Running On Empty

RUNNING ON EMPTY
 

Running on empty. That is an actual picture of my fuel gauge. I seem to be running on empty in a lot of areas of my life these days. My bank account is certainly running on empty. But, there is one part of my life that has almost cease to exist entirely these days; faith. Faith in my God, faith in myself, faith in humanity. I didn’t get this way overnight. But I want to tell you how it happened.  For some of you, this will come as no surprise. For most of you, it will smack you upside the head like a two-by-four.

I am the victim of abuse. I am working toward becoming a survivor. My entire life I have been abused; physically and emotionally. And if you were to ask my counselor, he would tell you the abuse started even before I was born. You see, I was a “mistake,” an “unplanned pregnancy.” Words that, make no mistake about it, wound the spirit. In my early childhood I was beaten, sometimes until I bled, all the while my mother shouted at me. I was often told how stupid I was, despite my grades proving those types of statements to be false. In my teenage years, when the physical abuse lessened, the emotional verbal abuse increased. I was told that I would “never make it in the real world.”  I graduated near the top of my class out of nearly 400 students.  Even when I decided to return to college and finish my bachelor’s degree, some members of my family said I would never make it!

My spirit, which which makes up “me”, had been set-up for a lifetime of suffering and failure. The scars of physical abuse can heal. Emotional verbal abuse is toxic. For the receiver, it’s confusing, and often debilitating. I did not know until I was 37-years-old what the impact of a lifetime of abuse had done to me. I wasn’t even able to give “it” a name until 2009. I just always knew something wasn’t quite right. I often thought the “something” was me. Why wouldn’t I?  I had been trained to think that since before birth. I have an older sister who tells me often that my life’s failures and shortcomings are due to the choices I made. You see, I did not follow the plan my parents had set out for me. I did not do A, B, C & D…. I skipped ahead to D, then went back to B, and C. So naturally, I’m doomed to a life of failure! I’m not sure that’s the reason why life has been so difficult for me.

I married, the first time, when I was 18-years-old. He was my high school sweetheart. I loved him dearly. My family was very much against the marriage. Naturally. It wasn’t part of the great plan for my life. I had not even graduated from high school when we were married. My decision didn’t exactly get a ringing endorsement. Instead it was met with negative sentiments such as, “it will never last” and “you’re making a big mistake.” Four years later when we separated, my family was the first in line to say “I told you so” and other encouraging comments. Not one member of my family ever suggested we could make it work. Not one of them ever suggested we try marriage counseling. They were all to delighted to have been proven right. Dad is always right, don’t you know?!

It should come as no surprise that my second go-around at marriage ended in disaster. Well, that’s a lie. It actually hasn’t ended at all. It’s dying a slow and painful death. Why? Because I spent more than twelve years being abused by my soon-to-be-ex-husband. It was at the end of that twelve years that I was finally able to put a name to “it.” Verbal Abuse. It’s not as sexy as some of the others, like “domestic abuse” or “physical abuse” but it is the most common. In my case, my verbal abuser was a master of disguise. A real charmer, he waited until he had me firmly in his grasp before letting the hammer down.

Within six months of saying “I do,” what I was really thinking was, “I don’t!” I was in counseling. I was on anti-depressants. Twelve years and twelve marriage counselors later I decided enough was enough. Something, or rather, someone had to change. Much to my surprise, I found out the someone was me. My church put me in touch with a counselor who told me about “verbally abuse relationships.” And I can honestly say that’s the first time I had ever heard about it.  You mean, this lifetime of hell I’ve been living has a name?! My first verbally abusive relationship was with my parents, then my siblings, then my spouse of the past twelve years. Unbelievable.

In 2009 I joined a forum for victim of verbal abuse, for women and men going through or those who have been in verbally abusive relationships. In that forum I am anonymous. I am comfortable there. Here, on my personal blog, not so much. That comes from a lifetime of walking on eggshells around the people who are closest to me. The people I would expect to judge me the least, but end up being my greatest critics. I can just hear my mother saying right now, “What will people say?” There is a part of me that is asking the same question. What WILL people say? When I started counseling, with counselor #13, back in 2009, he told me I needed to focus on being “real” with people, being honest about my situation. I haven’t done that. Only a handful of people know the real story. Most do not.

And even those who know about the verbally abuse relationship; don’t know about the daily struggle, just to survive. The past three and half years have been the hardest of my life. Trying to stand on my own two feet, trying to heal from the years of abuse, trying to figure out who in the hell I am. From what I’ve learned, and observed, one of them major reasons victims of abuse don’t leave is out of fear; fear of not being able to make it financially. And the abusers don’t make it any easier. My stbxh doesn’t provide steady, ongoing child support for our daughter.  In the meantime, he is living with his mother, rent-free. He’s been on an all-expenses-paid vacation for the past three and half years. He would love nothing better than to see me fail, and to have to move back in with him.

That is closer to becoming a reality than I’d like to admit. But I’m trying to be real! I’m much better at helping people, than I am at asking for help for myself.

I spent my entire life savings moving to Phoenix back in 2008, trying to “live the dream.” I have $50,000 in student loan debt. I have a 19-year-old son in college. I don’t make enough money to support us. We live a modest lifestyle, I think. My 13-year-old daughter and I live in a two-bedroom four-plex. It was the cheapest place I could find and still get her into one of Bakersfield’s best school districts. Having access to a good education for my children has always been my top priority. Making sure they don’t hear those same, ugly, debilitating messages is also a big priority. How best to make my dreams for their future and for mine come to fruition, I’m not sure. I used to rely on my faith to guide me. But like I said, I’m running a little low on faith these days. If you have any to spare, send it my way.