Didn't sleep well last night, I woke up periodically very cold. Sleeping by myself now is very different than all the years I slept with my ex. His snoring would rattle the windows. He was up often with insomnia and made noise repeatedly to wake me up on purpose. I never slept well in my marriage. I never had a problem before I married, but I'm sleeping better these days overall. I'm finding I like being on my own again—it's just me now. I don't have to constantly take care of him, he never looked after me. I was the one to make sure he always had what he needed, but that consideration was never returned. I get lonely now, but not for him. I miss my home, I miss the comforts, but not the abuse. I don't miss taking care of a man, mine was very demanding and selfish. I don't miss any of that. I don't miss having to constantly give and getting so little in return. I'm getting better once again at putting myself first.
Even though it's May it's still cold and I would probably have the heat on if I was in my home, but sleep each night in layers of clothing, numerous socks, and my wool mittens. Having heat when I needed was one of my goals as a girl. So many times growing up I would be huddled in my bed with layers of sweaters and socks dreaming of the day I could be warm. Promising myself when I got older and could work that heat would be one of those things I would work to have all the time. We put in new hot-water baseboards shortly after we married taking out the old space-heater that basically only heated one room. I loved that all the rooms now had consistent heat after we bought our 2-family. I told myself I was on my way to achieving the dreams of homeownership and the heat I always dreamed of. The temperature never really had to go over 68 degrees, it was so efficient and insulated that it stayed a nice temperature all the time. I could open a window and air things out on a sunny day, and the airflow was wonderful no matter the weather outside.
That was over when Cops violently put me on the street. As I walked up Market Street a sheriff went by, I cursed to myself. My hair was so greasy, I'm not sure when I will be able to shower and I had no idea what to do now. I bought another charger and this was the third one and they still weren't working, so I was on my way to Mcdonald's to get something to eat and to charge my iPhone. I loved McDonald's, but I was tired of not having a home. It was Sunday, I wanted to go to Church and go home, but I had no home. I missed my home so much. I worked so hard and to have all these people drive around with their cars and do whatever they wanted while my life was over was just too much some days.
Today was one of those days, I could no longer hide my hair in a hat as I had been doing. It was getting warmer during the day and I was also scared it was continuing to fall out too much. The stress of all of this had left my hair falling out in chunks at times. I would wake up from nightmares with so much hair that had fallen out during the night when I brushed it in the morning. It felt awful, needed to be colored, was so dirty, and felt disgusting. I had dreamed of having someone do it more after all the years of doing it myself, but that wasn't going to happen now. I was back to cutting it myself and had no idea now how I was going to color it now with no access to water or a shower. Sleeping in abandoned houses did not afford you a nice bathroom. Being able to at least get my teeth brushed was a major concern. I was grateful to at least be able to do that and wash my face and privates but other washing was not possible. I can't believe how people treat other human beings. I can't believe the people I cared about all these years and many loved are capable of such cruelty. I can't believe that these men that claim to be such "Heros" as Cops are nothing like that, but more like monsters. I have no respect for most of them now. This has been so degrading, so humiliating and such filthy deliberate destruction of my life, I will spend whatever time I have left trying to recover the smallest of dignity if that is even possible now.
Having a professional look when applying for jobs is important, but no one cared whether I could continue my career. My car was taken along with my professional wardrobe and all my portfolios to show prospective clients what I could do. Denying me local jobs had always been a game here so working locally was not going to happen and without my car, I could not commute outside of Amsterdam NY to work in another city. I worked in Albany NY most of my career, but these people had powerful connections so causing trouble at work was part of this also. I never knew for years, thinking I had bad luck. I would work 3 times as hard, get compliments on my work, but then be let go. "It's just not working out." This went on all the time and when psychologists they assigned by the courts for forced "evaluations," went on about how stable my ex's work was at the mill, I started to realize in horror it was done on purpose. Both my mother and ex had been bragging how they had all their "service" in and were going to retire, but somehow it was becoming a sick joke that I wasn't—everyone joked about it.
When I was a girl my mother would only let me wash my hair once a week. I never knew why. She would go on about how poor we were, I was not allowed to see my father and she got welfare, but I was told basically to never ask her for anything and I never really did. Having a nice bathroom was another goal. I dreamed of having a nice laundry room and bathroom. Growing up she refused to have a dryer saying she didn't like them, but I was the one who hung load after load of clothes out in the winter, bringing them in as stiff boards to put on racks just about every other day. There were always piles of laundry and piles of dishes I had to do. I did it all without complaining but usually was in trouble for simple things like one or two pairs of socks mismatched. There were 3 males in the house and they all wore about the same size white tube socks, but she would go into a rage if one was mismatched. The guys, of course, did not do chores around the house and she was too busy yelling how she hated being home so all the chores were left to me. I never minded, the routine of repetitive chores allowed me to create. It was like the repetition of a day job and at night I could create. There is something about a routine that fuels creative pursuits that helps keep the creative flow primed, but washing was always a problem between us. I was often accused of being "high and mighty," for wanting to wash and keep things clean. We have very different households and after seeing the way she lives now I have no problem agreeing. Yes, we like our homes very different! I have no problem being who I am now and not afraid to challenge the narrative and lies these women have viciously gossiped about me all these years. She can live the way she does—hoarding is not my thing and I have no problem saying I like things very clean now. I grew up hearing these women tell me how much they hated to cook and clean and be home, but spend their time gossiping about women like me.
Today is not that kind of day. I miss my routines, my dog, my clean comfortable home. I can't believe you can do this to someone, but they all continue. There is so much you take for granted having a home, but I never did. I knew how awful it was not to have a home. Even when we finally got a home my mother complained about it all the time and continually said she didn't want it. She was busy destroying the garden and ripping up the shrubs. She piled clothes for a rummage sale on the beautiful wrap-around Victorian porch and basically hated the house. It was a lovely Victorian just like the one my ex and I bought together when we got married, but now because of all the financial schemes he and others did to me—he was just able to sell it. He never wanted it either, calling it just a "rental," I assumed he only said this because we would eventually retire at our Lakehouse or buy a one-family, but he had no intention of doing either. He was using me to buy, fix up and remodel these properties then steal them all from me and leave me homeless all the while telling me how much he loved me and how it would all work out for us to retire early and enjoy our life together.
I sit in Mcdonald's wondering how I'm going to have another home—18 evictions now! All these people have stalked and caused trouble, numerous scams, and money spent trying to get a safe place to live has left me with nothing. My credit destroyed by games he played and the courts went along. I had really good credit, but buying another house now would be impossible. I tried to buy his share out and even recently to buy my home back that he was going to sell, but they all refused. I'm condemned to sleep on the streets as they treat me as incompetent to continue to try and show that I'm "mentally ill," and somehow deserve this. Each time the Cops laugh and tell me I need to go to DSS. Why the hell would I be on DSS when I had more than enough assets, was not disabled or mentally ill, and had a successful career, but at the time I didn't know it was all a game. The sexual assault another game because the Cop involved knew it would be ignored. That they could make up all kinds of things about me and be believed; I was crazy, I made it all up, I was a drunk, drug-addicted—he as was a cop. He knew how all this would go. He was half my age and grew up with Porn Culture. Parading an array of girlfriends he had up to the Lakehouse his parents lured me to and bragged about. I was not a "friends with benefits" kind of girl.
At my age, I had no idea that sexual assault was normalized by these guys, especially cops. I researched older women and it's even worse because their generation is so ashamed about casual sex that so often they don't even report and find it next to impossible to talk about. The more I researched the more horrified I was and saw how these men knew exactly how to do this. Exactly how to keep arresting me to make me seem "incompetent' mentally ill and delusional about being a working professional. This is what they do all day. I had no idea my life was such an amusement, but with statistics as low as they are for solving crime let alone violent ones, it's not farfetched to assume these men use these jobs as ways to stalk women, coast along in places with low crime and basically continue the wealthy lives they grew up with without doing a lot of work knowing that they can get away with all of it. Certainly women like me from poor families aren't professionals with successful careers but "whores" that can be forced on the street with nothing after having numerous assets—Rape Culture normalized.
I was jailed for "resisting arrest," never did, but it didn't matter these men lie and do whatever they want. There is even a hashtag that #CopsLie. My chest felt like there was a lead rock in it for a week after they grabbed me so hard and yanked me into the police car. I have since learned the idea your resisting is used all the time, you hear them on video constantly telling people they are resisting when they aren't. I was a middle-aged woman with no criminal history just trying to navigate a brutal divorce that had been set up and these cops were constantly stalking me putting together a horrible case of what my life had consisted of the past 20yrs. According to them I had done nothing, was incompetent and mentally ill, and deserved to walk the streets now because my ex had been nice enough to house me as his servant our entire marriage and he needed to move on with his other girlfriends. Finding out he had sex with my mother and best friend made it all the worse. All of them plotting and scheming this from the start. I often lately wanted to throw up I was so stupid about it all. Believed that someone could love me, be as faithful as he pretended, and build a life together, but that was never their idea. I had been just a "whore," to these men right from the start. Now not only are their fathers involved but men half my age telling me how I made this all up because who would want an old hag like me. Being in menopause while this was all being done had also been so humiliating to deal with.
Both my mother and best friend were cared for privately when they went through menopause. I visited both of them and put up with their concerns about not having children anymore, losing the feminine youth all women have to come to terms with at middle age and dealing with all the changes, but I was not given this consideration, in fact, I was told the marriage was deliberately ended when I was in menopause because how much easier to show I was just an ugly old hag. Who wants to touch an old whore? It was a big joke with all the young prostitutes at the jail. I was sexually assaulted by a man half my age, but everyone believed I lied about it because what 30yr old would want anything to do with someone who was 50yrs old. I didn't believe it either, which was why I didn't fall for the games that I had been chasing younger men right along. I had "daddy issues," if anyone cared to actually understand me or what was going on. I had always been very mature and chasing young guys was never something I would have done and certainly not cops that I was basically phobic about. I grew up as one of those kids being told I would be left in foster care or anywhere else my mother felt was punishment when she was raging. I hadn't realized until recently that I equated cops with this. They were always around, but she never got in trouble. The places we lived weren't the best and she was often causing trouble and fighting with other women in the neighborhood. She loved to fight and still does. I hate it and realized I had taken the high road for so long I forgot how to fight. I'm learning it was part of my problem—power. I had all this success but thought I no longer had to fight. I was sadly mistaken. I was now fighting all the time.
It feels good in some sense. To fight now and have this all out in the open. To have all these people called out and finally confront the filthy shit they have been doing all these years. They all fight, they all love to fight and have been doing it repeatedly. I never liked it preferring to create. Fighting just exhausts me, but I know I forgot that there are times you have to fight. For so many years I have walked away thinking that just ignoring the bullies would make them go away. They don't go away, they just get worse. One of my mother's boyfriends and I use to watch Kung Fu all the time. The old David Carradine ones. He would often walk away then be forced to confront the bullies too. I tried often but was always outnumbered and made the mistake of believing that they all could not be involved, but now sadly knowing they all were. My mother did not grow up poor, neither did any of these people involved, but I did. I was always the brunt of their jokes and put-downs. After all these years, I thought I could finally be left alone. I had my home, car, some money, and my faithful dog, but the mob mentality of this almost killed me. "We all took sides," they told me in one way or another. It becomes fun to bully, harass and destroy someone while others watch.
Watching me "walk the streets," was always insinuated since I was a girl. I hated the looks, the sexual innuendoes, looks that reduced me to just sex even as a girl. It's mostly why I didn't want to, need to, or look for sex all the time like many women I knew. Women dressed with their breasts on display or like my mother like to walk in that way that got a lot of looks comments and attention—I hated it when she would do this. I hated the leering and still do. I can't stand men like that so my ex was so careful to always act "true blue," like he would say. It was all an act he and his friends put on. I feel stupid today as I walk the street looking like the dirty whore they want me to be. I was too threatening as a woman finally with some power. The rage building in me after all these years. I hate these men now in ways that I thought I could never hate. I know this isn't the answer and I was told they will make sure I have no way out now. I'm still finding one. Their damage has been extreme all on purpose. I never knew that men can be so hateful to women. My mother was never abused and neither was my cousin. She and her brother enjoyed abusing me. I never realized how not having sex with him would unleash his rage and the two of them would plot and scheme all these years to get revenge. I never knew how competitive especially when this was being set up they were both divorcing, the high living of all those Coke years were over. Both were bankrupt, divorced, and looking for revenge—setting me up with a violent drug dealer that never cared about me.
It's been extremely difficult to come to terms with it all—30yrs is a long time. Having sex with someone all those years that never cared about you is demoralizing. As painful as it is, there has been bliss. I made love to my husband, he was basically masturbating. Who we have sex with and what we do with it does matter. You can spend your life masturbating with others or you can spend it sexually maturing to a point that bliss is possible—our sexuality is sacred. I remember the last time my ex and I had sex, the serpent had been aroused and was curling up my spine, but angry, something was wrong—it recoiled. As the energy recoiled, my ex threw me off him. I had just been moving in a way that was one, as in a one-backed animal, but he was having no part of it. This was the last time we had sex and he constantly told me he didn't want sex after that. I was being told he was sleeping with someone else, I didn't really believe it, but I sensed it and this new woman was stealing my things and up to no good with him. There was so much going on that I thought the whole sexual energy I had experienced was just stress. I had read how this sexual energy can be like a snake coiling up your back and that's exactly how it felt.
I had been doing Yoga for over 20yrs. I felt healthy, worked out, and loved the flexibility. I had wanted to be a Ballerina as a girl, but lessons were stopped after a short time. I was so sad, but I knew I could not complain, not to my mother. My third-grade teacher at the time told me I could draw and paint and so I channeled my sadness over ballet into Art. I really didn't explore too much more about my Yoga other than the exercise of it all those years until the hell of this destruction started. I had no idea that it would come to protect me from the devastation of a loveless marriage. My sexuality did not belong to my ex and in spite of the horrible betrayal, my sexuality was mine, and the things that were happening to help me were, in fact, telling me that this love I created and he tried to destroy could not be. That all the years I made love was not in his control to totally destroy. Sexuality is not a static construct. We mature sexually as we do in other areas of our being. Our journey involves our sexuality also. I try to keep a level head about things and at first, took my time calling some of what happened to me Kundalini, but I can't ignore it either and as much of this becomes more mainstream it becomes easier to find information and research to back up some of what happened to me.
There is a pocket of energy at the base of the spine that can be released, whether this is spiritual or not is up for debate, but for me, some of what happened to me protected me as Kundalini is apt to do. It can be destructive if there are blockages that need to be cleared. I see now there were many cords that had to be severed, cleared, and healed. People that had attachments to me that I had thought long over, but that was draining me. Clearing much of this has given me a new feeling of lightness as these people are dealt with and old cords are severed. I spent the last few years barely able to move, but now I'm doing some Yoga again and finding my way again. My body went through hell and I cringe about looking too closely. I use to feel much more comfortable and with the stress of everything and the changes of menopause it's been hell, but I'm alive and growing more comfortable with the strength it took to get through all of this. Some rush to get remarried, I laugh at how people will say they went so long without sex then read it was like 1yr later they were remarried and many had more kids. I have not had sex for 7yrs and don't miss it all that much. The kind of sex I came to know of does not exist with most people now that spend their lives in mutual masturbation. I think of Karezza sex, something I never had with my ex. I think of the Tantric dissolving I experienced the last time we were together. There is much more to sex than what these types of men try to reduce it too.
I continue on up the street with my dirty hair and swearing to myself and resolve to continue trying to find my way after everything that has happened. I know in my heart that my sexuality is not for sale. It's not about my dirty hair, my menopausal self, or having no one to wake up to. It's not about being too old or their slut-shaming or threats of prostitution. It's about union with the creative divine, the creative flow, the journey that keeps us connected to all that is with or without a partner. It's about continuing on in spite of the pain, the loss, the heartache. It's about the journey and some days all we can do is chop wood and carry water and deal with our greasy hair and the idea no one wants us. To know that the divine wants us pursues us, and like a lover loves us in that way that guides us to bliss. We get glimpses of this even on our worse days—continuing on broken but blessed and grateful.
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