Sunday, November 28, 2010

Breath in...breath out

I don't like Thanksgiving. Never have. In college, I would pretend to like it because it was a reason to have a big party and pretend that I knew how to cook in order to impress boys that liked food. None of them were ever impressed with my skills, but that didn't matter because we had a party and there was edible food that my roommates had made.

Now, it's a family party, but the food is always the same (YUCK!), and they know I don't cook, so they don't ever ask me to bring anything. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating the reason why I can't pretend to like Thanksgiving anymore.

The same yucky food over and over again. Lots of eating, sleeping and pie. In my family, it also means movies or sports running all day long on every TV in the house. To some that may just be their little slice of heaven; for me, it's a belly ache and restlessness.

Other Thanksgivings have proven to be more tolerable than this one. I started out the weekend before Thursday coaching myself on how it was going to be a great holiday season this year. I was going to have a good attitude. I was going to get along with everyone. I was going to smile and be cheerful despite my current situation.

The first party was at my Sister's home. All my siblings were there (except Ben...he was doing something a little more important like graduating and becoming Marine!) with all of their children. A houseful--usually just what I like. However, after only 10 minutes, I found myself extremely teary. And then there was "The Blessing" over the food...I lost it! My Dad prayed for those not with us, I let out a sob and through blurry eyes I saw a million pairs of little eyes (nieces and nephews) peaking around to see who was crying and why. The rest of the evening was downhill emotionally.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

The whole next week I spent with my parents in Idaho. I thought the reprieve away from my usual routine would be helpful. It proved to be otherwise when I had to spend all week deciding whether or not to accept a settlement option in the court case.

My Dad realized how difficult this was for me and would whisper in my ear every time he walked by me, "Just breath, Jacq." It would make me smile because one of my recent favorite songs recites this mantra over and over.


I love my parents and their simple, yet profound, wisdom.

I'll try to keep this tool ready for use throughout this holiday season because I'm assuming it's just going to get tougher and tougher as the weeks roll by.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

The 5 year BULLY

I love that word. BULLY. I hate what it means, but I love the word itself. It is a word that aptly describes what it's like to be abused and clearly identifies who the abuser is. It's a mean, nasty word, that carries emotions with it--emotions that can be felt by others.

I have been bullied. I decided, (for me, anyway), it's worse coming from someone who you love and who is supposed to love you, than it is from a stranger or a peer. I think I can make that claim because I've been bullied by people who don't know me and by my husband.

When I was in grade school and middle school, I was taunted by kids because I was shy, tall, and fatter than most kids. I had friends, luckily, but the words and actions of a select few still haunt me today and for years made me feel so self conscious, stupid, and ugly.

I remember as I was getting off the bus one time, a Spanish kid I hardly knew goosed me and yelled a string of obscenities in Spanish, but the words that stuck were the Spanish words for ugly-fat-girl. I cried all the way home, completely embarrassed and humiliated. I never rode the bus again. Instead, I walked the 1 1/2 miles to school every day. I never told anyone.

In 4th grade I was slapped by a supposed guy friend because his friends had dared him to slap the fattest girl on the playground. It left a red hand print on my cheek. My teacher did nothing, but smirk.

In 7th grade, on a day I was feeling particularly happy about myself and I was wearing my favorite outfit, I was confidently walking down the hallway with one of my girl friends, when from out of nowhere, a boy came up behind me, pushed me into the lockers and called me a fatty. I was so embarrassed, especially when my friend started giggling. I stayed friends with her, but never got over feeling self conscious around her.

We moved in 9th grade--yay, and new start! By that time, I had even grown into myself, but the words and actions of my childhood bullies prevented me from starting fresh because I believed their words and I thought that every new person I met, surely felt the same way about me. I became even more shy and introverted.

An interesting note: I look back on pictures from my childhood and I wasn't really fat. I was slightly overweight and I was very tall for a kid, and I was shy. I was an easy target--a gentle giant.

After high school, I eventually became confident, self assured, and due to some wonderful roommates, I learned to like myself and believe in myself. I never forgot those stinging words, but I didn't believe them anymore.

When I met my husband, he treated me so well. I loved talking with him. Being with him. He made me feel prettier than I thought I was. He went to great lengths to inflate my sense of self. He compared me to others around me, but it was in my favor, so I didn't question it and sort of liked it.

After we married just a short time, he changed his behaviors and his words towards me. Instead of lifting me up he began to tear me down, criticizing my appearance--after gaining just 5 lbs grabbing a hold of my tiny lower belly bulge and saying "what is that!?" Telling me to do my hair differently--curl it when I did it straight or straighten it when I curled it because the curls make me look bigger. Comparing me to others in a negative way--"my sisters can do it this or that way, why can't you?", and insisting I behave differently--no loud laughing in public, no talking of 'inappropriate' things anywhere when it could make him uncomfortable, allowing him to touch me inappropriately in public places to show him that I love him, smiling always no matter what I felt inside, never display a sad mood, no shy behaviors, no anxiety or panic attacks, etc...this list is by no means all inclusive.

By the end of our first year we were really struggling as a couple. Inside I was battling to stay afloat and remain confident, self assured, and resilient. Outward I was struggling to show him that I loved him. In an effort to help us grow closer, I agreed to move to Japan and teach English. He'd always wanted to live in Asia, and I liked to travel, so why not.

However, shortly before we left, I became pregnant. The happiest day of my life was destroyed because of a Bully. It was a Sunday, my husband was grumpy and lethargic and didn't want to go to church with me. I went without him. All day, I just kept feeling so sick and then it struck me, I might be pregnant. Excited, I stopped by the store on the way home and bought a pregnancy test. Turns out my hunch was correct. I thought for sure this news would bring my husband out of his funk.

I ran into our room and woke him up, I related the exciting news with smiles all over my face. But I didn't even get one in return. I got a blank stare. He looked at me with the saddest eyes which quickly turned to anger. He muttered something like, great, this is just what we need right now and then went on about how disappointed he was in me that I hadn't used the right protection and that I'd let this happen to him on purpose. Then he rolled over and told me to shut the door on my way out.

I left and just sobbed. He never apologized. Instead, he commanded me not to tell any of my family or friends that I was pregnant.
We left for Japan, and came back earlier than planned because of complications I was having with my pregnancy and complications we were having in our marriage. He instructed me not to tell anyone we were back in the US.

Right after we got back home, he told me that while we were in Japan, he had received a revelation that we needed to get divorced. I refused because he also said that if we got divorced that I would have to give my baby up for adoption. I believed him. I didn't know my own rights as far as that was concerned. So, I refused his decision of divorce. He said that the only way he felt he could stay in the horrible marriage I created, was for me to comply with his conditions.

Out of shear terror of losing my child, I agreed.
These were his demands:
1) I become party to his porn addiction and we watch it together.
2) I go to strip clubs with him
3) I get lap dances so he can watch
4) I become bi-sexual
To some who read this, these demands may not seem extreme or horrible or life altering, but to me it was giving up my innocence, my chastity, my beliefs, and my values.

At first it was very difficult for me to do these things. But over time I became numb. My husband claimed he became so much closer to me, and all the while I became more and more distant, and less and less myself.

The sad reality of it, was that it didn't just stop at those conditions. As the years progressed, so did the demands. To the point that, we ended up with an open relationship where he could go be with and do anything he wanted with anyone. And he told me I had to get DD implants and become an exotic dancer--not professionally, but just on the side as something 'fun' for me to do. (It didn't matter how many times I told him I wouldn't be comfortable with that or that I didn't want to do that.) He convinced himself and came to believe that I enjoyed everything that he did. And incredibly, that he had never placed these conditions on me in the first place, but that these things brought us closer together; that they were what I wanted and needed to be happy & satisfied.

He saw the changes in me and he hated them. He saw me shift from being happy, confident, productive, to being withdrawn, depressed, anxious, distant and despondent. He had to fix me. After another 'revelation,' he claimed that these changes were due to an illness (bi-polar was his self diagnosis), never ever thinking that these things could have possibly been caused by himself and the abuse he was inflicting on me.

I believed him. I believed everything he told me. I believed him because I loved him and he loved me...and people we love aren't supposed to lie to us, abuse us, bully us.

I visited 3 separate doctors over the course of 3 years. I wanted a different answer than they were giving me. I wanted them to help me fix myself so that I could fit and survive in my marriage. So, that I could change all of the things my husband was telling me was wrong with me. I believed that I was crazy, that I was ruining our marriage, and I needed the help because that was what the Bully was telling me every day, every hour, every minute, with every look and every word.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, not one of the doctors could find any evidence of bi-polar or crazies. And they certainly didn't find anything that could be 'fixed' to help me fit in my marriage. But they did find large amounts of depression, anxiety, fear, uncertainty, and a high indication of domestic abuse. As one of my bosses told me about a month before I left, "You're acting like a battered wife!" It took me by surprise, though it shouldn't have, since my therapists had been telling me the same thing for 3 years, but I was refusing to believe them because I believed the Bullies in my life.