Halloween

I was able to see my granddaughter this evening. She was so cute in her little Halloween costume.  She was a leopard. Her sister was an evil fairy.  She was really cute, too.
It reminded me of when my kids were little.  I always loved to dress up the children in their costumes.  Sometimes I would make them - like Dorothy costumes when Dorothy wasn't popular. If I had only known what was going on in their lives.  What nightmares they were living as they were being stalked by their father.  The terror within in the one place you should feel the safest.
There is, at least to me, nothing worse than being afraid. Walking on eggshells, trying to appease him. The rules always changing. Thinking he wouldn't hurt the children if I only did everything I could; and later discovering that they thought they could keep him from hurting me if they only did everything he wanted. And all the time, we were hurting and hurting.
One year, his parents came out for their annual visit close to Halloween. They would take the car and go to the mall to walk around leaving the kids and me home alone.  Then they would come home to watch tv and take a short walk with the kids. I remember how no one could speak when the tv was on; they were mesmorized. And I would fix dinner. Right before everything was ready to serve, my mother-in-law would put her pencil in her puzzle book to keep her place and would get up to ask if she could do anything. It would always be done.
I think it was the same year that I found several things missing: towels and other things.  They were very careful of their suitcases, so I always thought that they took my towels home with them.  They felt that I had too many things, including wooden spoons. I only needed one: Just stir everything with one spoon.

Conversion

Last night, my son told me the story of his father's conversion. 
It seems that he was sitting in church when suddenly he heard a voice telling him that he would be cured of his skin cancer. Of course, it was the voice of God.  God is on his side. Now he talks with God. I guess God needs his advise, for I have not seen any change in his behavior. He still manipulates his children when given the opportunity.  He is still so greedy; not a cent passes through his fingers.  I guess he's going to line the streets of heaven with his gold.  He will have enough. Not only does he have a salary of over $100,000 a year; he additionally collects over $300 a month disability.  I don't know how he does it. How do people who have money cheat the government of over $3,600 a year while people who have no income and terrible dissabilities are denied?
When I think of committing your life to God, you acknowledge that He is God, and you follow His will. You don't mold God into your likeness. God is a god of love and mercy, not judgment and punishment. Of course, God says to love others as yourself, but someone who doesn't know how to  love can't love either himself or others. What a miserable life - and what misery they create in others' lives.

Life often takes us down different paths

When I started out many years ago, I had so many plans and dreams.  I wanted to be a musician. I began at the university, but then discovered that I had a chronic illness and was unable to continue.  I chose another course, and that choice has created so many difficulties for many. 
I guess I'm just sad today as it's finally hit me that my son may actually go to prison after his last arrest.  I have cried so much today, thinking about what that will mean. My mother is ninety. The chances of his getting out before she passes are slim. I know I shouldn't project trouble like this, but there have been so many times during the past twenty years that I thought: "things can't get any worse than this," and with the intelligence of the judges involved in our divorce and child custody cases, our situation would always worsen. This led to my children all being suicidal, and one turning to drugs to drown his sorrows and fears.  We've been in prison; the perpetrator - our jailer - remains free, actually judging us.  We never live up to his high standards. Nobody does. 
I just want peace, but, unfortunately, I have to live with the residual of his abuse.  He is like a tornado or a hurricane, leaving destruction in his path. And I am the rescue worker, left to pick up the pieces of chldren as best I could.
I still have plans, but now I know that I can only do so much. Life can change what we want to do and who we started out to be. And for some, it can nearly destroy their lives.  I don't think my son has ever had any illusions of tomorrow. He's never lived beyond the moment. Always feeling insecure (you don't have any friends) and inferior. How does a child like him grow into a man?

Dead from the Neck Up

So many people are dead from the neck up.  My exhusband is. Nothing new has passed through his brain cells since..... I have a tendency to feel sorry for individuals like these, but them I've been trained to feel this way.  I guess that doesn't really say too much for me and my choices, but he was also the type of person who played the game.  He knew what other people wanted and pretended to be that kind of person. A chameleon, only not as cute.
I need to stop feeling sorry for him. He makes his choices.  He can choose to be nice to others. But he enjoys being the opposite. He could help his children, but he chooses to ignore them.  Of course, they don't want to have too much to do with him as he was so abusive to them. And it is difficult living with the competition and the gaslighting. "No blood, no foul," he'd say; he never realized or cared that he was dealing with children.  Bruises don't last forever. Just the insecurities they cause. And the words. The words that ring incessantly in their heads. As they still do in mine; thankfully, now as much.
And the gaslighting. Do this, and I'll love you. Do that, and I'll love you.  Oops. Sorry. I know I said that, but the rules have changed.  Repeat the rules. NO! You said the sky was blue, NOT sky blue! Maybe I can prove perjury, and you can go to jail. You lie so much, and you're such a hypocrite. Oh, ha, ha, that's me, but they believe me because I have a better job than you. Anyway, you're just a woman, and that makes me better than you. But I need a woman desperately to do things for me, to care for me - no to TAKE care of me.

Addictions

My son is addicted to drugs.  They have taken over every aspect of his life and ruled it for half his life. It began when he was aroud the middle school age. His father was (and remains) very abusive.  We divorced, but the courts here believed the lies (another topic) more than the truth presented under their noses.  The court orders sent my children repeatedly to visit their father, and gave him access to visits here. Along the way, my son became terrified, but instead of turning to his family or the church, he turned to drinking and drugs and developed a drug family. Now 14 years later, he is still doing drugs to shut out the memories, and it appears that he may now be going to prison after being arrested with drugs in his car.
It's not surprising that he turned to drugs. Many people turn to drugs and alcohol in order to escape the pain of childhood memories. His father was lucky; instead of drugs, he was given a hobby which he pursued and pursues to the exclusion of all else. There are no relationships: he never learned to build one. For all of his adult life, he has lived with his addiction to guns. Luckily, this is a more socially accepted form of addiciton as he reached a competitive level. It didn't matter that his addiction destroyed everything around him: when you are the sun, all the planets should revolve around you. It's just the pain and the painful memories that were created and destroyed the lives of those close to him: and continues to destroy.
The words and actions he used taught our son that he was worthless. Whenever the son turned to the father, he was always rejected. The son can never live up to the father's standards. The standards are ever changing.

Work

I have worked somewhere since I was 13 years old.  Before and during high school, I worked at our school community's bookstore.  It was a job I loved: we girls would unload the new books and prepare them for the upcoming school year. Old books were treated in the opposite way - numbers removed and prepared for resale to the community.
After high school, I worked for a doctor who didn't work too far from my alma mater - IU, so it was easy to work around my classes and convenient to either drive or walk when necessary.
When I went to Germany, I had a wonderful job there teaching mini German classes to incoming American soldiers.  They were taught enough German to be able to go to a pub or restaurant and order, take public transportation, visit museums, etc.  I had always worked either part time or full time plus attending school full time despite the fact that I had a muscular illness.
Then I met and married my husband.  Soon, I was not being offered any more classes at the education center.  I later found out that this was at my husband's request.  He didn't want the soldiers looking at me.
After 13 years of working and going to school full time, I was left with nothing to do.  I then spend my time roaming the city where we lived, returning to the hobbies I previously enjoyed, like knitting and quilting, and learnining new crafting ideas. I did enjoy crafting, but I hated the idea that my husband considered me too weak to work; I didn't know that he had also told my boss that the men couldn't look at me.
After a few years, I became pregnamt with twins, followed two years later with a single. That kept me busy for a while, but I was still sewing and crafting, making clothes and toys for the kids.  One day, I decided to try a new business: making clothes and other things to sell through the mail.  When I presented my idea to my husband, he had a fit.  I was "too sick" to do that.  A few days later, I received a phone call from his mother; she told me how lucky I was that I didn't have to work. But I WANTED to work, and with my husband's work schedule, I couldn't work outside of the home.
So, I didn't begin my business.  I stayed at home, making things for the kids and for gifts for friends and family becoming more and more depressed.  He was gone approximately six months out of the year, so he couldn't be a dependable baby sitter if I worked, and my pay wouldn't cover a baby sitter for three small children, even then. The children became even more important to me than before.

Precious Memories

There's an old saying: "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most."  I understand.

My manner of coping with my abuser is to forget.  I say 'is' instead of 'was' because I still use this forgetting to protect myself today.  The horrible part about forgetting is that you can't pick and choose what memories are stored; the brain is not at all selctive.  So, now, it's like I was born again approximately 20 years ago, memories of even the happier times of my life forgotten.  I miss my life. I know there were happy times - sometimes, as glimpses occasionally break through. Like now, I am remember a little lamb on my grandfather's farm and the feel of the calf's curly hide, and gloved hands holding out a bat with outstretched wings to me, so that I could feel the velvety softness of its wing. And I remeber the story I told in my first blog of my ex-husband throwing my little dog's toy into the river or chasing me all over our three story house cursing me and throwing things because I had purchased something for our soon-to-be-born daughter with a credit card instead of not getting it.
It is so frustrating.  My mother will talk about people that we knew in the past.  She'll say, "You know "Soandso. You went to grade school with her." And I'll overreact because it terrifies me that I cannot remember.  The fear builds inside me.  Where is my past? Who was I?
I'm thankful for pictures because I have a tangible proof of my children. When I look at their photos though, it's often like I am looking at some other person's children. Very nice, I say, as I smile politely.
And I think of my biggerst faux paux.  My children have a pony, and it's boarded on a farm not too far from here.  The couple in charge of the barn is really nice, and I spoke many times with them over the years. It wasn't until just recently that I realized that the wife had gone to school with me: grade school, middle school, and high school; we had been close friends, played together, went home together, shared secrets.  And I didn't know her.  For years.
I would love to remember more of my childhood, my teen years, college life; but to remember those, I would have to remember the others, and that is just too great a price to pay.