Saturday, October 5, 2013

Unless...



   I graduated!!  9 months, long nights, lots of studying and busting ass to get things done…I mothering effing graduated!!!  I have a matter of 40-ish hours left onsite for my extern, which of course breaks my heart BUT, it also means I can start looking for a job.  And potentially be working very soon!  I’m still utterly terrified, but if I can ever find another job that I love even half as much as my extern, it’ll be worth it.  I’ll still be missing my babies, and they’ll be missing me, but I hope they’ll look back in life and remember the time I WAS home, and the way I loved them, and hugged them, and told them TOO many times how much I love them.  I never want my babies to look back and feel lacking, or hurt, or damaged.  My unconditional love for them is so strong and overwhelming.  I feel it in my chest, and it makes me cry at how beautiful and amazing and strong they are.  Even when they’re whining, crying, hitting, being sassy, and especially when I get news that they’re being embarrassingly bad.  Even then, I’m still overwhelmed by my love for them. …and I also considering boot camps for toddlers, because I’m absolutely horrified!!

  So, I was thinking the other day about starting work, and what I’m going to wear, because lezbe honest here, I’ve been rocking the yoga pants and skinny mom jeans from Old Navy for nearly four years.   My “nice clothes” section of my closet is sadly lacking.  It only holds about a week’s worth of things to wear. And as I sat and thought of all the cute pieces I want (mostly cute dresses), the idea hit me that, I don’t have any damn money to be buying clothes!  A  little voice popped into my head, a voice I’ve heard a million times, but it never occurred to me who’s voice it was.  It’s was Jazzy saying “You gotta spend money to make money baby”…and when I realized that, I got sick to my damn stomach and nearly dropped.  How many years have I still had in my head??? Infiltrating my life??? How many bullshit lines of his have I been carrying around with me???  And I sat there and thought for a good long time and realized there really is a hell of a lot he’s poisoned for me.  And as innocent and harmless and that thought is, it’s a poisoned memory simply because of the context it was used in the first time someone said it to me. 

“Baby, you want pretty clothes and nice nails? You wanna get your done?  Well, you gots to spend money to make money, and then you got to recover what you spent? You feel me?”

   I’ve already told y’all on past posts specific things I’ve recognized in myself that I’m aware stem from my time in “the life”.  There are things such as not being able to look men in the eye, or anyone for that matter, and looking down when I walk down the street or a hallway.  Seeing men in business suits and feeling sick, categorizing men period really.  I get anxious when I see a cop car (but that’s most likely because I’m speeding haha).  And once in a while, I still hyperventilate when I think I see him, driving down the street or walking through a mall.  And it hits me like a ton of bricks.  I also realize I get defensive about people cracking “whore, slut, hoe” jokes,  or referring to any female as any form of those.  I hate listening to people use “pimp” as a legit reference to anything cool.  Pimps are not fucking cool.  They’re abusing, manipulative scum of the earth who are only out to exploit and damage people.  Are you any of those??  No?? Don’t call yourself a fucking pimp then, have some self-respect! 

  I hate going there with my thoughts.  I hate getting that angry and allowing any of that shit to pollute my current happiness, but it does and some days I just can’t stop it from happening.  Today marked 2 weeks I’ve been going to a group therapy thing, something that’s really awesome, and intense.  It’s meant to drag out all the deep dirty shit you’ve been burying since experiencing abuse, and make you face it, and then move past and heal.  And it effing hurts.  I knew going into this I would be opening old wounds, and slightly fresh ones too, but this time I would heal differently.  All those old scars would be ripped open and stitched correctly this time, nice and clean, not botched and crooked.  And the best part??  I might finally be able to get over all of these STUPID fucking issues I have…and I’ll just be able to love.  I’ll be a better mommy, a better wife, and SOMEDAY, an AMAZING Victim’s Advocate.  I’ll be able to change the world.  

"Unless someone like you cares an awful lot, Nothing's going to get better.  It's not" -Dr. Seuss, The Lorax


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