The Shock is The Worst

 The Shock is The Worst

 

Abuse can arrive in so many forms, physical and emotional alike. Sometimes I think the worst kind is the one that comes out of nowhere. Anticipating abuse is one type, and I truly feel for anyone who has dealt with such abuse for a long time. I hope those who do have found a way to walk away.

But the type that really gets you is the shocking kind. Perhaps you lived for months or years with this person. You let down your walls. You trusted someone. 

And that’s when it happens. Just out of the blue, seemingly for no reason at all. Somehow you’ve stumbled into a bad situation.

Alexas_Fotos, Pixabay

At this point, we must all make a choice. Stay or go. Observe, and see if the trend continues, or find a way to leave. 

I won’t name any names. But let’s say I got the shock of my life today. A family member struck me. I am 37. I’m hardly a child, and I don’t need to be reprimanded for my words or actions. Hell, why not leave that up to the way we punish ourselves every day, right? And I am not trying to whine here like a spoiled child. This actually happened.

The oddest thing is that this man was supportive my whole life, and only in recent years has his temper drastically changed. So I am left to wonder…was this caused by his health situation, or has he in fact lost it for once? 

Not to mention someone I have always trusted lashed out at me. Me! It is hard not to take that personally, even more difficult not to start crying again. 

Counselling, Pixabay

Things have never been easy in my family. With five people always trying to have their say in the same house, it was…let’s just call it a bit challenging to establish any kind of autonomy from the overall conformity in that tight-knit group. It’s one thing to be playing around and accidentally hurt someone. No big deal. A true accident is one thing. 

But to hit someone, without any hope of apology? That, my friends, is what we call abuse. 

John Hain, Pixabay

I am forced to admit that I have dealt with some form of emotional abuse from this person for several years – being called names, and tearing me down for my life choices. Because let’s face it. I am a writer. We’re an odd breed, for sure. Yes, I will automatically be different from everyone else in my family. But I hardly think I deserve to be abused. 

No one does.

The Libra in me has just had it. October people tend to give up on a certain person at some point. We can only take so much crap before the ‘aloof’ aspect kicks in, and we’re done. We want to back away, keep our distance from that individual for the rest of our lives. 

Except when you truly love someone, it gets complicated. You must think about emotions over self-preservation. And even though I’ve stumbled across tons of advice over the years, claiming we should cut out toxic relationships – and normally I’d agree – I know I can’t exactly erase this person from my life. Plus, he’s getting on in years. With his health, who knows? He may not have much time left. Then again, he’s incredibly stubborn.

I guess I’m just…frozen. Stuck in this cage of doubt and circumstance.

I actually find this infuriating on some level, other than the obvious. Why? Well, I climbed out of a bad romantic relationship – physically and emotionally abusive – in my early twenties, and I guess it’s ironic that now I find myself trapped all over again. But for a different reason.

So, what would you do in this situation? I wouldn’t mind the advice today.

Thanks for listening.

"Scars" - a poem

Sometimes I write poetry that isn't romantic at all. Here is one that came to me last night...

Scars

These scars are still healing,

the impression of your hateful words are like red lashes across my back,

the marks you left on me inside and out.

Angela Yuriko Smith, Pixabay

 

I recall the shock of finding bruises in places no one else could ever see,

the impact of your teeth marks everywhere,

the hard ways you took me and left me hating us both.

When you’d roll over and sleep it off,

I felt so empty and I’d do everything I could to make silent tears.

Counseling, Pixabay

I couldn’t show how much it scarred me.

 

The belittling words you’d throw my way,

later I was sure you were intimidated that I was smarter than you,

but then you did whatever you could to make me feel less.

You don’t understand how hard it was to take the step away months later,

the final one,

not because I cared too much for you,

but more because I knew I deserved better and you’d never see that.

It was also a challenge afterward,

the constant memories crowding my mind,

the time I flinched when you almost hit me,

how I thought I was stuck in place,

Cocoparisienne, Pixabay

crippled by fear and jailed by your cold heart.

I recall the dark emotions swirling within me,

sometimes I still can’t see myself enough,

and I am afraid I’ll disappear into the ether,

a forgotten note,

Kellepics, Pixabay

just where you wanted me then.

These scars will always be there,

but I know breaking away was best.

Sometimes I still feel the hard grip of your touch,

the harshness in your dark eyes,

without a hint of compassion,

even when I was in physical pain.

The way you demanded,

only demanded everything,

but never gave back.

I have to shut my eyes against the shadowy memories.

Geralt, Pixabay

  

Then the next one came along,

with his gentle approach and it was easy to sink into complacency.

Except he hurt me in a different way,

as men sometimes do.

He had no way of knowing the deep cut he made would turn me inside out,

Milada Vigerova, Unsplash

 

swirling in my gut,

when I saw further into the darkness and lost myself a bit more.

As life often goes,

I made plenty of mistakes later,

like an addict does with no other options,

exploiting internal weaknesses I shouldn’t have touched.

These scars have marked me….made me the woman I am today.

They say experience makes you stronger.

Then I should be invincible by now.

Yet I’m not,

just me,

sometimes still the girl you scarred so much.

But there is a day now and then when I feel an ounce of peace and I can find the light.

 

Chris Barbalis, Unsplash

It’s a journey…even though years have passed,

and I live in the comfort of one who truly loves me,

I remember and know the scars I’ve collected on my skin define me.

Created by Tirachard - Freepik.com

A survivor.

© 2018, Marie Lavender.

***Author's Note: if this poem moved you rather than disturbed you (I apologize for the frankness about my life), consider reading Directions of the Heart, a collection that explores the many facets of PTSD and the journey of healing. These are tales that are close to my heart.