The "Girl Who Was Kidnapped"

I was watching a video on Facebook (I know, I know) in which Elizabeth Smart said that during her abduction she couldn't believe that someone could be that evil. That when presented with the fact that she would be consummating a marriage she didn't consent to, and had not been aware was even going to happen she couldn't believe He really meant it. THIS is a problem. If you are so focused on getting your children to feel safe, and happy that you have neglected to teach them that there is REAL evil in the world; shame on you. I have walked away from the darkest underbelly of the universe. I have seen the evil she saw. I have absolutely no qualms in telling my children, as young as they are, that there are tricky people out there who want to hurt them. Who want to do unspeakable things to them. I am trying to keep them safe, and I am trying to help them learn to keep themselves safe. . . But those people exist. Every time we talk about the good in the world it has been prefaced with the evil. I refuse to let my children grow up believing that evil exists someplace outside of our world. That it "won't happen here". That that type of thing happens to other people, and not to us. I wish that I could find the video and quote her exactly on this point. It's a crucial moment in her story. It's so important. People focus on all these other details. The things that were used in the case, the things that people did to find her, the reasons she was targeted. While these are indeed instrumental parts of the story they are not what I would consider a crucial detail. I consider it a pivotal, and crucial part of her story that she could not believe that anyone could be that evil. Meaning, in her 12yr old mind, the most evil people were portrayed in history books and far off places. I'm not against protecting children from horrible situations. I would not recommend exposing them to things that are not age appropriate, but you can prepare them for the idea that evil is not a world away, or something that exists in the past. They can understand that tricky people want to hurt them without having to know the gory, unsettling details. I just struggle to understand how a child of 12 can go through life not knowing that people are THAT evil. That they exist today, now, in this moment. They exist in our neighborhoods. They exist in our homes sometimes. They walk past our schools, shopping centers, and homes. They seem like normal people, and they seem like the crazy person who makes you think twice while walking to your car. You can NOT ignore the fact that to truly prepare your child to be the good in the world they MUST know that the evil is real. It is knocking on their door. The only defense is to recognize it so you can stand against it. Children prepared for the world around them don't just have a degree, or creative problem solving skills. They can see the evil of the world, and have the courage to stand against it. To do good deeds, and act when evil would swallow them whole.

Stop Saying That. Just Stop.

You know what one of the most condescending, irritatingly insulting things I've had someone say to me is? "You're going to miss this stage. Just wait."... NO! I will not miss it one blasted bit! I love my children dearly, but YOU don't live in my house everyday. You want to know how many times my 4yr old told me she hated me today? I don't know either. I lost count after 25. EVERY DAY! I go through this EVERY day. I have to fight with my children about putting clothes on. I fight with them about eating something besides candy. I fight with them about the fact that I didn't buy the fancy over priced fruity whatever-it-is because I think we should save some money for their clothes! I'm a monster who ruins everyday because I refuse to cave to the rest of the world and raise jerks. I have been told countless times that I ruined all the fun. I'm mean, not fun, and they hate me. Believe me, they let me know every chance they get. Do you know what that does to your self-esteem? I know, I know... "You shouldn't let a 4yr old dictate your self worth."... I don't care WHO you are. If ANYone tells you that they hate you multiple times a day EVERY day. You're going to feel the ding to your self esteem. only a heartless bastard would not feel a ding to their self worth after listening to that for 2-3 years. So don't tell me I will miss this. Don't tell me I'm going to wake-up, they'll be grown and I'll look back and be all "aww I miss when they were little.". I will absolutely NOT miss this. I won't miss dealing with a fight on every issue. I won't miss the crying, or the complaining, or the lack of ANYthing I do being good enough. That's what it's like when you're a parent to small humans who can't logic. NOTHING you do is good enough. Ever. They look at you like "and? why should I be grateful for this?". Don't tell me I will miss this. YOU miss this. I do not. Stop trying to be supportive by telling me how much YOU miss this. Some of us didn't have children who constantly told us they loved us. Some of us didn't have children who wanted to learn to dress themselves, or be obedient for more than 30 seconds. Some of us have children who are so difficult their teachers feel sorry for us; because they know we're trying, but the child is just that difficult. Some of us didn't raise our children when you could give them a swat on the bum for misbehaving, or wash their mouth out with soap for talking back. Some of us are trying to raise functional children who won't grow up to be entitled jerks; while simultaneously attempting to not go to jail for child abuse because EVERYone knows that kids should never be physically punished. Stop telling a mom in the middle of a crisis that she'll miss the crisis situation. No one misses this. What you think we'll miss is that same stupid naive expectation we imagined before we delivered our first child. That's not reality. So stop telling me I'm going to miss that fantasy you've created in your memories. I'm far to practical for that. I don't have time for that. I have to go tell two little girls to go to bed. Again. Then I have to listen to them yell at me and tell me how much they hate me. Again. Because this is the routine. Until everyone is asleep. Then I'll get about 30-45 minutes of sleep before the baby wakes up and needs me. Again. So take your "you're going to miss this." and burry it with all the other dead hopes and dreams you left behind.

Drive-ins, Swimming, and All Things Summer

I'm not an easy person to like. I say that a lot. Most people see that as fishing for a compliment. I say it with the self realized evidence of the past several years. The one thing my Husband has admitted about first meeting me? He didn't really like me. He thought I was a "know-it-all". Most of the friends I have that stuck through the awkward stage? They'll say it took some time to "warm up" to the idea of being my friend. Most people will confess to me that they weren't certain about whether or not they could deal with me when we first met. . . Let that sink in for just a moment. Imagine being told for the better part of your late 20's early 30's that you are not the ideal, personable human being people befriend. Imagine being told regularly that you're "difficult" to enjoy. Now think about how that sits on the psyche. There's a good reason I don't reach out to people. There's a reason I don't go out of my way to go places, or throw parties, or even attend parties. Several reasons actually. The big ones come from what happened to me in my early 20's. The "little" ones come from the fact that I can't even get my own family to enjoy me, let alone strangers; so I just stay home. My children are difficult to like as well. Mostly because we spend so little time with people outside our own home. It's difficult to have play dates when no one wants to sit and talk to you as the adult. I stopped pretending I understand people in the middle of what was going on with me before. I stopped paying attention to whether people mattered when the Major was selling me as a commodity. It makes me difficult to like. I don't understand the purpose of small talk. I don't really care about gossip. I'm not all that interested in fashion, and the latest craze ( which should be evident by my inability to dress myself.), I don't know how to not be awkward. Awkward is kind of my default setting. I am out of place in the world. I don't fit in. I do better when I keep my mouth shut, but I end up dying a little inside because no one really knows who I am. I get an uncouth exuberance when a subject I know about is brought up. I feel personally insulted when people won't let me help them; because it happens so rarely that I can be useful. I feel a great deal of pain at the fact that my children are the wierdos because I can't make enough friends with children their age for them to have playmates. My heart breaks when they desperately want to play with someone, and I have made that impossible. There is a silent amount of guilt killing me because I am difficult to like. Yet if I pretend, and become likable, I also die a little inside. So, Parenting catch 22. Do you die inside because your children are lonely and unlike, or do you die inside because you're faking it? Maybe someday I will know the answer, and my children will forgive me for failing them in this area. Maybe.

Naked and Famous

And I quote: " deb you are the most selfish person I know. You don't let anyone in or let anyone get to know you. You hide who you are and they deserve to know. . . " Ok, I'm selfish because I hide a large chunk of time that happened to be the most informative development stage of most of our lives. I have secrets, things about me that no one understands, but you know there's something just not right. It's not like I enjoy hiding these things. I would love nothing more than to share the story and tell it to someone who would listen. I'm smart enough to know that if you are watching you'll know when to ask and it will be because you're ready. I don't find it selfish, I find it a matter of self preservation. There are somethings that can't be taken back. Pieces of facts that once known create an awkwardness almost worse than the unknown. We all know I'm a little off my rocker, a little eccentric, and I am often known to do brash things I later wish I'd held back and only thought about. Let's add this one to the list shall we? You want to know what I'm hiding; here it is. I was 16, as most of us have been, and I didn't want to have sex. He did. Things ended badly and I went looking for a mans approval that this horrible situation wasn't all that bad and I was still worth loving. A man, we'll call him the Major, showed up. Recognizing an opportunity to capitalize on a vulnerable teenager a 32 yr old man convinced a 17 yr old girl she should date him. Disaster ensues and just a hop, skip, and a jump to 23 yr old from 17 we have a girl living in a basement in Colorado praying that today is a good day and that the frying pan isn't in her future. After several months in and out of the ER "falling" and "running into doors" it's evident we're losing steam. The beating and insults just aren't working anymore. The thrill is gone. How do we remedy this? Let me tell you by asking another question; Have you ever wondered what it's like to die? I've been almost there. I've had the room go fuzzy and suddenly realize I'm probably not going to be alive much longer. Just on the verge of "giving up the ghost" I get a reprieve. Ghastly way to do things really, but this is survival we're talking about. While the rest of you were learning how to interact and be "cool" I was trying to figure out how to make the perfect roast so I could avoid having my head slammed in an oven while the gas was running, and my back side whipped with a cricket bat. Gas makes you really sick you know. There are bad people out there. I know. I survived by running away one night. After months of trying to convince my best friend she wanted to come live in Denver I had an out. I would HAVE to be left in an apartment I'd been paying for but never really lived in. I would HAVE to be given some freedom to keep up the facade of "normal healthy relationship". As much as I hate myself for having used another human being like that I could see no other way. Every phone call to the cops had been explained away and ended in another trip to an ER with an assumed name. Did you know I have 37 alias's? nifty huh. I can remember every single one, and the character's back story too. You must have a good back story if you're going to keep a nurse from checking up on it. Thankfully, when you've been sold to a guy who lives in St. Louis you don't see the same nurses as the ones in Colorado. Thankfully. Either way I figured out how to get out. Mostly. I was still so terrified I couldn't seem to get further away than an apartment with a friend. Another pawn. Not that I'm proud of it, nor that He was any better than the Major, but it was something I needed to survive and finish getting out. When you're finally allowed to have a real job and your boss is asking about the hand prints around your arms you have to think fast. I was working as fast as I could. Almost not fast enough. Long story shortened by a few years and paragraphs, I made it out. I don't really remember the details of how I ended up in the Major's bedroom. Mostly because I'd really rather not remember any of it at all, but I was there. Every time I went for the door he stepped in front of me and got another hit in. ( nice thing about being a military intel guy is you know how to ask questions and get answers without leaving visible marks. Nice tricks they learn.)I was thrown into one of those nice big floor to ceiling mirrors that covered half a wall shattering it. Then I had hands around my throat and all I could think was " yup, I'm gonna die.". Boring I know. Why couldn't I have thought something profound, or interesting, or captivating. Sorry, I'm not creative like that. As the room is going fuzzy and I'm giving up I have this sudden urge to go for the door. Don't ask me, I wasn't exactly in the best place to be thinking logically with a guy's hands around my throat more than half starved of oxygen. I went for it. Amazingly I got through it. First time in three hours I'd made it through that door when I went for it. The Major had 2 very nasty knee injuries and his stair case was one of those with a landing halfway down. I jumped, He had to take each stair individually. I jumped again and made it to the ground level. I'm doing good so far right? I throw open the garage door and get in my car. Bottom line, I was halfway to Limon Colorado before my brother-in-law convinced me I couldn't drive to Nuavoo, Il. My mother wishes he'd let me drive, I'm glad he didn't. I had blood and glass in my hair and I really needed a hospital. I called the Pawn. He picked me up and drove me back to my apartment where a couple of cop cars, and an ambulance were waiting. I didn't get out of the car and asked to be driven someplace where I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. So, avoiding the authorities ( this is a habit now and I don't really know what to do, and I'm scared as all get out. . . so no judgement on that decision) we drive to the local airport and the Pawn cleans glass and blood out of my hair and we wait for a bit. I finally go home and the first thing to greet me when I walk through the door is a roommate who say's " who the F&$% called the police?!". Peachy. I've just survived someone trying to kill me and the most important thing is that your phone call got put on hold for 10 minutes while the cops tried to figure out if I was still alive. By the way; I'm alive. I have a bad head injury, bruising and edema of the hydoid muscles, but I'm alive. Just incase you were concerned. I hate hospitals. I hate them because they remind me of having to lie to a nurse when all I wanted to do was scream for help. That there are injuries no one will ever find unless I tell them where to look. I hate being alone. I hate being alone because it reminds me of spending night after night in a cold cement basement not knowing who was coming next, and what they were going to do to me. And that everyone I've ever truly cared for has left me. I hate trying to make friends. I hate trying to make friends because you people scare the hell out of me! I hate that all I want is approval from someone. I hate wanting approval from someone because I'm too strange to get it. I hate being awkward. I hate being awkward because I don't know how else to be. I don't understand the social rules, and norms, and all the stuff I'm expected to know. I was a little busy just trying to stay alive, and figure out how to avoid another beating. I hate being strong. I hate being strong because I'm not. I survived years of that abuse. What more do you want from me? I hate being vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable because that is what got me into this mess in the first place. I am not strong. I am not confident. I am not socially acceptable, and I am most certainly NOT okay. Honestly; do you think if you'd had your head knocked around that many times you'd be okay? I know I don't always get it. I know I'm a little strange. I'm trying. I'm doing the best I can to make-up for the years I lost. I'm sorry if I cling a little too tightly. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm obsessed. I'm just terrified. NO one was nice to me for years. I don't understand "nice". I'm sorry if I had to use you to get out of that situation. I only hope you'll understand why I did it. Hopefully this wont change things too much. Then again it probably will.

SUPER Impossed Imposition

I wonder what it is about imposing our own thoughts, feelings and memories onto someone who isn't feeling, thinking or remembering things that way that is so super? Why do we feel the need to believe that just because WE feel something it must be true of the other person. Sometimes, yes I know it's hard to believe, but sometimes how we handled something is NOT how someone else handles the same situation. By super imposing our own interpertation onto the events we miss the mark.
Perhaps too often we confuse passion, or a strong stance for actual emotion. There are pleanty of people out there who are extremely passionate and they may come off angry, or sad, or agressive. There is just a lot of passion behind the strong stance they've taken on an issue. Not to be confused, of course, with the actual emotions these people can feel. But taking time to pause and concider that what we're seeing may be only half the picture. Perhaps the person pushing them into such a passionate defense of their position NEEDS to see that much passion behind it to take it seriously. Call it fault, or folly there are those people out there too. They don't hear you unless you're screaming at them. They don't respond to the quiet, soft, gentle proddings of a bridaled passion. They only understand passion in it's stronges form. Not to say that either of these people don't need a little improvement. I'm just saying if they happen to be matched together, they probably come across as angry regularly. Even though the reality is they just feel VERY strongly about what it is they must defend. Whether we feel it needs to be defended or not is another issue altogether. The point here is that there is nothing SUPER about super imposing our views onto another human being. In another century they called that slavery. Heck, in another existance they called it a bad plan! Because the word SUPER should not be applied when imposing anything.