The first line of the Tonic song "Sugar" says "Come on baby put your shoes on. Looking like you need a rescue [...]" Ryan Adams sings about the "Rescue Blues". I never thought of myself as the girl who got to be the princess rescued from the tower. Growing up I always played cowboys and indians, and the other girls got to be the damsels in distress while I ran around with my brother and the other boys. In high school I was quiet and mostly kept to myself. In college, I was even more reserved except with a very select group of friends. Now I'm more open, but I am incredibly independent...to the point that it's actually not a good thing. Hmm...which that may actually be why I've found myself in this position come to think of it.
What I'm referring to is my strong desire to be rescued...to not be alone...essentially just to be loved. I hear all of these songs these guys have written for these girls. I wonder if the girls have any idea what they have and if they do I wonder if they appreciate it. Do they know what it's like on the other side-to be alone and always do everything themselves? To not have that shoulder to cry on or that embrace to hide in when the storms come? To come home only to a pile of books and to know characters in movies better than they know most people? To find solace only in a song that isn't even for you? To wear a mask in the world of a pretty happy girl but at home to sink into a somber, melancholy version of the girl they might be?
I have a vague notion that perhaps a love like no other is waiting for me...waiting to be unlocked from it's warm, soft sepulcher. For some reason it is not yet time for me to escape this dark and heavy past of mine. Perhaps it is to teach me to lay down my pride and beg for help...to learn that while hell may be other people, I do in fact need those people in my life. Maybe I am too impatient and when I learn my lesson, perhaps there will be a reward. Or maybe there is no reward at all, but I am to live this life simply because it is the cards I've been dealt. I'm really not sure at all. The only thing I am sure of is that I feel like the girl in the song, and I need a rescue.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Faith...
Now this is a topic that is controversial to say the least. Faith is not identifiable in any tangible sort of fashion. You cannot point at it, touch it, feel it, hear it, taste, or even smell it. Certainly you cannot see it either. We all know it exists though. So how do we define it?
I do not believe faith is simply going to church every Sunday, and it is by no means something as trivial as being in compliance with a bunch of silly, meaningless traditions established by church leaders hundreds of years ago. I can't imagine that faith can be defined by lighting hundreds of candles and counting beads as you pray. I imagine it must be more than sipping grape juice from a plastic cup and nibbling a stale cracker. Undoubtedly faith exceeds the emotional catharsis most of us experience at what has become a typical church service...a service that resembles a rock concert more than a quiet, reverent place to learn about and honor God.
Faith is defined in several different ways on www.dictionary.com. The essence of the definition it seems though is "a belief in something". I'm okay with the belief part I think, but I wonder about the something, and how that belief is developed. Now this brings me to the part where I have to sit and reflect on my own beliefs a bit. Doing so can be quite uncomfortable as I don't even know all the answers pertaining to myself. However, I'd prefer to be honest and admit I don't know than to lead on my lovely readers and pretend I'm far more sure of myself than is true.
So to begin, I believe in God, yes that one...the one with the capital "G". I believe that God is THE higher being in control of this universe, down to the tiniest atom in my human makeup. I'm certain that God has plans for all of us even though we aren't quite sure what those plans may be. I get a bit confused though when it comes to questions of predestination and heaven and hell. If this God in whom I have faith is so gracious, loving, and merciful, why then does he banish souls to hell? And what is to say that I will not be one of those poor souls languishing in misery forever even though I am trying to live a good life because doing the right thing is simply the right thing to do?
Muslims pray multiple times a day and make pilgrimages to Mecca. Hindus won't eat beef. Many other religions practice all sorts of different rules and regulations as part of their faith. They truly believe if they do these things they will go to Heaven. The Muslim men sincerely believe that if they live a good life they will be awarded numerous virgins in heaven. As Christians, and I don't mean that in terms of organized religion but as followers of Jesus Christ, what do we do? I am inclined to think that, as I often say, we have missed the point of the pageantry. We go to our churches. We wear the trendy jeans and carry our Starbucks cup like it's a badge of honor. We know where to go to see and be seen by the right people. We help the homeless not because we want to show love, grace, and compassion, but because it has become the cool thing to do. I believe our faith should be based on our love for man. Loving as Christ loved is far more challenging than one might imagine. We say we are "seeker friendly" and "relevant", but how are $300 jeans relevant to single mom who can't afford to feed her children, or to the prostitute who's been beaten by her pimp, or to the young girl battling anorexia so she can feel like she fits in, or to the man who lost all his money gambling and has a sex addiction? How does an emotionally cathartic church service practically help these people and build their faith in anything more than the almighty dollar that affords the lights, multi-million dollar sound systems, and the "rockstars" playing on stage in their designer "stage wear"?
This being said, I choose to put my faith in the love that Christ showed to all people unconditionally. I still cannot define that faith in a tangible sense, but I can however define it by actions.
I do not believe faith is simply going to church every Sunday, and it is by no means something as trivial as being in compliance with a bunch of silly, meaningless traditions established by church leaders hundreds of years ago. I can't imagine that faith can be defined by lighting hundreds of candles and counting beads as you pray. I imagine it must be more than sipping grape juice from a plastic cup and nibbling a stale cracker. Undoubtedly faith exceeds the emotional catharsis most of us experience at what has become a typical church service...a service that resembles a rock concert more than a quiet, reverent place to learn about and honor God.
Faith is defined in several different ways on www.dictionary.com. The essence of the definition it seems though is "a belief in something". I'm okay with the belief part I think, but I wonder about the something, and how that belief is developed. Now this brings me to the part where I have to sit and reflect on my own beliefs a bit. Doing so can be quite uncomfortable as I don't even know all the answers pertaining to myself. However, I'd prefer to be honest and admit I don't know than to lead on my lovely readers and pretend I'm far more sure of myself than is true.
So to begin, I believe in God, yes that one...the one with the capital "G". I believe that God is THE higher being in control of this universe, down to the tiniest atom in my human makeup. I'm certain that God has plans for all of us even though we aren't quite sure what those plans may be. I get a bit confused though when it comes to questions of predestination and heaven and hell. If this God in whom I have faith is so gracious, loving, and merciful, why then does he banish souls to hell? And what is to say that I will not be one of those poor souls languishing in misery forever even though I am trying to live a good life because doing the right thing is simply the right thing to do?
Muslims pray multiple times a day and make pilgrimages to Mecca. Hindus won't eat beef. Many other religions practice all sorts of different rules and regulations as part of their faith. They truly believe if they do these things they will go to Heaven. The Muslim men sincerely believe that if they live a good life they will be awarded numerous virgins in heaven. As Christians, and I don't mean that in terms of organized religion but as followers of Jesus Christ, what do we do? I am inclined to think that, as I often say, we have missed the point of the pageantry. We go to our churches. We wear the trendy jeans and carry our Starbucks cup like it's a badge of honor. We know where to go to see and be seen by the right people. We help the homeless not because we want to show love, grace, and compassion, but because it has become the cool thing to do. I believe our faith should be based on our love for man. Loving as Christ loved is far more challenging than one might imagine. We say we are "seeker friendly" and "relevant", but how are $300 jeans relevant to single mom who can't afford to feed her children, or to the prostitute who's been beaten by her pimp, or to the young girl battling anorexia so she can feel like she fits in, or to the man who lost all his money gambling and has a sex addiction? How does an emotionally cathartic church service practically help these people and build their faith in anything more than the almighty dollar that affords the lights, multi-million dollar sound systems, and the "rockstars" playing on stage in their designer "stage wear"?
This being said, I choose to put my faith in the love that Christ showed to all people unconditionally. I still cannot define that faith in a tangible sense, but I can however define it by actions.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
My Moment
Anyone who even remotely knows me is more than likely aware that I've been fighting to free myself from my ex-husband for years now. The simple, uncontested divorce alone took two years, and then there was the contempt case on top of it. Today was the hearing for the latter. After years of being the proverbial "bad guy" all I wanted was a tiny piece of vindication. I was scared and nervous that I wouldn't get it and that I would still, even despite the ex's clear willfulness to not uphold the divorce decree, be put in a corner so to speak. Things couldn't have happened more differently though...
We went to court and I actually had reservations about whether or not he would even show up. But there he was with his dad and new wife...we'll call her Little Miss Sunshine...seems appropriate given her age and bleached blonde hair. The ex was looking heroin chic, but not in that cool Olsen twin kind of way, but more like I felt as though I needed to buy him a burger and a haircut. Despite their very non-intimidating appearance, I was still a bit shaken by seeing him. After all, until today, I had not laid eyes on him physically since 2007. As soon as I saw my lawyer though all of the nervousness subsided. I was very comforted by talking to him and looking over the game plan. I had done my homework, and we had quite a bit of documentation to back up my case.
After a bit of chatting in the hallway, my lawyer, my mom and her husband, and I entered the courtroom. It was absolutely freezing inside. So even though I was inexplicably calm and collected, I couldn't stop shaking. The judge was an hour late to court, and we had to wait for several other cases to be heard before it was our turn. Finally they called my name though. By the way, I hope I never hear "Alexis Rice" called in a courtroom again. It's unnerving even when you're the good guy.
So we all take our places at our respective tables. My lawyer articulately makes his opening statement. Then the ex takes the stand. It was a little funny to see him nervous and without the ability to fight back employing his usual tactics of yelling at people to try to scare them into getting his way. My lawyer put it to him though and didn't let him pull any punches, even going so far as to ask the ex if he knew how to read since he claimed he was unaware of something clearly stated in black and white. I had a terribly difficult time hiding my amusement at that blow to his ego; however, I quietly sat and watched. He kept glaring at me from the stand. I assume he was trying to intimidate me. Didn't work though. Funny thing, he had filed a contempt case against me and on the stand contradicted his own case! It was brilliant.
After he stepped down, it was my turn. I tried to cooly walk across the court room to the witness stand. I took my oath and sat down. My lawyer questioned me first. My voice wavered a bit, in part because I was a smidge nervous and in part because I was so cold I was shivering. At any rate, my lawyer went through his line of questioning, and I was able to expound on my answers with him. Then it was opposing counsel's turn to grill me. The ex's lawyer was quite amicable actually and not at all threatening. He asked his questions and I gave simple answers making sure not to ask any questions myself.
My turn was up finally, and I must say I finished with a bang. I was quite proud of myself honestly. After I stepped down, the ex took the stand again. My lawyer is the man and didn't let him get away with anything. I told my best friend I even have a mini crush on my lawyer now because he saved me. :) Anyway, he served my ex up nicely on a silver platter. The judge made his ruling completely in my favor. The ex's face was priceless when the judge made his ruling, even making him responsible for $8,000 worth of repairs that I never mentioned or knew about until today. Not to mention he's responsible for my legal fees! Ah, and I can't forget to mention that the judge told him he's a big boy and needs to be responsible. Shazam! Oh sweet victory.
I don't think it's appropriate to disclose further details in such an open forum, but suffice it to say, that freedom is upon me today. I can breathe again, and perhaps I can start to truly live my life now. I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all. I was exhausted after court and took a five hour nap, and I'm still tired. :) It's mostly over now though. I can have a life. I'm not quite sure where to begin exactly, but I know I'm going to celebrate tomorrow, and I can't wait!
We went to court and I actually had reservations about whether or not he would even show up. But there he was with his dad and new wife...we'll call her Little Miss Sunshine...seems appropriate given her age and bleached blonde hair. The ex was looking heroin chic, but not in that cool Olsen twin kind of way, but more like I felt as though I needed to buy him a burger and a haircut. Despite their very non-intimidating appearance, I was still a bit shaken by seeing him. After all, until today, I had not laid eyes on him physically since 2007. As soon as I saw my lawyer though all of the nervousness subsided. I was very comforted by talking to him and looking over the game plan. I had done my homework, and we had quite a bit of documentation to back up my case.
After a bit of chatting in the hallway, my lawyer, my mom and her husband, and I entered the courtroom. It was absolutely freezing inside. So even though I was inexplicably calm and collected, I couldn't stop shaking. The judge was an hour late to court, and we had to wait for several other cases to be heard before it was our turn. Finally they called my name though. By the way, I hope I never hear "Alexis Rice" called in a courtroom again. It's unnerving even when you're the good guy.
So we all take our places at our respective tables. My lawyer articulately makes his opening statement. Then the ex takes the stand. It was a little funny to see him nervous and without the ability to fight back employing his usual tactics of yelling at people to try to scare them into getting his way. My lawyer put it to him though and didn't let him pull any punches, even going so far as to ask the ex if he knew how to read since he claimed he was unaware of something clearly stated in black and white. I had a terribly difficult time hiding my amusement at that blow to his ego; however, I quietly sat and watched. He kept glaring at me from the stand. I assume he was trying to intimidate me. Didn't work though. Funny thing, he had filed a contempt case against me and on the stand contradicted his own case! It was brilliant.
After he stepped down, it was my turn. I tried to cooly walk across the court room to the witness stand. I took my oath and sat down. My lawyer questioned me first. My voice wavered a bit, in part because I was a smidge nervous and in part because I was so cold I was shivering. At any rate, my lawyer went through his line of questioning, and I was able to expound on my answers with him. Then it was opposing counsel's turn to grill me. The ex's lawyer was quite amicable actually and not at all threatening. He asked his questions and I gave simple answers making sure not to ask any questions myself.
My turn was up finally, and I must say I finished with a bang. I was quite proud of myself honestly. After I stepped down, the ex took the stand again. My lawyer is the man and didn't let him get away with anything. I told my best friend I even have a mini crush on my lawyer now because he saved me. :) Anyway, he served my ex up nicely on a silver platter. The judge made his ruling completely in my favor. The ex's face was priceless when the judge made his ruling, even making him responsible for $8,000 worth of repairs that I never mentioned or knew about until today. Not to mention he's responsible for my legal fees! Ah, and I can't forget to mention that the judge told him he's a big boy and needs to be responsible. Shazam! Oh sweet victory.
I don't think it's appropriate to disclose further details in such an open forum, but suffice it to say, that freedom is upon me today. I can breathe again, and perhaps I can start to truly live my life now. I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all. I was exhausted after court and took a five hour nap, and I'm still tired. :) It's mostly over now though. I can have a life. I'm not quite sure where to begin exactly, but I know I'm going to celebrate tomorrow, and I can't wait!
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Walk On...
I have recently emerged in the dating scene. I don't care for it at all to be honest. I much prefer being with just one person and knowing said person well...having a best friend really. So, in order to not waste any more of my time or anyone else's money...
If you want to talk to me only because you think I'm pretty; if your view of religion is only that you think Jesus is cool and you know nothing about faith or God; if you have a confused look on your face because you don't understand my everyday vernacular; if you feel compelled to tell me how artsy/eccentric/cool you are, chances are you probably aren't; if you think you're a musician just because you can play a C chord; if you think you look hotter than me in eyeliner; if the thought of wearing my jeans crosses your mind; if you're under the impression that the world revolves around you or that perhaps you're owed something; if you play on other people's sympathies to get your way; if you feel the need to put down other people to feel better about yourself; if you look at women as a numbers game; if you like what i consider to be bad music; if your intellectual depth goes no further than beer, bikinis, and ball; if you think buying me a drink makes you entitled to hook up with me; if you don't appreciate pretty dresses, tall shoes, puppies, and cupcakes; if you like the idea of my eccentricities but think you're going to change them; if you're not okay with me being independent; and lastly, if you wear anything bedazzled or Ed Hardy...then please, please, do us both a favor and walk on.
If you want to talk to me only because you think I'm pretty; if your view of religion is only that you think Jesus is cool and you know nothing about faith or God; if you have a confused look on your face because you don't understand my everyday vernacular; if you feel compelled to tell me how artsy/eccentric/cool you are, chances are you probably aren't; if you think you're a musician just because you can play a C chord; if you think you look hotter than me in eyeliner; if the thought of wearing my jeans crosses your mind; if you're under the impression that the world revolves around you or that perhaps you're owed something; if you play on other people's sympathies to get your way; if you feel the need to put down other people to feel better about yourself; if you look at women as a numbers game; if you like what i consider to be bad music; if your intellectual depth goes no further than beer, bikinis, and ball; if you think buying me a drink makes you entitled to hook up with me; if you don't appreciate pretty dresses, tall shoes, puppies, and cupcakes; if you like the idea of my eccentricities but think you're going to change them; if you're not okay with me being independent; and lastly, if you wear anything bedazzled or Ed Hardy...then please, please, do us both a favor and walk on.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
When the Darkness Closes In...
It's like the swell of a wave.
The darkness, heavy and deep, washes over me
weighted with lies and secrets.
I can barely withstand the weight of it.
I can hardly hold on.
Surely one day I'll have someone to hold on to.
But if that day should not come
I'll be tossed to and fro with the tide.
The moonlight and the stars my only guides.
I'll hold steady to the shore
and fight the pull of the waves with all I have
until that day I can fall down and find peace
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
You Wouldn't Believe Me if I Told You...
I hardly believe it myself actually. It just seems so surreal, and not in a good way. Not like a sweet, soft dream. More like a horrifying nightmare that you can never escape. No matter what you do, the terrible thoughts of the past are always taunting you in the back of your mind. It's a constant battle to fight the lies of the past. It's exhausting to say the least.
It started when I was 18 though, and he was 23. I had never dated anyone before, and I was incredibly shy and reserved. I had a very hard time trusting people because my dad had passed away 4 years before I met him. Despite that, or maybe because of that actually, I wanted so badly for someone to love me, to not feel alone anymore. And there he was...
He had all the right words to say at first. He seemed so kind and gentle. He was decent looking enough, but more than that he was a smooth talker. Everyone seemed to think he was such a great guy...so nice, the sort to do anything for anyone. He had an awful lot of people fooled. He even came across as a very "Godly" guy who was really trying to live a good life and treat people well.
After much coercion I finally gave in and went on a double date with him and two of my friends. After that, I was sucked in. I'll give him that he was smooth enough to take me on a moonlight horseback ride and even serenade me by a fire in the middle of the night. I had no idea it was all part of master plan though.
We had a tumultuous dating relationship-constantly breaking up, crying, fighting, getting back together. He had succeeded in all but completely separating me from my friends. He had nearly convinced me that they were all bad people who didn't actually care about me, but wanted to use me. After five years of turmoil, we got engaged to the surprise, and later I found out dismay, of many people. We were engaged only for a couple of months before getting married. It was all so fast...a complete blur.
The day I got married, I was torn and crushed. I didn't want to do it, even as I walked down the aisle on my brother's arm. I was completely convinced though that no one else would ever love me. I was just so difficult to deal with on top of not being very smart, thin, pretty, or wise. I just didn't seem to have a whole lot going for me, and so I had resolved myself to this end...marry the only one who would have me. As soon as the ceremony was over, I cried. Then I cried some more. The tears didn't stop. I couldn't help thinking "what have I done?! My God what have I done?!" I wouldn't even sleep with him that day. I just laid in the bed crying. I was horrified at what had happened, and I thought there was no turning back. I honestly believed I had ruined my own life. Had I only gone with my instincts...
As soon as we came home from the honeymoon, I was in tears and begging for counseling. I was miserable and wanted help. My head was so twisted and convoluted even then, I couldn't see which way was up or down. I remember laying on the floor sobbing begging for help and being denied. I was told I just needed to work it out on my own. We couldn't afford help so I needed to just deal with it, besides, they were MY issues anyway. This went on and on for months, and then years. At first I thought maybe it was just a crazy side effect from birth control. The drugs made me terribly sick anyway, so perhaps they also made me crazy? I had no idea. I was exhausted all the time. I was careful to eat only small portions, and to NEVER eat any sweets. Everything was 100% organic, and often I didn't eat at all. I ran constantly and was at the gym all the time. I had to get thinner. Maybe then I'd be prettier, and then maybe, just maybe, I'd almost be good enough for him. It was a long shot, but I figured I should at least try. I knew I'd never be as smart or as wise as him. He told me that himself.
Soon I found myself going on shopping binges. If I could get the newest Marc Jacobs dress and the amazing Chloe stilettos, then I'd look pretty enough that he would turn his head when I walked in the room. Instead, he just continued to expect me to show up with Starbucks every Sunday and sit there quietly while he told stories and laughed with his friends. I wasn't to interrupt. If I did, I risked the humiliation of being shushed in front of all those people in the green room at church. So I sat and said nothing. I just tried my best to look pretty and maintain a certain image. I had all the right jeans, dresses, shoes, and makeup. I went to all the right places and always had the right drink in my Starbucks cup. Never was a hair out of place nor a speck of mascara on my cheek. I managed to maintain a very lean figure, weighing in at a mere 110 pounds, which, at 5'9" isn't a whole lot.
On top of everything else, I worked constantly. He wanted to be a rockstar, and I, as the wife, was responsible for funding his dreams. Since he was the husband, all of my dreams and desires had to be put on hold for a while. Besides, they were "Alexis Desires" not "God Desires". Clearly, his were God ordained, and mine were little more than pipe dreams. What a silly girl I was to think any differently. So, often I would work 17 hours a day 5 days a week to pay the bills. Someone had to pay for the expensive jeans and haircuts, etc. I quickly learned though that he was far more entitled to nice things like that than I was because he got paid to look good because he was on stage. Plus, his $300 jeans and $700 hoodie were tax right-offs anyway since he was a rockstar. I know, silly me. What was I thinking when I said that seemed ridiculous???
Slowly over time, I begin to sink down into a very deep, dark depression. I was bitter and angry all the time. Eventually, he even had me convinced that I needed to be institutionalized. I was literally curled up in a ball on the floor crying because he convinced me that I was hearing voices in my head. Of course he never said I was lazy. "Satan let me hear that." Gosh what a stupid girl for not knowing it was that tricky Satan who allowed me to see and hear my own husband call me lazy after I had worked a whole day, cleaned the house, and prepared dinner for him and his friends. Of course it was Satan. That's the only rational answer.
As I slipped further into this depression, I became addicted to working in a restaurant. I was good at it, and the work was mindless as it came naturally to me. It was almost like a soft rocking wave. It was easy and familiar, and the only place I felt validated.
The day he bought the $700 hoodie was a big turning point for me. After he made that brilliant purchase, I began looking at shoes. At this point, he propositioned me. If I wanted a pair of shoes, I would have to openly have sex with him in his truck right there in the parking lot at a very high end mall in the middle of the day on a busy Saturday. I had explained to him many times how much I hated to feel like a piece of meat, but he insisted I do that or I was a bad wife. He drilled it into my head that I wasn't a Proverbs 31 woman. Over and over again he told me how selfish I was and that I was a horrible prude. These are the same comments I received that day when I denied him. He said I should be a whore for my husband though. It was torturous, and I was reduced to nothing more than a ghost inside of the girl I used to be.
I couldn't escape either. I was too proud to tell anyone what was really happening at home. I was so good at putting up a facade that no one was the wiser either. The years of solitude while he was away traveling had provided me the opportunity to only strengthen the already existing walls guarding my heart. Not to mention my fear of being a failure. I didn't want to disappoint my mom. I was so scared of hurting her. And I was covered in shame. I couldn't bear telling people the things that had happened. I didn't think they would believe me.
It all began to unravel when I found the hidden stash of weed though. I was vacuuming and found the inside of a paper towel roll stuffed with dryer sheets. Confused I asked him what it was. He explained casually that he smoked joints through it so I wouldn't smell the weed. That erupted into a huge fight. I started sleeping by myself in a room downstairs. I constantly came home to him hanging out with his friends. I was a stranger in my own house. Eventually he gave me an ultimatum: do what I say because I'm the husband and that's why or get out. So I left.
I moved out into my own place. I worked a minimum of 80 hours a week to pay his bills and mine. I hardly ate a thing. I mostly would come home and drink until I fell asleep only to do it all again the next day. I was bitterly depressed and more alone than I had ever been. My mind was a disaster. I didn't know what I had done or what I was going to do. Truly I never would've left had my best friend not talked me through it all for a year a half prior to me walking out. But then, once I was out, I could barely afford to turn on the heat in my apartment. I slept wrapped in blankets on the floor by the fire so I didn't have to spend extra money. I never went out, and I was allowed only $5 cash at the bookstore. I worked to the bone...dropped down to probably 100 pounds. Size 0 jeans were falling off of me. I was a wreck. On top of everything he continued playing sick mind games with me-trying to coerce me to come back home and in the next breath damning me. Literally the mental and emotional wear and tear was nearly more than I could handle. I'm not ashamed to admit that thoughts of suicide entered my mind numerous times in those years of marriage and in the months after I left. I thought if I could just leave this world everyone else would be so much happier, and finally, I wouldn't be sad anymore, besides, I was worth nothing anyway right?
Finally I went to counseling again. We had trying going as a married couple, but to no avail. He would present one side of himself to the counselor...the sweet, loving side...but then in private, he would berate me for making him look like a monster. This time though, I went alone. I had to go for months. Sometimes I had to go twice a week. Eventually I was able to spread out my visits more as my counselor thought I improved. Slowly a glimmer of the old Alexis began to appear. It was faint at first, but I could see it. I hardly recognized myself. I began to reconnect with old friends. Strangely, one of my most important friends I talk to only via the internet or text messaging. Yet this friend knows me better than anyone else possibly does at this point in my life. He protects my secrets and has been an immense help to me through all of my mess.
As time passes by, even though I'm still not 100% free from the hold he has on me, the old Ali is coming back stronger. She's more familiar now. She's not afraid anymore either. I still hate when people tell me I'm pretty because I'd rather be sweet and smart. I don't want my value to ever be based on my appearance again. I want to think that someday someone somewhere will love me as I am. I don't want to be a project for some guy with a white knight complex. I want to be the part that completes the whole. I'm afraid to burden someone else with my tale. My secrets are heavy I know. I hope that one day though someone will be brave enough and strong enough to love me anyway. Perhaps someone can look beyond what was and see who I am instead.
It started when I was 18 though, and he was 23. I had never dated anyone before, and I was incredibly shy and reserved. I had a very hard time trusting people because my dad had passed away 4 years before I met him. Despite that, or maybe because of that actually, I wanted so badly for someone to love me, to not feel alone anymore. And there he was...
He had all the right words to say at first. He seemed so kind and gentle. He was decent looking enough, but more than that he was a smooth talker. Everyone seemed to think he was such a great guy...so nice, the sort to do anything for anyone. He had an awful lot of people fooled. He even came across as a very "Godly" guy who was really trying to live a good life and treat people well.
After much coercion I finally gave in and went on a double date with him and two of my friends. After that, I was sucked in. I'll give him that he was smooth enough to take me on a moonlight horseback ride and even serenade me by a fire in the middle of the night. I had no idea it was all part of master plan though.
We had a tumultuous dating relationship-constantly breaking up, crying, fighting, getting back together. He had succeeded in all but completely separating me from my friends. He had nearly convinced me that they were all bad people who didn't actually care about me, but wanted to use me. After five years of turmoil, we got engaged to the surprise, and later I found out dismay, of many people. We were engaged only for a couple of months before getting married. It was all so fast...a complete blur.
The day I got married, I was torn and crushed. I didn't want to do it, even as I walked down the aisle on my brother's arm. I was completely convinced though that no one else would ever love me. I was just so difficult to deal with on top of not being very smart, thin, pretty, or wise. I just didn't seem to have a whole lot going for me, and so I had resolved myself to this end...marry the only one who would have me. As soon as the ceremony was over, I cried. Then I cried some more. The tears didn't stop. I couldn't help thinking "what have I done?! My God what have I done?!" I wouldn't even sleep with him that day. I just laid in the bed crying. I was horrified at what had happened, and I thought there was no turning back. I honestly believed I had ruined my own life. Had I only gone with my instincts...
As soon as we came home from the honeymoon, I was in tears and begging for counseling. I was miserable and wanted help. My head was so twisted and convoluted even then, I couldn't see which way was up or down. I remember laying on the floor sobbing begging for help and being denied. I was told I just needed to work it out on my own. We couldn't afford help so I needed to just deal with it, besides, they were MY issues anyway. This went on and on for months, and then years. At first I thought maybe it was just a crazy side effect from birth control. The drugs made me terribly sick anyway, so perhaps they also made me crazy? I had no idea. I was exhausted all the time. I was careful to eat only small portions, and to NEVER eat any sweets. Everything was 100% organic, and often I didn't eat at all. I ran constantly and was at the gym all the time. I had to get thinner. Maybe then I'd be prettier, and then maybe, just maybe, I'd almost be good enough for him. It was a long shot, but I figured I should at least try. I knew I'd never be as smart or as wise as him. He told me that himself.
Soon I found myself going on shopping binges. If I could get the newest Marc Jacobs dress and the amazing Chloe stilettos, then I'd look pretty enough that he would turn his head when I walked in the room. Instead, he just continued to expect me to show up with Starbucks every Sunday and sit there quietly while he told stories and laughed with his friends. I wasn't to interrupt. If I did, I risked the humiliation of being shushed in front of all those people in the green room at church. So I sat and said nothing. I just tried my best to look pretty and maintain a certain image. I had all the right jeans, dresses, shoes, and makeup. I went to all the right places and always had the right drink in my Starbucks cup. Never was a hair out of place nor a speck of mascara on my cheek. I managed to maintain a very lean figure, weighing in at a mere 110 pounds, which, at 5'9" isn't a whole lot.
On top of everything else, I worked constantly. He wanted to be a rockstar, and I, as the wife, was responsible for funding his dreams. Since he was the husband, all of my dreams and desires had to be put on hold for a while. Besides, they were "Alexis Desires" not "God Desires". Clearly, his were God ordained, and mine were little more than pipe dreams. What a silly girl I was to think any differently. So, often I would work 17 hours a day 5 days a week to pay the bills. Someone had to pay for the expensive jeans and haircuts, etc. I quickly learned though that he was far more entitled to nice things like that than I was because he got paid to look good because he was on stage. Plus, his $300 jeans and $700 hoodie were tax right-offs anyway since he was a rockstar. I know, silly me. What was I thinking when I said that seemed ridiculous???
Slowly over time, I begin to sink down into a very deep, dark depression. I was bitter and angry all the time. Eventually, he even had me convinced that I needed to be institutionalized. I was literally curled up in a ball on the floor crying because he convinced me that I was hearing voices in my head. Of course he never said I was lazy. "Satan let me hear that." Gosh what a stupid girl for not knowing it was that tricky Satan who allowed me to see and hear my own husband call me lazy after I had worked a whole day, cleaned the house, and prepared dinner for him and his friends. Of course it was Satan. That's the only rational answer.
As I slipped further into this depression, I became addicted to working in a restaurant. I was good at it, and the work was mindless as it came naturally to me. It was almost like a soft rocking wave. It was easy and familiar, and the only place I felt validated.
The day he bought the $700 hoodie was a big turning point for me. After he made that brilliant purchase, I began looking at shoes. At this point, he propositioned me. If I wanted a pair of shoes, I would have to openly have sex with him in his truck right there in the parking lot at a very high end mall in the middle of the day on a busy Saturday. I had explained to him many times how much I hated to feel like a piece of meat, but he insisted I do that or I was a bad wife. He drilled it into my head that I wasn't a Proverbs 31 woman. Over and over again he told me how selfish I was and that I was a horrible prude. These are the same comments I received that day when I denied him. He said I should be a whore for my husband though. It was torturous, and I was reduced to nothing more than a ghost inside of the girl I used to be.
I couldn't escape either. I was too proud to tell anyone what was really happening at home. I was so good at putting up a facade that no one was the wiser either. The years of solitude while he was away traveling had provided me the opportunity to only strengthen the already existing walls guarding my heart. Not to mention my fear of being a failure. I didn't want to disappoint my mom. I was so scared of hurting her. And I was covered in shame. I couldn't bear telling people the things that had happened. I didn't think they would believe me.
It all began to unravel when I found the hidden stash of weed though. I was vacuuming and found the inside of a paper towel roll stuffed with dryer sheets. Confused I asked him what it was. He explained casually that he smoked joints through it so I wouldn't smell the weed. That erupted into a huge fight. I started sleeping by myself in a room downstairs. I constantly came home to him hanging out with his friends. I was a stranger in my own house. Eventually he gave me an ultimatum: do what I say because I'm the husband and that's why or get out. So I left.
I moved out into my own place. I worked a minimum of 80 hours a week to pay his bills and mine. I hardly ate a thing. I mostly would come home and drink until I fell asleep only to do it all again the next day. I was bitterly depressed and more alone than I had ever been. My mind was a disaster. I didn't know what I had done or what I was going to do. Truly I never would've left had my best friend not talked me through it all for a year a half prior to me walking out. But then, once I was out, I could barely afford to turn on the heat in my apartment. I slept wrapped in blankets on the floor by the fire so I didn't have to spend extra money. I never went out, and I was allowed only $5 cash at the bookstore. I worked to the bone...dropped down to probably 100 pounds. Size 0 jeans were falling off of me. I was a wreck. On top of everything he continued playing sick mind games with me-trying to coerce me to come back home and in the next breath damning me. Literally the mental and emotional wear and tear was nearly more than I could handle. I'm not ashamed to admit that thoughts of suicide entered my mind numerous times in those years of marriage and in the months after I left. I thought if I could just leave this world everyone else would be so much happier, and finally, I wouldn't be sad anymore, besides, I was worth nothing anyway right?
Finally I went to counseling again. We had trying going as a married couple, but to no avail. He would present one side of himself to the counselor...the sweet, loving side...but then in private, he would berate me for making him look like a monster. This time though, I went alone. I had to go for months. Sometimes I had to go twice a week. Eventually I was able to spread out my visits more as my counselor thought I improved. Slowly a glimmer of the old Alexis began to appear. It was faint at first, but I could see it. I hardly recognized myself. I began to reconnect with old friends. Strangely, one of my most important friends I talk to only via the internet or text messaging. Yet this friend knows me better than anyone else possibly does at this point in my life. He protects my secrets and has been an immense help to me through all of my mess.
As time passes by, even though I'm still not 100% free from the hold he has on me, the old Ali is coming back stronger. She's more familiar now. She's not afraid anymore either. I still hate when people tell me I'm pretty because I'd rather be sweet and smart. I don't want my value to ever be based on my appearance again. I want to think that someday someone somewhere will love me as I am. I don't want to be a project for some guy with a white knight complex. I want to be the part that completes the whole. I'm afraid to burden someone else with my tale. My secrets are heavy I know. I hope that one day though someone will be brave enough and strong enough to love me anyway. Perhaps someone can look beyond what was and see who I am instead.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Liar
Yes, I'm describing myself. Why? Because it's apt. I live my life behind a facade. I maintain this image of the pretty happy girl, but when I am real and honest, I am confused, disheartened, angry, and sad. I go home and weep with sorrow. Why? A multitude of reasons. What to do? I have no idea.
I don't want to be a liar. Yet I don't want to burden anyone else with my pain. It's silly probably anyway. But it's still there. I don't want to always be the strong one. I want to be able to fall apart and have someone catch me on the way down. Yet still I sit alone as I write this. My longing unfulfilled, and my heart weighted with despair and anxiety.
Sleep is the only real escape and the only place I am able to find some sort of solitude. So I choose it as often as I can, if only for a moment, to find a bit of peace in the chaos of this world.
Someday...someday perhaps I will be allowed the gift of true happiness.
I don't want to be a liar. Yet I don't want to burden anyone else with my pain. It's silly probably anyway. But it's still there. I don't want to always be the strong one. I want to be able to fall apart and have someone catch me on the way down. Yet still I sit alone as I write this. My longing unfulfilled, and my heart weighted with despair and anxiety.
Sleep is the only real escape and the only place I am able to find some sort of solitude. So I choose it as often as I can, if only for a moment, to find a bit of peace in the chaos of this world.
Someday...someday perhaps I will be allowed the gift of true happiness.
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