You be mean, I'll be kind

I think it is great for younger generations to have a zero tolerance policy on bullying, especially since it's gone from mostly happening in the schoolyard to social media, cell phones, and everything in between. I vividly remember being bullied as a kid, while in private school. I also remember my best friend being bullied. It sucked, but holding on to the fact that once I went home, I'd only have to deal with it the next day at school. Kids now, it's almost impossible to escape a bully which leads to intense depression and ultimately, unfortunately, in some cases, kids taking their own lives because they don't know how else to escape it. 

My issue is, what do you do as an adult, when another adult or multiple adults, are bullying you? Who stands up for you? Who makes it stop? In your 30's, suicide can't be the only way out; at least I hope that's not the only resolution. 

Most of you know the gist of my story. No one knows the whole thing, and that's mostly because no one can withstand the length of time it takes to fill in all the details. I hope for my sake, to start a book, even if it's just for myself, on being bullied as an adult. 

I left Delila's father when she was 8 months old. We had Delila together and he had a son whom after being born, we found out was his; he's 10 months older than Delila. Dating, I always knew he was a hot head, however, people change or can change when they have kids. He unfortunately did not. 

 

I grew resentful when Delila was hospitalized for 5 days at 3 months old for continual vomiting which led to her losing weight. I stayed by her side, every minute. I wouldn't even use the bathroom without leaving the door open in her hospital room. Her dad continued to go to work and would come by for a little bit at night then go home. I did address it with him after a couple days and his response was that someone had to work. My heart broke. Some for myself, more for Delila. I couldn't understand not putting your child first when she was so sick with no known cause. 

The night I knew I had to leave was in June of 2005. Something was wrong with the vacuum and he, being a mechanic started to look at it and take it apart. His 18 month old sat next to him, and I stood watching with Delila cradled in my arms. The situation went from zero to sixty very quickly. He couldn't get the hose off the vacuum and it enraged him. He started ripping at the hose and yelling about throwing it in the front yard. I seriously questioned the situation with him because it was ridiculous. In that moment, I knew. I knew that if someone could fly off the handle over a vacuum, my future of living under the same roof as him would be bad for me, but horrible for Delila. So one day he left for work, and I gathered our stuff and left. In that moment of driving away, I sealed my fate, to always, probably for the rest of one of our lives, to be his punching bag, to endure his rage, to listen to his abusive tongue; to be stalked and spied on, and to never -ever- find a way out of it. 

In the years to follow, I did my best to protect myself because I lived in fear. On a daily basis I didn't know what would happen. I lived by and made sure those closest to me knew, that if something every happened to me, even by "accident" that he was absolutely behind it. I had him arrested, several times. Harassing phone calls, standing outside my house, looking in my windows, following me; I even had to get a restraining order on him because he threatened my life and those around me. I had hard, physical proof, always, and so this went on for years. 

The restraining order was good, but once it was lifted, he figured out how to harass me, just never to the point where it was enough to get in serious trouble. Now the cops, judges, or attorneys just give him a slap on the hand. Which does absolutely nothing, of course, nothing really did much. He had even violated the restraining order when it was in place. 

So here we are. 10 years later, I'm 32 - he's 36, and everything you just read above about his behavior is still going on. Except now. No one hears my frustrations, no one sees my tears, it's all old news and exhausting for the outside world. For me, for Delila, we live with it. Every day. He has people spy on my social media. He knows when I mow the lawn or who mows it for me. He pumps lies into Delila's head about me, that I'll kidnap her, that I use pipes and needles, that I break her bones when she gets hurt, that I want her to fail, that I don't love her; his hatred is endless. 

The only thing worse than him, is someone else, much like him on his side to back him and to come at me at times he isn't. His mother. 

One would think that after a 1.5 year court battle, to which he finally got 50/50 custody instead of me having sole, things would be better. Things only feel like they're getting worse. And still, it's only me. Only me to process the pain and frustrations, only me to stay strong, only me to hope, pray, and guide my daughter to know that people aren't this way, that men shouldn't treat women like this, and that it's so incredibly important to be kind to people in life. Even if they're mean to you. 

Below is an email I put together to the GAL from our recent court case. I'm sure he'll never read it, and I'm even more sure that nothing will be done about it, but I needed it documented somehow. I needed someone to know that I'm not okay living like this and neither is Delila. 

Mr. Blake,

 

I want you to be aware of some situations that have been going on. Only because it’s in my best interest to somehow have them documented.

 

On 10/20/2015 I picked up Delila, after work at Debbie Baker’s house. I had called Delila to tell her that I was on my way and would be there shortly. When I arrived, Don was there so I stayed in my vehicle and honked for Delila. Don then told Delila that if I came there again and honked he would punch me in the face.

 

Yesterday, on 10/28/2015, I picked up Delila from Debbie Baker’s house after work. Both Don and Debbie are harassing me with texts, phone calls, voicemails, and emails regarding paying her $10 per day to pick up Delila on my days. I used the Wizard to tell Don that I would pay his mom $10 a week since I know personally when I drive 45 minutes to and from her school, it doesn’t take $10 per day and Debbie Baker lives closer to the school then I do.

 

Yesterday before I picked up Delila, I stopped and got Debbie a $25 gas card. When I got there, Debbie followed Delila out to the vehicle; Delila handed her the envelope with the gas card in it and got in the car and shut the door. Debbie opened the envelope, then proceeded to open my car door and yell at me about how she wants $40 and I only gave her $25. I repeatedly asked her to close my car door as I had somewhere to be. She refused and continued to yell at me and demanding more money. I kept asking her to close the door, and because Delila sat in the car and Debbie was yelling at me with Delila between us, Delila was trying to push her away and was also asking her to go away and close the door. I pumped the brake so the car moved slightly but not from position, which further angered Debbie. She then leaned into my car, pointing her finger at me, leaning over Delila, and continued to yell at me. Both Delila and I continued to ask her to close the door. After 15 minutes, I was finally able to leave.

 

Debbie has also been contacting my extended family via Facebook trying to involve them and requesting that they tell me what and when to pay her.

 

Don then text me last night and told me his mom would no longer pick Delila up from school on the days I work and can’t pick up from school. Then he text Delila to tell her that Debbie would pick her up if she needed; causing unnecessary confusion. Don, Debbie, and Don’s girlfriend Liz (who recently moved out again and left him but again moved back in), proceeded to call and text Delila all night but she didn’t want to speak to any of them and as of this morning expresses that she doesn’t want to go over there. Which is okay until his visitation starts tomorrow and then she will go. Last night I did use the Wizard and let Don know that Delila did have her phone and was okay but didn’t want to speak. 

 

I feel like when I talk about it, I become a victim to people and that they pity me. I don't like that. I also feel quite weak and whiny for talking about it. A common phrase from others is, "I don't know how you do it", my response is always, "What other choice do I have?" Life can be challenging, but when people are continually standing behind you, telling you or your child how worthless you are and making up complete lies about you, you begin to wonder what's the best way out of the situation.

 

Framing Our Pain

Getting a handle on grief is like trying to hold on to a stick of butter on a hot summer day. Try as you might, you'll never be able to figure out how to keep it from getting all over the place and making a mess of anything around you. Go ahead, wash your hands. It feels like an endless task that only when you think you're good, you go to grab something that slips from your hand and you realize the residue is still there. That's what happens when you're grieving and you're good, move forward, and drop the grip of goodness because grief's ugly face is still staring right back at you.

Grieving is not a new and developing emotion. We'll probably never know where or when it first happened. Or maybe we do, my Bible scholars. (much love) Everyone, every single person hasn't had a grieving experience just once but probably handfuls of times over and over. What's different is that not only is each grief different because of the connection to the persons we lose or the situation surrounding the death, but grief likes to compound itself. Piling one event on top of the other, death after death, weighing on us while we're still trying to deal with the first one from the age of 8, we're all the sudden finding ourselves dealing with the one from when we were 30 and every single one in between.

That's just one person, one life, and one story. Then you bring in the rest, the news and the grotesque world that we live in. Children playing in their yards, students going to the movies, teachers trying to teach a new generation, and people just doing their jobs trying to protect people who think they have all the solutions; dying. Dying every single day, to no fault of their own, other than that they were just there. We have our stories, our individual lives we're trying to cope with, and then for the empathetic ones, we feel the pain and the grief for those that have to lose, and lose on a highly publicized level.

How is it that grief can take its long and unforgiving fingers and wrap it around our lives without ever letting go. To rebuild your soul, to learn to feel and love again, to trust that life won't end before you fully get to engulf it with your love is laborious, to say the least.

There are apparently five stages to grief; denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. What no one ever tells you, whether it's your first loss or your most significant loss, is that sometimes, if not all the time, those five stages can occur all at the same time. The same time, and for as long as they please. Even if you let them go, put them down, move on; it's not at all your choice because it's grief's choice as to when it will let you go and when it will let you move on.

It's a vortex of five stages that I champion those who quickly find the life raft out of it. For those that are haunted by it, and thrown around in it every single day, you're not alone. It's just people don't want to stand there and say they're stuck somewhere in between either one, several, or all five stages in a stare down with their grieving process and it's a shell that encompasses them.