Scars

**All information contained in this post is a reflection of the author’s life and memory–and is ALL a matter of opinion and personal point of view.

So, yeah–today, I read some sort of meme about how scars make good stories. It sure is pretty to think so.  Perhaps, that concept originated with someone who has a fun, bawdy story or two about how she got a cute scar on her knee or chin or wherever–that she tells to the new people in her life as they enter it and get to know her. We probably all have a scar story that is way more funny than tragic–but living with the tragic ones is, at least in part, what makes us who we are in a more profound way. 

My scars are both visible and hidden–I have a lot. Most of them are hidden under my clothes or under tattoos–the dog bite, the slash from a knife, my surgical scars and so many others that I would love to tell you about, but dwelling on the details and minutiae of the past and going where my nightmares live is not something that I’m up to right now. You’ll hear all about most of those scars eventually anyway.

It’s tricky to write about this. Mainly, because Adolf is a litigious prick (IMHO) who would love nothing more than to drag me into court for one reason or another–and I don’t want to give him the ammunition. 

It’s defensible to say that the environment  of our marriage was extremely unhappy, at best–and violent, torturous and coercive at worst (IMO–in my opinion). No true consent existed in that relationship, as far as I’m concerned, unless you count wearing someone down verbally, emotionally and with what is basically sexual battery, until that person will do anything just to be rid of you. And, if that is your idea of consent, then we can’t be friends. Seriously.

My point? We all have scars and we all have our stories–but some of us have actual, physical scars that we can’t ignore–that remind us of what happened and how far we’ve come every single day. And in my case, I have certain scars that affect my “personal” health on a very regular basis–which is why I’m writing about this now–because maybe by talking about it, it will be less aggravating, less painful, less powerful, less present. I’m hopeful that you all, as adults, can read between the lines and figure out what the hell I’m talking about.  

And even with all of this–those scars can’t hold a candle to the damage that he (Adolf) did emotionally and psychologically. Imagine living for over a decade with a man who not only gets off on hurting you in every way imaginable–but who also constantly tells you that you’re stupid, useless, ugly, that no one will ever want you because you’re damaged, stupid, useless, ugly, etc.–all while, at the same time, referring to you as a trophy or piece of ass to others–bragging about your accomplishments because he has none of his own. It was all very contradictory and awful. And this is just a  small glimpse into what a relationship looks like when domestic violence is present. 

And before any eyerolling happens (this is where I’d probably roll my eyes, tbh), I’m telling you this, gorgeous friends, because this is my last step in healing–not because I’m all, “poor me”. I am not that chick–the one who wants attention and pity and rescuing. Hells no. I’d rather remarry Adolf than be anyone’s pity project. 

I expect that this step in healing will take a while, but I’m almost there. I don’t hear his verbal abuse in my head every minute of every day. I’m actually making more close friends than I’ve I ever dared to before–people who are good and kind and trustworthy. And I still have my close friends who stood by me through everything even when they had no idea what was going on with me most of the time. They made me be out in the world, away from my house and away from the abyss–and I owe them a debt of gratitude that will never be completely paid. 

So there’s that. If any of the above paragraph applies to you, be patient and bear with me–there will be days that I will be in a funk and so very down on myself. I get that it’s bothersome–but it’s part of the healing. Abuse happens in private for a reason. When it’s out in the open, it loses its power the minute you see the horrified looks on the faces of any people who witness it. That’s what this post is–a very public way to exorcise my demons so that I can be done with him and his crap once and for all. xo