Micki's Musings

Today I spent nearly an hour in the resource officer's office at my work, sobbing. I recently found out more things I was being accused of, more things that were being said about me, more ridiculousness I'm going to have to deal with. I'm so tired. I hate him so much. I want him to go away forever and leave us alone. He's been on the attack the last few days. He's getting sneakier, so apologetic, so humble, so confused as he messages and messages and messages me. I tell him to stop and he stops, for a while. Just long enough I don't know if I have grounds to report him for the protective order violation. It's all just enough about the kids, I'm not sure if he's violating the order or not. "I'm fit as a Fidel," he texts me. Appropriate misspelling. He is like a manipulative, dictatorial Fidel, an infidel. He is "fit as a Fidel" and doesn't need treatment, he says. The kids shouldn't be scared of him. They don't need

Proverbs 16:18 "It's hard to be humble when you're as great as I am." I remember reading that quote over and over again growing up. My dad had a pencil holder with that quote etched along the side of it. It's facetious, of course, and I always knew that, but it's applicable to so many. Applicable to me. Pride sucks. It sucks me dry. It sucks my joy. Humility is powerful and liberating. Pride is destructive. I shift in extremes. For so many years, I was everything everyone else needed me to be. I remember very deliberately being chameleon-like in high school. I took on "projects," you see. I scanned the crowds, focused in on the broken ones, and "fixed" them. I sent four young men off on missions this way. It fulfilled me. I became what they needed. For some, it was a listening ear, for others it was a "safe" girl to spend time with as they prepared to serve the Lord. Mostly, it was a combination. But I remember very conscio

I need help. Things are a little out of control. I am still not healthy. Step 1: Admit that you have a problem and that you are powerless to overcome it. I admit. I admit my head off. A while ago I posted that I exhibited all the trauma symptoms except obsessive compulsion. I see it now. Addiction is an obsession, a compulsion. I get obsessed with things, with people. People are my drug of choice. There are lots and lots of people. There are lots and lots of men. I am pretty. I did not know this. I joined an online dating website just to see what it would be like, what was out there. It's hilarious that I was worried it would be hard to find dates. It's not. I have to hold them off, filter through them, find the ones that might be worth my time. I need to be a queen. At first, I said hello back to every one. I learned I don't have to be nice. I learned I have to say no, to block them, to not give more than I want to spare their feelings. There are lots of wolves out t

Today, I really need to grade papers. Today, I really need to clean my house. Today, I really need to get my son to school. Today, I really need to have had a good night's sleep. Today, none of those things will happen because today, we are traumatized. Today, my brain is fried, my emotions are frazzled, my tears are near the surface, and I am weary of this life. It was bound to happen again. He is still in our lives, so he will continue attempting to destroy. It is all he knows. But it's still okay. Well, maybe not okay, but I still won't give up. I need to grade papers, but I'll blog instead, because that's all I can do--today. I need to clean my house, but I will not because I'm taking the kids and myself to counseling. My son needs to be in school, but I will let him come to school with me because the idea of dealing with school for him today makes him literally pull his hair out of his head. I need to sleep well, but anxiety may prevent that from happenin