TRANSFORMATIONS

This is a deeply personal story. It isn't finished yet, but it wanted to be told. Please keep your judgements at a minimum, and just listen to one woman's journey back to the girl she once and into the woman who gained everything through it. 

I'm reading a book by Eve Ensler, Insecure at Last, it has me traveling back in time, back to a time before I became a deeply hurt woman, to now, a strong, vibrant, still opening to possibilities, woman. A woman reaching back to a time when she was a young woman about to go out into the world, all optimistic and enchanted eyed, she was going to do something with her life, be somebody.

I was 19 when I met my ex husband for the first time. He was an angry, strong, driven, stubborn and rebellious young man, of only 22. He was my ticket back to Salt Lake, where I was hoping to finish school and become something. And as in many things, there was a hitch, and I would pay the price for this hitch, my lack of self-worth. I would spend the next 10 years, being torn down to a shell of a person. I would eventually have to leave, and break apart my beloved family unit I had so lovingly held together, through much adversity, so I could get to myself and get my power back. The heartbreak I would feel was almost more then I could take, and knowing this would break my children's hearts too, was almost enough to keep me from leaving. I knew I had to leave, for the sake of all our hearts.

I was the kind of child, no one would think would ever be treated cruelly or poorly by anyone. I felt invincible. I was a super hero. I knew I could do and be anything I wanted to be. I did. Except, I had one flaw, like cryptinite. I had a hole in my heart, a place in my heart that was insecure and hurt and wanted only idealist things to be real. I was a romantic. I believed that Little House on the Prairie was a real place, and that Michael Landon could be my real dad. I believed what Roahl Dahl said, about being able to escape horrific circumstances by getting inside a peach, with insects and going on great adventures. I thought that I could be like Louise May Alcott and change the course of lives for myself and other woman, forever. This idea, this idealist thinking, made me weak in the real world, and I fell prey to it. I believed, I could overcome and change anyone's heart. 

So, with my over zealous heart and hopeful outlook, I went to Salt Lake. It started slowly, like a frog in boiling water. At first is was words,  "You're going to wear that?" or "This is not made right."  Then it changed to not being allowed to go out with my friends, because I'd have to deal with the guilt and anger afterwards, Id's rather not deal with it. It soon escalated to "What the fuck did you do that for?" and pushing me up against the wall with a forearm to my neck. I heard, "stupid" so often, after 10 years, I believed it. It took me almost 11 years to remember I was a hard working, straight A student in High school and college. There was tremendous fighting and shouting at the top of lungs. There were small things that broke me down over time, for example: Something wasn't prepared right at the restaurant, I was made to take it back, even though it wasn't my order. And there was the insidious criticism, that broke me down piece by piece, until I was a disgusting, bag of obedience. There were times I felt worse then a dog. He would have never treated his dog this way. 

It went on like this for months. My friends noticed it, my co-workers were shocked that I was with such a "dick." I slowly became more quiet, I didn't socialize as much as I used to and I was behaving in ways even I didn't recognize. Luckily, I had school. I could get away from our tiny apartment, that reminded me of a kind of prison and do what I loved to do, learn. 

So, it went until one day, I felt so tired I wanted to fall over right there where I stood. And my boobs were so sore. I called my mom and told her, I thought I was depressed. She asked me about my symptoms and what was going on. I didn't tell her about the hell I was living, but by process of elimination, we guessed, I was pregnant. Dear God!!! WTF?!? How could this be true? My heart sank. Not because of the child I'd carry, but because I knew I didn't want to raise a child with this abusive, prison warden. I was more scared then I'd ever been in my life. I was not going to have an abortion! I was dead against it. 
I took the pregnancy test home, and sure enough, I was going to have a baby in only 9 months. I told my boyfriend and shit hit the fan. He was not going to have a child. I should have left then and there. 

I was in the abortion clinic. I couldn't hear a word the lady was saying, I was crying to hard and didn't give a shit anyway. I was here to appease him. It was down pouring out side and I got soaked on the way in. My eyes were red and puffy and I looked like hell. I sat in the cold office while a lady gave me info about procedures. I didn't hear a thing. I went back out to the car and was the most sad I'd ever been in my life.

That night, after an acid induced revelation, and a good friend telling him what a fool he was, my boyfriend came home and asked me to marry him. A very scared girl of 21 with no fight left in her, said yes. 
The days after that went by quickly it seems, lots of fights still but a deep sense of happiness. A sense of a greater purpose. I was having a child. A child of my own. Someone to love and care for and to show all the great things of this world.
I was tired, resolved and somewhat happy at my wedding and just wanted it to be over, so I could go put my bloated 5 months pregnant feet up and take a long bath. 

Once the sweet, blonde haired and hazel eyed boy came everything was better. He was the light I'd been looking for in the darkness. He was my life and my utter joy! I was a mother! I had no idea, I'd love and cherish it so, but I drank it in and reveled in it's pure, sweetness.  Plus, my now husband, was gone for a month at a time. Me and my little adventurer, got to spent days doing art projects, exploring the hills and rivers outside and junk piles. He was a little pack rat. We had to go through his room every few months or the place started to look like a junk yard and smelled like one. My son, was the brightest spot in this world I had ever known.

The bright spot was still not able to make the hardness of being with my husband go away. His mood swings from smoking tons of pot escalated into full blown demonic episodes. And unfortunately, because of my stupidity and lack of worth, my sunny bright spot saw and heard the brunt of these outbursts. My heart still breaks at the thought of it. The images still haunt me. I still to this day, cannot understand how a grown man could ever yell in the face of a 2 year old, sweet little boy. My bright star was getting his little heart crushed too. And by his own daddy. I look back now and am sick at my behavior. We ran twice and came back twice. I was still so weak and powerless to stay away for good.

The years went by. I was well aware of my situation by now and how I was living with an abuser and an addict. I did what I could to hold it all together, and to give my child some normalcy in all this shit. We had our second child 6 years after our first. A sweet, loving little angel girl. She was momma's girl and wanted mom over anyone else. She was an observer and snuggler and was as stubborn as her daddy. She was my chubby cherub. She was the cherry on top of my amazing, lucky chance at mothering. 

As we went along in our crazy, stupid lives, I was beginning to understand that I was failing. I could no longer hold this together and get out alive. I was going to die. All the good in me and all that cared and could fight was starting to fade. I couldn't hold it all up anymore. It was all going to turn to dust... poof, disintegrate. The light in my heart was fading it was going out. That girl who was optimistic and hopeful and full of fun and joy was going to die. I knew I had to save her.

I was done. I was done with all the lying and promises. I was done with yelling and fighting, and our children thinking this was normal. I was done with our children thinking pot smoking was normal, and that they weren't good enough. I was fucking done with me not being good enough. I was absolutely good enough! I got out while I could, while my children were still young enough to thrive, to be great and ok, to recover and find some peace and strength in themselves. 

After the massacre called, our divorce and the shit storm it left on our hearts and minds and our finances, we were the wounded trying our best to do life. My children were heart broken, I was unavailable and quite nuts, my heart a tattered wreck. My son became victim to my ex's bullshit, and started down a path of hurt and learning what not to do, at much to young. My daughter became angry and would have unbelievable tantrums at the drop of a hat. We were the recovering victims of 10 years of abuse, addiction and pain. It was the carnage of a all to normal abusive relationship. I was ready to stand up and have the life i intended as a young girl. I was ready to show my children there is peace and consistency in the world. I was ready to love myself and show my children that love and mirror it back to their broken hearts. It was time to be the woman I knew was in there, waiting to let her fire burn bright and to be free.

11 years later.