13 Reasons Why I told my Granddaughter to punch him in the face

no-woman-can-call-herself-free-who-does-not-own-5460267Yesterday I was talking to my Grandaughter (almost three years old) and I said without hesitation “You put your hand up and tell him NO.  If he does it again you hit him in the face.”  She is two months shy of three years old and already has a boy at the gym who tries to kiss her.  He is the same age.  All the kids are adorable including this young boy.  His GrandFather has my respect.  He is a tattooed grey-haired gentleman who speaks fluent Dude.  We have made eye contact and we understand what is happening.  I told him a month or so ago “I do not want her growing up thinking she has to let the boys kiss her.”  GrandFather responded with “and he is a complete ham and will need to learn.”  We gave each the nod and that was settled.  Some of it is cute and we let go to the point where she is clearly trying to not have contact and the boy will not leave her alone.

Here is the scene.  We go to Gym specifically for kids.  We are in our second year.  It is frak’n awesome!  We scored when we found this place.  So it’s the same kids with the occasional newbie.  There are lessons, circle time as well as free play gym time.  Each child has an adult wandering around keeping track of their “big kid” and making sure they follow the rules.  My granddaughter is in love with her coach.  She is learning the kid’s names and it’s awesome.  Little man has a serious crush on my Granddaughter.  During free time they run and play and giggle laugh.  Sometimes the two of them but often there are others with them.  When the coach calls the “big kids” over to his matt they all go running to find a seat on the matt.  Little man follows my Monkey and sits right next to her.  And it begins.  Holding hands was the first.  It was incredibly sweet.  Sometimes she would hold his hand and sometimes she would push his hand away.  Grandpa has been great about pulling him back and correcting his behavior.  Then the kissing started.  Little man will kiss her arm or side of her shoulder that is exposed to him.  She does not like the kisses.  She leans away, wipes them off and tells him no.  Again, Grandpa pulls him back and tells him “Dude no you can’t do that.”  All the while the kids are facing the coach and listening to what he is saying.  Parents are standing behind staring at their child to keep them on the matt and following the rules.  Sometimes it stops because of the exercise the coach is leading them through (distraction) and sometimes Grandpa will just have had enough and make him sit down on the other end of the matt.

First of all this young boy is very sweet.  He is clearly very well loved by his best friend and Grandfather.  He is not a bad kid in any way.  I am not here to come down on any parenting style.  The fact that caught in the moment I heard myself say “you put your hand up and tell him NO.  If he does it again you hit him in the face” is what I would like to talk about.  Monkey had given me “the look” at the gym that morning.  Little man was kissing her and she didn’t like it.  I saw her want to hit him.  I have told her over and over and over “no hitting at the gym.”  In the car after class, she said “I don’t want boy kisses on my face” as she wiped her face off.

Now I am questioning my judgment.  I believe she has the right to hit him square in the face for unwanted kisses when she has said stop.  And only after one time and only because she is in a gym.  And in reality that is even wrong.  Why does she being a kid make it OK to be kissed like that when she doesn’t want it?  If I was working out at the gym and a man I had seen working out there for a year suddenly kissed me I would punch him in the face.  Why does she have to tolerate this because she is two years old?

I watched a show called 13 Reasons Why.  It starts out with a crappy teen drama.  But then it turns ugly and nasty quick.  It is the real truth of high school in America today.  You follow the life of a female student who takes her own life.  This series changed me.  I will not have my Granddaughter grow up letting boys treat her this way.  I want her ready to defend herself.  I want to teach her strength and confidence.  So today I asked her Father to watch the show and told him that we then need a plan in place for her self-defense and we need to be on the same page.  I told him that I had told her to punch that boy in the face if he comes again after she says no.  I told him and my Partner.  Her body is hers.  She will not be told to take that off boys.  Not now.  Not ever.  So we need a set of rules and we need to all live by them.  I’m going to teach her when it’s OK to take the first swing.  Why does age matter?  At what age does a woman own her body and have the right to say no?  And if you crossed the physical contact boundary why shouldn’t she punch you in the face?

 

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The most disgusting nightmare yet

 

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This one is going to get ugly.  I am triggering hard.  Last night’s nightmares have shaken me.  They started the night before.  Me running from him.  Last night the theme and feeling of the dream changed.  I need to vomit and then try to get this out.  I’m also making an apmnt to see my therapist.

If you have read my story you know that there are two men I have regular nightmares around.  My older brother who molested, hit, mentally & emotionally tortured and raped me and my Xman whom I did drugs with and would have surely lost my life to when the PTSD had control.  They look very similar physically and they have the same narcissistic sociopathic tendencies.  Last night, it was both of them.

It is one of the most insane and disturbing dreams I have had post therapy.  Are we really ever truly “post” therapy.  I don’t think so.  I think I will always be going back when I need help with PTSD.  Why be miserable?  I digress….

Back to the dream.  I was an adult.  I flashed between two scenes like a TV shows does to keep you up on both stories.  Sometimes I was at my Parents home in Oregon (the one they had when I was young) and other times I was renting a house with other Burners.  In both instances, I was not safe.  The feeling of needing to escape is my reoccurring nightmare theme.  It’s dark.  I know “the bad man” is coming and I need to escape.  Sometimes I start frantically packing things because I know I am never coming back.  Other times I begin to run and open secret doors that lead to more rooms and more secret doors.  Sometimes I make it outside but am then somehow too afraid to run into the dark.  I often take a car and then suddenly I am in the back seat and no one is driving or there are no brakes.  It’s sheer emotional terror.

This time when my brother appeared naked, erect and wanting to fuck me, I was wanting to do it as well.  I knew we had to hide.  We were moving around the basement silently trying to find a place where no one would see us.  I was intensely aroused and close to orgasm.  I would flash over to the other dream and it would be my Xman.  He would also be erect and wanting to have sex.  I was also trying to hide him and to fuck him.  Back and forth ~ back and forth.  Me as a grown adult.  Knowing it was wrong and yet so filled with lust and that all I wanted to do was have sex.  At one point in the dream, I am laying in a bed in my Mothers home.  I am waking up from the dream I just described.  I reached for a vibrator and was going to attempt to masturbate because I was so aroused.  I still knew it was disgusting but was so sexually aroused I did it anyway.

I awoke this morning in full trigger mode.  The room was spinning.  I had to fight to come fully awake.  I was screaming for help in my own head.  I felt someone sit down on the bed next to me and I was frozen stiff.  I could not get my eye’s all the way open and my vision was completely blurred when I did.  I felt myself start to panic.  My heart was pounding.  I had to first convince myself I was alone and safe.  I felt (feel) terrified, disgusted and relieved (that it was a dream and not real).  I stood up quick and had to balance myself.  I had a desire to be out of the bedroom and into the light.  As soon as I opened the curtain that separates our bedroom from the living room I began to come down.  I started talking to myself out loud and reached inside for my PTSD battle tools.  “It was a dream.  I am safe.  It was just a dream of a PTSD ridden mind.  It does not mean that’s what you want.  It does not have to have meaning at all.  It was just a dream.  It’s just the PTSD.  It’s just the PTSD.  It’s just the…..”

So yeah, there’s a new fucking shitty ass trigger in there.  Wow.  I mean I know I have been replacing the abuser.  I know that Xman looked eerily like my brother.  I know why I was with him and why I let him abuse me.  I know why I abused him back.  I understand and have released shame for the choices I made when the PTSD controlled me.  But fucking shit I did not need that fucking dream.  I am so deeply grossed out.  I went straight to the toilet.  Handled that.  Reached for my weed and went outside.  I knew standing there on our deck knowing that the most important thing for me to do right now would be to come in here and tell you here on this blog ~ my truth.

I have a lump in my throat.  I have images of my brothers erect cock coming at me.  I have images of myself wanting it…..  WTF  AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT???  I don’t want to think about that.  I don’t want to see it.  I am so deeply and horribly disgusted by that dream.

PTSD feeds on shame and fear.  It holds you down and tells you that you are disgusting and you should never ever tell anyone your ugly truth.  It kicks you and beats when you are down and it can reach up and bitch slap you when you are up too.  I did nothing to deserve my childhood.  I did nothing to deserve PTSD.  I have no shame over a dream that is the result of PTSD.  It doesn’t mean shit.  It was just a dream.  I wanted to share that with you.  I wanted to take away it’s power by showing it to you.  And I hope that if you have the same sick dreams you will know that it is just the PTSD and you are not disgusting.

I want to go for a walk in the rising sun with my dog.  I want to scream and cry and vomit.

Standing Up For ME

Every time I stood up for myself as a girl I was chastised and punished.  I am 48yrs old and just learning to stand up for myself every time.  Sometimes, I still allow people to walk over me.  I would say I am somewhere around 60 /40.  That number needs to change.

Standing up for me does not feel natural.   I have had to learn how to do so with the proper amount of tone and inflection.  I can’t let that shit build up inside me.  For my sake and for those I love.  Learning to stand my ground and speak my boundaries in a sane and appropriate manner has been difficult.  I find myself checking myself, choosing my words and tone wisely and then moving on.  I owe no one an explanation for my boundaries.  Not even myself.

I was spoken down to and belittled for so long that I have zero patience for it now.  I can be told that I wrong, need to be redirected and whatever other super hippy way you want to say it.  I can take direction.  I can not take being spoken down to.  Being spoken to with a tone that says you are stupid for not knowing this.  My StepFather chastised my Mother and me by asking us rhetorical questions in a shitty “you are so fucking stupid” tone of voice.   I would usually stand there blinking searching my mind for what to say to this giant man whom I feared every day.  You didn’t ever want to set him off.  I’ve spoken of it before.  His and Mother’s claim to fame is that he never touched me.  He didn’t need to.  She was just as afraid of him.  I have tapes of her fear in my head.

I find standing up to men to still be a more difficult challenge.  They use that tone I begin to crumble.  It usually takes everything I have got for me to retain my dignity and stand my ground.  The happier I become the easier it gets.  A bright shining happy person is easier to hear “no thank you” from then a raging freaking out angry bitch.  Just say’n.

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Control

I have been triggering lately.  Anger bubbling up and I struggle to come down.  It’s uncomfortable and scary.  I worry about losing control.  I worry about being in darkness and the insanity of a full-blown PTSD snap.  I want to believe that the tools I have now will always help me.  I want to believe.

 

 

His Dudeness

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Five years?  How can that be?

I’m angry that you are not here.  I am angry that my Granddaughter will never know what it means to have you in her life.  All that Hippy BS about carrying you forward and teaching her about you is just that, Hippy BS.  The reality is that it fucking sucks that you are not here.

I’ve kept my promise.  It has been tempting but I have not contacted him in years.  I will be forever grateful that you made me promise to him out of my life and keep him out for good.  He is still haunting my dreams.     Thank you for loving me when I thought abuse was love.

I miss you.

 

Should Be

I should be writing.

I have a lot to say these days.

I hope the voice in my head is happy now.  The one who keeps asking me why I am not writing.  I suppose everyone goes through these times.  Write, don’t write, write a lot and so on.

Wait….. am I behaving normally again?

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

My left hip feels like I fell on it yesterday not twenty months ago.  I dared to sit on three  cushions  on a yoga studio matted floor for one hour.  I shifted a lot.  The pain hit within three mins of sitting.  I choose “fuck it I want to sit in this mediation class. I’m choosing clarity right now.”  This morning I am being punished by my hip and back for my choice.

I still don’t want the Vicodin back. I’m choosing clarity. It equals pain that I have to manage. And admittedly higher pain then I anticipated. But it’s winter and blah blah blah I am happier in clarity then I am blocking the pain and not functioning but surviving the high. 

Yoga helps a lot more then I expected.  Hot yoga is next.  Last night was the first time I went with B to her studio.  Not for yoga but for meditation class.  I forced myself to go and not have an attitude.  I pushed past the fear.  It hurt like hell.  Emotionally and physically.  And I’m really really proud of me.

  
These are my leggings and winter sox.  I love leggings.  And I don’t care about my big ass either!