splattered, shattered, deleted, forgotten, placed on a shelf, crashed and bashed by yourself or someone else. Maybe even in a state of disrepair. Perhaps insults have been hurdled, screams have been screamed. There is no sleep to be had. No rest to be refilled. No safe shelter to take. Life can be layer after layer of trauma. Today my lovelies, I cannot offer you hope, rainbows, or butterflies. Today’s expressions and writings, are real and raw, and perhaps a trigger for some.
It has been a sweltering 90 degrees in my house for days. (Yes I said in my house) The fridge stopped working and contributed to the house reeking like rotted garbage. The landlord has ignored call after call. When located he has given empty promise after empty promise. It is too hot to cook, focus, clean, to do anything that isn’t in a cold shower.
I had to cancel my round of physical therapy for today, my husband wrecked my Misfit Mustang. It is his 5th infraction and 3rd accident in less than a year and he cannot admit to being a poor driver. He kept my son and I up hour after hour last night screaming insult after insult at us. He screamed and screamed how our marriage was over and it was my 14 year old’s fault. Umm no. My children are not the reason for the areas he falls short in life, and do not deserve to be punished for such. (neither do yours) My son had to literally tell him to back away from his closed bedroom door or he would contact the cops in fear of his actual safety 🙁
I spoke to my therapist who began to chastize me for letting my husband drive my car knowing the insurance wouldn’t cover him as a driver. My husband and I had this fight ourselves in May when I came home from the hospital when I asked him not to drive. (I was trashed bashed, my uncle and my therapist, everyone said I had to give my husband the keys.) Last night he hit another car and fled the scene of impact. My insurance confirmed today since my husband was behind the wheel they will likely not cover repair to my car though I pay for comprehensive and collision. My therapist began to chastise me saying how I knew this would happen, and I quickly reminded him and all the other doctors that they were the one’s who said to reconstruct our marriage it was advised, I give my husband the keys to my car, and the cops say it is a marital asset as is the home I rented long before we met, so I had to share it. (funny how then even the therapist tells me to calm down once I point that out.)
Tonight he demanded I come to bed with him, and instead i am curled up in front of the only lended unit of air conditioning we have in this place. I have a pillow, my son’s comforter, for cushion and an icepack on my pillow, in the dining room floor. In my wildest dreams of love, I don’t expect there to be perfect, or times of no struggle. What I would have done for you though, is to move a mattress or a couch, or your favorite chair to the room that is the most comfortable and supported you in getting rest that you so desperately need. That is not what I got. I was told “you won’t last long there, so there is a spot in the bed when you want it.” That room is even hotter that the 90 degree kitchen, I complied previous nights, because I thought my husband and I were reconstructing our relationship and to keep the peace.
I was reminded today when I couldn’t walk again, that I am going to end up right back in the hospital if I don’t rest, recoup. I have no idea how to heal, get stronger, to rest, to have peace. I have stuff to read and learn, but my head cannot focus. It’s too hot. I feel like if I am awake, I need to find a source to provide for my children. There are bible studies to read, book reviews, and freelance jobs to try and obtain. I want to raise money to get off the free plan with wordpress to host my blog, in hopes i can monetize it. I can not now, justify spending a single penny, not knowing what next month might look like.
I am about to share with you some very cold, hard to swallow truth.
The term Gaslighting is defined in this reading as follows:
To manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.
My experience with above mentioned gaslighting was in April 2020. I did not even realize it was happening, until I ended up in the hospital and was removed from the situation. The culprit, my husband.
On April 1st Covid was beginning, and our state was beginning to implement lockdown and quarantine life began. I saw my doctor, and some of my medications were adjusted. I started feeling completely different from my normal, (if there is such a thing as normal) as the days and weeks went on. I slept so much more, not wanting to move or do anything. (I thought maybe it was depression) I was insanely stressed trying to homeschool my nine year old, and I was thrilled to get some wine and other spirits along with unexpected food left on my door step by extended family one day. Our grocery store had a limited selection of food to choose from. (I could afford food there just was not much in our local stores)
One day I was really stressed and opted for half a glass of red wine that was gifted to us. I cut it with tonic water because I am a diabetic, and I wanted to relax but not sky rocket my blood sugar. As I poured the half of glass of wine, my husband called me an alcoholic. My head often spun alot and I stumbled around. I thought to myself, “Oh my god he is right,” I have become an alcoholic, but I was certain I only had half a glass of wine, and wondered how that equates to me being an alcoholic. I ran around the house pretending I was sober and did not seek medical treatment for my head spinning episodes, but I never touched another drink, I put the bottle of wine next to my chaise lounge, and it still sits there today. I made sure the level in the bottle never changed.
I know my husband was using cannibas at the time, and I did with him too, but I stopped because he was telling me how addicted I was and I was using so much I was acting stupid. I believed him, I thought I had become some kind of addict, so I hid in my house and never called my doctor. My head was spinning episodes evolved to the point where I was almost passing out. I fell down a couple times. The last person I saw before I fell was my husband and he was the first one standing over me when I opened my eyes. This created some mistrust for me.
For all the problems my husband and I have ever had, I always thought at the base of who he is, he had my best interest at heart. I trusted him not to lie to me. I trusted him to love and care for me. I believed that if I truly needed medical attention he would get it for me. He now with his own mouth, admits to knowing I was sick during the month of April and that I needed help, but he chose to manipulate the situation in his favor. He admitted it in writing to me.
I can confirm the man I love literally had me questioning what I was doing wrong, and if I was an addict I didn’t want anyone to know. We would have conversations about money, and he would tell me I was a liar, and I knew we had those conversations, as did he. I didn’t want my kids taken away. I thought I was a crazy drug addicted alcoholic because of his words and the activities I had lightly participated in. From April 1st to April 29, 2020 I lived locked in my house with him and my kids and suffered being ill, and I was unaware.
Here is the truth I am not addicted to drugs, and as I suspected, there was no drug (un-prescribed or illegal,) or alcohol in my system. I was admitted on May 8, 2020 to a local hospital and did not leave until May 12, 2020. I went to the hospital at the prompting of my physician, my best friend, and my daughters therapist who all not knowing each other said I might be exhibiting symptoms of a stroke or TIA. The staff there eventually suspected my husband might be physically abusing me and thanks to memory problems now I cannot confirm or deny it. I did not disclose my location to my husband at the time, Covid did not allow anyone to be with me in said hospital, and not being able to speak and understand well was difficult.
The administered MRI and CT scan revealed a young and healthy brain. We do know that some of my underlying health conditions such as diabetes, and a medication I take to manage depression, and a stomach problem may have interacted with one another. I don’t have all the answers to exactly what is causing my speech delays or need for physical therapy to regain strength. It is hard living with knowing how my husband intentionally hurt me by saying I was doing things that were not true. To know someone I trusted and love so much does not have my best interest or health in his heart. We are getting counseling, but it is slow thanks to Covid. His gaslighting and emotional abuse continues. I don’t know if we will make it or if healing is a possibility. That remains to be determined.
I write as Masquerade Jade,
Never completely revealing my full identity because the point it I could easily be you. I could be your best friend. I could be the person standing next to you in the grocery store. I could be your patient. I could be your neighbor. I could be the overwhelmed new young mom that just delivered a baby in your neighborhood. It doesn’t matter what I look like, does that make me of more or less value to you? Does the house I live in matter, does my financial status, my skin pigment, or relationship status? Does my body weight, age, height, make me of more or less value? Do you really see those around you. Take a step back. Look beyond these things, see the people, hearts and hurts around you. Someone who needs your help, your love or guidance, your smile, your voice may just very well be in very…..
Masquerade Jade :/
I want to share a very near to my heart PSA of sorts: Do not let anyone shame you for getting help, or admitting you have a problem, or that you cannot handle something. I do not care what status this person who is shaming you holds in your life. If it is your spouse, your parent, your neighbor, your church leaders, your best most dearest friend. No one has to walk the path you walk but you, and maybe your minor children, that you are entrusted with the care of. Please, Please get help. I would rather see you reach out, then choose a coping mechanism to cover up your pain, or to suffer in silence that will create layers of trauma that will manifest themselves in other ways. Maybe in physical pain, and inability to walk, talk, or function. If you are wondering yes, I have been shamed, for seeking help, I have been told how it should be a shame that I don’t know how to handle the issue with my husband and son on my own. That I am a mother and can’t just wave my magical wand, and beat and demand the proper results out of others in this house. (Are you freaking kidding me, my father used to beat me, I have made my mistakes and that generation of behavior stops right here with all 5′ ft 4″ and 262 pounds of me.)
I chose Michael Jackson’s song because it is the closest cry I have ever heard, and it is a reflection that while in the video might be about police and other kinds of hate, the truth can be the people you trust to care for you and love the most that are hurting you.