It's my birthday

It's been awhile, which I regret. Today is my birthday so it seems this day should be marked with an act of some importance. This is important. But sadly the significance of this day does not appear to offer me any inspiration to share in any particular direction. Perhaps this is the most telling thing of all and I can learn from it. Sort of feels like I'm just wandering.

I've been told that when blocked I should simply start writing. A grocery list. Arbitrary thoughts--anything that begins the process of moving my fingers furiously across my keyboard and opens the gates to inner-thoughts. Now THAT is a dangerous undertaking.

Okay. I'll start with how I'm feeling. Not good. Hate to say it--and even moreso I hate to feel it. But not good. And I hate the reason for feeling so very not good even more than I hate the feeling itself, as it appears to be a case of self-pity, which does not sit well with me. At all! No one ever got anywhere by feeling sorry for oneself. I just can't help it today. I miss my family.

Here I am on my birthday, no family to spend the day with or sit and sip coffee or share a meal. I am alone here. Just like Thanksgiving day with no family, no turkey dinner and no children under my roof to hear and watch and love--they were with their father this holiday. My family, all elsewhere. I pretended it was an ordinary day. Just like I did last year on Christmas day--just like I do each and every year--alternating Thanksgiving and Christmas as my children's father has his turn and I pretend it is not a special day, and I pretend that I am not alone, without my children and without my family on these day when we most want to be with the ones we most love. But I am NOT quite good enough at pretending. It seeps in and leaves me where I am today.

I am sad because I miss my family, and I am slammed in the face every single solitary day by the fact that my children and I can never live near our family again--court order says "mother will have custody of the children if and only if she resides in Virginia Beach. If mother chooses not to live in Virginia Beach, father will have custody of the children." So there you have it. Abuser gets to call the shots. My goodness he deserves it--to call the shots that is. Why not, he has worked so hard! He worked so hard to destroy his wife, and continues to do so every chance he gets...he worked so hard to take everything he could and leave her broken...he worked so hard to hurt his children over and over and over again. Forty-four court hearings so far, just in Virginia Beach. Then there's Chesapeake, Norfolk, blah blah blah, protective ordering hearing after protective order hearing, blah blah blah, domestic assault hearing after domestic assault hearing, blah blah blah, and another and another and another.

Court says they cannot simply assume that 'just because' he abuses his wife he will abuse his children too. And, as a matter of fact, court also says hospital records of my injuries aren't admissable anyway--why, of course they're just hearsay (guess I could have slammed myself around on purpose because I'm so vindictive and my goal in life is to ruin his). Court says they have no witnesses--only ones there were my young children. Yes, abusers can be smart like that--then tend NOT to abuse their family members in the presence of witnesses. Go figure.

The state says that just because five-year-old child tells mommy what daddy has been doing when daddy gets angry, and just because deep bruises wrap around his entire waist in the shape of daddy's hand print--because daddy grabs and squeezes when he gets angry--AND just because social workers document the deep bruising, duly noting they are formed in the shape of a large hand print, this does not mean that daddy did it because doctors and nurses and social workers didn't see it happen. And neither did mommy. REALLY?? Now that's a surprise. And what can they do when five-year-old child fails to meet the states criteria by actually ADMITTING to the stranger what daddy does when he's angry and that these strange bruises were given to him by daddy--you know, when the five-year-old child shuts-down completely after being held captive in the emergency room for three hours and failing to cooperate, as expected, by telling a complete stranger everything he was able to share with his mommy. Naturally, of course, state policy requires that said social worker MUST conclude the investigation to be unfounded because the child would not willingly admit to what happened.

I'm sorry, did you NOT see the bruising? Did you NOT see the way the five-year-old little boy shut down when stranger began asking about what daddy does when daddy get's angry? Did it really go unnoticed that, while being questioned about what daddy does when daddy gets angry, child COMPLETELY covered three full-size sheets of paper writing the words NO NO NO NO STOP STOP STOP STOP in small letters, writing without pause, except the few times when he stopped long enough to throw himself onto the floor and cry and beg said social worker to please let him go home. Exactly what good are they then? And I do mean that.

What good are these people except to THEN give daddy a hand-up in court when he sadly tells the judge how horrible it was for him to be kept from his children for a week or two until said social worker had time to schedule a visit to daddy's home to ask him, in person, if he abuses his child? Daddy said no. Well, okay then. He must not have done it. Plus, daddy lives in a big, beautiful home. He must be a good father. He is educated and successful. Proof of outstanding parenting skills. He manages to control his temper in the presence of witnesses, he must not have a temper at all, of course, because things just don't happen behind closed doors in this world--how silly to even suggest.

Poor daddy had to go through that horrible experience. Vindictive mommy is "bent on revenge" the judge is told, and is "emotionally unstable" (synonym for victim of domestic violence--because you know, she tends to scream and tremble and beg during the acts of abuse). She just keeps dragging poor daddy back to court for assault charge after assault charge after protective order after protective order. Poor daddy. Mommy "just can't let go of the past and move on"--she just won't do what is best for their children by stopping all of this "vindictive nonsense." And look judge, the investigation confirmed the abuse allegations were unfounded, which means mommy is lying and being vindictive and CLEARLY not acting in the best interests of the children.

I almost lost custody of my children for taking my five-year-old son to the emergency room to confirm there was no internal bleeding or damage to his organs after he told me what his daddy did and I discovered the bruising. I am not exaggerating when I tell you how close I came to losing custody of my children in court over this because abuse allegations that cannot be "confirmed" are presumed to be therefore, apparently not true, which also means the accuser has made false allegations and mother's who do such things must have "alterior motives" like revenge and gaining an advantage in custody disputes. And therefore mothers who do this are harming their children and should not have custody.

I will also take to my grave the other things my children have told me about things their father has done. Even my family does not know, nor will they ever. I have learned, on no uncertain terms, that if I pursue this through the court and social services that I will, in all probability, lose custody to their father completely.

I came close to losing custody to him, yet again, when I begged the court to only allow supervised visitation with their father--apparently I was trying to interfere with the protected relationship between my children and their father, which apparently represents to the court my unwillingness to do what is in the "best interests" of my children. Bad mommy. Any more bad behavior like that and I will lose them for good. The court has denied my right to protect my children, by way of court order. I violate that court order, I lose my kids to our abuser. THIS is our family legal system.

So, YES, I am feeling a bit sorry for myself today. I feel sorry for my children each and every day. I still somehow manage to set that aside and live. To pack their lunches each day, take them to school, pick them up and enjoy their stories as we drive home and talk about what I will make us for dinner. Playtime. Homework time. Reading time. Peppered with scheduled activities like dance, gymnastics, soccer and tennis. Bath-time and bedtime. Story time and lullaby time. Prayer time. Hugs and kisses and tucking-in time. The best of the best. My entire life is lived through the care and the joy and the protection of my children. My entire life.

Forgive me for feeling lonely or wanting different, or more--perhaps I am just greedy. But I do want more than this. I want to live without the fear that at any moment I will be summoned back into court and face losing my children to this man because he simply likes to torment me this way. I want to live without the fear that on any given day another notice from the court will appear in my mailbox. I often go a full week without retrieving my mail from the box because I simply cannot bring myself to do so. And without exception, every trip I make to that ordinary box to pick up flyers and junk and perform this simple task of retrieving my mail is ALWAYS accompanied by extreme hesitation, nausea, light-headedness and fear of the unknown. So if I don't receive something you've sent me in a timely manner, don't assume it's been lost. I honestly cannot bring myself to go through this more than once or twice a week. I simply cannot. And so I choose not to.

I cannot sleep in my bed at night without locking my bedroom door--sometimes baracading it too. Most nights, I cannot sleep in my bed at all. I sleep on my sofa because I will be better able to hear someone entering my apartment. I sleep with my cell phone in my hand or resting on my chest so I may call 911 in a hurry. I can only drift off to sleep with the tv on because the conversation distracts me from what will otherwise be in my head and prevent me from any sleep at all.

I have taught myself to cope and to survive by doing these things that give me a sense that I have some ability, ANY ability to protect myself, when in all reality I know, deep down inside, that I do not. He can hurt me if he chooses. He can hurt me when he chooses. He can, and I know that he can because he has done so many times before. He can overpower me any time he chooses. He simply can. He always has. My life and my ability to live it is completely dependent upon whether this man chooses to let me live my life or not. He will come after me again. He will come after my children again. He will punish me again and again. He will keep tormenting me and taking pleasure in watching my pain. I know this. What I do NOT know is when. Or how, exactly--and THESE are the thoughts that keep me from sleep at night and require the background noise of someone elses life and someone elses conversation to distract me from imagining what is going be next, and when.

And so I live in fear, each and every day, wondering when the next shoe will drop, when the next motion will be filed, the next threat will be made, the next assault will take place, and each and every day I choose to place the lives of my children before my own by remaining in Virginia Beach with my abuser, away from my family, completely on my own, because I will have custody of my children "if and only if" I choose to do so. He has me. He knows it.