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Posts Tagged ‘abuse’

Check out this post if you would like to have a little background context to this one.




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He was quiet the next two days before trying to initiate another conversation. I didn’t respond.

The third day he apologized again.

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I have not responded. That didn’t stop him from sending me a message on FetLife to tell me he received some new toys he had ordered and wanted to use them on me.

WTF?!?

I’ve only met this guy twice. The first was at a munch and the second at a coffee shop for a drink. Both times he barely said a word which left the conversations more than lacking. I don’t even know why I agreed to meet him after the munch in the first place. It wasn’t because I was interested in dating him. I was skeptical about him from the start, which I told him several times. I need to learn to listen to that skeptical voice and quit giving the wrong people chances they don’t deserve.

I should have known he was off his rocker when I didn’t respond fast enough to a message on FetLife one day and he got perturbed. I said, “You do realize I’m working right now?” His response was, “I don’t realize but I can take an educated guess you are working. After you tell me you are working then it is a realization.” Childish response or what? I don’t know when people expect me to be working my 9-5 office job if not between the hours of 9 and 5. Seriously!

There have been a few times when he has gone off on me because I was too busy to respond to him or meet him. He’s said it’s “logically bullshit” that I am too busy. I got a “you listen to me” as well. Excuse me, what now?

What started the exchange above was him asking me if I was currently sexually involved with someone. I said yes, I have a friend. Well, that lead to him saying how terrible I was, how all those times I was busy I was actually going out with my “fuck buddy or laying on (my) back,” and how do I think someone who wants to date me is going to stick around to get dicked around while I do that. Then he started in on how I’m playing him and he won’t allow himself to be punked or insulted like that. He even tried to tell me what a “lying POS” I am because he’s come to some conclusion that I had a fuck buddy when I was seeing MySir. He doesn’t know any of the details about that relationship and had he asked he would have found out.

I’m not going to defend myself here because anyone who reads my blog or follows me on Twitter will already know the truth, enough of it at least to know that the person he was describing isn’t me. Besides that, he had stated about ten minutes into my first meeting him that he reads my blog and thought it was great. Don’t tell me you do something if you don’t, and don’t pretend to know me when clearly you don’t know anything about me or what I’ve been through these past couple of years.

There’s a bunch more but it all seems so stupid and childish. He pretty much screams immature, unbalanced abuser to me. Verbally attacking me, trying to manipulate me, then minimalizing it all by offering to bring me flowers. An apology and “are we cool?” is going to make it all better and I’m just supposed to forgive and forget? I don’t think so. It’s like the woman who gets hit because her husband had a bad day at the office then he buys her flowers and expects her to forget all about the bruise on her cheek. Not this girl. That is abuse, classic abuse, and I won’t accept it.

I may be in my 40’s and currently single, but I would much rather be alone than with a pathetic, delusional little man who thinks verbally attacking a woman, putting her down and blaming her, is the way to get her. There are plenty of real men, kind and considerate men, out there. One will come my way. And if one doesn’t I still have the best man in the world, my son.

BTW, my favorite color is red.

 

Note: This person has been deleted and blocked on my social media sites. Anyone know if I can block his calls and texts on my cell phone?

 

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Broken Silence

The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock that mocked her. It mocked her for thinking this time would be different, for accepting his word at face value knowing full well he had never kept a word ever made. It mocked her for believing him and giving him another chance to do what he always does, hurt her.

There were times when the hurts were small. So minute in fact that they ceased to even register until so many had accumulated they could no longer be ignored. She tried though. Oh how she tried. Sitting here now she could not help but see the truth behind the veil of ignorance she had been wearing all these years. By ignoring what the rest of the world easily saw all she had done was let herself be played the fool.

From the near second of his lateness she knew she had been played yet again. She was done with it. She would be played a fool no longer. He would regret every missed moment, every forgotten date, every promise broken. He would regret every single hurt he’d given her, every bruise and broken bone, when she returned the favour.

All the times she had let slip by, unnoticed or unaddressed, were like tiny nails in a coffin. Eventually the coffin would be complete and ready for it’s eternal occupant. Her coffin was finally complete, though she would not be the one resting in it. Soft and comfy though it may be the body inside would never know. The body inside would be dead and cold, and she would be anything but.

Tonight the tables turn. Tonight he becomes the fool, he endures the hurts, he ceases to be.

She got up from the table leaving the full plates of dinner, the open bottle of Shiraz and her half empty glass. She also left the candles that had burned nearly completely away, though not before knocking one of them over. Wax spilled out over the cream linen tablecloth and the flame followed. The table was soon engulfed in flames. The chairs quickly followed.

The house they lived in, the home they had built, was crawling in flames and filling with smoke. She hardly noticed. Her mind was already elsewhere. On her way to the front door she stopped momentarily at the entryway mirror to check her appearance and fix her lipstick. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her.

She knew where to find him. All these years he thought she was clueless but she knew. She had never been inside the bar before now. Not once. It was his place, the boys club, where he went to drink and gamble and pick up whatever woman struck his fancy. Oh yes, she knew. She had always known, she had just refused to believe.

The place was just as she had imagined. Dark, dingy, and smelling like a day old beer with about an inch left in the bottle and half a dozen cigarette butts swimming in it. The men were a reflection of the bar. The women were the same, but in high heels, short skirts, and frosted blue eyeshadow. There were four pool tables, a larger snooker table, and one of those golf games at the far end if the bar. This end was occupied by a plexi box of pull tab tickets and two tabletop slot machines.

She walked past the machines towards the far end if the bar and stopped in front of the snooker table. “Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looked up from the table he had been intently studying. The other player had left him snookered on a coloured ball. “What the hell are ya doin here lass?”

“I came to tell you I’ve had enough.” She watched the anger rise in him. Bad enough she was confronting him, but to do it here was much worse. His snooker buddy conceded the game and backed away from the table.

The bartender called over to Jimmy. “Jimmy man, that was the Darla. She says yer house is on fire.”

Jimmy looked back at her, eyes as black as night and a coldness in his tone that nobody could miss, but she didn’t flinch. “What the bloody hell have ya done lass?” He was beside her now, his hand at her neck.

In one swift motion Lynne took her hand out of her pocket and stabbed him twice in the chest with his own hunting knife. He fell backward against the table, blood quickly turning his grey shirt crimson. Shock and disbelief registered in Jimmy’s eyes when he looked down at the growing sea of blood. More began to drip from his mouth before he finally succumbed to the injuries and fell to the floor.

Lynne turned to the bartender. “Would you be a dear and call an ambulance? The truck I came in is in the ditch and I think my water just broke.”

The bartender could only stare at her in silence.




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crying children
alone in the world
abandoned
unwanted
in need of love
affection
a safe and stable home
enduring starving days
restless nights
roaming the streets
in search of food
shelter
quickly learning
how to survive
how to protect themselves
they are lost souls
often forgotten
all alone
fending for themselves
in a harsh world
longing for a home
for family
living in agony
over being abandoned
being unloved
thinking themselves unlovable
they are scared
often scarred
constant hunger
pushing them on
children of the streets
we label them
we pass them by
don’t even notice
pay attention
they need us
we can help

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This was written for Homelessness Awareness Week. The idea is that awareness will start a conversation and the conversation will lead to helping in some way. You can help by volunteering or donating to a local homeless shelter.
Covenant House is a wonderful organization that has been providing help to homeless youth in Toronto for more than 30 years.

http://www.covenanthouse.ca/Public/Home.aspx

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Big Brown Eyes

she stared at me with big brown eyes
a solemn face so stern and wise
she was but a child, only four or five
but she never smiled, didn’t seem to be alive
she was poor but proud and didn’t have a dad
never had the chance the other kids had
her clothes were dirty, all torn and tattered
her hands and face were beaten, battered
she came and went with no one who cared
I never even asked her how she fared
but in my mind I still remember
that little girl with eyes so tender

there’s a girl who lives down the street
one I’ve had the chance to meet
she has the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen
you’d never tell where she has been
some time ago when she was young
she was put through hell, she’d been stung
the blows had struck her one by one
left their marks on the little one
the bruises have faded away
the cuts have healed to leave no scars
but the words she heard so long ago
still haunt her dreams and bring on tears
they locked her up inside herself
where she could not be helped
because of those bars upon her soul
she may never be helped

I wish that I could be her friend
but she won’t take the chance
she’s afraid to ever love again
to be free of her lonely stance
all those she loved hurt and destroyed her
they beat her and cursed her
they never loved her
because of this she’s afraid to try again
afraid that she will never win

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