Monday, June 29, 2009

Crazy-Making sounds like the funniest term... till you live it.

Oh sweet dear Jesus, Son of Mary and one whom folks call when shit hits the fan... What the HELL just happened??

I asked myself this question a million times during my time with His Side. Keeping true to his ways, he lured me into another useless argument, making me look and feel crazy, right up until the time he left my home. It went like this:

Him: "I sure would live a lot longer if somebody would BLESS ME!"

Me, (turning from the computer screen): "Wha..???"

Him: "Yesterday. Riding in the car. I sneezed. And you didn't say BLESS YOU. I would NEVER do that to you. I always say 'bless you.' See how you are?"

Me: "Are. You. Serious? I was in traffic. I only vaguely remember you sneezing. Now I am responsible for you not living longer???"

Him: YES!

You can only imagine how the remainder of this conversation devolved into one of the most ridiculous exchanges I've ever had with anybody in my life. And the worst part is, this happened with His Side more than I would like to admit during our time together.

It didn't matter what... His Side found something to make my fault. I defended myself against some of the most juvenile and petty accusations - real and imagined. If I ignored him, he would rage for hours about how right he was about the thingy I won't defend... or worse, get angry and escalate to get a better reaction from me.

But here's the kicker. During the course of defending myself, without fail, he eventually said... "Look. Look. See how you're talking to me. Why are you acting like this? You blame me for everything. But Look. At. You."

That, my friends, is textbook CRAZY-MAKING. Because in fact, I did look and feel like a crazy person defending myself against the indictment of forgetting to say bless you. Grown-ass mature men don't initiate such petty conversations. I certainly looked like a crazy fool taking the time to actually respond.

When this passive-aggressive, crazy-making behavior first emerged, I did what most normal people would do: I took a moment to wonder if I was doing something wrong.

"You want somebody else. I can see it."

"You're going to cheat on me."

"You blame me for everything."

"You don't love me."

I was exhausted trying to trace the source of these sudden accusations which came along with his increasingly aggressive behavior and threats. The accusations were a ruse to provide ample excuse for his worsening treatment of me, stacked on top to cover his deteriorating self-esteem.

As one woman kindly put it, 'a crazy-making mate is also suffering, just in a different way.' And I believe every word of that. His Side was miserable. I was an easy target. And on some level I see he regretted that I was unable to provide what he needed to fix things for himself. But really, nobody can. What he needs right now can't possibly descend on him like a blanket from heaven and make everything hunky-dorey.

I didn't catch the signs early as they emerged. I left room for him to get comfortable. "She loves me. She'll never leave." I tend to get stuck with that label, including at work. There's dedication. Then there's stupidity. When somebody believes you're blindly loyal enough to stay no matter what, that is no badge of honor. Don't smile and say "Thanks." It means you are not recognized as dedicated to your own self interests. I believe His Side thought I would never arrive at this step. While I "stood up for myself" during the course of the chaos, I didn't really stand up to the plate with the best solution - which is stop taking the bullshit altogether. provides this summary under crazy-making emotional abuse:

Emotional abuse is used to control, degrade, humiliate and punish a spouse. While emotional abuse differs from physical abuse, the end result is the same…a spouse becomes fearful of their partner and begins to change their behaviors to keep their partner happy. The happier their partner, the less domestic violence the spouse has to suffer. By the time a spouse identifies the true problem they have begun to feel as if they are crazy. They will doubt themselves and their own sense of reality because emotional abuse is meant to cause the victim to question their every thought and behavior.

The article goes on to offer examples, and I have experienced most. Harassment, intimidation, including countless accusations that I must be cheating.

I'm exhausted y'all. I'm finally truly exhausted because the struggle is over and I can stop fighting. And defending. And hurting. And feeling more disappointed than words can express.

Sometimes I wonder how long it may take His Side to address the addictions and heartaches that drain his life. In reality, he's just a "hurt person hurting other people." Other times, I really don't care because I am relieved that he is no longer searching for that answer on my dime.

Friday, June 26, 2009

His Side is leaving our home but not the blog...

So here you have it, folks. After His Side had one-too-many and crossed some lines, I asked him to leave my home. He's packed and ready for his move on Sunday.

I took a hard hard line on this, and it stands as one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I am living the Battle Scars story right now, because I see where both of us picked up enough baggage to arrive at this place.

:: His abusive father.

:: My uber-independent mother whose biggest hope was for me to be intellectual and ambitious.

:: His ex-wife who cheated endlessly and then ran off with his kids.

:: My attraction to things that are broken.

:: His 18-year military history of watching things we hope to never see.

:: My tendency to batten down the hatches when I feel like things are out of control.

In the midst of the chaos, in the center of the storm, at the intersection of battle scars and exit wounds... I stand there still in love with His Side. But I do not like who I am with him when his baggage manifests.

Do you understand what I just said?

My biggest problem really isn't him, because I am not in control of - nor responsible for - his life. I don't like who I am with him. When I get angry. When I push too hard. Or even when I feel afraid... I don't like that woman. She looks like a stranger. And there's no peace in her home. There's too much turmoil out there to welcome any turmoil in here. In spite of the race I still need to run, I paid the price to reach an unbelievably positive place in my life. And when I am her... that person dealing with him, I am momentarily set back. I'll give my life to you. I'll share my life with you. But I won't sacrifice the spirit of my life for you.

I aspire to living an honest life that is full of... well... LIFE. Colorful. Sincere. Energetic. Authentic. Peace. Love.

With tears in his eyes and without clear understanding of how he keeps arriving here, he agrees with my decision and wants to go do what's necessary to fix his broken spirit. I know for a fact he is more than able to transform his life. As I reflected on the past year - when some of the biggest changes occurred - I see where unforgiveness has robbed His Side of precious life. He is stuck on a small but piercing set of past hurts that literally haunt him. I don't use that word lightly. I can physically see and spiritually sense when the movie reel starts playing. Reality exits. He doesn't even talk the same, as if paging through the book to make sure he has his useless references correct. He gets lost in a frame of reference that paints everybody "here" with the same ugly colors as those "there."

When the painting is finished, he admits to hating the result. Worse, he admits that breaking that chain has eluded him. I have an idea...

I wish him the gift of forgiveness, especially since the short list of those he needs to forgive includes his name. For me, learning to forgive helped me enjoy the "right now." I can love (or hate) every moment for exactly what it is... not for how it reminds me of pains from another place and time. Nobody gets this 100% right, but I bet my batting average would land me in the hall of fame.

Nothing is ever a total loss. I am grateful for what I learned about my strengths and weaknesses. Even more, I am shocked, amazed, and utterly thankful to see how the crushing weight of unforgiveness can affect a human soul.

I love ya, His Side. If this journey you are about to take on your own leads you to the wholeness you crave, I suspect you'll have a friend waving, cheering, crying, and celebrating where the road merges back into the life you hoped for.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Do I Hear a Blog Nomination???

My site was nominated for a Black Weblog Award!

Click the image to join the nomination party for Best Group Blog, Best Sex and Relationships Blog, Blog to Watch, and Best New Blog.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Because you can never get enough inappropriate humor involving the nether regions...

Nursing Home...

Ethel was a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors.

Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerated her and some of them actually joined in.

One day Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Clarence stepped out with his arm outstretched.'STOP!' he shouted in a firm voice.. 'Have you got a license for that thing?'

Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. 'OK' he said,and away Ethel sped down the hall.

As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted 'STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?'

Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him. Harold nodded and said 'On your way, Ma'am.'

As Ethel neared the final corridor, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, Butt- Naked, and holding his 'You-Know-What' in his hand.

'Oh, good grief,' yelled Ethel, 'Not that Damn Breathalyzer Test again!'

[Sent via email by a very close female friend who apparently knows I could laugh myself silly over a wrinkled johnson getting a toothless blowjob. - Author unknown]

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

How do you complete a puzzle when you purchased the last one and some of the pieces are missing?

The answer is... YOU DON'T.

Many years ago, in the midst of my own divorce, I read a fantastic book that spoke to something I needed to understand. The book wasn't a stellar representation of world class writing worthy of the Oprah book club. But it did exactly what it needed to do and explored a simple point: Forget what your math teacher taught you. Two halves don't make a whole. Not in the land of relationships.

In fact, two halves make a hot mess. The blind leading the blind. A train wreck waiting to happen.

I couldn't resist sharing this thought after catching this gem over at Getting Past Your Past:

"When damaged people marry, they begin to resent their partner for not making them whole. – Robin Norwood

From the movie “Jerry McGuire” came the phrase “you complete me.” But, the truth of the matter is that no other person can complete us when we are incomplete and damaged and have not dealt with that damage.

We cannot leave to someone else, the work that is our own.

We cannot rush into relationships hoping to keep our mind off the fact that we are damaged or need more to be complete. We will never find that completeness through another person or a relationship or a job or a situation." Read the entire post [here.] It's worth the read...

I literally took 3 years off after my divorce. No dating. Not even a little bit. Not even physical contact and certainly not sex. In fact, I ate lunch with a male coworker twice towards the end of those three years. That was the closest I came to bothering with idea of dating.

I was on a mission to discover what "whole" meant. I found out, and I liked how it felt. I freed myself from the notion that "whole" meant "perfect" - and thankfully so - because "perfect" is relative and otherwise not attainable. "Whole" comes down to experiencing true, deep, and sincere satisfaction with who you are as a person (inside) aside from any dissatisfaction with things that objectify you (such as weight, hair color - because those things don't define your human value.)

As I told one of my bestest bestest girlfriends yesterday, I learned how to say "I'm proud of myself" without feeling guilty.

"You know what. I used to think it was bad to say. But I am proud of myself... not for being the creator of my essence, but for accepting the essence that the Creator gave me."
His Side was the person who ended my 3-year strike. In fact, we met almost 3 years to the exact day that my ex-husband walked out of our home and into the sunset - well - the sunset of his mistress' tits. hehe But anyway ...

More and more often, I find myself reminding His Side that I am not responsible for making him whole. Because more and more I see him setting me up as the punching bag for his fears and insecurities. The moment he feels fear or gets insecure about something, I can confidently predict he is about to find a petty flaw to lay into me about. If you're having a personal meltdown because I left a closet door open in a rush to secure some TP for a bathroom emergency, you need to make an adjustment buddy.

But the truth is, I don't believe much in coincidence. While I am nobody's savior, I know my trials and tribulations make me an effective vessel for understanding and helping those struggling with the same.

Without going into detail or starting another post, His Side will have an opportunity to chase his wholeness without offering me up as a sacrifice to the Gods of Broken Spirits. God I love that man. Like any other intervention, sometimes you have to offer a kind of help that isn't wanted... especially when it's time to spare your own health and sanity as a borderline accomplice named Enabler.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

His Side Finally SPEAKS!

All you folks didn't really think I was here. I'm a real person. Her Side didn't make me up in some kind of schizophrenic dream.

I want you to know that I got my woman's back from this day - actually long before this day - and forever more.

But I found out for a fact, last night, that she has a really big issue with reference to sleep. First of all, she thought I was snoring when I really had a bubble caught in my throat. I wasn't snoring. I wasn't sleep. I was checking the health of the inside of my eyelids. She stole the fucking remote while I was in the middle of my health check.

Her Side interjection: That fuckhead was SLEEP y'all.

But anyway, she claims she was joking while asking "ARE YOU READY TO GO TO SLEEP? So I had to check her for establishing my fucking bed time.

Her Side interjection: It was 4am.

But any-fucking-way... On a Saturday night, after running around and acting a fool together all night, how da' hell does she have a problem sleeping when she can snore through a thunderstorm in the woods with no tent? So I carried my ass downstairs.

Everything was fine until about 5:30a when she decided the FUCKING DOWNSTAIRS TV WAS TOO LOUD FOR HER BEAUTY SLEEP. So this is what she does...

She stomps on the fucking floor and I think Armageddon has begun. I didn't panic and didn't answer... Until she hollered downstairs. Mind you, we have intercom phones. What need for the phone when she has lungs like that? I had no idea...

So I turned the TV down.

Her Side interjection: After yelling up the stairs like a Beyotch.

So I hear her go to the bathroom. So I thought. She throws the dog in the fucking hallway and says "Go downstairs to your FATHER." and slams the door.

Her Side interjection: Cause the dog shit on the bedroom floor while I was sleeping.

And to my surprise, it goes to show she has a very good heart, 'cause she had planned to leave the shit in front of the door as a booby trap for me to step in. How do I know? Cause she TOLD ME SO.

It goes to show, that she really loves me so. And couldn't wait to hear the squishy sound of dog poop between my toes.

And that lets me know that she loves me so. And that's it for the day.

Peace. Be cool.

An now, a short break for some inappropriate penis humor

A woman went into a store to buy her husband a pet for his birthday. After looking around, she found that all the pets were very expensive.

She told the clerk she wanted to buy a pet, but she didn't want to spend a fortune.

'Well,' said the clerk, 'I have a very large bullfrog. They say it's been trained to give blow jobs!'

'Blow jobs!' the woman replied.

'It hasn't been proved but we've sold 30 of them this month,' he said..

The woman thought it would be a great gag gift, and what if it's true ... no more blow jobs for her! She bought the frog.

When she explained Froggy's ability to her husband, he was extremely skeptical and laughed it off.

The woman went to bed happy, thinking she may never need to perform this less than riveting act again.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the noise of pots and pans flying every where, making hellacious banging and crashing sounds.

She ran downstairs to the kitchen, only to find her husband and the frog reading cook books.

'What are you two doing at this hour?' she asked.

The husband replied, 'If I can teach this frog to cook, your ass is gone.'

[Sent via email by a very disturbed relative, author unknown - probably out of desire to conceal a sick fetish with bullfrogs and blowjobs.]

Friday, June 5, 2009

Randomness that just might break the strike rule... but fugh it...

Operation Save the Kidneys
His Side straight stopped drinking. Just stopped like ::snap:: that. He certainly wasn't a raging alcoholic, but balance was certainly missing. He simply detoxed. Drank lots of water. Went through the kidney pains, and *poof*.

Power Couple
We've really rallied over the past few weeks. We were productive - attacking important items on the to-do list and feeling the high of what happens when partners prove their union has power behind it.

De-Stressing Through Resolution
Together, we recently closed a long-standing legal issue that kept His Side on edge. He approached with trembling hands, and I held those hands as I told him it would be okay. Somehow, I just knew it would. In about 10 long but amazing minutes, the problem was solved and he was free from the worry. Years of worry. I saw a marked change in him that day. The stress dissipated like fog under the heat of the scorching sun. Without trying to sound cliche, it was amazingly like God smiled on us that day.

What's Mine is Yours
I noticed something about His Side. Not really noticed - but discovered just how deep it runs. He shares everything with me. It doesn't matter how big or how small. It could be his last bite of food or the only paycheck he'll see in weeks. He makes sure I get some, most, or all of anything he has. I mean anything. The gesture is always without thought or hesitation, and he doesn't take anything from me to "make it even."

And before you go getting all sappy, in spite of all that His Side does right, I may still be forced to kill him if he doesn't show his face on this blog in a minute. Now go back to what you were doing while I sharpen my knives.