I am building up walls around me. Every part of me. There are walls around my heart now. Walls I will not let my husband through. He's done too much damage to my heart, and I can't risk letting him through the walls. I don't think my heart could handle any more of his damaging behaviours.
At night in bed I build walls around my body. Real walls. I lay as close to the wall as possible, as far from my husband as I can get. Between us I place a body pillow and a blanket. My own wall of protection. My wall that lets him know not to touch me. The wall doesn't matter though. He wouldn't try to touch me anyway. It's just my way of saying "don't". He'd rather touch himself, touch his computer than touch me.
So, the walls go up. Up around me and around my heart. The walls are getting bigger. Soon, I don't think anything will get through. Not even civil conversation.
How I wish there were no need for the walls.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Avoidance
I've been neglecting this blog. Except it's not really neglect. It's avoidance. I've been avoiding this blog because as much as I want to face my demons... I don't want to face my demons.
I need to look back. To dissect all that went wrong. To learn from it. To move on from. And to never make those mistakes again.
I need it. And I want it. and still....
I'd rather keep my head buried in the sand. Never looking back.
I'd rather struggle blindly forward and hope it will all turn out well. But I know the folly in that. I know there is no going forward, without first looking back.
If not now... then when? I must stop the avoidance.
I need to look back. To dissect all that went wrong. To learn from it. To move on from. And to never make those mistakes again.
I need it. And I want it. and still....
I'd rather keep my head buried in the sand. Never looking back.
I'd rather struggle blindly forward and hope it will all turn out well. But I know the folly in that. I know there is no going forward, without first looking back.
If not now... then when? I must stop the avoidance.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
open hearts
I read the address on the piece of paper again. I was familiar with the street name but it was not one I generally drove on. In fact, in certain parts of town at least, it was a street I avoided. It ran through downtown and I had been on that part of the street before. It was an area full of shops, restaurants and clubs. However the further North you traveled on this street the further into the part of town I avoided you went.
That was where I was going now. Beyond my comfort zone and into a part of town I had spent the past twenty years avoiding. Avoiding it first because my parents avoided it and then as I was old enough to navigate the city myself, avoiding it by my own choice. There was no way to avoid it now though. The address was right there on the crumpled piece of paper beside me on the seat. This was where I had to go.
My twelve year old son sat in the passenger seat, keeping an eye out for addresses on the rundown buildings we were passing. We came to a twisted intersection with streets going at random angles from each other on the opposite sides. "Ok, where do we go now?" I asked quietly. My son pointed to a street twisting a bit to the Northwest, "I think this street continues over there" he said. I smiled over at him, "I think you're right buddy. Thanks."
I kept the irony of the situation to myself. The reason for the twisting jumble and randomness of direction each road took was the railroad tracks. The tracks cut through in such a way that the roads could not continue on in a straight pattern. The irony? We were crossing over the tracks. How many times had I heard the expression "the wrong side of the tracks". Well, we were certainly headed for the wrong side of the tracks now.
A few short blocks up the road I saw the building we were looking for. Open Hearts Ministries. That was the name on the paper at my side. Crumpled from the days I had picked it up reading it again and again, telling myself it hadn't come to this. There was no way I was really going to have to do this. That morning I had opened the cupboards and realized that, yes, I really did have to do this. A couple of packs of instant noodles and a half jar of peanut butter stared back at me, telling me it was time.
I found a spot to park, it was the last one. The lot was full. We were not the only family here for help. Still, I felt less than myself. Less than what I should be. This was not a place we belonged. We were not the kind of people that needed help like this. As we walked to the building I reminded myself that we were. We were exactly the kind of people that needed the help. It didn't make us less, just like it didn't make any of these people less. It's easier to tell yourself these things than it is to make yourself believe them.
We walked in and saw two rows of chairs facing each other. Many of the seats were already taken. At the end of the rows was a small desk. Already standing at the desk was a woman with a small child and behind her a man on his own. I got in line behind them, telling my son to find us a couple of seats.
When it was my turn at the desk the woman asked if I had ever been there before. "No," was my answer. She handed me a sheet of paper and a pencil and told me to fill the form out bring it back up to her. I sat down next to my son and filled out the paperwork. It was simple, really not much to it. Names and ages of everyone in the house, income and source of income, a few things like that. The last line of the form asked "why do you need assistance?". My hands had been shaking the whole time I had been filling out the form. Now my whole body began to shake. Why do I need assistance? I had been asking myself that very question. Why was I at this point in my life? What had brought me down to this? What if I had only made different choices? I know that is not what they were looking for with this simple question on their form, but it was the information I had been looking for in my mind for months.
I finished the form by writing that I had lost my job and had not been able to find a new one yet. Then I took the form to the lady at the desk and she said they would call me back soon. I had never done anything like this before so I payed close attention to what everyone else was doing. No one really looked around much. They would quietly talk to the people with them or stare down at their own feet. Nobody made eye contact. They all felt like me I decided. None of them felt like this was where they belonged. None of them knew the answers to why they were really here.
I noticed that when your name was called you went off to the right with someone. Just a few short minutes later you would come out and go to a different waiting area. It was just a few more minutes after that your name would be called again and you would go through a door. It seemed a quick process once it got started. I looked over at my son and told him it shouldn't be too long and we would be out of there. He smiled at me and started talking about school. I knew he was trying to distract me, and probably himself, from the reality of where we were and what we were doing. He is an amazingly good kid.
The man who had been in front of me in line was called back. Things were moving quickly. We would be next. It was just another minute and my name was called. We got up and went with an older man off the right. We sat down at a desk where he asked for proof of our address and income. I dug out the things I had brought with me from my purse. He went to make copies and was back quickly. He chatted with my son just a bit about his school as I signed a couple of things and then he told us to go to the far waiting area. We made our way out and sat as close to the big door as we could get. When my name was called I just wanted to get through that door and out of there as quickly as I could.
Less than a minute later my name was called and we stepped through the door. We walked into a hallway and were pointed to a window just a few steps down. There in the window was a woman with a smile and three big bags of groceries. The man in the hallway offered to help us out to the car with them. We accepted his help and walked quickly to the car where we put the bags in the trunk. "Bless You," the man said as he walked back inside.
We got into the car and I was about to start it when I noticed my son glance back to the trunk where the bags were sitting. "Why don't you climb back there and see if there is anything you can snack on while we drive home" I told him. He dove into the back seat and began to dig through the bags. He rattled off items as he sifted through them. "There are frozen pizzas and eggs and couple loaves of bread. There's a bunch of canned stuff too." Then he dug into another bag. "Cinnamon rolls!" he shouted. "Well bring them up here" I told him. He sat back down in his seat and opened the package. "Let's split one," I told him "so you and your brother and sister can have the rest for breakfast tomorrow." He carefully tore one in half and handed me a piece before biting into his own half.
We drove home talking about how good the cinnamon rolls tasted and then about school some more. The mood was different on the drive home than it had been on the way there. The dreaded task was over. I had walked into the Open Hearts Ministry and asked for food to feed my children. It had been hard to do. Hard to accept that I needed to do it. Now it was done and my heart was lighter. My mind at peace, even if just for a little while. I had done what I needed to do and now I knew that I could do it again if I had to. And today...
today my kids would eat well.
That was where I was going now. Beyond my comfort zone and into a part of town I had spent the past twenty years avoiding. Avoiding it first because my parents avoided it and then as I was old enough to navigate the city myself, avoiding it by my own choice. There was no way to avoid it now though. The address was right there on the crumpled piece of paper beside me on the seat. This was where I had to go.
My twelve year old son sat in the passenger seat, keeping an eye out for addresses on the rundown buildings we were passing. We came to a twisted intersection with streets going at random angles from each other on the opposite sides. "Ok, where do we go now?" I asked quietly. My son pointed to a street twisting a bit to the Northwest, "I think this street continues over there" he said. I smiled over at him, "I think you're right buddy. Thanks."
I kept the irony of the situation to myself. The reason for the twisting jumble and randomness of direction each road took was the railroad tracks. The tracks cut through in such a way that the roads could not continue on in a straight pattern. The irony? We were crossing over the tracks. How many times had I heard the expression "the wrong side of the tracks". Well, we were certainly headed for the wrong side of the tracks now.
A few short blocks up the road I saw the building we were looking for. Open Hearts Ministries. That was the name on the paper at my side. Crumpled from the days I had picked it up reading it again and again, telling myself it hadn't come to this. There was no way I was really going to have to do this. That morning I had opened the cupboards and realized that, yes, I really did have to do this. A couple of packs of instant noodles and a half jar of peanut butter stared back at me, telling me it was time.
I found a spot to park, it was the last one. The lot was full. We were not the only family here for help. Still, I felt less than myself. Less than what I should be. This was not a place we belonged. We were not the kind of people that needed help like this. As we walked to the building I reminded myself that we were. We were exactly the kind of people that needed the help. It didn't make us less, just like it didn't make any of these people less. It's easier to tell yourself these things than it is to make yourself believe them.
We walked in and saw two rows of chairs facing each other. Many of the seats were already taken. At the end of the rows was a small desk. Already standing at the desk was a woman with a small child and behind her a man on his own. I got in line behind them, telling my son to find us a couple of seats.
When it was my turn at the desk the woman asked if I had ever been there before. "No," was my answer. She handed me a sheet of paper and a pencil and told me to fill the form out bring it back up to her. I sat down next to my son and filled out the paperwork. It was simple, really not much to it. Names and ages of everyone in the house, income and source of income, a few things like that. The last line of the form asked "why do you need assistance?". My hands had been shaking the whole time I had been filling out the form. Now my whole body began to shake. Why do I need assistance? I had been asking myself that very question. Why was I at this point in my life? What had brought me down to this? What if I had only made different choices? I know that is not what they were looking for with this simple question on their form, but it was the information I had been looking for in my mind for months.
I finished the form by writing that I had lost my job and had not been able to find a new one yet. Then I took the form to the lady at the desk and she said they would call me back soon. I had never done anything like this before so I payed close attention to what everyone else was doing. No one really looked around much. They would quietly talk to the people with them or stare down at their own feet. Nobody made eye contact. They all felt like me I decided. None of them felt like this was where they belonged. None of them knew the answers to why they were really here.
I noticed that when your name was called you went off to the right with someone. Just a few short minutes later you would come out and go to a different waiting area. It was just a few more minutes after that your name would be called again and you would go through a door. It seemed a quick process once it got started. I looked over at my son and told him it shouldn't be too long and we would be out of there. He smiled at me and started talking about school. I knew he was trying to distract me, and probably himself, from the reality of where we were and what we were doing. He is an amazingly good kid.
The man who had been in front of me in line was called back. Things were moving quickly. We would be next. It was just another minute and my name was called. We got up and went with an older man off the right. We sat down at a desk where he asked for proof of our address and income. I dug out the things I had brought with me from my purse. He went to make copies and was back quickly. He chatted with my son just a bit about his school as I signed a couple of things and then he told us to go to the far waiting area. We made our way out and sat as close to the big door as we could get. When my name was called I just wanted to get through that door and out of there as quickly as I could.
Less than a minute later my name was called and we stepped through the door. We walked into a hallway and were pointed to a window just a few steps down. There in the window was a woman with a smile and three big bags of groceries. The man in the hallway offered to help us out to the car with them. We accepted his help and walked quickly to the car where we put the bags in the trunk. "Bless You," the man said as he walked back inside.
We got into the car and I was about to start it when I noticed my son glance back to the trunk where the bags were sitting. "Why don't you climb back there and see if there is anything you can snack on while we drive home" I told him. He dove into the back seat and began to dig through the bags. He rattled off items as he sifted through them. "There are frozen pizzas and eggs and couple loaves of bread. There's a bunch of canned stuff too." Then he dug into another bag. "Cinnamon rolls!" he shouted. "Well bring them up here" I told him. He sat back down in his seat and opened the package. "Let's split one," I told him "so you and your brother and sister can have the rest for breakfast tomorrow." He carefully tore one in half and handed me a piece before biting into his own half.
We drove home talking about how good the cinnamon rolls tasted and then about school some more. The mood was different on the drive home than it had been on the way there. The dreaded task was over. I had walked into the Open Hearts Ministry and asked for food to feed my children. It had been hard to do. Hard to accept that I needed to do it. Now it was done and my heart was lighter. My mind at peace, even if just for a little while. I had done what I needed to do and now I knew that I could do it again if I had to. And today...
today my kids would eat well.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
MY rock bottom
Hitting rock bottom is a term most often associated with drugs or alcohol. Neither of these things were factors in my fall. For me hitting rock bottom was a matter of failure. Failing to keep a good relationship with my husband. Failing to be an example of a good, responsible adult to my children. Failing to keep my job. Failing to be a truly good person. Failing as a person. Personal failure. Financial failure. Spiritual failure.
Failing = Falling
It's a frightening thing to wake up one day and realize you have no money. NONE! No way to pay the rent, the bills, or even to buy food. Even more frightening is the realization that you have done this to yourself and your family and you somehow failed to see what was happening until it was too late.
For me, this is rock bottom and the rocks are sharp and painful.
Failing = Falling
It's a frightening thing to wake up one day and realize you have no money. NONE! No way to pay the rent, the bills, or even to buy food. Even more frightening is the realization that you have done this to yourself and your family and you somehow failed to see what was happening until it was too late.
For me, this is rock bottom and the rocks are sharp and painful.
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