In the beginning, it felt like the most amazing relationship I had ever been in. He was sweet, kind, attentive, giving... he was... perfect. Or at least so I thought he was. Like I said, the man made me feel pretty special from over 3,000 miles away. But what more does a man have to do from such a distance in order for a woman to feel good than to just say sweet things in email and phone conversations? Yeah, like I said, hindsight indeed is 20/20.
In a previous relationship, I learned that my boyfriend not only had a wife, but also another girlfriend. I was the other, other woman. After that happened, I became suspicious of everyone. I was trying to not be this way with Sam, but he happened to set off a few "red flags" that made me curious.
Soon after Sam left to go overseas, I suddenly started to get harassing phone calls. I like to think of this as the diner incident in the movie, "Enough" with Jennifer Lopez. This is the long distance version of that. Sam had urged me to move into his house while he was gone and I adamantly refused. I continued to receive harassing phone calls that became more and more aggressive. They went from some weirdo telling me what he wanted to do to me, to him telling me angrily that he was going to do those things to me. After finally experiencing someone at my back sliding door in the late evening, I agreed to move my stuff over to Sam's house, where I would be "safe," because he had other Ranger buddies that were nearby and could be there in an instance if I needed them to be. He told me it would even be doing him a favor anyway because I could look after the house and grab the mail.
I moved my stuff in and happened across a few things that got me curious. One was the condom wrapper on the floor under the bed.... along with the drawer of condoms and lube in the night stand. There was also mail that belonged to Maria that was left in the Jeep. RED FLAG.
I was upset over my findings and he cooled me down with it not being fair to hold against him, anything that happened before me. I get that. What I was upset about, was the lie about it. I brushed it off in thinking that we didn't have a normal amount of time to get to know one another, so I really needed to just back off. A lesson I have learned and try to remember... "In the absence of certainty, instinct is all you can follow." I should've trusted my gut feeling with this guy from day one.
Conveniently, soon after I moved into the house, the phone calls were fewer and farther between. I am fairly positive that he was behind them. My gut turns at the thought of watching this kind of stuff on tv... living it is surreal.
Monday, December 22, 2014
The Family
Sam continued to work out of the country for the next two years. Sometimes he would be gone for three months and other times, he was gone for five. He came each year for a month and then any other time, we met somewhere else for the month. His next time in the U.S., we went back to visit his mother who was having a toe amputated, which was the result of poor health, diabetes, and poor circulation.
Sam's mother was a pleasant woman. She was weathered and slow moving, but she always seemed polite in her mannerisms. He always said that she was a great provider but a terrible mother. When they were younger, she worked several jobs to make ends meet, as his father left her when he was just a baby and his younger sister was still in the oven. I recall him telling me that their house was a revolving door for men, and the shittiest of kinds. One day, the kids came home from school while their mother was still at work, and found the house to be completely empty. Nothing was left, not even their clothes.
Sam told me that his brother beat him up daily He often slept on the floor of his sister's room because they offered some degree of protection to where he at least didn't get his face punched in while he slept.
When Sam was about 14 years of age, his mother suffered a massive stroke. Her children banded together in order to make ends meet and hid from child protective services their true circumstances of lack of competent adult supervision. Heck, they had done that all along anyway since their mother was never home to care for them in the first place.
I don't know much more about his childhood, other than what I just told you and that they had a large fire in another home and lost everything they had. I am unsure if that was before or after losing all of their stuff to mom's boyfriend. I know his circumstances growing up were not ideal and to say that they were 'difficult' would be an understatement.
The impression that Sam gave me when it came to his family, was that they weren't close at all. One sister, owned her own furniture business and he claimed to have lent her money to keep it afloat after a fire, and never getting the money back. Another sister worked for an insurance company and helped do the books for the other's furniture store. The baby sister worked as a teller for a bank. I'm still not sure what it was that the oldest sister did for a living, but she lived upstate in Albany, NY and didn't come around as much. I don't think I ever knew what his brother did either, but he went off to the Bahamas to go to Med School and is in the process of his internship right now.
Their mother lived with the sister who owns the furniture store in her Port Chester, NY home in a cluttered small bedroom upstairs. She still cooked and did motherly things around the house. She and the girls were much closer than her boys were to her.
Their mother passed away in January of 2012. Sam blames me for him not seeing her before she died. You see, he decided that he needed to go back overseas doing contract work and was gone on a few weeks of training for this company at the time. The reason, he said, that he needed to go back was because I was just a paramedic and made shit for money and I decided to have a baby, so now he has to go away all the time to make enough money to support us. Yup... he said that I decided to have a baby.
Sam's mother was a pleasant woman. She was weathered and slow moving, but she always seemed polite in her mannerisms. He always said that she was a great provider but a terrible mother. When they were younger, she worked several jobs to make ends meet, as his father left her when he was just a baby and his younger sister was still in the oven. I recall him telling me that their house was a revolving door for men, and the shittiest of kinds. One day, the kids came home from school while their mother was still at work, and found the house to be completely empty. Nothing was left, not even their clothes.
Sam told me that his brother beat him up daily He often slept on the floor of his sister's room because they offered some degree of protection to where he at least didn't get his face punched in while he slept.
When Sam was about 14 years of age, his mother suffered a massive stroke. Her children banded together in order to make ends meet and hid from child protective services their true circumstances of lack of competent adult supervision. Heck, they had done that all along anyway since their mother was never home to care for them in the first place.
I don't know much more about his childhood, other than what I just told you and that they had a large fire in another home and lost everything they had. I am unsure if that was before or after losing all of their stuff to mom's boyfriend. I know his circumstances growing up were not ideal and to say that they were 'difficult' would be an understatement.
The impression that Sam gave me when it came to his family, was that they weren't close at all. One sister, owned her own furniture business and he claimed to have lent her money to keep it afloat after a fire, and never getting the money back. Another sister worked for an insurance company and helped do the books for the other's furniture store. The baby sister worked as a teller for a bank. I'm still not sure what it was that the oldest sister did for a living, but she lived upstate in Albany, NY and didn't come around as much. I don't think I ever knew what his brother did either, but he went off to the Bahamas to go to Med School and is in the process of his internship right now.
Their mother lived with the sister who owns the furniture store in her Port Chester, NY home in a cluttered small bedroom upstairs. She still cooked and did motherly things around the house. She and the girls were much closer than her boys were to her.
Their mother passed away in January of 2012. Sam blames me for him not seeing her before she died. You see, he decided that he needed to go back overseas doing contract work and was gone on a few weeks of training for this company at the time. The reason, he said, that he needed to go back was because I was just a paramedic and made shit for money and I decided to have a baby, so now he has to go away all the time to make enough money to support us. Yup... he said that I decided to have a baby.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Three thousand miles
I heard from Sam immediately in his travels. He emailed, text, called, and skyped me near every day. He was very attentive and seemed sincere in his efforts to be with me. He apologized for leaving so quickly when I told him it was selfish of him to bring me into his world of travels, to which his response was, "I just had to know before I left... I couldn't let someone else get you while I was gone. I couldn't miss my chance." I did not want a long distance relationship, if I were to have a relationship at all. I was a bit angry with him for bringing me into this world, but my feelings calmed down when he so sweetly put it that way.
He continued to make me feel more special from over three thousand miles away than any guy ever had done in standing three inches from me. Instead of sending me flowers, the man bought me a brand new pair of fire boots for my volunteer firefighting on the island.
At the time, I lived in a very nice apartment on Wilmington Island. It was my most favorite place I had ever lived. It had a small gym and my favorite part was the infinity pool. The apartment complex was nestled off of a marsh and the smell of the ocean was always lingering in the air. My apartment rested against a wood line with a wooden walkway along the back patio.
At the time, I lived in a very nice apartment on Wilmington Island. It was my most favorite place I had ever lived. It had a small gym and my favorite part was the infinity pool. The apartment complex was nestled off of a marsh and the smell of the ocean was always lingering in the air. My apartment rested against a wood line with a wooden walkway along the back patio.
I continued to work while he was away and he returned in three months to find his mother to be in the hospital with complications from her diabetes. She had a massive stroke when Sam was fourteen years old and he and his five other siblings banded together to to take care of her and their home while they were in school. I urged him to go see her and he insisted that I go with him. I didn't want to impose and repeatedly told him to go without me, but he said he wouldn't.
His family was not very welcoming. I was not fond of them either. His oldest sister, didn't even acknowledge my presence when she finally arrived to the hospital room. His brother was indifferent. His other three sisters were loud, obnoxious and filled with self entitlement. This would prove to be their behavior throughout the years. They were all very pushy and self absorbed. They were also all very unattractive inside and out. I did not like his family anymore than they liked me. It was like they blamed me for the fact that he insisted that I come with him. He had said he wouldn't go at all had I not gone. You would think that they would be thankful that I came, but they weren't. Instead, they were resentful.
Months passed, and on my birthday, he had a package sent to me. It came early so I could take it with me to Philly because I was headed to see my best friend for the week. I opened it up on my birthday when he called and it was a two carat, three stone princess cut diamond ring with baguettes. It was stunning. He asked me to marry him. I said yes.
I was glad to get back home and then he was off to go back overseas, this time for 5 months. I continued working and Sam had a grande plan. He decided that we should go away for the month he returns to a resort in the Dominican Republic. I was torn about this. A month was a long time to be away from work and I loved my job. I talked it over with the big boss and made arrangements to go. I met him on the last flight out and we made our way to a small piece of paradise.
All was going pretty well with us at this point and I was feeling pretty good about our relationship. Then one day we were having lunch and he basically told me to get on the train or get off the tracks. I had considered myself to already be on the train, so since he didn't seem to see that, I decided to get off the tracks. We ended up having a huge fight that evening and I ran out of the room crying in nothing but a shirt and underwear. He kept trying to drink and I had taken the bottle and tossed it across the room. Oh yeah... and he told me that he swallowed my engagement ring when I took it off. The next day, he tossed me on a flight going home. I was devastated. He said that I could have ruined his career with a domestic issue. I made my way home and with 10k of his to take back. He wouldn't tell me what he did to get 10k in crisp, new one hundred dollar bills. I'm not sure why I was dumb enough to bring it back for him. I didn't know at the time, the trouble I could get in for taking that money through the airport without claiming it. Luckily I wasn't caught with it. I guess my loyalty in bringing the money back for him was good enough, because the next day he asked for me to come back out and flew me back to him. I now know that he was just wanting me to bring the money back for him and test my loyalties to him. At this point, I must have proven myself to be valuable enough for him to want to keep around.
I came back and he apologized and said he missed me terribly. All was better in the world and we were back on track.... Or at least that is what I thought.
I came back and he apologized and said he missed me terribly. All was better in the world and we were back on track.... Or at least that is what I thought.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Bait
Sam was a charming Primary Care Technician working in Memorial ER back in 2008. For practical purposes, I will refer to him as Sam. I will explain this later on as not only will it make my writing simpler, but it also has a meaning to it (S.A.M.). Sam had dark hair, a stocky build, tanned skin, and a pretty smile. I was an EMT, new to MedStar One Ambulance Service at the time. For about a month or so, he tried talking to me or making himself noticeable when we encountered one another in passing. I made it a point to not look his way because, at the time, I was trying to crawl out of a financial debt and just left a two year relationship. I was not looking for love, but love was looking for me.
Sam caught me in the hallway one day with a catchy phrase and I finally took the bait. We talked for a few minutes and he left with my phone number.
A week later, we had breakfast and he laid out the charm. He pulled up (late) in his steel blue Jeep Wrangler and bought me a cinnamon crunch bagel from The Bagel Cafe on Wilmington Island. We sat there for hours talking and he looked at me like I was an angel that just fell from heaven. I bought it. He paid attention to the breeze blowing my long dark hair as it danced on my naked shoulder.
I remember sitting across from him at this wobbly round hightop table, thinking... something is amiss here. Something about his eyes were off. Almond shaped and with a hint of danger, but I did what I normally did, and ignored my gut feeling. I pretty much did that throughout what became our entire relationship. I even ignored my gut after I ended it. Soon after he told me what his ethnicity was, I could see it in him. He had eyes of a terrorist. Boy did I hit the nail on the head with that one. Too bad I didn't listen to my gut. Something I have learned is that, "In the absence of certainty, instinct is all you can follow." Don't get me wrong, I don't think everyone with Middle-Eastern background is a terrorist... I'm just acknowledging that he is. He is an emotional terrorist and fits the profile of the bad guys to a scary degree.
I laid all of my crap onto the table, not literally speaking. I told him about all of my insecurities and dislikes, talked about all of my beliefs, etc. He seemed to be right on the same boat as me. Sneaky snake. He just wanted me to think that. One topic in particular was about abortion. Now whereas I do believe a woman should have the right to choose, I also don't believe it is a method of birth control. I think there are extenuating circumstances that could justify it, but personally couldn't do it myself.
What was I thinking? I will tell you what I was thinking. I was hurt from my past and just wanted a good guy and figured that if I laid it all out and he seemed understanding about it, then we would get along just fine. I pretty much trusted him with everything right upfront and didn't make him earn it. I was a very easy target for him. I bet he sat there and analyzed how he could play out each aspect and work me over to be his little toy that very day. I pretty much gave him everything he needed in order to know how to work me over... and he did just that. It is a lesson I eventually learned.... let other people answer questions first so you can get a better idea of what their thoughts really are vs allowing them into yours and being tricked into thinking they feel the same.
Anyway, I took the bait and agreed to another date the next night....
I came over the next night at 8pm on the dot. He answered the door in a t-shirt and really short shorts. I learned from a previous relationship that they are called "Ranger Panties." He was an ex Army Ranger. This should have been a red flag for me too because clearly any guy who wears shorts that short on a date, doesn't have a good frame of thinking. I was wearing jeans and a chocolate brown off the shoulder boucle sweater. It was freezing in his house. I sat at the table and he made dinner for me which was a bruschetta with chicken parmesan. After dinner, he invited me to the loft to watch a movie. He put in the movie "300" and played "You and me" by Lifehouse on the guitar. We started watching the movie and then he knelt before me and kissed me. One thing led to another and somehow I was in his bedroom... even after I told him three times that nothing was going to happen. We rolled around in his bed for hours, but I kept my word and we did not have sex of any kind.
We laid there, both sexually charged and exhausted and then he said he had something to tell me that might make me hate him. Well that could be anything. He told me he had just gotten a job doing contract work and got word the other day that he was going to be leaving for three months. I asked when he left and his response was, "9am tomorrow."
Ha. I was just a last minute attempt at getting a piece of ass before he left town. At least that was what I was thinking. I stayed and slept anyway and in the morning awoke to a naked Sam over me in bed. I laughed it off and asked him to put some clothes on and he did. I offered to take him to the airport and in leaving the house, he showed me where he put spare house and Jeep keys. RED FLAG. The guy has known me all of two days and is telling me where his keys are. I was a stronger me back then and I told him that I didn't want to know these things. His response was, "trust me, you need to know where this stuff is."
I dropped him to the airport and on my way home, I called my best friend. I told her every little detail, like a school girl would. I remember telling her that we likely wouldn't continue to talk and that he was going overseas and how I thought he was crazy for showing me the keys to his house and Jeep. We laughed and agreed that it was a strange night for me. I didn't even know what hit me....
I came over the next night at 8pm on the dot. He answered the door in a t-shirt and really short shorts. I learned from a previous relationship that they are called "Ranger Panties." He was an ex Army Ranger. This should have been a red flag for me too because clearly any guy who wears shorts that short on a date, doesn't have a good frame of thinking. I was wearing jeans and a chocolate brown off the shoulder boucle sweater. It was freezing in his house. I sat at the table and he made dinner for me which was a bruschetta with chicken parmesan. After dinner, he invited me to the loft to watch a movie. He put in the movie "300" and played "You and me" by Lifehouse on the guitar. We started watching the movie and then he knelt before me and kissed me. One thing led to another and somehow I was in his bedroom... even after I told him three times that nothing was going to happen. We rolled around in his bed for hours, but I kept my word and we did not have sex of any kind.
We laid there, both sexually charged and exhausted and then he said he had something to tell me that might make me hate him. Well that could be anything. He told me he had just gotten a job doing contract work and got word the other day that he was going to be leaving for three months. I asked when he left and his response was, "9am tomorrow."
Ha. I was just a last minute attempt at getting a piece of ass before he left town. At least that was what I was thinking. I stayed and slept anyway and in the morning awoke to a naked Sam over me in bed. I laughed it off and asked him to put some clothes on and he did. I offered to take him to the airport and in leaving the house, he showed me where he put spare house and Jeep keys. RED FLAG. The guy has known me all of two days and is telling me where his keys are. I was a stronger me back then and I told him that I didn't want to know these things. His response was, "trust me, you need to know where this stuff is."
I dropped him to the airport and on my way home, I called my best friend. I told her every little detail, like a school girl would. I remember telling her that we likely wouldn't continue to talk and that he was going overseas and how I thought he was crazy for showing me the keys to his house and Jeep. We laughed and agreed that it was a strange night for me. I didn't even know what hit me....
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Reality
REALITY. Reality has shown me many things. It has shown me who my true friends are. It has shown me that I am always stronger than I will ever actually believe of myself. Reality has both kissed my face gently as well as stabbed me in the back and twisted the knife to go in deeper. Reality is neither friend nor foe... it just is what it is. Right now, my reality just sucks.
I do believe in second chances... and have believed in dozens more before. Sometimes I think that I am just a sucker and other times I just think that I would like more chances if I were the other person because one of those chances, I might get it right. Well... I was wrong. Some people don't deserve second chances and certainly not third, fourth, and fifth. The problem is, you don't know for sure that they didn't deserve them until after the chances have already been given. Each time you give another chance, you end up just one step closer to the "just one more time" thought process that takes over your mind as you make yourself believe that whatever happened certainly gave them clarity this time. Am I right?
Reality of my life is that I endure on a daily basis the kinds of things that drive people to drink or kill themselves. I am actually pretty proud to still be standing. I am still here.
My world right now depends on my living close to audio and video recorders, witnesses, journaling, and thinking strategically. I don't like to consider myself to be a victim of anything. But if I am victim of anything, I am victim to a true sociopath. Reality is... I married and had a child with a sociopath. Not just any kind of sociopath... a high level security clearance ex Army Ranger sociopath whose training was particular in manipulation and torture... even in killing.
I do believe in second chances... and have believed in dozens more before. Sometimes I think that I am just a sucker and other times I just think that I would like more chances if I were the other person because one of those chances, I might get it right. Well... I was wrong. Some people don't deserve second chances and certainly not third, fourth, and fifth. The problem is, you don't know for sure that they didn't deserve them until after the chances have already been given. Each time you give another chance, you end up just one step closer to the "just one more time" thought process that takes over your mind as you make yourself believe that whatever happened certainly gave them clarity this time. Am I right?
Reality of my life is that I endure on a daily basis the kinds of things that drive people to drink or kill themselves. I am actually pretty proud to still be standing. I am still here.
My world right now depends on my living close to audio and video recorders, witnesses, journaling, and thinking strategically. I don't like to consider myself to be a victim of anything. But if I am victim of anything, I am victim to a true sociopath. Reality is... I married and had a child with a sociopath. Not just any kind of sociopath... a high level security clearance ex Army Ranger sociopath whose training was particular in manipulation and torture... even in killing.
Monday, December 15, 2014
I am me...
Reality is... Hindsight is 20/20.
I did things and said things that seemed to make sense to me during the time that things occurred. I made excuses for myself and for other people, and I allowed for my judgment to be clouded. Little red flags popped up as warning signs and I ignored them in order to allow my fantasy of the perfect world I wanted to live in, to continue.
I write this knowing that there will be a select group of people who will likely label me a nutcase and another group of people who will be able to relate to me on a deeply intimate level. I also know, that writing what I plan to write, will be like leaving myself standing stark naked in front of a group of strangers. The preface has already left me topless.
Asking to not be judged is a difficult request. It is human nature for us to perceive things as we wish to and judge (even if silently) others. Writing here at least gives me a way to release what it is I was thinking at the time I was being stupid, or scared, or while giving a person way more than they deserved of me.
So, to understand me a bit better, let me tell you of myself.
How does one describe themselves without fear of being perceived a certain way? Conceited... depressed..... It doesn't matter what I really put, as there will be judgment in all of it, so oh well. Here we go.
Physically -
I am 32 years old. I am of average height and weight with a fairly fit body type. I have been told that I have "pantene" hair by every hair dresser I have ever encountered. My hair is a wavy, deep chocolatey brown but it is hard to tell unless the sunlight hits it just right, so most people would say my hair is black. I have hazel eyes that change weird colors that both entrance people and scare them at the same time. One eye likes to appear bluer in color and the other yellowish in color... but more so in close-up photographs. I have olive colored skin and I consider myself to be generally pretty on most days. I have a splatter of freckles across my face that somehow magically appeared overnight years ago. I am physically strong and have always worked labor intensive jobs because they are most rewarding to me.
Mentally -
I am pretty forward. I consider myself to be a bit sarcastic and witty on a typical day. I speak my mind and I am not always tactful about it. Actually, I am rarely tactful unless I am in a professional setting of which requires me to be. I'm not perfect and I don't strive to be... I just strive to be better today than I was yesterday. My mind is strong but I do shut down. I am like anyone else and I have my breaking points too.
In Loving Someone -
I am a loyal puppy dog. You hit me and I still come back. I love you unconditionally and trust you until you give me reason not to. Once I lose my trust in you, I become conditioned to maintain a wall and question your motives. I can be over analytical and when I love someone, I seem to become more sensitive to their words than I normally would. I go beyond my own comfort zone in order to make them happy and find pleasure in doing things that makes them happy... especially the little things. I find myself taking joy in doing things that I don't particularly like when I know that my partner equally dislikes a task, and I take care of it so they don't have to. Take dishes for example... I am not fond of the dishes but my partner HATES washing dishes with a passion. I do the dishes and find some joy in doing them because I know she hates them. Yes, you read correctly... I said 'she.'
In Work -
I take pride in my work, regardless of what I am doing. I have worked jobs ranging from serving tables, teaching gymnastics, sorting mail, and packing parachutes... to fighting fires and saving lives on an ambulance. My latest endeavor is nursing but my passion is being a Paramedic. My body completely disagrees with my labor intensive choices at this point in life. I LOVE being a Paramedic. It is such a dynamic profession which has allowed me to meet people whom I have come to admire and strive to professionally model myself after. I like to think of myself as a little bit of everyone who has ever taught me within this field. I am also a little bit of myself. I know that I am good at what I do because my reputation as a medic speaks for itself. I can handle chaos... just seemingly not always when it belongs to me.
I did things and said things that seemed to make sense to me during the time that things occurred. I made excuses for myself and for other people, and I allowed for my judgment to be clouded. Little red flags popped up as warning signs and I ignored them in order to allow my fantasy of the perfect world I wanted to live in, to continue.
I write this knowing that there will be a select group of people who will likely label me a nutcase and another group of people who will be able to relate to me on a deeply intimate level. I also know, that writing what I plan to write, will be like leaving myself standing stark naked in front of a group of strangers. The preface has already left me topless.
Asking to not be judged is a difficult request. It is human nature for us to perceive things as we wish to and judge (even if silently) others. Writing here at least gives me a way to release what it is I was thinking at the time I was being stupid, or scared, or while giving a person way more than they deserved of me.
So, to understand me a bit better, let me tell you of myself.
How does one describe themselves without fear of being perceived a certain way? Conceited... depressed..... It doesn't matter what I really put, as there will be judgment in all of it, so oh well. Here we go.
Physically -
I am 32 years old. I am of average height and weight with a fairly fit body type. I have been told that I have "pantene" hair by every hair dresser I have ever encountered. My hair is a wavy, deep chocolatey brown but it is hard to tell unless the sunlight hits it just right, so most people would say my hair is black. I have hazel eyes that change weird colors that both entrance people and scare them at the same time. One eye likes to appear bluer in color and the other yellowish in color... but more so in close-up photographs. I have olive colored skin and I consider myself to be generally pretty on most days. I have a splatter of freckles across my face that somehow magically appeared overnight years ago. I am physically strong and have always worked labor intensive jobs because they are most rewarding to me.
Mentally -
I am pretty forward. I consider myself to be a bit sarcastic and witty on a typical day. I speak my mind and I am not always tactful about it. Actually, I am rarely tactful unless I am in a professional setting of which requires me to be. I'm not perfect and I don't strive to be... I just strive to be better today than I was yesterday. My mind is strong but I do shut down. I am like anyone else and I have my breaking points too.
In Loving Someone -
I am a loyal puppy dog. You hit me and I still come back. I love you unconditionally and trust you until you give me reason not to. Once I lose my trust in you, I become conditioned to maintain a wall and question your motives. I can be over analytical and when I love someone, I seem to become more sensitive to their words than I normally would. I go beyond my own comfort zone in order to make them happy and find pleasure in doing things that makes them happy... especially the little things. I find myself taking joy in doing things that I don't particularly like when I know that my partner equally dislikes a task, and I take care of it so they don't have to. Take dishes for example... I am not fond of the dishes but my partner HATES washing dishes with a passion. I do the dishes and find some joy in doing them because I know she hates them. Yes, you read correctly... I said 'she.'
In Work -
I take pride in my work, regardless of what I am doing. I have worked jobs ranging from serving tables, teaching gymnastics, sorting mail, and packing parachutes... to fighting fires and saving lives on an ambulance. My latest endeavor is nursing but my passion is being a Paramedic. My body completely disagrees with my labor intensive choices at this point in life. I LOVE being a Paramedic. It is such a dynamic profession which has allowed me to meet people whom I have come to admire and strive to professionally model myself after. I like to think of myself as a little bit of everyone who has ever taught me within this field. I am also a little bit of myself. I know that I am good at what I do because my reputation as a medic speaks for itself. I can handle chaos... just seemingly not always when it belongs to me.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Preface
I know that it is hard to fathom, but I didn't want to die. Heck, I wasn't even trying to kill myself or thinking about killing myself. If I wanted to die, I certainly know quicker, cleaner, and easier ways to do so. What I wanted... no, what I needed, was understanding and compassion. Calling my situation "difficult" would be a major understatement. I did get a point across... just not the one that I wanted.
You see, when you put a gun to your head amidst a mental breakdown, you are deemed crazy by the general public. Even worse, by the powers that be in the judicial system, who then turn around and hand your son over to the psychopath you have been trying desperately to protect him from. Now what? I look like the crazy one, when in reality, I am just struggling to keep my head above water after years of torment.
I'll tell you what happens now... Fight like you have never fought before and rise against the beast trying to destroy you. Block more punches than you throw and take the punches for as long as you can. Stand up more than you fall down and keep your eye on the goal in mind. Kind of sounds like war. In a way, it is. My enemy is physically strong. Mentally, he holds no guilt or shame for his "fuckedupedness" due to his sociopathy. I know that "fuckedupedness" isn't a real word, but I think it still applies with obvious meaning.
It is difficult to think of where to begin with the understated roller coaster of a ride my adult life has been, but I will try my best. You see... the last few years of my life at that point, had been building up like a volcano preparing to erupt.... and when I finally did, it was just as sudden, destructive, and volatile as a volcano can be. I imagine I may have taken on a reddish color and though there wasn't lava, there was a heavy flow of tears.
But let me tell you about what has been going on for the last six years so you will "understand" why everything that happened that night, happened. I say that with reluctance that you will understand because many people won't understand it, will judge it, and therefore just toss the "crazy" label across my forehead and keep me in that category in their opinionated minds. I'm actually okay with that.... It's kind of the story of my life.
"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better."
-Anne Lamott
Now that I have your attention, I will tilt my axis to the beginning of this mess. No worries reader... I will tell you of that day in November soon enough....
Thank you Anne Lamott. I don't know you. I have only seen of your work the few quotes I came across in trying to find words to help explain the reasons behind my writings. I now understand that I don't have to have a reason. I don't need an explanation for anyone... not even for myself. Everything is what it is and not everything is as it seems.
It is a day I will both never forget and partly not remember.
What is your story?
The best way to summarize "my story" would be a combination of the movie "Enough," with Jennifer Lopez mixed with a few different Lifetime movies on loop.
Sure, some of my life happenings can be mapped back to a series of bad decisions... we all make those. My "bad" decisions have come from a good place.... my heart. I have to stop sometimes and remind myself that I am human and have made mistakes because of how loving and forgiving I am. Hindsight has given me the ability to reflect on things that only time and experience could afford me the understanding of. I am thankful for learning from mistakes... even if some of those mistakes were made more than once. Now... I know.
It has taken me quite a while to figure this out, but I have often been drawn to help people. In some ways, this has caused me heavy heartache, and in other ways, it has been overly rewarding. Professionally, I have helped more people than I could count. As a firefighter/paramedic, I have selflessly given my time as well as my heart to people in need. Personally, I have done the same, but in a very different respect. Certainly I have damage from both.... but nothing compares to falling prey to a sociopath... Nothing.
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