Trump’s Sex Tapes

Trump’s Sex Tapes

I am going to keep this short because as a rape survivor it exasperates my anxiety.

Last week Presidential candidate Donald Trump’s true character was brought to life in the most vial way. A tape was leaked that showcased him speaking about his power over women. He indicated that as a celebrity he can sexually assault a woman by “grabbing her by the pussy.”

He responded by saying it was “locker room banter.” His supporters continue to make excuses saying that it’s normal for men to behave in such a way. It’s not. I have only heard a few men speak in that way, one was my rapist.

My rapist bragged to my roommate that women like to be choked during sex. Hours later, I woke up to him chocking so I couldn’t scream.

This happened to me on my 32^nd birthday and has plagued each birthday since. This year I refused to leave my house and answer the phone. For about 48 hours anytime I fell asleep I could only dream of the helplessness I felt.

The media doesn’t seem to want to report that Trump is being legally accused of raping a 13-year-old. I really don’t give a shit about what Hillary or her disgusting husband have done. Nothing can compare to having such disrespect for women and possibly being a child rapist.   

Becoming A Hyster-Sister

I have decided to join a special and strong group of woman who have had hysterectomies. My endo decided to rear its ugly head after four years of being somewhat pain-free and regular. The first part of this decision involved social norms and motherhood.

I was brought up in a Christian home where it was silently instilled in me that I would grow up and get married then have children. According to my mom, I would be cursed with a daughter like me. LOL But that is not how my story unfolded. Diagnosed with endometriosis at 21, I was urged to have children way too early. All I could say is NO. I was not married and didn’t have the financial means. As time passed, the doctors urges became louder yet my situation remained the same. It warped my mind. Every guy I dated was instantly inspected for daddy qualities. I am pretty positive that my messed up mindset had a nasty effect on my relationships.

Then I got married…I really thought that we would have a white picket fence life. I was still young enough to conceive and at this point still had one good fallopian tube. Plus, he was open to invitro fertilization or even adoption. But then he got sick. He contracted Lyme disease. At the same time, I was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) and fibromyalgia. He was a medical student and after researching Lyme he became very concerned that he would pass it to a child or me. We stopped having sex. We also discussed what it would be like to realistically raise a child. Two sick parents. That sounds like fun huh.

His Lyme made my endo look like a mere inconvenience. His doctors didn’t know if he would get better but chances were he would get worse. He did. He now resides in a wheel chair and is about to embark on brain surgery due to infection and lesions. My endo remained my monster under the bed. I had excision surgery in 2012 and that had helped until recently. But I still had issues with CFS.

I began to look at the situation from my unborn child’s eyes. Even if we had stayed together, dad would be wheel chair bound, in-and-out of the hospital and mom would struggle to get out of bed, walk upright or do anything without the assistance of pain medication. What fun!

So maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mother. That is a really though pill to swallow. But maybe infertility goes hand-in-hand with endometriosis because it is in the best interest of the child. We know there is a genetic component, making it highly likely to be passed down to female children. And, don’t they deserve a mom who has energy and isn’t in pain constantly? I am not saying that this applies to all women with endo or even any other woman other than myself. Situations and support systems vary from woman to woman.

So, step one? Kick my anxiety and depression’s ass. I started on medication about a week ago. I stopped crying nonstop. Then, I am going to find a counselor who specializes in this sort of thing and can mentally prepare me for losing my lady parts. Step 3 Find a doctor in Arizona who is well known and uses excision. Then do it! 

Becoming A Hyster-Sister

I have decided to join a special and strong group of woman who have had hysterectomies. My endo decided to rear its ugly head after four years of being somewhat pain-free and regular. The first part of this decision involved social norms and motherhood.

I was brought up in a Christian home where it was silently instilled in me that I would grow up and get married then have children. According to my mom, I would be cursed with a daughter like me. LOL But that is not how my story unfolded. Diagnosed with endometriosis at 21, I was urged to have children way too early. All I could say is NO. I was not married and didn’t have the financial means. As time passed, the doctors urges became louder yet my situation remained the same. It warped my mind. Every guy I dated was instantly inspected for daddy qualities. I am pretty positive that my messed up mindset had a nasty effect on my relationships.

Then I got married…I really thought that we would have a white picket fence life. I was still young enough to conceive and at this point still had one good fallopian tube. Plus, he was open to invitro fertilization or even adoption. But then he got sick. He contracted Lyme disease. At the same time, I was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) and fibromyalgia. He was a medical student and after researching Lyme he became very concerned that he would pass it to a child or me. We stopped having sex. We also discussed what it would be like to realistically raise a child. Two sick parents. That sounds like fun huh.

His Lyme made my endo look like a mere inconvenience. His doctors didn’t know if he would get better but chances were he would get worse. He did. He now resides in a wheel chair and is about to embark on brain surgery due to infection and lesions. My endo remained my monster under the bed. I had excision surgery in 2012 and that had helped until recently. But I still had issues with CFS.

I began to look at the situation from my unborn child’s eyes. Even if we had stayed together, dad would be wheel chair bound, in-and-out of the hospital and mom would struggle to get out of bed, walk upright or do anything without the assistance of pain medication. What fun!

So maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mother. That is a really though pill to swallow. But maybe infertility goes hand-in-hand with endometriosis because it is in the best interest of the child. We know there is a genetic component, making it highly likely to be passed down to female children. And, don’t they deserve a mom who has energy and isn’t in pain constantly? I am not saying that this applies to all women with endo or even any other woman other than myself. Situations and support systems vary from woman to woman.

So, step one? Kick my anxiety and depression’s ass. I started on medication about a week ago. I stopped crying nonstop. Then, I am going to find a counselor who specializes in this sort of thing and can mentally prepare me for losing my lady parts. Step 3 Find a doctor in Arizona who is well known and uses excision. Then do it! 

My Inner Beast - MY Anxiety and How I am Dealing

I’ve had anxiety for almost half of my life. It started when I was 18. I would have sporadic, sudden panic attacks. They sent me to the floor like a baby. Now, it is like a monster that I battle constantly. The more I have learned about It, and myself, The better I manage it.

Today, I had planned on going to a career fair after submitting a resume to a pharmaceutical company. I have wanted to start a career in pharmaceutical sales for quite some time, but getting your foot in the door is hard. I procrastinated getting business cards made because my current financial situation is just becoming stable. The money I made last night would pay for the cards, plus printing 20 copies of my resume, references and recommendations.

I spent about an hour crafting the cards, I even found a high-resolution head shot so they might remember me later. But the printer would not let me pick them up in the store, and the store could not retrieve my order. So, I picked up a shift at the restaurant.

For whatever reason my anxiety fades for the most part when I am working. I am too busy to worry. Waiting tables or bartending is like being in a play for the millionth time. Occasionally there is some adlibbing, but I rarely hear something, or come into a situation, that is new in any way. The uncertainty is managed. I know what to do, what to say and when.

Sometimes I let my customers get to me. But for the most part I understand that I can’t go back and change anything or force them to tip me more. I simply move on to the next table. I keep my anxiety medication in my pocket, but rarely need to take it at work. Just knowing it is there for me is usually enough.

I am constantly going over potential conversations in my head. It’s really very annoying. But, when a situation arises when I need to think or speak fast, I freeze. If I am speaking with a male or a woman with a strong alpha male personality, it’s even worse.

I know a part of this is confidence. I am my own worst critic, best friend and enemy. I tell myself the meanest things. I wonder if that is so if someone else says them it won’t hurt as bad. I break myself down all the time, every day, every hour for no reason. Overcoming that is hard. I have gotten a little better and tell myself to be nice and am self-aware. I shut those voices down as quickly as possible. I know this will take time.

Sometimes my anxiety gets so bad that I can’t leave the house, sometimes my bed. I’m afraid of people seeing me. Maybe it’s because I’m so anxious that I have let myself become disheveled. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m worried they might say hi. I have gone without eating and in certain living situations, urinating. It’s absolutely crazy.

I think the agoraphobia kicks in when I am so overwhelmed with anxiety that I just can’t deal with it. So, I try not to let it get that bad. Writing has really helped. Giving these thoughts a new home, so they are no longer bouncing around in my head is cathartic. I can only write a little at a time, but the thoughts I have released are barely coming back to mind. It’s like therapy but we can skip the getting to know you part, and the payment at the end. LOL

I am also trying to get back into Yoga and Pilates. I did a 20 minute class that focused on weight baring for people with carpal tunnel syndrome. I need to practice that one until placing my hands in a certain alignment becomes second nature. Then I did a 10 minute Pilates video. My wrists hurt a little. I plan on doing this every other day and upping the time and energy spent. So that’s my plan. Writing, exercise, vitamins and self-awareness. We shall see if I can cure/treat myself.  

Guns in America - Do we need so many? Is it time to change our laws?

A couple of days ago there was yet another mass shooting. This time an Orlando night club, catering to the LGBT and Latino communities. What is even sadder than the 50 people who lost their life due to some asshole with an assault rifle, is that second amendment nuts are only concerned with their “right” to own a gun. I don’t think it should be a fucking right, it should be a privilege for those who can demonstrate responsibility and are cleared of any concern of mental illness. I said it. I am in Texas, so I am literally safer writing it.

I engaged with a friend of a friend and briefly shared my story. I explained that my ex-husband was able to go get a cache of guns without haste. There was no waiting period and he had spent time in a mental ward and was on medication for bipolar people. I asked for more effective regulations that would weed out crazy people and radical fanatics. That sounds pretty easy right? If you don’t have mental illness then you shouldn’t be concerned. For example, I should not own a gun. I am too jumpy and my depression and anxiety doesn’t make me a sound candidate to be a gun owner. I am ok with that.

This guy tells me that I should have had better control over my ex. I just about spit my coffee out. Really? He thinks I knew about and encouraged this purchase? He has never been married and if he is his wife has him by the balls. I explained that I didn’t have knowledge, I did stand up for myself, eventually, I got the guns out of the house, ect. I shouldn’t have to defend myself because someone decided to wake me up with a gun. He never thought to blame the person holding the gun or loose regulations. It was my fault. For what? Going to sleep? Marrying a psychopath?

Then I remembered that there are people out there that are so brain washed and self-centered that they believe their right to hold a gun is more important than my right to life. How can your right to have a weapon that you say you never want to use on another human mean more than my life, or anyone’s life?

What’s even more ironic is the fanaticism we have with guns is due to really good fucking marketing and branding. The gun nuts feel the way they do, not because they really fear an intruder or boogie man. It has been instilled, generation-to-generation that owning a gun makes you a man, it should be your manly “instinct, “according to the WSJ .

So how do we fix it? Speaking with said fanatics is like talking to a child about sugar. They don’t get it. Will they ever?

Freedom from Supression

Silenced and Suppressed

As I sit in Twitter Jail in objection to the GOP’s war on women, it reminds me of my marriage. I am watching the Texas Legislature parade lopsided testimony and ignore the voices of nearly 1,000 citizens in regards to an omnibus abortion bill that would reduce access to women’s health care, among other consequences. The reaction from social media is astounding. But the master of the Twitter universe has decided that I have said too much, and must be silenced.

I rediscovered my voice three months ago. My husband, a member of the U.S. Army Reserves, decided that when I didn't want to listen to him mansplain the theory of relativity at the crack of dawn, he would try to kill me. He was unsuccessful.

He wasn't always abusive. What women in her right mind would marry an abusive man? I have come to understand that he is a sociopath. He was my prince charming, which is a common characteristic of a sociopath. His goal was marriage as a control tactic.  We met at a club when I was dared my friend, and bachelorette, to propose to him. I did, he said “how can I be engaged to you when I don’t have your number?” I smiled and told him I would talk to him later. I ended up giving him my phone number, and in the morning I had a text that said “Why am I waking up without my fiance?” A year after we met, he expectantly came home from the Army and proposed to me.  It only took 10 days for him to show his true colors.

He had a problem with alcohol. He had stopped while he was training with the Army. I married him assured that it was a past issue. That night his promise broke when I had to pull him out of a bar. He was belligerent and didn't want to leave. He slugged me while I was driving him home, and I nearly drove off the road. I turned my camera on video and set it on the bookshelf. I documented him throwing me on the bed, the sounds of him slapping me and telling me that I “was too much of a whore to rape.”  I made him watch it. He promised he would get help psychologically and stop drinking. He followed through, and convinced me to destroy the evidence.

He is a tricky, manipulative man who happens to be extremely pro-life and a conservative. I enjoyed about a year of a beautiful, boring marriage. Or, so I thought. He slowly gained control of my every move. I am educated, well informed and, outside this relationship, independent. He was good.

Trouble sneaked up when he started drinking again. He claimed it was because of his need to socialize, and started spending outrageous amounts of money. That’s when I realized I was being financially abused. All of the debt is in my name because I have good credit, because I am responsible. After being laid off, our money became his money. One night he snuck out when I was sleeping to drink. I confronted him and he called me a whore. That’s when I realized that I was being emotionally abused. Again, I am not stupid. Even under some sort of trance, I knew something was wrong.

I am a Christian, and I don’t believe in divorce. He went to a Baptist university and has a photographic memory. Did I fail to mention that he happens to be a genius?  He twisted scripture to meet his manipulative needs. “For better or worse” – How bad does it have to get to be beyond worse. Would God forgive me for abandoning my vows I made to Him and my husband? My pastor told me to forgive him and “throw sand on it.” Was I somehow delusional and wrong?

Bad turned into worse.  I was extremely isolated from my family and friends, and financially dependent on him. One night, after he went out drinking under the guise of coffee with a friend, he came home in a bad mood. I was upset because, like most, don’t like being deceived. This was supposed to be my prince charming, not a promise-breaking asshole.  I slapped him when he called me a whore. I am far from. He pinned me down and poured a liter of hand sanitizer in my mouth and eyes. As I blindly crawled to the bathroom to wash my eyes out, he told me how he would execute my entire family, threatening to “gut” my three little sisters. He knew my weaknesses. As a 6’ 5”, 275 pound soldier, I believed him. I couldn't allow him to kill my family. I didn't know what to do when my best friend happened to stop by. She did this often when she had an appointment in the area. She saw my bloodshot eyes and knew something was wrong. I wouldn't admit anything. I went to my mother’s home, but pretended I just wanted to spend time with her.

A couple days later he got into a massive car accident and had head and back trauma. He was obviously coming back from the bar after taking a cab home. He wreaked of cigarettes and alcohol. The officer on site told him that he “was lucky that he was a soldier and wouldn't be given a breathalyzer.” I’m a strong woman with a soft heart. Even through the previous abuse, he still held a place in my heart. His mother is his only family. She is a wretched, abusive woman herself. So, I came home to take care of him. He won again.

His nice streak only lasted a couple weeks. I knew it was over when he had no interest in celebrating Valentine’s Day. He cared more about drinking. So I prayed, a lot. I prayed that God would tell me what to do. It didn't take long for him to cross the line. He forced me to leave the marriage without regret and at peace with myself and God.

He snuck out once again. I woke up to the sound of him shutting the door. Fearful and realizing that he was drunk, I had a strangely calm demeanor. I simply told him to get some rest. He asked me to sit down with him. He wanted to have a drunken discussion about science and love. I wanted to go back to bed for a couple hours and follow it up with a productive day. In about a half hour’s time, he drank half a fifth of vodka and a bottle of wine. He threw the dogs out and got my attention. He told me that I needed to leave. I replied that I would, and headed to the bedroom to get my keys. Being 5’ 2” and 135 pounds, he easily blocked my way. He grabbed me by the throat and carried me to the kitchen, set me on the stove and started bashing my head against the wall. As if that wasn’t enough, he body slammed me to the floor and sat on my chest. He repeated that seven times. All I could do was count. Strange, I know. I actually hate math. But he was 15 inches taller than me, more than twice my size and trained in combat. Each time my head was pounding against the wall I would get to eight or nine. There were seven cycles of bashing, body slamming and suffocating. The last time he was kneeling on my chest, he ripped my wedding ring off. I remember that I stopped breathing. I thought “that was my last breath and now I am going to die.”

I somehow squirmed out from under him. My first two attempts at escape were foiled when he grabbed my feet out from under me and I face-planted onto the hardwood floor. The third and final time he grabbed my hair. I was fine with losing a fistful of hair. I ran up the stairs to a neighbor’s house and ferociously pounded on the door and screamed “Help, my husband is trying to kill me.” She let me in and called the police. He was arrested for assault of a family member. I went to the hospital and was thankful that the damage was minimal even with more than 50 abrasions and bruises. I also understood that it was time to get out of dodge. I moved a couple states away where I have an abundance of family.

Here is where it really gets interesting. I was pro-life before and during my marriage. In fact, my marriage only strengthened this belief because his ex-girlfriend aborted his child. This devastated him. What I didn't know is that he beat her right before she found out she was pregnant. Being reproductively challenged and suffering from a long drought in the bedroom, I didn't have to be concerned with him yielding control for the next 18 years. But, I could understand the ex-girlfriend’s fears. The fact is, some people shouldn't procreate. All the sudden the right to control my own body became extraordinarily important. I had already been fighting to keep my uterus against the advice of endometriosis specialists for ten years. I started paying attention.

What extreme republicans are trying to do around the country is despicable. I am not pro-abortion. I would not make that choice. I can’t phantom the amount of thought and emotion that goes into such a choice. But it is that, a choice. I am not so pompous that I think I have the right to tell another human being what to do with their reproductive organs. I also understand what it is like to be a poor, uninsured woman in Texas with endometriosis. I relied on Planned Parenthood to provide well woman exams, birth control and STD screenings. Yes, I have sex. Many of you already know that birth control is a common, yet somewhat ineffective, treatment for endometriosis. See other blog posts for my opposition to pre-existing conditions clauses that insurance companies enforce.

The Texas GOP has already shown its’ true colors and admitted that their goal is to effectively shut down clinics that provide abortions, as well as general reproductive health services, by making it too costly and limiting the ability to practice. This bill doesn’t just affect women who desire the right to have an abortion. It affects any woman who may have a health issue and/or simply find themselves uninsured. What really irked me is when I realized that most of the people making these vital decisions were men with the sex education of a fifth grader. The great exception is Texas state house representative Jodie Laubenerg, sponsor of the house bill, who compared rape kits to abortions.

I have been watching Texas since the Citizen’s Filibuster last month. I will keep watching, writing, tweeting and helping the protesters with media relations assistance until it is over and women of Texas are guaranteed their constitutional right to choose.  When I find a place to call home, I will stand up against any such measures on the local and national stage. Watching the Texas Legislature demean women is like reliving my marriage. But this time, I feel empowered. I am a survivor, not a victim. I will never fall prey to another woman hating asshole again. The men and women standing in protest and sheroes like Wendy Davis give me hope. They fuel my recovery. I encourage you to take stance with women around the country who are being suppressed and silenced.

July 2011

Hi All,

Good News! I met my husband and through my deep love I got a great benefit - Insurance!

He is in the military and although the insurance is not steller...it works.

My endo is under control. I for some reason cannot handle birth control, but its ok. I noticed some comments that I have not seen because I had not been on in a while. My apologies. Thank you everyone for your support.

On a less than great note, they think I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Not fun, but my new hubby is very savvy and has been helping me find great books and go to a specialist next month. My attitude remains positive and I thank everyone for their support.