For those that follow my blog, may recall my September 14th post "Monsters Are Real". It was a short blog filled with statistics and hotline numbers on the subject of domestic violence. This week I said goodbye to a good friend; she was the inspiration for that blog and as she makes her way towards creating a new life, she inspires again.
Like many in an abusive relationship, she made excuses for her husband's behavior. She believed him when he promised "never again". She felt she was to blame for "getting him mad" and deserved the abuse. She gave over control of finances and suffered in silence and isolation. That's the pattern of an abuser; the transference, the control and the lies. "You're the cause. You made me do it. You pushed my buttons. It was only once. I said I was sorry."
She was still making excuses as I held her hand while EMT's tended to her broken nose and fractured orbital bone.
I've known abusers in my life; their paramount need is for control at any costs. Physical, sexual, verbal and mental abuse is most common but certainly not the only forms. An abuser may attempt psychological manipulation or controlling finances, they may stalk or attempt to remove you from friends and family in order to better secure control.
As I said in the previous blog, "you don't have to leave a bruise to harm someone".
As much as it saddened me to say goodbye to my friend, my heart swelled with pride in knowing she was bravely forging her own path. She made choices for herself and her children to relocate somewhere far away from the horrors she endured and would contact friends and family when she felt ready.
When she felt ready.
For someone leaving an abusive relationship, that one sentence was worth every volume every written about personal enlightenment. Not fearing a blow for making the wrong decision. Not having to walk on eggshells or keep quiet. Feeling something other than pain at its worst and numb at its best. No longer fearing to just live.
If you're in an abusive relationship, there is help; you do not have to suffer in silence. You don't have to live in fear and you're not alone in the darkness.
If you're in immediate danger, call 911. If you looking for a way out, please contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) . There's someone there 24 hours a day and can help you for both immediate and long term plans.
Above all, please know you didn't ask to be abused and it is not your fault. There is a better life.
Be kind. Be well. Live, love and laugh.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
For safety plans and additional information, please visit the following websites:
http://www.domesticviolence.org/
http://www.ncadv.org/
"'Frodo, Mr. Frodo!' he called. 'Don't leave me here alone! It's your Sam calling. 'Don't go where I can't follow! Wake up, Mr. Frodo! O wake up, Frodo, dear me. Wake up!'
It's one of my absolute favorite passages from J.R.R. Tolkien's works. Specifically "The Two Towers" although many people associate it the "Return of the King" movie. I'm so very glad the script writers left that line in. (FYI a rub for me is that Frodo NEVER went to Osgiliath. Sorry, but I had to mention it.)
"Don't go where I can't follow."
Samwise Gamgee's unwavering loyalty and love for his friend is put to the test and there is so much within that short plea. Entire volumes could be written about Sam's loyalty.
Despite hardship, despite the maliciousness of the One Ring, Samwise never falters in his duty. Not so much in his task of escorting the Ring to Mordor, but in keeping Frodo safe. He risks physical danger, suffers the rebuke from his most trusted friend and yet.. his loyalty prevails. Is not tempted by the Ring. He is not deterred by hunger, wounds or lack of spirit. He keeps his friend safe because of love.
If we had (and indeed were) friends such as Samwise Gamgee, what a truly beautiful world this would be.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Every once in a while (every year, actually) I purchase a copy of my favorite novel by my favorite writer and make a gift of an awe inspiring tale to a friend. I'm speaking of Charles Dickens, of course. I know, his characters may be somewhat predictable and his villains tended to be highly exaggerated but his themes and cadence have always spoken to me. It's truly beautiful writing and if you've not revisited his works since middle school, I highly encourage you to do so.
Dickens was one the writers that made me want to pick up every book in my youth, hoping that within those covers would be a work of equal worth. Sadly few have met that high expectation. (Larry McMurtry is quite brilliant, as is Stephen King, James Patterson, Patricia Cornwell and Shelby Foote.) As you may have surmised, I do enjoy a diverse genre.
But Dickens? Who can resist the words so perfect they might well never the like be seen again. It has every element of what we strive for in each of ourselves. Self discovery, romance, redemption, selfless love and sacrifice. Carton who is known as "The Jackal" and by everyone's estimation has led a wasted life. Yet in his waning hours, faced with his own mortality, ensures the happiness of the one he cares for, knowing he can never share in the joy. What scifi fan does not recognize his final thoughts of "it's a far, far better thing I do...".
Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. "She came out here," he said, looking about him, "turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps." - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
The beauty of pure, unrequited love sparked merely by another's lingering presence. I wish authors today strived for such excellence. Instead we're treated to the same banality served under different scintillating titles. Gore versus horror, techno-babble in place of genius science fiction borne from imagination. A work should be more than just a thirty second advertisement; it should grab you, shake you to your core and leave you with thoughts of the characters for days, even years afterwards.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
My thoughts for this evening. Thank you for taking the time to read.
HOPE LIVES ON. 1/24/12
"What a wretched corpse hope leaves behind."
I wrote that. Yup, that was me during my "I'm Grim and I write <really bad> brooding poetry" phase. Dark glasses, black on black attire and fearing to make a connection with anyone lest I be disappointed and hurt again. I was actually pretty distrustful of everyone, which often surprises people today.
"I suppose nice guys are lucky to be in the race in the first place." Another one I wrote. Are you seeing a pattern here? I was a pessimist throughout most of my mid to late 20's and I do not mean sort-of or kind of, I mean hardcore.
It's been awhile since I leafed through old scraps of short stories and prose. A lot of it came from a pretty dark place and writing was my outlet for exorcising emotional demons. As I read it again, one thought came to mind.
What a self absorbed tosser, I was.
Hope doesn't die. Hope is something that lives in each of us, whispering our hearts desire of the little things that we may never tell another soul. We may hope for a better life, for the safety of friends, for riches, for health, for love. We never really stop hoping; through disappointment we sometimes simply stop listening. Hope may weaken and grow hoarse but it's still there, trying desperately to be heard. It lives in the corners of memories of days past and in the most remote possibility of things to come. It's a gentle caress of a lover's hand, a sleepy sunrise, shared laughter, a piece of music.
Life isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. Life can be a cold and incredibly lonely place and the journey is going to grind you to your knees at times, there's no shame in being knocked down. It's what you do when you're feeling lost and disheartened that matters. I choose to embrace hope as a beacon in the night rather than a flame by which to burn.
Maybe that which we desire most may never come to pass but there's always hope.
I'm a steward of hope.
"What a wretched corpse, hope leaves behind."
I wrote that. Yup, that was me during my "I'm Grim and I write <really bad> brooding poetry" phase. Dark glasses, black on black attire and fearing to make a connection with anyone lest I be disappointed and hurt again. I was actually pretty distrustful of everyone, which often surprises people today.
"I suppose nice guys are lucky to be in the race in the first place." Another one I wrote. Are you seeing a pattern here? I was a pessimist throughout most of my mid to late 20's and I do not mean sort-of or kind of, I mean hardcore.
It's been awhile since I leafed through old scraps of short stories and prose. A lot of it came from a pretty dark place and writing was my outlet for exorcising emotional demons. As I read it again, one thought came to mind.
What a self absorbed tosser, I was.
Hope doesn't die. Hope is something that lives in each of us, whispering our hearts desire of the little things that we may never tell another soul. We may hope for a better life, for the safety of friends, for riches, for health, for love. We never really stop hoping; through disappointment we sometimes simply stop listening. Hope may weaken and grow hoarse but it's still there, trying desperately to be heard. It lives in the corners of memories of days past and in the most remote possibility of things to come. It's a gentle caress of a lover's hand, a sleepy sunrise, shared laughter, a piece of music.
Life isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. Life can be a cold and incredibly lonely place and the journey is going to grind you to your knees at times, there's no shame in being knocked down. It's what you do when you're feeling lost and disheartened that matters. I choose to embrace hope as a beacon in the night rather than a flame by which to burn.
Maybe that which we desire most may never come to pass but there's always hope.
I'm a steward of hope.
So I've found out that my cousin (Let's call him Floyd in case he discovers the "portal to the intenetteds" and I would hate for my rant to embarrass him.) is now married. Floyd. The man who would offer to eat oddities for beer money. The man who never met an itch he wouldn't scratch in public and who once said to me "David Lee Roth don't need them Van Halen assholes."
Don't get me wrong, I'm actually pretty happy for Floyd and if he's found someone whom he loves and loves him in return, that's a beautiful thing. I'm not jealous or resentful; it's just difficult to put my initial reaction into words.
Just... Floyd?!?
I was counting on Floyd. As the only other bachelor in the entire family (Not including "Earl" who can now get married in several states), Floyd gave me a cushion. I had padding. I had time and a distraction to all of my aunts, elders and married friends. "Go pick on Floyd, he's not married either!"
Yes I verbally kneecapped Floyd on more than one occasion. If you knew my family, you would too. Don't judge me.
Oh the devious machinations this will put into motion.... Thank goodness the holidays are past so I do not have to fear the "fix-up, the set-up and the mix-up" for awhile yet. (See my October 2010 'He's Single' entry for details.)
I don't really have much contact with my father's side of the family anymore but I can practically smell the smoke from the phone lines crossing the country, from the Southland to central California back to the Southland and finally to here.
"Floyd got himself hitched. When is Grim going to get married??"
"He's too old to still be a bachelor!"
"Is he catting around? Fornicator!"
"Well you know how they live out there, they're all hippies."
"I will put his name on the church's prayer list and we will pray for his wicked, wicked soul!"
And so on... and so on...
Basically Floyd just made my life a little more difficult for the interim. So if you see a child with overly large gums, permanent baby teeth and hair in places no human should have growth, that'll be my new second cousin, Floyd Jr. or little Floydette.
And all kidding aside, Floyd is really a terrific guy and will make a heck of husband. He's loyal, trustworthy and generous. I really do wish him all of the happiness in the world.
Damn it.
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life goes on.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
It's the last week of 2011. It's been a year of amazing highs and pretty rough lows and like most, I'm anxiously awaiting the new year of possibilities. A chance to better ourselves, our relationships, our place in the universe and maybe lend a helping hand to those in need. It's kind of a pensive night dear reader, perhaps not the best time to blog but I've neglected the poor thing for so long.
Last year I made the resolution to be more outgoing; I think I accomplished a fair amount of that in the course of 365 days. I attended two large geek conventions, rocked out to Joan Jett at my very first concert, found friends, tried my best to be a friend, lost others and ate the best hamburger and pizza in the world, during the most wonderful summer of my life. And yes, I lived to tell the tale.
I recently replaced all four tires on my car, an unexpected purchase at the wrong time of the year but I suppose there's never a right time. I just feel like those tires this time of year; I think we all do at one moment or another. Too much pressure ripping at our seams and wondering when that last bit of friction grinding us down will prove too much. It's as if we're just hoping to make it over the next hill, alone in the darkness. I don't mean to come across as bitter or melancholy, I've had a many, many blessings in my life, much more so than a good number of people and I'm so very grateful. I try to focus on that sense of gratitude on nights such as these, when I feel really very tired in almost every sense of the word. Tired, depleted and unable to shut down. I'm thankful for my small family, my dear friends and those who are dear to me. I'm warm, I do not go hungry and I've a roof over my head at night. That in itself is far more than some have ever known.
Tomorrow is a new day. In two days it's a new year; an open page to write your own story, a canvas to paint as vividly as you will. All you must do is act quickly while the ink well is full and the paint still fluid. I wish grand masterpieces for you all.
Last year was my year of adventure, I think this year my resolution is to be more appreciative. If you've taken the time to read my rambling dear reader, I'm pretty grateful for you.
"Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts." - Charles Dickens
