Despite things of a highly personal nature that I have posted about in the past, I really am a very private person. Inside me is a massive pile of feelings,thoughts and emotions that have never seen the light of day.
I'm not certain at this point exactly why I feel this driving need to write this post. I have tried for the past couple of hours to ignore it, hoping it will go away, yet the urge only grows stronger and now burns in the pit of my stomach, my heart is racing and my mind alive. I could fight it and eventually it will go away. But I have decided not to. There must be a reason, I just don't know what it is yet.
Something strange has happened to me over the past couple of months. I am acknowledging and sharing things I never thought I would share. Facing my truth and letting it set me free. So, taking a big,deep breath, here I go.
The year was 1982. I was 19 years old and found myself one night in the midst of a large candle light wedding ceremony as the bride being escorted down the aisle by my Daddy. I took a deep breath as we entered the church and hesitated just a bit. He whispered in my ear that it was not too late to change my mind. Only hours before he had offered me $5,000.00 cold hard cash not to go through with it.
"But what about all the money you have spent on this wedding?"
"What about it? This is your life." He insisted.
"I am pregnant with this man's baby." I said.
"So. That doesn't mean you have to marry him and ruin your life."
I didn't listen. Even more astounding to my Daddy was the fact that the groom hadn't proposed to me, rather I had proposed to him. (NOTE TO SELF;FROM NOW ON KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!)
We proceeded down the aisle, where Mother, who was my Matron Of Honor stood.
"Who gives this woman's hand in marriage?" The preacher, a good friend of the family asked. There was a few seconds of hesitation that seemed to go on forever. I nudged Daddy on the arm.
"Her Mother and I." Was his less than enthusiastic reply.
Was this the happiest day of my life? No. Not even close. I wasn't in love with this man. I cared about him,and on some level I loved him. But that was a far cry from being in love. I was running away from a Mother that was waging a battle with cancer, from the mental and emotional wounds of rape. He seemed emotional safe to me.
Big Chris states in his 100 Things About Me that he was married to the "Spawn Of Satan", well, I married her brother.
It didn't take long to figure out that I had indeed made a huge mistake. There was no "Love, honor and cherish" in this union. None at all. But I couldn't admit that to myself.
I cast aside all the painful,hateful words and names and set about trying to make things right. Each time he hit me I told myself it was my fault. I deserved it. Each time it took something away from me. But I couldn't acknowledge that either. I wasn't like those other women.
This man that I married who I refer to in my manuscript as the P.O.D. (Prince Of Darkness.), never once said he was sorry. Because he wasn't. There were daily reminders of what I was and what I meant to him and that was NOTHING.
He is the coldest person I have ever known. Indifferent. You can't live with that and it not have some kind of effect on you. And it did. In more ways than I realized. For years I told myself that it didn't matter. That I just needed to be a better wife.
Cold. That is all I can say, COLD...COLD...COLD. There was no love or affection of any kind. When my Mother died in 1987, for some reason, things got much worse and escalated. He would shout and scream at me calling me the most vile and filthy names you can imagine. Physical abuse that had occurred only a few times a year were now a regular occurrence.
For a while he was careful not to do it around the children. I was highly involved with my church, it was my haven. I taught Sunday School, played the piano, worked as VBS Director, wrote several Easter Dramas as well as a Christmas play with my best friend Bev, and wrote a church newsletter. He rarely went to church with me and the children and I can't say that I cared. Truth was, I didn't want him there. The rare exception was the second Sunday night in each month when we would have "Birthday Supper". Instead of having a regular service, everyone that wanted to would get up into the choir and we would just sing for about 45 minutes. Followed by a large covered dish supper in the fellowship hall. These he always went to.
One night after leaving the church, where he had just finished smiling and waving at people, hugging my aunts and telling everyone goodbye, with the church still in plain view, from out of no where he back handed me across the face, knocking my head into the window.
"What did you do that for?" I screamed while trying to hold back tears. Tears of shame more than anything else, the children in the back seat said nothing. There is no way I would let that SOB see me cry. I would die first.
"For being a good for nothing whore." He said through gritted teeth.
"What are you talking about?" I asked once again.
Pop. Right in the face again.
"Because that is what you are. I saw the way you were looking and smiling at Ray. And that wasn't enough was it? Just had to hug him and rub your boobs all over him."
"The children." I reminded him.
"So. They need to know their Mother is a slut. Ain't that right?" He said reaching over grabbing my face.
From the back seat my 8 year old son began to beat the P.O.D. with his tiny little fist, while my daughter cried.
I turned around and told him that everything would be okay while the P.O.D. mumbled under his breath that it wasn't over. And it wasn't.
Once back at home I rushed the children to their bedrooms. I read a book to my son and stayed in there until he fell asleep. The P.O.D. had made several appearances at the door. The look in his eye telling me what was in store. I took a few minutes to gather myself and put on my stone cold face.
The minute I walked down the hall and into the living room, he was standing there in my face.
"You won't be going back to that church." He snapped.
"Yes, I will." I replied trying to move by him.
He grabbed the front of blouse and ripped it open.
"You even dress like a whore. And I won't have it!"
The man was insane. Everything on me was perfectly covered, modest and respectful.
I walked quickly into the bedroom. Locking it behind me. I heard him fumbling around in the kitchen for the key. I braced and wedged my foot at the bottom of the door just like I had been taught by a friend. There was no way he would get into the bedroom with my foot positioned at the door like it was. And he tried. Even threatening to break it down. The ringing of the phone stopped him. Luckily it was his Mother. I took that opportunity to dress very quickly, and climbed out the bedroom window.
I always kept a spare set of keys and some cash hidden outside and quickly retrieved it. I couldn't drag anyone else into the mess I had created. There was someone I could have called, a close friend, big brother type and he would have moved heaven and earth to get to me. Followed soon after by dealing with the P.O.D in Italian/Bronx/Yankee style. I didn't need that.
So I drove to a scenic overlook up on MT Cheaha and let it all out. Hours later when I got back home he was sleeping on the sofa. I climbed into bed, hugging my body pillow. The next thing I knew was cold liquid raining down on me. I looked up to see him standing over me, smiling. He had just dumped a full 2 liter bottle of Dr Pepper all over me. He stood there urging me to do something. But I didn't. Despite being afraid, I rolled over to avoid looking at him. He finally left with his often used name for me, "WHORE."
Over the years I would hold it all inside. All those feelings of guilt, not being good enough, maybe not being enough period. Even though I was raised in a wonderful home by loving parents, somewhere in the back of my mind was the bastard child of the town whore instead of the much loved adopted daughter. I guess that is who I became. I wasn't good enough. Second best. A mistake. A secret.
Yet each time those feeling would come to the surface, I would shove them back down. I could not allow myself to see what I had become. To face my truth. So, I created my own truth. In my truth, I didn't care. It didn't bother me one bit. He could do what he wanted, it would never break me. He wouldn't see me cry not one single tear, and I damn sure wouldn't beg or plead for any kind of mercy.
The "Ice Princess" was my hiding place. And before long, she totally took over. Things have changed since then. The "Ice Princess" is no longer in control. But there are times when I need her. Times when something in the present, reminds me of those things from the past.
It is during those times that I want to retreat. I want to run away from all of those feelings. But as Dr Phil says, "You can't change what you don't acknowledge." I've never acknowledged these things. I thought I had put them away. But I realize, I didn't. They are still very much alive inside me. Churning around and coming back to haunt me.
I suppose I could write all of this down in my journal and keep it to myself and perhaps that is what I should do. But, something urges me on to post it here. Why, I don't know. Maybe there are just times when we all need to be heard and understood. And maybe this is one of those times. Maybe instead of screaming inside myself, I need to drop my screams into the stream.
Perhaps, all of these feeling and emotions held in the darkness take on a life of their own and continue to grow, swell and fester.
I remember once as a little girl waking up in the middle of the night and something in the corner of my bedroom catching my eye. I didn't know what it was. It scared me. I pulled the covers up over my head, peaking out every once in a while and it was still there. My mind began to go wild. Finally I called out to Daddy. Relief washed over me the second he was in the room. Then he turned on the light and it revealed the thing that had caused such fear and panic inside me was my brother's teddy bear that he had left in my room.
All of those old feelings are no longer acceptable to me.No matter where or who they come from.
LET THERE BE LIGHT.
Later Ya'll....^Belle^
