A post that ended up being a blog post..

I posted this on a message board I go to. I did not intend for it to be so long, but it felt like a blog post.

It should be illegal to watch the Bachelor finale the night before you have to testify against your husband in court for hitting you.

I am jealous. I can admit it. I burst in to tears at the end of the show because I realized that no one has ever loved me before. I have never experienced that. I wonder what does it feel like to be loved? To be treated with respect? To be treated like you are important enough that someone doesn't ever want to be away from you?

I am depressed :(

I wonder if I will ever be loved? I hope so. I would like to feel that.

I don't really know how to love people. My family was never one of those affectionate type families. I am sure they would maybe love me if I was the daughter they wanted, but I am not.

The term "love" is a pretty foreign concept to me. I know my students love me. I walk in the door and they all run towards me and almost knock me over hugging me. They do not do that for any other teachers or for their parents. So I feel like they have to love me in order to do that. So I guess basically I want to be loved by a man the way my students love me. They think I hang up the moon at night. And they would never hurt me on purpose and I would never hurt them. And there isn't any fear of being hurt between myself and them.

So that is what I picture grown up love to be like. Not having to flinch because you don't know if you will be hugged or hit. Not having to wonder every time you go in the car with a person whether or not they are going to leave you there. I hated that a lot. Just being left at gas stations or grocery stores. It was so humiliating standing there, calling his cell phone begging him to come back and get me. Not thinking that it would be possible to call my parents and admit that my husband hated me so much that he left me stranded somewhere. Because that really is hate. He hated me. He still does. I think he would be happy if I died. And for a long time I agreed with him.

And for some reason the hitting and kicking and being choked and being left at gas stations does not compare to having the two gallons of Crystal Light thrown at me. I keep going back to that one incident in my mind. Standing in the kitchen, soaking wet, with the walls and the carpet and the appliances dripping in red. It was an entire year before I could drink it again. I couldn't even make it for my students at the family Christmas party. How stupid is that? I couldn't even make the stupid fruit punch.

So tomorrow I have to go to court and it angers me a lot when people in my life ask me about my "court date."

Because, you see, it is NOT my court date. It is not "mine". I do not own that. I am not the one in trouble. I did not do anything wrong. I feel like it is rude to say out loud that I have a court date. No, HE has a court date. Because he punched his half blind wife in the side of her head. That is why I have to go to HIS court date. :eyesroll

And I am probably just extra moody about it. But it really irks me to hear people phrase it like that :irked

I feel like there is a very real possibility that he will try to approach me. He might try to grab me. I am pretty confident that my Father can take care of it if he does. But the fear is there. He is a good liar, and a good manipulator. And he consumed me for 8 years, 2 months and 28 days. That is a lot of time to forget who you are.

That is also a lot of time to eat.

I have such a love/hate relationship with food.

It kept me alive. I really think that if I hadn't been able to overeat I would have killed myself. I know that as sure as I know my own name.

There are so many things that I used to do before him. I used to write, believe it or not. A lot. I was good, too. At least I think so :bag

My teachers always thought so. I loved poems the most. I wrote poems freely and people would read them and love them and ask to read more. And I was working on a book. I had so many ideas. I had so many dreams.

I wanted to be a teacher. I am a teacher, but not the kind of teacher I always wanted to be. I went in to the program knowing that I would have to move to get a job, and I was okay with that. I had dreams. I wanted that. I wanted the chance to go somewhere else, to figure out who I was.

And my test scores. I don't like to talk about them because I don't want to be seen as someone who is like a peacock and bragging. But everyone hated me, I scored so high. All of my professors, everyone was so proud of me. I had a future.

And he tore it all up. He told me I was stupid. He said that I was an idiot. He said that no one would want me and that I was lucky he put up with me. He told me that I wasn't capable of moving away and being without him. He told me that if I was not smart enough to grocery shop or do the dishes the right way, that I would never be smart enough to get a good job.

And believed that. I don't know why I did. I think he fed in to a lot of insecurities that my parents laid for me. And added to a very unpleasant first student teaching experience. I was in a place where I thought I was lucky to have him even talking to me, so I believed him.

And I know how crazy people think I am. I think every boss I have had is shocked that I work there instead of moving to get a good job. It has always been like "Um, you want to work here?" I never did better because he convinced me that I couldn't do better.

And I am raw. And I am weak. And I never push the limits of myself because there is always that voice in my head that says I can't fly. That my wings are weak and will break.

I don't love myself. I weigh 450 pounds, that is hate. I was not always like this. I used to be under 200 pounds, and I was active and I had cute clothes. And no one stared at me when I walked down the street. And I knew who I was. I remember that. I knew who I was inside. I knew that I was a good person. I did not doubt for a minute that I was thought highly of in my community and my church and my University. I had a lot of things going for me.

And I feel like he fucked it all up.

But I can't really blame him, because I let him do this to me. I let him tear down my confidence. I saw it chip away like lead paint. It fell to the floor and got swept up in the dustpan and thrown away. And before I knew it, I had a new layer around me. Only this time it was fat. And it kept me alive, so I appreciate that.

But I feel broken. And I don't know how to fix it. No matter how much therapy I have had- and believe me, my therapist's kid can go to whatever college he wants to- I never hear the words that fix me.

So maybe I need to fix myself.

I need some super glue.