None

She had none.

No money. No food. Nothing.

Her children were hungry.

What would they eat?

Her babies.

Her failed marriage had left her nothing.

Her ex-husband was a narcissistic abuser.

She left him. Dead of night. Two kids in tow.

With $2,000 to her name, she found a safe place for her and the children in a new town. She had no family. No friends. He made sure of that. None.

All she had was her kids. Her life. Her car. Nothing else mattered without her kids.

They lived cheaply.

She found a job. It didn’t pay much. But, it was something.

She had to make more money.

She washed her clothes out on hand in the motel room and hung them to dry.

She had an idea. She put her hair up. Put on make-up. Put on some nice clothes.

She put on some heels. Grabbed her coat and purse. Left her sleeping babies to make some money.

She walked the streets. Wishing that someone would stop and give her some money for a service. The kids would be up in a few hours and she had to feed them breakfast.

A car stopped. She asked him what he wanted. He told her “A blow job”. She told him a price “$50.” He told her that was too much. He would pay her $20.00. She could take it or leave it.

She thought about her pride for a moment. She was willing to sell her body on the streets to feed her children. Is this really what life had become? She slowly opened the door to his car and hopped in. He drove off.

She realized that she didn’t need to think about pride. She had none left.

 

This post is inspired by the Daily Post. The word prompt of the day is none

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

Remembering I’m Enough

I am enough. That was one of the hardest things that I had to tell myself. As someone who is extremely self-confident, I seemed to lose it when I got married. He became bigger than me. Not because he wanted too or even asked me to. It was me. My choice. I thought that’s what you do when you get married. You sacrifice yourself for the greater good of the marriage.

But, I was wrong. Marriage is much more than that. How can one be expected to have a healthy and functioning relationship when you’re jacked up mentally? If you lose a piece of yourself in the process of attaching yourself to someone else, how can you be expected to know that you’re enough?  Truth is…you can’t.

I couldn’t. I didn’t. Because I was broken. Broken people can’t seem to realize that their enough. Life and storms knock you out and you feel as though you are drowning. You can’t swim. Why did this have to happen to you? Why not? This was the question that I truly had to answer. Was I above trials and tribulations? I knew from church and prayer that the road wouldn’t be easy, but dang. I couldn’t drive over those spikes without getting a flat.

Until I realized that at least I have the ability and tools in my car to fix and repair that flat. I didn’t have to drive on that flat tire, damaging the rim. I could pull over and keep repairing the tire or use the spare. You see it right? The Aha Moment…I could do it. My attitude towards my situation and life’s circumstances had to change just like that tire or my soul would be damaged.

I realized that I deserve to be forgiven and I deserve to forgive because I’m enough. Knowing and believing that you are enough in the midst of difficult situations can impact your self-esteem in a major way. You doubt the little things. You act out because you feel like you’re not enough.  But, balance is what I’ve learned. Faith renewed. Spiritual growth. They happen when you stop acting out and expecting everyone to fix or understand the messed up you.

Once you start to grow and walk with the confidence you truly have, it shows. People can see the light in your eyes when you genuinely laugh. They notice your change in hair color or clothes. They notice that effervescent smile plastered all over your face. They want to know what it is it about you. You were broken and messed up last time they saw you. What changed? You know what you tell them?

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links:  Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

The Third Love

Let me tell you about the types of men I’ve loved. Some good. Some bad. Was it all there fault? Nope. In many cases, I didn’t know who I was so they could never love me the way that I needed to be loved.

I didn’t know me.

I didn’t love me.

I couldn’t love them the way that they deserved to be loved.

Love was a concept to big to put in words and yet I desired it so much. I believed in it. I craved it. I wanted love and I needed to be loved.

Don’t most people?

What happens when you wake up and realize that you keep falling in love with the wrong type of people? What happens if that love abuses you or leaves you so messed up that you can’t fathom the pain of ever giving of yourself so completely? You sigh. You withdraw. You start to believe that you will never know love. True love.

That’s how I felt. I kept falling in love with the same kind of men. Until Mr. C. He was different. I couldn’t explain it. For the first time. I felt safe. I felt wanted. I felt loved. It was easy. It felt natural. It was healthy.

I was in shock. I was surprised. I was scared. I didn’t believe that a love without cursing or yelling, cheating or hitting was possible. We women are taught that no one is perfect and that we must fight for love. That love was hard.

However, that’s not true. I read this great article called  We Only Fall in Love with Three People in Our Lifetime – Each One for a Specific Reason by Kate Rose while perusing Facebook about a month ago. Man, this article was the truth.

This article had a profound effect because it basically summarized my  life story. I wasn’t alone. It basically said that we fall in love with three people in our lifetime:

  • Idealistic love—the one that seems like the fairy tales we read as children.
  • Hard love—the one that teaches us lessons about who we are and how we often want or need to be loved.
  • Third love  – the one we never see coming. The one that usually looks all wrong for us and that destroys any lingering ideals we clung to about what love is supposed to be.

I’ve had 5 idealistic loves. I’m not sure if they knew it. We just existed in this space between fantasy and reality and planned lives we would never have and futures that wouldn’t be. We believed in fairy tales. These loves occurred between high school and college.

I’ve had 2 hard loves. These loves were painful. They were loves that I tried to fit. Loves that I wanted to mold and manipulate into the greatest love ever to be. But, they couldn’t. They weren’t designed to be my forever love. They were designed to teach me about myself. I was hurt. I was broken. They shaped my belief that this can’t be real. This can’t be the love that God has for me.

And then there was three. The third love from the third type of person. The love that just works. That’s the best type of love. I know because I have it. For the first time in my life.

You can too. We just have to get out of our own way and love ourselves enough to heal from love #2 to get to the third love.  We can’t let number #2 have all the power over how our lives turn out. We have to move past the pain,the anger, the resentment, the failure – all of it. Once we do, we allow ourselves to know and appreciate a safe and easy love.

FBF: Self-Esteem

I found a book that I had created my junior/senior year of photos of me and my friends in high school. It was weird looking at the hairstyles and some of the outfits, but it was good. I was looking back at the photos and remembering how I thought I was fat at the time.

I was always the biggest girl it seemed but I really hated my shape. I had a big head, big nose and a big butt. I thought of myself as the odd girl out. The oddly shaped girl who wasn’t quite right. But, I was perfectly fine.

See at that time I just wanted to be invisible. To be seen as a beautiful girl to one boy. I smiled on the outside when many times I was so broken and damaged inside that people couldn’t see it. You can’t see the scars of the abuse. You can’t see the pain that I carried while trying to have a “normal” childhood.

Normal. What the hell was normal?

I guess it was boyfriends and dances. Dates and parties. Friends and fun. I had those memories. Hidden inside my size 12/14 frame.

What I learned…We are our own worst critics. Stop judging yourself and just love the person looking back in the mirror. You are beautiful just the way you are.

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month #abuse #domesticviolence

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month and several of my posts this month will focus on the seriousness of #DV. If you are in an abusive relationship, find resources from a “sa…

Source: October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month #abuse #domesticviolence

Land of Confusion

It was kind of cold. Her lightweight jacket was doing minimal to protect her from the chill. The rain outside had pounded her umbrella and jacket. This weather sucks she thought. She descended the stairs in the big gray building. She was buzzed inside.

The hum of the air conditioner could be heard as she approached the counter to sign in. “Just sign in and we’ll call you up in a minute” said the heavy set woman behind the counter. Jade smiled and signed her name.

She sat down and remembered how important it was to be respectful. She thought back to all the many conversations she had with her mother.  You must always smile her mother would tell her. A lady always smile. It’s a sign of respect to smile. You never know dear, your smile could be the only bright spot in someone’s day.

Maybe if she hadn’t smiled she wouldn’t be here today. Maybe she should have been more angry. Practiced her “I don’t give a fuck look”

Niceties. It doesn’t pay to be nice she thought. She pulled her jacket up as she began to shiver.

“Jade Matthews” the woman behind the counter called. She walked up to the counter. “Can you please fill out this paperwork and let me know if you’ll be using your insurance?” she asked. “No. I’ll be paying in cash” she responded.

Jade took the forms and went to fill them out. She thought this day would never come. This was almost too difficult to bear. She sighed.

Name. That’s easy. Jade Lauren Matthews she wrote. Age 18. Date of last menstrual cycle. January 1st. Last date you had intercourse. January 14th.

She stopped. She began reflecting how she ended up here. She was confused. Her memory was cloudy. She remembered her birthday party a couple of months ago.

Her friends threw her a big party and someone had brought alcohol. She had never drank before but it tasted so good. It didn’t taste funny like she had always assumed it would taste. It was good and sweet. She had never felt so free. She danced the night away.

Tommy approached her for a slow dance. They danced all night. Slowly. He was so handsome. So perfect. He kissed her gently on her neck. Her cheek. Her lips.

It was her first kiss. She smiled up at him. She wrapped her arms around him lovingly.

He told her that he’d always loved her. He told her that she was beautiful and smart and desired by many of her classmates both male and female. She smiled. She liked Tommy.

He grabbed her hand and led her upstairs. She could barely walk. She almost fell and he picked her up and carried her. He whispered that he would never let her fall. She smiled. She was so tired. So sleepy.

She remembered him laying her on the bed. She remembered him kissing her slowly at first and then harder. He began pulling at her clothes. Her dress was hiked up and her underwear were ripped off. She began to fight.

She was too tired. She had no strength. She said “Stop”. He ignored her. He forced himself on her. He penetrated her with no regard to the fact that she was still a virgin. That she had never had sex. He didn’t care that she wanted to save herself for marriage. He wanted Jade’s emerald box.

Tommy raped her that night. On her 18th birthday she suffered the worst sex of her life. There was blood on the sheets. A little piece of her died inside.

Her friends told her not to say anything about the rape. Tommy’s parents are well-known. It will be okay. You will get past this.

She just listened. No words. Tears streaming down her face. It hurt to walk.

Two months later she was throwing up at school. It was a couple of months before graduation. She knew she was pregnant. She gathered her things and left school to buy a pregnancy test.

Alone she sat in her bathroom. This one test would determine her fate. Remind her of the worst night of her life. She peed on the stick and began the three minute wait.

It was positive.

Jade felt hopeless. She had to do something. She went looking for her parents. They were out. In her parent’s office she found their box of important items. She sat there opening it. All her baby pictures, their wills and their tax returns. She sifted through the pictures of her parents when they were younger. She smiled.

They were a beautiful couple. She was looking for the most important item in the box. She kept digging and moving items around until she found it. She smiled. It was exquisite. Her parents had great taste. Always had.

She ran a bath of hot water and added lots of bubble bath. She was too confused. She needed to clear her head and a hot bath always helped her to do so.

She turned on the music and lit the candles. The sound of smooth jazz floated through the speakers. The bathroom smelled of gardenias. She loved the smell of gardenias.

She stepped into the tub and let the hot water comfort her body. She began to relax. Her mind was clearing her from this land of confusion she was in. She grabbed the most important item that she found in the family box. She pointed the beautiful gun to her forehead and pulled the trigger.

Confusion over.

 

This post is part of the Daily Post. The word was land of confusion.

On The Surface

On the surface her life was picture perfect. She was always smiling. She had an adoring husband who was very successful. She lived in a house on the hill with a beautiful man made pond in her backyard.

The most beautiful thing about her wasn’t the way she laughed when she heard a funny joke, but it was in her smile. Her smile radiated from within. She genuinely liked people. She was at every church service, baby shower and wedding in town. Everyone loved her. Everyone wanted her to be a part of their lives.

So, she tried to make every event that she was invited too. She was really busy. The townspeople understood when she couldn’t make every event. But, she tried. She sent gifts and she sent handwritten notes.

No one did that anymore. Quick emails or text messages is what they were used to receiving. But, she was different. She believed in the art of sending handwritten notes. She was loved.

But, no one looked below the surface. They couldn’t imagine that her life was built on lies. That her pain was real and she suffered in silence. Why not? Because the surface was so beautiful. It was hard to see beyond that.

She hid the bruises with make-up. She took “siestas” to a retreat in the mountains to recover from the painful punches he inflicted on her body out of anger. She leaves. Always to return to her life lived on the surface.

No one knew the true pain she hid. It would’ve taken years of therapy, wine and drugs to forget the last few years of her life. Years that she couldn’t imagine reliving. So, she struggled. In silence. She smiled at the right time. She wore the right clothes. She appeared by his side at every event.

Many women wished that they had her life. A life filled with a beautiful husband, a beautiful house and beautiful jewelry. They were looking at the surface.

And that’s where they found her body…floating near the surface.

 

 

Today’s post is in response to the Daily Prompt – The word was surface