me a beautiful view of the moon."
Sweetie, now that the barn has burned , look for that rising moon.
Hugs to you.
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