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At least he didn't use a cattle prod...

He hit me with a hard rubber end of a hammer-like thing and smiled. I jumped. It hurt. Was it supposed to hurt? Why would he hit me like that unless he wanted to hurt me? And why was smiling like that? What sadistic person is this that has come into my life?

Sadly, that was just the beginning of the pain I endured at Kyle's hands today. He poked at me, he twisted me around, he forced me up some stairs...down some stairs and when he was done with that pansy easy stuff, he HOOKED ME UP TO SOME ELECTRIC CURRENT AND COVERED MY LEG IN AN ICE WATER FILLED PLASTIC CUFF AND MADE ME LAY THERE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES WHILE THE ELECTRIC CURRENT ZAPPED ME!

Yes, I began physical therapy today. It is not for the weak. It's not even for the strong. It's just for us damaged folk who haven't been able to walk right in two months.

Kyle is a nice--albeit bossy--physical therapist. I suppose he's got to be the pushy type in order to make recalcitrant patients like myself do things that aren't exactly comfortable and are in fact down right difficult. I was, in fact, quite amenable to all he asked me to do.

I know, go figure. Me being cooperative. You should all pause here for a minute, bow your heads and take a deep breath. A moment of silence wouldn't be too much to ask for this monumental milestone in my life. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Done? Good.

While I didn't understand everything Kyle, he of the bulging muscles and tight t-shirt said to me, I did get this: right leg is 130% of something something something and the damaged left leg can only go to 70% of something something something.

Hey, I warned you that I didn't understand all of it, ok? Ok. All I know is we have a lot of work ahead of us, and by 'us' I mean me. The one laying on a table and sweating while I try to make my leg do things it would rather not do.

My leg would rather be on a warm beach somewhere, with it's toes tickling the toasty surf and being pampered but nooooooooooo. It gets to be semi-electrocuted twice a week for at least six weeks.

Don't be jealous. It's unbecoming. Seriously.


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A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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