Quite often when I hear someone use the words “emotional abuse” I immediately cringe. Two words that pack a powerful punch when joined together. The thing about emotional abuse is, most of the abused don’t consciously realize they’re being abused at the time it’s occurring. It often isn’t until the person is removed from the abuse, whether by their own choice or by the abuser themselves–possibly and frequently by having moved onto another “source of fuel” (we’ll discuss that more ahead), that it becomes crystal clear, over time, what was actually happening. It can be extremely subtle but powerfully painful. From stonewalling, a common technique used by some abusers to “punish” the abused for some perceived wrongdoing, to a simple “I love you baby” after each devaluing statement is made. This creates doubt and causes questions and confusion to one’s own perception. It may be that the person didn’t have time in their day to make it to the gym, or pick up flowers, or go for a run as they had unwittingly stated previously was in their plans. Perhaps the abused victim forgot to do something or had a change occur within their day. Either way, there’s now an opportunity here for the abuser to use the other person’s own feelings of disappointment in themselves for not accomplishing all they planned for that day, (primarily from previously planted seeds of doubt by the abuser) and intensify those feelings into perceived guilt or wrongdoing. The abuser knows their abused’s weaknesses. After all, most of these “weaknesses” they themselves helped manifest and create. It’s subtle, often confusing and contradictory, and over time, it begins to break the spirit of the victim of the abuse into coping mechanisms of complete denial and total blindness to what has occurred. Believe it or not, it is sometimes possible for the abuser to not be consciously aware or cognoscente of their abuse (another thing we’ll get into later) of the abused. What is at the heart of all this you may ask? Good question. We will answer that ahead…
One of my favorite authors and a high-functioning alcoholic. He died at the age of 44 from alcohol related issues.
So I’ve thought about blogging for many years. In high school and college I always felt a strong pull toward writing. In graduate school the writings were precisely focused on whatever it was I was working on. (Yawn). That usually left little room for creativity or self-expression. I have recently seen some powerful, compelling, fascinating, shocking, and some (seemingly) inexplicable and unexpected things that have been incredibly inspiring and some deeply disheartening. It is finally time for me to begin. After much encouragement, support, and love from family and friends, I’ve decided to finally pull the trigger and put things together on this site. My entries are based on both professional and personal inspiration and experiences with the hope of helping those who need it. Clarity for their confusion. So here it goes…
No more guys with expunged DUIs.
No more guys who drink, then cry.
No more men who poop their pants.
No cheap men with untreated ants.
No more men who drop their glass.
After passing out, I’d lift his ass.
No more men with grandiose.
No more men who like to boast.
No more men who drink, then fall.
This next real man, he must stand TALL.
No more men who expect me home.
No more spending my time alone.
No tight men with broken ovens.
No more men with secret covens.
No more men with spackled walls.
Who will not paint them, one or all.
No more men with pickled livers.
These memories still make me shiver.
No more shaving hairy backs.
No more listening to what I lack.
No more men looking for a roommate.
Who knows no love, only how to hate.
No more guys who hide from giving.
By playing golf instead of living.
No more chauffeuring drunken men.
I promise you, never again.
No more men who judge their friends,
Behind their backs, it just never ends.
No more men who break me down, To cover for them, to straighten their crown.
No more men who just don’t see me,
Whose cold, sick heart is full of cruelty.
No more men who say they love me,
Whose actions speak of chilling jealousy.
No more men hitting on my friends.
This evil pattern has reached its end.
No more sitting outside a jail,
Waiting for a drunk to bail.
Enabling him, I stayed, I hoped,
That one day soon he’d cease to mope.
I’d pray each night he’d learn to cope,
But for a tortured soul, there’s just no hope.
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton